-i^^' 
 
 
 PRINCETON, N. J. 
 
 BY 2500 .A71 B37 1892 
 Barnes, Annie Maria, 1852- 
 Children of the Kalahari 
 
 Shelf 
 
 
 ^^ ^.^. 
 
 i 
 

 
 
 
All Anxious Conference. 
 
 I'ngo 34. 
 
CHILDREN 
 
 OF 
 
 THE KALAHARI 
 
 A STORY OF AFRICA. 
 
 BY 
 
 ANNIE MARIA^BARNES. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION 
 AND SABBATH-SCHOOL WORK, 
 
 No. 1334 CHESTNUT STRKKT. 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1890, BY 
 
 THE TRUSTEKS OK THE 
 
 PRESBYTKHIAN HOARD OF ITBLICATION 
 AND SABBATIUSCIIOOL WORK. 
 
 ILL RIGHTS RBSBJiVED. 
 
 Westcott a Thomson, 
 Stereolyi>ers iiiui Electrolypers, Philada. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 No country has been so much written about, 
 especially of late years, as Africa, yet no country, 
 perhaps, is so little known as it really appears. 
 Beyond the missionary journals of Robert Moffat, 
 David Livingstone, the E,ev. Mr. Wilson, Bishop 
 Taylor and a few others, and the personal narra- 
 tives of Captains Grant and Speke, Messrs. Johu 
 Charles Anderson and Henry M. Stanley, very 
 little has been written that deals accurately with 
 the inner life of the people — their domestic, social 
 and moral condition, their su]>erstitious practices, 
 their present religious status under the fast-spread- 
 ing influence of the gospel ; or of the country itself 
 — its wonderful phenomena, its physical changes, 
 its varied and beautiful flora, its trees, birds and 
 animals. 
 
 In the present volume there is scarcely an inci- 
 dent, a description or an adventure that has not 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 its counferpart in tlic writings of Moffat, I^iving- 
 stone, Auderson or some other reliable author; 
 indeed, in a few instances their identical words 
 have been used. At the same time, such liberties 
 have been taken as are warranted by an author's 
 natural right. For example, the cave " Lepelole," 
 which was at Dr. Livingstone's old mission-station 
 of Kolobeng in Sechele's country, is placed more 
 than tvvo hundred miles farther north in the Ba- 
 mangwato country, and the name is also bestowed 
 upon that station wiioi-e our children of the Kala- 
 hari are first introduced. With the exception of 
 giving the mountains to the north and east of the 
 mission-station the name of Mashona — simply be- 
 cause a tribe of that name lived in that direction, 
 and because no other name appeared on the map 
 — the other geographical situations are as accurate 
 as a close study of Dr. Livingstone's map could 
 make them. 
 
CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "The earth is the Lord's." 
 
 IT is early raorniug at the niission-station of 
 Lepelole, country of the Bamaugwato, South- 
 ern Africa. The village itself occupies the broad 
 and somewhat level summit of a hill, at the base 
 of which winds the Shashane River, one of the 
 many branches of the vigorous Limpopo. Tall, 
 stately trees, that grow in rich clusters here and 
 there, throw their grateful shade about the doors 
 of the quaint dome-shaped huts arranged in regu- 
 lar lines across the brow of the hill, with a broad, 
 cleanly-kept street directly through the centre and 
 other shorter and narrower ones intersecting it at 
 intervals. 
 
 Around each hut there is a small patch of gar- 
 den, in which are growing yams, maize, pumpkins, 
 sweet potatoes, squashes, even beans and peas, and 
 all in a pleasing state of cultivation. These little 
 gardens are fenced in by palisades formed of stout 
 upright poles interwoven with wisps of the strong 
 
 5 
 
6 CHI LUMEN UF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 and durable tiger-grass. In tlie corners of the 
 enclosures an ocvasional castor-oil plant rears its 
 not unattractive head, while every now and then 
 close to the walls of a hut a tall, beautiful banana- 
 shrub sjjoots its slender, delicate crest high in air. 
 
 Some of these huts — that is, the more preten- 
 tious of them, those of the chief, his family, and 
 of the head-men of the village — are built of boards 
 rudely sawn from the forest ; but the majority of 
 them are of poles closely and ingeniously covered 
 over with thick grass. Those built of boards have 
 square walls and circular roofs, but all the others 
 preserve their dome-sliapcd form throughout. 
 
 In the centre of the village and fronting on 
 two sides of the broad street, which here makes 
 a curve around it, is the kotla, or place of public 
 assembly, a somewhat imposing structure fully 
 seventy-five feet square, and built upon upright 
 posts with cross-beams closely thatched with straw. 
 At each corner grows a magnificent banian tree, 
 which makes a pleasant shade all about it. 
 
 Near the kotla and facing one of the side streets 
 stand the church and school-house of the station, 
 and some one hundred and fifty or two hundred 
 yards farther on, and higher up the slope of the 
 hill, is the residence of the missionary. 
 
 As the deep gray mists of coming dawn have 
 l)egun to wraj) themselves like fitful curtains about 
 the still sleeping station there is no sight nor sound 
 of life. Not even a stray dog is seen wandering 
 
A STOEY OF AFRICA. 7 
 
 through tlie streets nor an early hunter eager to be 
 away after the tempting game. But as the first 
 beams of the rising sun begin to color with a rich 
 warm crimson the far-away summits of the J\la- 
 shona Mountains, and a little later to tinge them 
 with a purple royal in its splendor, there are the 
 stir and pulse of awakening life all about the brow 
 of the hill that sweeps so serenely down to meet 
 the flow of the noiselessly moving river. Directly 
 the mist-curtains have all disappeared, except in 
 the valleys and along the river's line, and over 
 the tops of the dome-shaped huts and down into 
 the yards, where the glad vegetation lifts itself in 
 joyous salutation, come the dancing sunbeams, and 
 along the broad streets, where the tall cocoa-palms 
 nod gracefully to and fro. 
 
 One by one forms appear in the open doorways. 
 Children are seen here and there under the trees. 
 A row of figures with stone pitchers upon their 
 heads are betaking themselves along the broad 
 street to the public well or to the spring as their 
 inclinations direct. Others, again, in rear of the 
 huts are stooping above mounds not unlike ant- 
 hills in shape.. Soon there is about each the bright 
 glow of fire and the sound of simmering in an oven 
 set back into the mound. Next a blaze is kindled 
 between some upright stones near at hand, over 
 which a rude pot, that emits a savory smell as 
 the contents become more and more under the in- 
 fluence of the fire beneath, is set to boil. 
 
8 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 In the mitlst of these proceedings the loud bhist 
 «)f u liuni, folluwod by the lurioiis beating of a 
 (hum in the direction of the kotla, gives the crown- 
 ing impetus to the bustling activity of the scene. 
 Tail forms start up hei'e and there, children come 
 scampering from every direction, old men move 
 slowly along, younger ones shove each other in 
 their haste, all seeming to have the same purpose 
 in view — to reach the rear of the huts in the 
 quickest possible time. 
 
 With these movements alone to guide him, out- 
 side the appetizing odors now arising from all parts 
 of the station, it would not take long for even the 
 most careless observer to understand that the blare 
 of the horn and the roll of the drum were the 
 Lepelole summons to breakfast. 
 
 The men are served first, from both the oven 
 and the pot, in wooden bowls, in each of which 
 is a rudely-carved wooden spoon. The children 
 patiently or impatiently await their turn, accord- 
 ing as their dispositions may be or as their home 
 manners have received attention. 
 
 The breakfast consists of rhinoceros meat, which 
 the industrious hunters of the day before have j)ro- 
 vided, a porridge of Indian meal into which the 
 gravy has been mixed, and potatoes roasted in the 
 ashes. But in whatever manner each little black 
 j)ickaninny awaits his breakfast, they are all care- 
 ful to receive it in identically the same fa^jhion; 
 that is, with but one hand outstretched. To re- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 9 
 
 ceive the bowl with two would be altogether the 
 very worst evidence of bad raaouers aud not at all 
 in keeping with the strict forms laid down in the 
 Lepelole code of juvenile training. That they may 
 eat it afterward either with one hand or two plunged 
 into the gravy-stirred porridge, and serving as the 
 mode of conveyance to the mouth, matters not, so 
 that only one hand is outstretched in receiving. 
 
 Three-quarters of an hour later another blare of 
 the horn and deep roll of the drum summon to 
 prayers all the Lepelole Bamangwatos, large and 
 small. 
 
 The morning services are held at the kotla, to- 
 ward which structure men, women and children are 
 now seen hurrying, until soon nearly all the straw 
 mats near the centre are well covered with squat- 
 ting figures. The missionary's voice is deep and 
 earnest as he reads the lesson from the Psalms : 
 
 " The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness there- 
 of, the world and they that dwell therein." 
 
 The psalm is rendered in the native language, 
 as is aTso the short exhortation that follows ; then 
 clear and strong the words of the morning hymn 
 ring forth, sung by full three hundred voices : 
 
 " Eternal Wisdom ! tliee we praise ; 
 Thee let creation sing." 
 
 While the breakfast-scene of the camp is at 
 its height a young girl is coming slowly across 
 a grassy " veldt " some two miles away, riding 
 
10 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 a (loukey. The girl is apparently about fifteen 
 years of age, with a slender yet strongly knit 
 figure. At present, however, she seems quite to 
 have lost herself, and is sitting very loosely and 
 carelessly, with her shouldei*s bent forward and her 
 eyes upon the ground. The reins have dropped 
 from her fingers and arc lying loosely upon the 
 neck of the donkey — a circumstance that, if he 
 were not the most conscientious and self-respect- 
 ing of donkeys, would permit of his easily follow- 
 ing the bent of his own sweet will. But there is 
 that in his eyes which if you could see would act- 
 ually shame you for having such suspicions of 
 him. It says very plainly that he wishes it un- 
 derstood that he is far too gentlemanly a donkey 
 to take the least advantage of loose reins or of 
 an absent-minded girl, although the grass of the 
 "veldt" is most tempting. 
 
 The sudden sharp crack of a rifle some little 
 distance in advance startles the girl at once into 
 an attitude of attention, but altogether fails to have 
 a like effect upon the grave and dignified donkey, 
 who has evidently been on the lookout for some- 
 thing of the kind all along. If it had aroused 
 him into a sudden exhibition of heels, the young 
 girl in her loose and careless pose would certainly 
 have gone flying over his head. 
 
 "That must be Captain Murray on a morning 
 hunt," she says half aloud as she raises her head 
 and glances about her. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 11 
 
 It is not what could be called a ])retty face that 
 is thus exposed to view, but it certainly is a most 
 interesting and attractive one, and its many good 
 points would not fail to grow upon the observer. 
 A large, high forehead — almost too large and high, 
 some might think, for the other delicately outlined 
 features — and very dark and thoughtful brown eyes 
 arched by soft but strongly-drawn lashes, are the 
 more prominent characteristics of the face. The 
 mouth is rather large, but not unbeautiful, for the 
 lips are deep scarlet and the teeth white, and, though 
 irregular in shape, are yet faultlessly kept. The 
 nose has a decided tendency to turn up, giving to 
 the face an archness and piquancy sometimes quite 
 at variance with its thoughtful expression. The 
 hair is a dark brown and inclined to curl, especially 
 about the forehead, where it now lies in disordered 
 rings. 
 
 Having satisfied herself that there is nothing in 
 the crack of the rifle to alarm her, and that it is 
 indeed but a morning salute to the birds on the 
 part of her uncle's hunter-friend, Cajjtain Murray, 
 and after calling the donkey a dear old fellow and 
 urging him forward — ^an altogether unnecessary 
 proceeding, he thinks, and one he feels strongly 
 tempted to resent — Hope Blandford once more falls 
 into her musing attitude. 
 
 Perhaps ten minutes more are passed in this way, 
 when she is again aroused from her reverie, this 
 time by the sudden stopping of the donkey. For 
 
12 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 the last ffw minutes donkey and rider have been 
 gradually bearing toward the cup-shaped hill pre- 
 viously referred to, until now they are directly at 
 its base and facing a well-worn path that leads to 
 its summit. 
 
 " What is the matter, now, Chumah ?" the young 
 girl asks quickly of the donkey as she shakes the 
 lines playfully about his neck. "AVhat has gone 
 wrong with Your Lordshi])?" 
 
 At the words he turns his head slowly and gives 
 her what approaches as near to an indignant glance 
 as his mild eyes are ca})able of bestowing. It says 
 as plainly as donkey language can express it, "Well, 
 if you don't know and can't see, it isn't for me to 
 tell you." 
 
 As though she reads every word of this in the 
 wide, deep eyes, Hope quickly raises her head and 
 glances about her. 
 
 " The Wizard's Cup !" she cries, preparing to 
 dismount, "and I wasn't even thinking of it! Oh, 
 you dear, knowing old darling !" throwing ]\^r arms 
 about the donkey's neck, for she is now standing on 
 the ground, " to remember so well how much I en- 
 joy the climb to the top and the glorious view from 
 there! To think that in my abstraction I would 
 have passed it by ! Rogue, give me hold of your 
 nose and let me have a kiss, for of all the donkeys in 
 the world I do believe you are the most knowing." 
 
 Chumah raises his muzzle as though he under- 
 stands every word, and permits her to fondle it. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 13 
 
 still with the same grave and dignified bearing; but 
 there is a look in his eyes which says plainly that 
 His Lordship, Cluimah, is well pleased indeed. 
 
 "And now come along. You know that I like 
 best to climb up the hill for sake of the exercise, 
 but that is no reason why you shouldn't come too, 
 is it, you rogue? Do you know now," shaking 
 her finger very slowly and gravely at him, " that 
 I somehow think you rather enjoy more than is 
 necessary this part of our morning frolic, my going 
 up the hill and leading you after me? It looks 
 very much as if the order of things was being re- 
 versed, and that I am carrying you instead of you 
 carrying me, does it not? Oh, you needn't flap 
 those great ears of yours and blink your eyes so 
 innocently, for I know very well it is so." 
 
 A few minutes of steady climbing and the sum- 
 mit is reached. Between two trees a rude seat is 
 placed, and, the greater part of the brush covering 
 this portion of the hill having been cleared away, 
 there is an almost unobstructed view in every 
 direction. The sun is now a full hour's journey 
 in the heavens, and, though a few trailing skirts 
 of mist still stir along the lower valleys, the sum- 
 mits of the neighboring hills are all aglow with 
 radiance. Below are the gleaming waters of the 
 river winding in and out among the glittering green 
 tangles of bush and fern. On each side stretch the 
 grassy "veldts," their waving expanses gemmed 
 with brilliant wild flowers and here and there 
 
14 CHILJ)liEN UF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 stirred into vitijoroiis life by the cattle that graze 
 upon tlu'in. In the direction of the nii.s,sion-sta- 
 tion, and lying in a valley that here follows the 
 trend of the river, are the tobacco and sugar-cane 
 plantations of the natives. To the right there are 
 dense patches of lofty forest that seem to ring in 
 the ricli and undulating grass-lands and to serve 
 as a barrier to the farther wanderings of the more 
 restless of the animals. Here and there between the 
 dense portions of the forest and the fertile stretches 
 of the "veldt" are dotted clusters of stately palms, 
 their long fronds stirring gracefully in the morning 
 breeze. Far away against the horizon the bold crests 
 of the Moshana Mountains seem piercing the very 
 blue of heaven, their bases in jiart still enwrapped 
 by the morning mists that scatter to right and left 
 before the resolute advances of the sun. The sum- 
 mits, having already caught the full effulgence of 
 the rays, are glowing like living pyramids of light. 
 
 "Oh !" exclaims the young girl reverently as she 
 pushes back the broad straw hat from her brow and 
 stands with clasped hands and a rapt expression 
 ujion her face, "how good is God ! and how beau- 
 tiful the world he has made !" 
 
 "Do you really think that. Miss Hope?" a 
 voice near her asks suddenly. 
 
 "Oh, Captain Murray," she says as she turns 
 and iK'holds the brown bearded face of her un- 
 cle's hunter-friend, "how can you put such a 
 question to me?" 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 15 
 
 The next moment she blushes deeply at her 
 own earnestness. 
 
 "It came quite naturally," he replies. " This 
 bit of God's world is beautiful enough to call forth 
 enthusiasm, I will admit. But you spoke of the 
 world in general. If you could see some of the 
 ugly spots I have seen, you would not think it on 
 a whole so beautiful." 
 
 "That is all in God's wise plan," she says slow- 
 ly. " If he had made it too beautiful, too attractive 
 throughout, we should not want to leave it for the 
 other beyond." 
 
 " And do you believe the other beyond is even 
 more beautiful than this?" with a sweep of the 
 hand that takes in all the fair, sweet scene. 
 
 " Infinitely more so," she answers promptly. 
 " Oh, Captain Murray, the eyes of earth have never 
 seen anything to equal the beauties of that won- 
 drous city." 
 
 A silence falls between them. Captain INIurray's 
 fine brown eyes take on a softer light. Perhaps it 
 is a reflection from the serene radiance of the sky, 
 or it may be, after all, that it is Hope's words that 
 have brought the change. 
 
 " Do you come here often. Miss Hope?" he ques- 
 tions, at length, as he follows the movement she has 
 made toward the plank seat between the trees. 
 
 " Oh ves, almost everv mornino; when the weath- 
 er is fine. I usually go for a ride of two or three 
 miles across the veldt before breakfast, and stop 
 
IG CHILDREN OF THE KALAUABI: 
 
 here on my return. C'liiim:ili lias so learned my 
 ways that this morning, when in a fit of abstraction 
 I was about to pass it by, he suddenly recidled me 
 to myself by a decided stand in front of the path 
 leading to the summit." 
 
 " Chumah is the name of the donkey, then ?" 
 Captain Murray asks with a look in Churaah's 
 direction. "I had noticed that you and your 
 cousin had donkeys very much alike, but I did not 
 know the name of either." 
 
 "I call mine Chumah, and Ellie calls hers Susi. 
 They are named for the two noble fellows who 
 headed the expedition that bore the body of Dr. 
 Livingstone half across Africa." 
 
 " That was truly a peerless deed," Captain Mur- 
 ray comments, "and I do not wonder at your en- 
 thusiasm. I hope the donkeys do credit to the 
 names." 
 
 " Indeed they do ! You could not find steadier or 
 more dignified creatures anywhere, and they are both 
 knowing and precious old darlings. Why, do you 
 know that I sometimes think Chumah can actually 
 talk. At least, he talks with liis eyes just as 
 ])lainly as I do with my lips. There ! he is saying 
 now, * I think this conference has lasted long 
 enough, and we had better be going, or we sha'n't 
 get a bit of breakfast.' " 
 
 At these words and the look directed toward him 
 Chumah gives his great eyes a blink and his long 
 ears a twitch. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 17 
 
 "They are both fine fellows, to be sure," Cap- 
 tain Murray says again in allusion to the donkeys 
 as he walks beside Hope down the hill, "I have 
 noticed before that they were unusually fine ani- 
 nials for this part of the country, and have often 
 wondered where your uncle obtained them." 
 
 '' They were presented to Uncle Clement by 
 Sechele, chief of the Bakwains. Sechele was a 
 great favorite with Dr. Livingstone, who was the 
 first missionary to his people, and through whom 
 Sechele was converted. Livingstone lived for many 
 years with him at his old village of Kolobeng. 
 One of the doctor's little children is buried there, 
 and I have heard my uncle say that Livingstone 
 always had a peculiar tenderness for the spot and 
 an unusually warm regard for Sechele. On the 
 doctor's second return from England he left two 
 fine donkeys at the Cape for Sechele, and these are 
 of the same stock." 
 
 " Are you not afraid, Miss Hope, even with so 
 faithful and sagacious a companion as Chumah, to 
 take these early morning rides alone?" Captain 
 Murray questions as at the foot of the hill he stops 
 to assist her to mount. 
 
 " Oh no, not at all," is the quick reply. " Wliy 
 should I be? But I do not always take them 
 alone, as you seem to think. Sometimes both Ellie 
 and Retta come with me, and again one of the 
 boys. However, since my aunt's death, a year ago," 
 her voice dropping into a tone of peculiar sadness, 
 
 2 
 
18 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 "poor Ellio has so imich to sec after ill )out the 
 house and elsewhere, besides takin<;^ care of the 
 baby Louise, that she has had almost entirely to 
 give up her rides of late, except in the afternoons. 
 Last evening the boys went away with some of the 
 men of the village on a hunting-twpedition, Retta 
 was not feeling well, and so I had to come alone. 
 But, Captain Murray, suppose I do ride by myself 
 what danger eould there be ^hen I have been here 
 for six years and every native for ten miles around 
 knows me by sight? If it is the wild beasts you 
 fear, why they have all been frightened away from 
 the vicinity of the village by this time." 
 
 " Oh, no danger from them, certainly, nor from 
 the natives of the neighborhood, either, I feel as- 
 sured," Captain Murray rejoins quickly. " But 
 you forget the threatening attitude the Matabele 
 have assumed of late. Those grim Zulus know no 
 mercy M'hen once they start upon the war-path. 
 Then on the other side of us are the Boers. They 
 are even worse than the Matabele, for they seem to 
 have neither a sense of justice nor a j^rinciple of 
 honor, while you occasionally will find a Zulu with 
 both, our grim and upright old Inkoosi, for in- 
 stance, and your uncle's faithful Mazika, If the 
 Boers and the Matabele did nothing more than make 
 you a captive just to harass your uncle, it surely 
 would be a most unpleasant state of affairs. You 
 know what threatening messages both have been 
 sending him of late?" 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 19 
 
 "Yes, Mosilikatse, the Matabele cliief, hates 
 Biibi, and tlie Boers hate my uncle, and between 
 the two of them, though they are really each other's 
 enemy at heart, they will unite in any mean thing 
 not only to torment the chief and uncle, but to 
 injure them as well. In short, I don't believe they 
 M'ould hesitate an instant to sweep the whole mis- 
 sion-station of Lepelole out of existence ; that is, 
 if they could get the opportunity. The Boers are 
 great coAvards, as you know, and I don't believe 
 they will openly molest my uncle, for fear of the 
 indignation it will arouse abroad and the almost 
 certain retaliation. As to the Matabele, they stand 
 too much in awe of Bubi and the cannon he has 
 ])lanted upon the hill. Bubi has been a great 
 fighter in his day, and has before completely routed 
 the Matabele in an attack made upon him. They 
 know well what he is when aroused." 
 
 " Well, he is a fine old warrior, to be sure, and 
 looks every inch a soldier in that brass-buttoned 
 scarlet coat the officers from the Cape have sent 
 him; and his men are nearly all bold, high-spirit- 
 ed follows, who wouldn't hesitate a moment, I feel 
 sure, to charge the most formidable line of Zulus 
 that could be formed, though they do seem so quiet 
 and peaceful in every-day life." 
 
 "And to think that twelve years ago they were 
 dirty, ignorant creatures, so debased in many things 
 that they were scarce raised above the beasts of the 
 forest !"" 
 
20 CHILDREN OF THE KALMIAIU: 
 
 "A striking; illustration, truly, of the power of 
 the gosjiel of Christ Jesus when proclaimed by one 
 earnest, consistent nian," CajHain iNIurray says with 
 fervor. 
 
 They have now reached the main entrance of the 
 mission-station, and as his eyes take in the some- 
 what imposing appearance of the church and school- 
 house, the neat, well-arranged huts, the blooming 
 gardens, the broad, clean-swept streets — further, as 
 he notes the air of prosperity and happiness every- 
 where visible — words of appreciation escape Cap- 
 tain Murray's lips, followed the next moment by 
 an unconscious sigh, as though of some dim fore- 
 boding. 
 
 " This is indeed a pleasant picture to look upon," 
 he exclaims with deep feeling, "and it would be 
 terrible to think of its being swept out of existence 
 by the fierce jNIatabele or yet by the more cowardly 
 and treacherous Boers. Yet I really do not think 
 that either the Matabele or the Boers will dare put 
 their threats *in execution," he says by way of as- 
 surance as he notes the girl's troubled face. " Still, 
 I feel that I would like to stay some weeks longer, 
 at least until it can be definitely ascertained just 
 what the situation is." 
 
 " And can you not ?" she says somewhat en- 
 treatingly. 
 
 " I am afraid not. Miss Hope. INIy friend Gum- 
 ming and I have long promised Captains Osgood 
 and Saunders of the Cape to join them in a hunt- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 21 
 
 iug-expedition to the Zambesi. They will be along 
 next week, with their Makololo guide and company 
 of Kaffirs. Gumming, lukoosi, the Hottentot 
 Chaka and I will join them here." 
 
 "Are you not afraid to go so far into the wilds? 
 I have heard that some of the natives between this 
 and the Zambezi are hostile and treacherous." 
 
 " So they are. Miss Hope, in many respects. 
 But do you know that ever since Livingstone 
 journeyed and preached among them, teaching 
 them the peace on earth and good-will to men of 
 the Christian religion, as well as exemplifying in 
 his own blameless life the beauties of an honest 
 and generous manhood, none of us hunters, who in- 
 tend being perfectly straightforward with the natives, 
 fear to go among them, especially when we use 
 the name of Livingstone. It is indeed a magic 
 word and has many times saved from death. A 
 friend of mine, who has just been up in the 
 Makoude country, told me of a very critical posi- 
 tion in which the quick use of the name of this 
 matchless man snatched him and his comrades 
 from instant death. A fierce chief and his baud 
 had ruslied upon them when, having come from a 
 bath in the river, they were without weapon of 
 any kind. The axes of the savages were raised 
 to slay, when my friend noticed the right shoulder 
 and sleeve and part of the skirt of a white man's 
 coat adorning the body of the chief. 
 
 " ' Hold !' cried my friend — ' a white man's coat ! 
 
22 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Where did you get it? It surely must be Living- 
 stone's, for no otlur Mliitc man has ever been in 
 these parts.' 
 
 "At tiie word 'Livingstone' the cliief instantly 
 lowered his axe, and his men followed his ex- 
 ample. 
 
 "'Yes, the good man Livingstone,' the chief 
 quickly replied — 'a short man with a bushy mous- 
 tache and a kind, piercing eye — a man who treated 
 all men as brothers. Did you know him?' 
 
 " ' Yes,' my friend answered truthfully, * I knew 
 him once, but I do not know him now. He is dead. 
 He is up there,' pointing to the sky above them. 
 'He sees us now while we talk, and he is very, very 
 angry to know that you are not treating us as he 
 taught you to treat all men — as brothers.' 
 
 " The chief, at once thoroughly overcome, fell 
 upon his knees and besought their forgiveness."* 
 
 " What a grand and noble man Dr. Livingstone 
 really was !" Hope says, with her fine eyes glowing, 
 "and how his influence is growing from year to 
 year ! We have at the station now a Londa-man, 
 by the name of Intemese, who once acted as a guide 
 for Livingstone, I believe, in his famous march 
 from sea to sea. He fairly worships the name. 
 AVhen the news of the great missionary's death 
 came it was hard at first to convince Intemese. 
 
 " ' Oh no, niissie ! oh no !' he kej)t persistently 
 reiterating. 'Such men never die. He is but gone 
 *Thi8 scene iictiiallv occurred. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 23 
 
 away upon a journey, as he so often used to go. 
 He will come back again — he will come back.' " 
 
 They have by this time come in sight of the 
 kotla. Hope's face falls as she notes its almost 
 deserted appearance. 
 
 "It is even later than I thought it was," she 
 says regretfully. " They have not only had break- 
 fast, but prayers are over as well. I fear uncle will 
 be vexed with me, as he does not like us to miss 
 the morning services. It sets a bad example, he 
 says, to the more carelessly inclined of the natives." 
 
 "I somehow feel that he will forgive you this 
 time," Captain Murray says reassuringly, " espe- 
 cially when he comes to know that you have been 
 worshiping in another and far more beautiful 
 temple." 
 
 A few yards farther on they come in sight of the 
 mission-house. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 "Many are they that rise up against me." 
 
 n^IIE mission-house at Lepelole faces the same 
 -L side-street as that upon which the church and 
 scliool-house stand. It is about two hundred yards 
 beyond and somewliat more elevated, as the brow 
 of the hill here gives a gently-sloping rise. The 
 walls of the house are formed of rudely-pressed, 
 sun-baked brick. It has a high-raised, pointed 
 roof of thick, strong boards carefully thatched 
 with straw, and small, evenly-set glass windows, 
 the frames of which, though rude, are yet light 
 and strong. The glass has been brought from 
 the Cape, the frames are the work of native car- 
 penters. It is one story in height, and has broad 
 verandas all around it, about many points of which 
 vines have been trained to clamber. 
 
 In the rear there is a smaller building of similar 
 construction, though more open, which serves as a 
 kitchen. Underneath the dwelling-house there is 
 a cellar used for storing away suj)j)lies in order to 
 keep them fresh and cool. Behind the kitchen 
 there is a large and beautifully kept vegetable gar- 
 den, and still farther beyond this an orchard of 
 2i 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 25 
 
 many kinds of fruit trees, both native and im- 
 ported. Some of these are just in bloom; othei-s, 
 again, are laden with a tempting array of ripened 
 fruit. At one side of the house a small grove of 
 carefully tended orange trees is growing, and at the 
 other about the same number of lemon and lime 
 trees. Both are iu full fruit, and both present a 
 highly attractive appearance. 
 
 The house, garden and orchard are all enclosed 
 by a high palisade of upright poles stoutly woven 
 together with strong withes of tough bark. Along 
 the four sides of this palisade is a dense hedge of 
 quince-bushes, too thick to be at all productive, and 
 evidently serving principally as a means of further 
 protection against marauding man and beast. 
 
 A little beyond the house, just where the side of 
 the hill slopes down somewhat gently to meet the 
 almost dry bed of a water-course that has once been 
 an important feeder of the Shashane, there is an 
 immense wall of banian trees that quite shuts off 
 the view in this direction. 
 
 The country on this side, which may properly be 
 called the rear of the mission-station, presents an 
 altogether different appearance from that on the 
 front and to the left and right. Only a few hundred 
 yards beyond the almost dry bed of the stream rise 
 immense masses of black basalt, some of them nearly 
 a thousand feet above the plain, and one or two of 
 them quite overtopping the modest hill upon which 
 the mission-station is planted. From base to sum- 
 
26 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 niit they are scarred and split by innumerable tliiiiks 
 and cavities wliicli give plain evidence of some 
 mighty volcanic eruption. Further proof of this 
 is found in the immense beds of lava that lie heaped 
 upon the plain surrounding the bases of these hills. 
 Strange to say, however, they do not a])pear to de- 
 tract from the fertility of the soil, but rather to add 
 to it, for upon these very beds the foliage seems to 
 grow all the more luxuriantly. Innumerable broken 
 masses, having rolled downward from the summits 
 of the hills, have caught and hang ])iied against 
 each other, forming wild yet sale nooks of retreat 
 in times of danger. Indeed, Bamangwato tra- 
 dition has it that the natives of the village have 
 more than once been saved from complete exter- 
 mination at the hands of cruel foes by fleeing to 
 these rocks for ])rotection. 
 
 The small yard in front of the mission-house 
 slopes somewhat like a terrace. In it are grow- 
 ing many of the native wild flowers, which in a 
 state of cultivation jiresent a decidedly more attract- 
 ive apj)earance. Among these are several varie- 
 ties of lilies and a few specimens of the more pre- 
 possessing of the prickly-pear cactus. There are 
 also a number of small, sturdy trees of the guava, 
 and several of the avocado, or alligator pear as the 
 natives call it. 
 
 Water is brought up to these gardens and or- 
 chards, as well as to those of the natives, by means 
 of pipes set along the hills and worked by ingeniously 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 27 
 
 contrived pumps, nearly every part of which is the 
 production of home mechanics. But the planning 
 and successful carrying out of this somewhat rude 
 yet quite satisfactory system of water- works is 
 due to the Rev. Mr. Lillington, who in fitting him- 
 self for the work before him recognized that he 
 would be called upon to do other things besides 
 leading lost souls to Christ. Thus he can handle 
 a carpenter's plane, a blacksmith's hammer or a 
 surgeon's scalpel with equal success, as well as pray 
 with all the fervor of his honest heart for a dying 
 soul or exhort others to repentance. 
 
 As Captain Murray and Hope come in sight of 
 the mission-house the latter suddenly exclaims, 
 
 " Why, there are uncle and your friend Mr. 
 Gumming on the front veranda ! They seem to 
 have been on the lookout for us, and now they are 
 coming with haste to meet us. What can the mat- 
 ter be ?" 
 
 " I was uneasy about you, Hope," her uncle says 
 as he reaches her side, and then leads the donkey 
 Avithin the palisades, where he assists her to dis- 
 mount with old-time chivalrous courtesy. " Where 
 have you been all this time, ray dear?" 
 
 " Across the veldt, uncle, for two or three miles, 
 and then up on the Wizard's Cup for the view. I 
 assure you that I did not intend to linger so, but 
 ray thoughts have been so abstracted all the morn- 
 ing I scarce noted how the time was slipping by." 
 
 " Well, you must uever go again without your 
 
28 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 brother or Pierce, not even witli Ellie and Hen- 
 rietta," Mr. Lillington says positively and with a 
 shadow npon his hrow. 
 
 " Why, uncle," Ht)j)e returns with some aston- 
 ishment, " what has caused you to take this sudden 
 decision ? You know you liave several times con- 
 sented to my going a short distance alone, when 
 neither Ellie nor the boys could go with me." 
 
 " Tke truth is, Miss Hope," Mr. Gumming here 
 interposes as he notices the perplexed look uj^on her 
 face and the somewhat abstracted air of Mr. Lilling- 
 ton, "your uncle is very much worried over some 
 news that has just been brought him by the Kaffir 
 boy Jim. The latter was out this morning before 
 sunrise hunting for some stray cattle, and reports 
 to have seen, about five miles to the northward of 
 this, a band of suspicious-looking Zulus. They 
 seemed to be reconnoitring, and Jim considers it 
 lucky they did not see him, and took care to con- 
 tinue crouching in the bush until they were out of 
 sight. He says they were coming in this direction." 
 
 " Do you really think, uncle, they mean any 
 harm?" Hope turns to ask of him anxiously. 
 
 " I do not know what to thiuk, my dear. May- 
 be they do and maybe they do not. Mosilikatse 
 has been threatening us for some time; though he 
 has threatened us before, for that matter — not, how- 
 ever, so determinedly as now. Still, it is best to be 
 cautious. Perhaps I would not have been so un- 
 easy at your protracted absence but for the news 
 
.4 STORY OF A FEW A. 29 
 
 Jim brought. I knew Cai)tain Murray was out 
 that way and would likely chance upon you." 
 
 " Yes," returns Captain Murray, " I met Miss 
 Hope at her favorite resort, the Wizard's Cup, and 
 most glorious indeed I found the view from its 
 summit. Pei'haps it is a little ray fault that she 
 is so late, as I detained her in conversation." 
 
 " Oh no. Captain Murray, you must not take 
 any of the blame," Hope says quickly. "When 
 once I get to the summit of the Wizard's Cup, I 
 scarce know when to come away." 
 
 As these words are passing between Captain 
 Murray and Hope, Mr. Lilliugton seems scarcely 
 conscious of what they are saying, but stands gaz- 
 ing away into space with the troubled look upon 
 his face deepening every moment. 
 
 The missionary is perhaps fifty years of age. 
 His frame is tall and spare — in truth, very much 
 inclined to boniness. But when he walks he car- 
 ries himself so well and his finely-shaped head is 
 set so firmly between his broad shoulders that he 
 has quite a commanding air. His hair is of a dark 
 brown, almost black, and plentifully sprinkled with 
 gray. It is cropped short, as is also the thick 
 moustache. Of beard there is no further sign, the 
 remainder being closely shaven away. The face is 
 rather lean and deeply furrowed, with a slightly 
 perceptible hollowness about the cheeks, the whole 
 being thoroughly well tanned by the African sun. 
 The most persistent expression of the face is that 
 
30 (3H I LURKS UF Till': KALAHARI: 
 
 of inflexible resolution, espeeially that u;iven by the 
 firm settint; t(>;L;i'ther of tiie li|)s that show ])lainly 
 beneath the chtsely-triniiMed inoiistaehe. It sju'aUs 
 of an hal)itual sell'-coniinand, of a constant keepintJ^ 
 on guard. It i.s well, considerinf^ the good niis.si(jn- 
 ary's desire to win the love and the confidence of 
 his people, that the kind, bright eyes may have so 
 decided a tendency to soften all the sterner ex- 
 pressions. 
 
 By this time Captain Murray and Hope have 
 reached the stone ste|)s leading to the front veranda. 
 
 "Is it really you, Hope?" an anxious voice asks 
 as a young girl, some two years older than herself, 
 meets her at the top of the steps. " We were all 
 getting so nneasy about you. I suppose father has 
 told you the news Kaffir Jim brought?" 
 
 " Yes, Ellie, and I am sorry to have caused even 
 a little distress," Hope says regretfully, laying her 
 hand affectionately upon her cousin's shoulder as 
 she speaks. "I will try to be more thoughtful in 
 the future." 
 
 Though older by two years and some months 
 than her cousin, Ellie Lillington is yet not so tall, 
 neither is her figure so compactly built. It is, 
 indeed, like her father's, decidedly inclined to 
 spareuess, but, like her father, she carries herself 
 well, with her head finely poised between firm, 
 upright shoulders. She has fair, delicate skin, 
 which even the sun of this torrid climate has failed 
 to tan into any degree of roughness, soft light- 
 
A STOBY OF AFRICA. 31 
 
 brown hair worn in a simple coil low on her neck, 
 and very kind and gentle eyes of a changeable gray. 
 The other features of her face are in accord with 
 the fairness of the skin, being very delicately out- 
 lined, with the exception of the nose, which is 
 rather large, though well shaped. But the prin- 
 cipal charms about Ellie are her low, beautifully 
 modulated voicie, which is never raised into harsh- 
 ness even under the most provoking circumstances, 
 and her warm, loving and loyal heart. 
 
 " Come right along and get your breakfast, both 
 you and Captain Murray," Ellie says as she pushes 
 Hope gently toward the apartment that serves as 
 both sitting-room and dining-room : " I know you 
 must be hungry." 
 
 " Oh, Ellie, I hope you haven't worried about 
 keeping breakfast for us," Hope says with some com- 
 punction. " I for one do not deserve it. I know 
 how many duties you have and how precious your 
 time is. It makes me ashamed to think of your 
 being put to extra trouble on my account, and all 
 because of my thoughtlessness. It is time now for 
 your class in the mission-school, is it not?" 
 
 " No, not quite, but even if it were you must not 
 let that worry you. Being so anxious about you, 
 and not knowing exactly when you would come, I 
 sent word a short while ago that I might not be 
 there for an hour yet. They can manage very well 
 until then without me. As to keeping breakfast, 
 that has been no trouble. I am only sorry that it 
 
32 CIJILDJiEN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 is in such a state by now that you will hardly en- 
 joy it. — I do wish, Captain Murray," turning to 
 tiie latter, *' you couhl have been here to get some 
 of your antelope meat when first cooked. It was 
 delicious : I told Mainochisane she must have tried 
 herself. — And the griddle-cakes, Hope, that you 
 like so much, I know are quite spoiled." 
 
 "Please do not worry about it. Miss Ellie," 
 Captain Murray hastens to say. " I feel somewhat, 
 with your cousin, that we laggards do not deserve 
 even such as awaits us." 
 
 The room in which they now find themselves is a 
 moderate-sized apartment about twelve feet square, 
 and is very simply and quaintly furnished. The 
 inside of the brick walls, as an extra preventive 
 against heat, are covered with a thick plaster of 
 so rude a manufacture that particles of the coarse 
 straw with which it is mixed show all over its 
 surface. But it is packed tightly and somewhat 
 smoothly against the bricks in spite of its coarse 
 quality, and really looks quite well. There are 
 two small windows, each of which is covered with 
 a thick curtain of spotless cotton cloth. About the 
 floor are ari'anged mats of straw and of cocoa- 
 fibre, all of native manufacture. An oblong table 
 of some light-colored wood, and also, like the mats, 
 an article of home production, occupies the centre 
 of the floor. From its positicm, as well as from 
 two or three suggestive appointments, it is easy 
 to surmise that it is upon this tal)le the family of 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 33 
 
 the mission-house is acoiistomcd to take its meals. 
 A smaller table is set in a neighboring corner, and 
 on this are piled a few magazines and papers, none 
 of them, however, of recent date. On the walls 
 are several attractive engravings, all in frames of 
 home construction and all suggestive of refinement 
 and taste. A dozen or two of choice, well-worn 
 books occupy three or four rows of enclosed shelves, 
 in front of which a curtain of bright cloth, partly- 
 drawn, is fastened. On two other and smaller 
 shelves to the right and left of the books are two 
 slender earthen jars in which are tastefully arranged 
 native ferns and wild flowers. Above each of these 
 is a group of photographs tacked upon the walls 
 and protected from the flies and other similar ma- 
 rauders by thin coverings of gauze. The other 
 prints are also protected in the same manner. 
 Various stools and chairs of native workmanship, 
 and others, again, that have been brought from the 
 Cape, are arranged about the room. 
 
 In a few moments EUie, assisted by old Mamo- 
 chisane, who acts in the double capacity of nurse 
 to Baby Louise and cook for the many hungry 
 mouths of the mission-house, has upon the table 
 what is assuredly a most tempting breakfast for a 
 South African mission-station, in spite of the time 
 it has been kept waiting and of Ellie's repeated 
 protestations that she knows that it is altogether 
 spoiled. First there is a delicious stew of antelope 
 meat, then come griddle-cakes of Indian corn-meal, 
 3 
 
34 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 butter, baked yams and a jiorridj^e of well-beaten 
 maize. These, together with milk and various 
 kinds of fruits, including the guava and avocado 
 pear, make uj) a repast that Mould certainly tempt 
 persons far less hungry than the two who now 
 sit down to it. 
 
 " Do you really think there is any danger to be 
 apprehended from the Zulus?" Captain Murray 
 asks of Mr. Lillington as, the missionary's morning 
 work completed, they, together with Mr. Cumming, 
 are sitting u}X)n the veranda in the shade of the 
 vines. 
 
 " I scarcely know how to answer that question,' 
 Mr. Lillington replies, with the perplexed look 
 that has not for a moment left his face deepening 
 into one of intense anxiety. "Sometimes I think 
 it is only threatening on their part, and again I am 
 inclined to believe that they will really ])ut their 
 threats into execution this time. The Matabele 
 hate Bubi ; they have an old grudge against him 
 which grows more relentless with time. They 
 are bitterly jealous of the present prosperity and 
 successful growth of the village, and hate me as 
 its cause. They would like to see it all wiped 
 out of existence. And yet they are afraid of the 
 fierce chief, for his record in war is well established. 
 As long as the chief lives I am inclined to believe 
 they will not make the attack, unless they could 
 gain the advantage over him in some way. Should 
 anything happen to Bubi, however," he adds anx- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 35 
 
 iously, "and Sebubi succeed him, there is no question 
 as to what they would do then, for, unfortunately, 
 Sebubi has none of the fine traits of his father, but, 
 on the other hand, is not only weak, but, I fear, 
 cowardly." 
 
 " Too bad !" Captain Murray exclaims. " But 
 how about the Boers?" 
 
 " Ah ! there is where I apprehend the real dan- 
 ger. Though the Matabele and the Boers have 
 long been enemies at heart, and the latter have 
 never forgiven the expulsion of their great chief 
 from the Cashan Mountains and the occupancy of 
 them by the Boers, yet they will unite in anything 
 that would be of injury to Bubi and myself. 
 Urged on by the Boers, who are themselves too 
 weak and cowardly to lead the attack, there is no 
 telling what the Zulus may do. The Boers are 
 both unprincipled and revengeful. The seeds of 
 rebellion are fast germinating both over here and 
 in the Cashan Mountains. I wouldn't be surprised 
 at any moment to hear of them rising up in rebel- 
 lion against England.* As to myself, though I 
 am not an Englishman, they hate me cordially. I 
 am even worse than an Englishman in their eyes : 
 I am a missionary, and the Boers declare that the 
 best way to treat any missionary is to kill him.f 
 
 * These words were spoken prior to the Boer rebellions of 
 1880 and 1881. 
 
 t A Boer commandant was once heard to use almost identi- 
 cally these words. 
 
36 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 " I have taught the people the shame aiul the 
 sin of the traffic in iiuinan ffe.sh," Mr. Lillington 
 goes on in a voice of deep feeling — "the binding 
 ont of their weaker brothel's as slaves to these cruel 
 taskmasters, I have shown them, too, the advan- 
 tages of legitimate trade. I have gone farther, 
 and endeavored to establish a line of trade between 
 here and the coast. I have thus closed against the 
 Boers the chief source of their ill-gotten gains, 
 they having formerly obtained even the most val- 
 uable of the wares of the Bamangwatos for a few 
 trifling ornaments of beads and brass wire. Bubi 
 lias also, at my instigation, cordially welcomed the 
 English traders and hunters to the country. Al- 
 most every week they pass across his territory un- 
 molested. They go farther north and west of this 
 and there purchase the ivory at fair prices. This, 
 perhaps more than anything else, has aroused the 
 Boers, for heretofore they have obtained the tusks 
 at shameful prices." 
 
 " It is too bad that the Boers should act so," Mr. 
 Gumming says after a few moments of silence. 
 " Those Cashan-Mountain Boers seem to be the 
 very worst of their class. Over in Cape Colony, 
 now, they are quite different — in fact, are an hon- 
 est, industrious and reasonable people." 
 
 " Yes, the two peoples are altogether different, 
 as you say," returns Mr. Lillington. " The Cash- 
 an-Mountain Boers are principally those who have 
 fled from English law on various pretexts, and have 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 37 
 
 been joined by English deserters and every other 
 variety of bad characters." 
 
 "And what objection can these Boers have to 
 English law?" questions Captain Murray. " It is 
 certainly liberal and just enough to satisfy any 
 reasonable people." 
 
 " Ah ! that is just what these Boers are not," 
 says Mr. Lillington — " reasonable. Their great 
 animosity to the English law lies in the fact 
 that it makes no distinction between white men 
 and black. The Boers have never forgiven the 
 freeing of their Hottentot slaves. Thus they seem 
 determined to erect themselves into a 'republic/ 
 in which they may pursue without molestation 
 what they term 'the proper treatment of the 
 blacks.' " 
 
 " And anything else but this I dare say it is." 
 
 "You are right. The essential element of this 
 'proper treatment' in the eyes of the Boers is 
 compulsory unpaid labor. When the Boers first 
 took possession of the Cashan Mountains after 
 having driven therefrom the cruel and tyrannical 
 chief, Mosilikatse, the poor Bechuauas rejoiced, for 
 they looked upon the white men in the light of 
 deliverers. But their joy was soon turned into 
 wailing and sorrow, for they found the new-comers 
 even more terrible than their old oppressor, Mosili- 
 katse. The people declared that Mosilikatse, while 
 cruel to his enemies, was yet kind to those he con- 
 quered, but that the Boers destroyed their enemies 
 
38 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 and inatle slaves of their friends. Before Living- 
 stone c-anie among tiie Bechnanas the Jioers had 
 reduced the greater part of them to such subjeclioa 
 that even tiiose tribes which still retained the sem- 
 blance of independence were forced to perform all 
 the labor of the fields for these cruel masters, such 
 as manuring the land, weeding, reaping, building, 
 making dams and canals, and at the same time 
 being compelled to support themselves. It was a 
 brave and vigorous war Livingstone waged against 
 these tyrannical oppressors, and that he suffered 
 for it severely the records show. Twice was his 
 house entered and plundered and everything he 
 possessed destroyed. Again and again was his life 
 threatened. But he was too courageous, the pur- 
 pose of his heart was too pure and steadfast, to 
 be intimidated." 
 
 "He certainly taught them many lessons which 
 they did not seem likely soon to forget," comments 
 Mr. Cumniing, "and his sojourn near to them has 
 had this good effect : it has made them less bold 
 and self-assured in their efibrts to enslave the poor 
 ignorant natives." 
 
 " Yet they have by no means ceased the enforce- 
 ment of their horrible levy upon human flesh. I 
 myself have been an eye-witness — an unwilling and 
 indignant one, you may suppose — of Boers coming 
 to a village and, according to their usual custom, 
 demanding twenty or thirty women to weed their 
 gardens, and have seen these women proceed to 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 39 
 
 the scene of unrequited toil, carrying their own 
 food on their heads, their cliildren on their backs 
 and the instruments of labor on their shoulders. 
 Nor have the Boers any wish to conceal their mean- 
 ness in thus employing unpaid labor, but, on the 
 other hand, they seem to glory in it, frequently 
 declaring that they make the people work for them 
 in consideration of allowing them to live in their 
 (the Boers') country." 
 
 " Horrible ! It is a wonder the vengeance of an 
 outraged Heaven does not overtake them." 
 
 " It will sooner or later. God does not slumber, 
 neither are his ears deaf to the cry of his tortured peo- 
 ple. He will yet avenge their woes. — if not now, 
 then in his own good time. The Boers would long 
 ago have imposed the same shameful levy upon this 
 station but for my presence here. They had done 
 it many times before I came, and the poor frightened 
 people dared not resist them, for they would come 
 with their great roers,* threatening to shoot any 
 one who opposed them. Even Bubi had to submit, 
 brave as he is, for the station had no firearms then, 
 and his people were not what they are at this time. 
 Now that you know how cordially the Boers hate 
 me," Mr. Lilliugton concludes, " you can easily see 
 what probability there is of an attack. With the 
 help of the Zulus they may be bold enough to 
 attempt it." 
 
 "What means of defence have you in case of 
 * An ungainly gun of immense calibre. 
 
40 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 an attack?" Captain Murray asks with much 
 concern. 
 
 " Very little outside the cannon Bubi has plant- 
 ed upon the hill," Mr. Lillington returns, with the 
 cloud upon his brow deepening; "and this is what 
 worries me : in case of the attack coming from 
 an unexpected direction the gun would be ren- 
 dered almost useless. I am, as you know, a man 
 of peace : it is a requirement of my calling. I 
 have therefore made little, if any, preparation for 
 war. There are not more than two dozen muskets 
 in all the station, and these have heretofore been 
 used only in slaying game for meat. Never in all 
 these years have I raised my hand to shed man's 
 blood : the very thought of such a proceeding is 
 revolting to me in the extreme." 
 
 "But if the occasion demanded you would not 
 hesitate to strike?" Captain Murray questions anx- 
 iously. " If these bloodthirsty savages do put their 
 threats into execution and attack the station, you 
 will be prepared?" 
 
 "Yas, I shall begin to-day, this very hour, to 
 make what defence I can, and I thank you cor- 
 dially," turning to Captain Murray, " for the extra 
 guns you were this morning so kind as to insist 
 on my taking. There is one thing in our favor," 
 he adds, his face brightening wonderfully at the 
 thought of it : *' Bubi is a soldier — a great soldier, 
 in fact, though a savage — and it will be hard even 
 for such fighters as the Zulus to overcome him in free 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 41 
 
 and open battle. As to myself, I am no coward, 
 but my soul grows sick at the thought of dyeing 
 my hands in man's blood. However, should the 
 worst come," he adds with a determined fire in his 
 eyes, " then I shall remember my helpless children 
 and strike ; and may God forgive me the blood I 
 must spill !" 
 
 "Would it not be best to send to the Cape for 
 assistance?" Mr. Gumming inquires. 
 
 " No; I do not wish to take this step. It looks 
 too much like premeditated war, and this is the very 
 thing I want to avoid. It might only precipitate 
 matters, whereas, after all, there may be nothing 
 in these threats." 
 
 " Well, I do sincerely hope they may prove 
 nothing but threats," Gaptain Murray says earn- 
 estly. " I do wish Gumming, Inkoosi and I could 
 stay with you until this matter is definitely settled. 
 You would find us no mean fighters in case of a 
 Zulu attack." 
 
 "I am convinced of that, and deeply regret that 
 you must leave us so soon. But before you go, 
 even to-day, if you will not be otherwise engaged, 
 I want you and Mr. Gumming to give me your 
 advice in regard to some additional defences I pur- 
 pose erecting. I shall also suggest to Bubi the 
 advisability of putting sentinels on duty during 
 both the day and night. 
 
 "Ah ! here comes the chief now," Mr. Lilling- 
 ton resumes a moment later. "And Mopane is 
 
42 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 with him, too! I do wisli l^ul)i would not keep 
 siu'h close company with tiiut .sorcerer, or rain- 
 maker, as he is called. It serves only to draw 
 poor Bubi farther and farther back into the net 
 of superstitions from which I have tried to res- 
 cue him. — Well, Bui)i, what is it now?" Mr. 
 Lillington asks kindly as, having greeted the 
 chief, he motions him to a seat upon the other 
 end of the wooden bench he is occupying. As to 
 Mopane, he has taken up his position some dis- 
 tance away, and stands there glowering upon the 
 party with a most rebellious and discontented scowl 
 upon his forbidding countenance. 
 
 " The soul of Bubi is troubled," the chief says 
 in the native language as, slowly rising from the 
 bench, he stands before them, his tall, erect form 
 looking taller and more powerful still in the close- 
 fitting scarlet uniform he wears. "It has known 
 no rest, no sleep, since the message of the good 
 father" (the name by which Mr. Lillington is 
 known throughout the station) " has reached him. 
 It said to Bubi that his old enemies, the Matabele, 
 were again upon his path — that the axes had already 
 been whetted to drink the blood of his people. 
 That is true, my father. They even now creep 
 through the bushes, and from the hills watch the 
 smoke of the fires that burn within Bubi's vil- 
 lage. They are dogs, they are snakes ; they strike 
 not in the daytime, nor yet when Bubi awaits 
 them with the spears of his people sharpened for 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 43 
 
 battle. They will not come up the hill where the 
 great gun is ; they will not seek to enter by the 
 straight entrance where Bubi's people can see them. 
 If they were men and soldiers, and did but give 
 us open fight, neither Bubi nor his bold warriors 
 have aught of fear for the end. But they will 
 come by night when my people lie dreaming in 
 their huts, not knowing of the danger ; or, if by 
 day, then when they have the hoe or the plough 
 wnthin their hands, and not the gun or the spear. 
 The dog of an enemy will creep upon them as they 
 are at work in the fields. They will crouch for the 
 spring when the back of my people is bent over the 
 rows" of maize and cane. O friend of my heart's 
 full confidence ! you know not the treachery of the 
 Matabeie, cowards all of them when it comes man 
 to man. I know not how to meet this blow that 
 will be given in the dark. I know not to which 
 point to go and there make ready for the spears of 
 Mosilikatse. If I did, there would be an end to 
 all the trouble that now gnaws like the hyena at 
 Bubi's heart. Then would Bubi prepare for bat- 
 tle strong and jubilant ; then would the chief's 
 bold warriors chant the death-song of the Mata- 
 beie dogs ; then would their worthless carcasses 
 be given as food to the vultures of the air. Yes, 
 that would be the end, for Bubi is both a chief 
 and a warrior." 
 
 At these words Bubi draws his form still more 
 erect, while his small black eyes flash and his fine 
 
44 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 open face has an expression wliicli shows plainly 
 that he feel.s deeply every word he has just uttered. 
 
 " O friend of my heart's best love !" he breaks 
 forth again, addressing Mr. Lillington, " hear the 
 plaint of Bubi, and bend to him the ejir that will 
 hearken to his cry. There stands Mopaue, the 
 rain-maker of Bubi's j)Cople. He it is whose 
 mighty magic can bring rain from the clouds ; he 
 it is who knows the things that are hidden from 
 the eyes of others; he it is who by his power can 
 reveal to Bubi where the Matabele are to strike. O 
 my father, but speak the word that will let Bubi 
 seek the aid of Mopane in this matter. Say that 
 the magic of Mopane may be wrought before the 
 eyes of Bubi, that he may read therein not only 
 the fate of himself and of his people, but also of 
 the good father, the man who talks to him of the 
 great God on high, and of the good father's chil- 
 dren. Only this once, my father, only this once, 
 and Bubi will ask it no more." 
 
 " Bubi," Mr. Lillington says kindly as, rising, 
 he places his hand upon the shoulder of the now 
 much-agitated chief, "listen to me, my friend. 
 The arts of Mopane are but as the featlier that 
 flies in the air or as the pebbles at the bottom of 
 the rushing river. They are naught — naught but 
 as idle words spoken for their sound, naught but 
 the tricks of vain and sinful jugglery. He can 
 tell you no more of the plans and intentions of the 
 Matabele than can I — nay, not so much. Have 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 45 
 
 nothing to do with him, Biibi, nor with his hurt- 
 ful magic. Seek help and enlightenment alone 
 from the great God on high, who only can aid 
 you. Come to me this evening, just before ser- 
 vices at the kotla, and we will both pray to him 
 together. His wisdom is above all others, and it 
 will direct us." 
 
 During all the time that Mr. Lillington has been 
 speaking to Bubi the eyes of Mopane have been 
 upon the missionary's face with a look of the most 
 deadly hate. He is a villainous-looking man, a 
 few years older than Bubi. He is nothing like so 
 tall, and there is a droop in one of his shoulders 
 that gives him a somewhat misshapen appearance. 
 He has little hair upon his head, with the exception 
 of a few tufts near the top. His face sinks in at 
 the nose, which is broad and flat, while his chin 
 and lips project to a considerable distance. Upon 
 his cheeks and forehead there are innumerable 
 seams and scars which add to the villainousness 
 of his looks. He is almost nude, with the ex- 
 ception of the skin of some animal fastened about 
 the w^aist and which falls nearly to the knees. 
 About his person are a quantity of charms and 
 little sacks of " medicine," while he carries in his 
 hand a whip made of antelopes' tails. 
 
 As Mopane goes away with Bubi he turns his 
 head once more to give Mr. Lillington a look that 
 makes even Mr. Gumming, hardened old hunter as 
 he is, shudder. 
 
46 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 " What a terrible counteuance tliat fellow has !" 
 he exclaims as the line of palisades shuts off 
 Mopane's retreating figure, " I do not know 
 when I have ever seen a more wicked one. I 
 would hate to be in his power. I may be mis- 
 taken," turning to the missionary as he speaks, 
 " but I should say he dislikes you cordially." 
 
 "Unfortunately, he does," Mr. Lillington admits, 
 " and, to be candid with you, I deeply regret it. I 
 have tried in every way to appease him and to win 
 him from his superstitious practices, not only for 
 the good of his people, but for his own good as 
 well. But he seems to have no kindly impulses 
 whatever, no generous feelings, no tenderness of 
 heart. He scoffs at all religious services, and tries 
 to oppose me in everything I undertake for the 
 benefit of the village. If I could but reach his 
 stubborn heart in one little impressible spot, I 
 should have some hope of finally bringing him to 
 Christ. But he seems utterly abandoned to his 
 wicked course, and as utterly determined to do all 
 he can to weaken my influence among the natives. 
 In this direction, however, I am glad to say that 
 he has very little success now, though he did have 
 much at first. He has been a great rain-maker and 
 sorcerer in his day, even more looked up to than the 
 chief himself, and his present displacement from 
 the high pedestal he occupied he very properly 
 attributes to me— though if he would but look at 
 it in the right spirit, he would see that I have in- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 47 
 
 teudt'd it ouly for the best — and he hates me 
 accordingly." 
 
 " It is too bad," Captain Murray says. " Such 
 a man is apt to breed some discord even among the 
 best inclined natives. What a pity you could not 
 get rid of him ! He hates you so that I would not 
 risk him for making his own price with the Zulus. 
 He would as soon pilot them into the village as 
 not, even at the risk of seeing his own people 
 massacred." 
 
 " I must warn Bubi against him more strongly 
 than ever," Mr. Lillington says thoughtfully. " At 
 any rate, whatever happens, Mopane must not be 
 put on duty as a sentinel." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " He is our lielp in time of trouble." 
 
 THAT evening, as the members of the family 
 with their two guests are at the early supper 
 that is one of the established features of the mis- 
 sion-station, the two youths, Pierce Lillington and 
 Cuunyngham Blandford, return from their hunt- 
 ing expedition. They are fine, manly lads — one 
 of them almost a young man, in fact — and their 
 pleasant manners and polite bearing speak well 
 for the home-training both have received. 
 
 Cuunyngham is the older of the two by three 
 years and a half, and is nearly twenty years of age. 
 He is of a much stouter build than his cousin, has 
 a strong, good face with a high, broad brow, pleas- 
 ant blue eyes and a kindly smile that wins all hearts. 
 Pierce is smaller and darker, with a brown skin, 
 tanned even browner than is its wont by the hot 
 African suns, and with a pair of very keen and rest- 
 less dark eyes that seem unwilling to remove their 
 gaze until whatever it rests upon has been thor- 
 oughly mastered. 
 
 Both boys as they come into the dining-room 
 seem filled with some unusual excitement that it is 
 hard to suppress. Cuunyngham is the first to give 
 
 48 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 49 
 
 the clue to this state of feelings as the room is 
 readied. 
 
 "You could never guess, uncle, and all of you," 
 he says betweeu quick, short breaths, " what we 
 have found, and right here almost at home, too." 
 
 " A den of young lions, perhaps, or a herd of 
 spring-boh in the almost dried-up channel of the 
 stream," his uncle says at random. 
 
 " I know," suddenly exclaims JNIarvin, Mr. Lil- 
 lington's remaining son, and a wide-awake, enter- 
 prising little fellow of ten : " it is an eagle's nest. 
 I saw the old one flying around the basalt cliff last 
 week, and I just knew it was up there somewhere." 
 
 " Wrong," says Pierce, coming to Cunnyngham's 
 aid, for he sees that he is almost too much excited 
 to speak clearly. " It is something that has to do 
 with the basalt rocks, Master Marvin, but it isn't 
 an eagle's nest." 
 
 " Then what can it be ?" exclaims Miss Hen- 
 rietta at this point, letting her knife drop in 
 her excitement. "I do wish, Pierce, that you'd 
 hurry up and tell us, and not keep us waiting 
 so long." 
 
 " Well, then," answers Pierce promptly, " it is 
 a cave." 
 
 " ' A cave ' ?" echo more than one voice. 
 
 "Yes, a cave, and just the grandest one you ever 
 saw. It is nearly a mile long and at its narrowest 
 place is over fifty feet wide. And there is no end 
 to the l)eautiful stalactites. — Oh, Ellie, they would 
 
 4 
 
50 (IULDREN of THK KALAHARI: 
 
 just make your eyes dance to see them ; and there 
 is water all through it." 
 
 " Why, wliere can it be ?" Hope asks, now as 
 much excited as Henrietta and tlie boys. 
 
 " About tiiree-quarters of a mile from here, just 
 to the right of the taller of the basalt hills, and 
 beneath a ledge that projects from the left-hand 
 cliif in the deepest and wildest part of the 
 gorge." 
 
 "And how did you come to find it?" Mr. Lil- 
 liugton questions, now much interested. 
 
 " Pierce and I left the men when within a mile 
 of the village," Cunnyngham here speaks up, "and 
 went by the basalt hill, as we were very anxious to 
 procure some of the prettier of the detached frag- 
 ments in order to make Ellie and Hope the ink- 
 stands we had long promised them. While hunt- 
 ing about the lava-beds we suddenly surprised a 
 small herd of elands, and among them several ex- 
 ceedingly fine spring-bok. As it was something 
 of an unusual sight so near the mission-station, we 
 determined to give them chase in order to find out 
 their haunt, if nothing more. They took at once 
 to the almost dry channel of the stream, and headed 
 off up the gorge as fast as their slim legs would 
 carry them. Finally, even with our best running, 
 they soon got out of sight, with the exception of 
 two of the bucks, who suddenly swung to the right 
 and plunged through a seemingly almost impene- 
 trable thicket just beneath an overhanging ledge of 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 51 
 
 rock. We had no idea we could follow them, and 
 hence were much surprised when we found a way 
 around the thicket, and not only that, but an opeu- 
 iuo; in the cliff. We had to wade some distance in the 
 water, however, before we found it. Our surprise 
 increased more and more as we found ourselves in 
 a tunnel-like aperture through which fully ten men 
 could have walked abreast. We felt at once that 
 we were in a cave. Fortunately, we had a box of 
 matches with us, and we explored our find to some 
 extent. We lost sight of the bucks, of course, for 
 we had forgotten all else in the discovery of the 
 cave." 
 
 " No one would ever think of there being a cave 
 at that place," says Pierce at this point, " the en- 
 trance is so cunningly hidden by the overhanging 
 cliff. If we hadn't waded up the stream as we did, 
 we never would have found it. Why, the bed of 
 the stream is a natural roadway," he concludes after 
 a moment's pause, " and there would be nothing to 
 hinder a big wagon from getting into the cave by 
 a little cleariug away of the bushes around its 
 mouth." 
 
 A strange expression comes into Mr. Lillington's 
 face at these words. He opens his lips to speak, 
 checks himself, and then adds after a moment's 
 pause, "Well, who knows, boys, but that this cave 
 of yours may yet prove a lucky find? At any 
 rate, we will go to-morrow or next day and see 
 more of it. In the mean time," lowering his 
 
52 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 voice, "I would advise kcepinji^ its discovery a 
 secret even from Mazika and Pitsane." 
 
 " Yon look tired, Miss EUie," Captain Murray- 
 says with much solicitude as, half an hour later, the 
 supper-things having all been cleared away, she is 
 standing by one of the little windows gazing wist- 
 fully out to wliere the tall grass is just beginning 
 to stir gently beneath the line of stately banian 
 trees. "Tiiere is a fresh breeze springing up and 
 the evening promises to be delightful, even for this 
 climate. Will you not come for a walk ?" 
 
 "I would like so much to do so," she says with 
 the wistfulncss deepening, " but it will soon be time 
 for the services at the kotla, and I do not like to 
 miss them." 
 
 " Never mind the services at the kotla this even- 
 ing, my child," her father's voice at this moment 
 says near her. " You are tired, I know. There is 
 so much for your willing hands to do. The fresh 
 air will revive you. Go with the captain for a 
 walk. You can return in time for family prayer 
 and to see Baby Louise off to her nest. Until then 
 Maniochisane can attend to her." 
 
 Thus adjured, Ellie no longer hesitates, but, 
 throwing a light wool wrap over her head and 
 about her shoulders, goes down the walk beside 
 Captain Murray. Although it is still daylight, the 
 full moon has arisen. Here and there in the deep- 
 ening blue of the vault above them a star is begin- 
 Diug to show its faint light, and, as it grows bolder 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 53 
 
 and brighter, to twinkle cheerily. The soft wind 
 stirs gently through the long fronds of the pahns, 
 giving out from them a faint clicking sound that, 
 despite its monotony, is not altogether unmusical. 
 All the air about them is laden with the perfume 
 of many sweet-growing things. 
 
 They pass out into the principal street of tlie 
 village. Many hurrying forms meet them as they 
 go onward, some in groups, others again singly. 
 All greet them pleasantly, and more than one pair 
 of eyes turn to gaze gratefully after the slender 
 form of the missionary's daughter as she walks 
 beside her tall companion. Men, women and chil- 
 dren all alike adore the quiet, gentle girl whose 
 warm heart has a place for the woes of each and 
 every one, whose kindly voice has ever an encour- 
 aging word, and whose firm, soft hand has held to 
 the last that of more than one soul going out into 
 the darkness. 
 
 " I am sorry to miss the services at the kotla," 
 Ellie says at length, regretfully, " and I fear some 
 of the blacks will not understand it. They seem 
 to gaze after me as though they can scarcely realize 
 that it is I, and going away from the kotla, instead 
 of toward it." 
 
 " I do not think that is the reason they gaze 
 after you," Captain Murray begins, then checks 
 himself, for he has read this fine, honest nature suf- 
 ficiently to be well aware that anything approaching 
 the least bit to flattery will be very distasteful to 
 
64 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 her. Tlie next moment lie adroitly changes the 
 subject to one he knows well she loves to talk 
 upon. 
 
 " Your father's whole soul seems wrapped up in 
 this place and this people," he says at length. 
 
 " Oh, indeed it is," she cries, her eyes glowing. 
 "Father is at heart a true missionary : I think he 
 was born for the work. I do not believe he would 
 change it for the highest cidling on earth ; and why 
 should he? Wherever he should be and whatever 
 he should do, he would be a Christian, and as the 
 salvation of men ought to be, and is, the chief aim 
 and desire of every true Christian, what nobler lot 
 after all, could be his than this?" 
 
 "Are you yourself satisfied here?" Captain Mur- 
 ray asks. " Do you not sometimes long for the 
 civilized world and for a few at least of the many 
 pleasant things found there?" 
 
 " Oh no," she says vehemently, as though some- 
 how fearing that he may find it a little hard to 
 believe her. " I care nothing for the world of 
 which you speak, nor for the things of that world. 
 I liave never for one moment in all my life craved 
 any other life away from this — any other earthly 
 life, I mean," hastily correcting herself " Why 
 should I, when it is all I have ever known ? Some- 
 times I have thought it would be very pleasant to 
 meet other faces besides these rough black ones I 
 see every day, to hear other and more cultivated 
 voices, and to see a few at least of the many beau- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 65 
 
 tiful things of which I have heard. It has often 
 grieved ray father deeply that he has not been able 
 to send me back to his old home in the States to be 
 educated, but I have never minded it at all. My 
 mother," her voice breaking here in spite of the 
 brave effort she makes, " has taught me all of the 
 best that I would have learned there. As to the 
 rest, I feel no deprivation in having missed it." 
 
 " You are a brave, true girl," Captain Murray 
 says involuntarily, " and you deserve all the happi- 
 ness Heaven can send you. God grant that there 
 may be no cruel awakening from this quiet, peace- 
 ful life into which you seem to have grown so 
 fixedly !" 
 
 " You speak like one Avho has sad forebodings," 
 she says anxiously. " Tell me," turning to place 
 her hand upon his arm in her earnestness : " you 
 really do not think there is any trouble to be appre- 
 hended from the Zulus and the Boers? Oh, surely, 
 surely, God will not let such cruel and wicked in- 
 tentions dwell long in their hearts. But if they do 
 attack us," she concludes after a moment's silent 
 communing, "I feel that God's arm will be about 
 us." 
 
 "One can never tell how matters of this kind 
 will turn out," Captain Murray says at length in 
 answer to her anxious questioning. " The Zulus 
 are fierce, the Boers treacherous in the extreme, 
 and both seem determined. But keep your faith 
 strong in the all-powerful Arm, Miss Ellie. I am 
 
5G (JlIILDRKy UF THE KM. A 11 Mil: 
 
 not a professed Christian, as yuii know, but I be- 
 lieve firmly in the rulings of an alniiirhty Power 
 and the justness of his decrees, though they may 
 seem at the time far from just to us." 
 
 "But, best of all," she adds earnestly, with her 
 eloquent eyes turned full upon him, "he is the 
 God of the trusting and the Father of his children. 
 Oh, Captain INIurray," she goes on j)U'a(lingly, "do 
 not say that you are not a professed Christian — 
 do not make such an admission. Do not acknowl- 
 edge merely a belief in God, a firm conviction of 
 his justness and power, but say that you love him 
 — love him because he is God, love him because 
 he first loved you." 
 
 " It is indeed hard to resist so eloquent a plea, 
 and from such a source," Captain Murray says in 
 an unsteady voice and with his eyes turned reso- 
 lutely away from the earnest gray ones that are 
 seeking to read their expression. "But you must 
 make what allowance you can for me, Miss EUie. 
 Give me time to put to myself the points you have 
 put to me, and perhaps I may then give you a dif- 
 ferent answer." 
 
 Seeing how deeply moved he is, Ellie delicately 
 refrains from speaking further upon the subject, 
 but in her heart there is borne upward with the 
 incense of the night a silent prayer tiiat this splen- 
 did man may yet be led to be a bold, brave soldier 
 for Christ. 
 
 The daylight has now entirely faded from the 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 57 
 
 sky, aud the moonlight, which iu this latitude is 
 always exceedingly bright, is flooding everything 
 with its full deep radiance. Even the crests of 
 the distant mountains stand out distinctly against 
 the sky. Here and there, dotted about upon the 
 brow of the hill, are the glowing eyes of a fire not 
 yet out beneath the ovens at the roar of the huts. 
 In the patch of moonlight between two thick-foli- 
 aged Thibet trees a group of little pickaninnies are 
 rolling about upon each other in great delight. Au 
 old woman who is watching them is crooning to her- 
 self the guttural words of a song that seems to please 
 her very much, to judge by the way she applauds 
 herself between the stanzas. 
 
 Guided by the unusually bright glow of an eye 
 of fire that gleams upon them from a small grove 
 of palms, El lie and Captain Murray leave the main 
 street they are following and come upon a pair of 
 native blacksmiths who are busy with coals, anvil 
 and bellows, and all upon the ground. 
 
 " I suppose they find it pleasauter out in the 
 open air than they do in the shop," Ellie says as 
 they draw near the line of fire. " Oh, it is only 
 old Kamati and Botla," she adds as they reach the 
 place — "two harmless, well-meaning fellows who 
 never have been able to get used to the improved 
 methods aud tools introduced by my father, but 
 who prefer the old way." 
 
 The two blacksmiths are kneeling upon the 
 ground in front of a fire of charcoal that is lying 
 
58 CHILDREN OF TIIK KALAHARI: 
 
 in a little hollow that is scooped out of the earth. 
 One of them is workinti; a most primitive-looking 
 bellows, antl the other is pounding a piece of metal 
 upon an anvil equally as rude and primitive as the 
 bellows. The bellows consists of two wooden cyl- 
 inders about a foot and a half in diameter. These 
 cylinders are hollowed to the depth of five or six 
 inches and covered over with two tanned goat- 
 skins. To the skins are attached two handles 
 about two feet long and from a half to three-quar- 
 ters of an inch in thickness. By a rapid upward 
 and downward movement of these handles a current 
 of air is produced. This has full play upon the 
 charcoal through two hollow wooden tubes which 
 are attached to the cylinders at the bottom and 
 furnished with muzzles of clay. 
 
 The anvil is only about a foot and a half in 
 height and from eight to ten inches broad. It is 
 shaped somewhat like a cone with the base upward. 
 The hammer is another cone-shaped instrument, 
 only much slenderer and not quite so long. 
 
 " Good-evening, Kamati," Ellie says pleasantly. 
 " Busy at work, I see ?" 
 
 "Yes, missy. There are a hundred great spikes 
 to be made by morning, and Kamati must do his 
 share." 
 
 Leaving the blacksmith, the saunterers return 
 to the main street and pass down the slope of the 
 hill toward the chief entrance. A hushed silence 
 seems now to have settled down upon everything. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 59 
 
 Even the voices of the negroes singing at tlie 
 kotla, the echoes of which now reacli them, have 
 a far-away, eerie sound, a mournful cadence that 
 causes Ellie to shiver in spite of herself. 
 
 They have now reached tlie slope of the hill and 
 are walking toward the main entrance. The heavy 
 gate is closed, and on two rude platforms built 
 against the rough stone wall that leads away on 
 either side the same number of sentries are placed, 
 one upon each. They are in a sitting position, 
 while just in front of them are small circular holes 
 some four or five inches in diameter, through which 
 they are constantly peering. Every now and then 
 they raise themselves for an outlook over the top 
 of the wall, but not before they have first cau- 
 tiously peered through the port-holes. 
 
 "I see my father has his people on guard al- 
 ready," Ellie says with an unconscious sigh. " Oh, 
 I do hope there will be no necessity for war ; it is 
 so dreadful !" 
 
 Captain Murray does not answer right away. 
 He is busily engaged in examining the wall and 
 the gate. 
 
 " It seems to me. Miss Ellie," he says after a 
 moment's silence, "that the fastenings of the gate 
 are not such as they should be. It might easily 
 be thrown open by one man, especially if the sen- 
 tries were off their guard. It is much too light, 
 though it seems so large. If I were your father 
 I would remedy the matter right away : the delay 
 
60 CniLDREy OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 of a day may be dangerous. The walls, too, need 
 streiigthening in one or two i)Iaces. And what 
 can he be about to allow the thorns and bushes to 
 grow so thickly around the mouth of the ditch as 
 completely to hide it from view? AV^hy, enemies, 
 even in strong numbers, might lie concealed therein 
 without his suspecting it, especially if they crept 
 to their places in the darkness of the night." 
 
 " Please speak to father about it all. Captain 
 Murray, when you return to the house," Ellie 
 says a little anxiously. " I know he will be glad 
 to receive any suggestions from you, and will act 
 upon them, I feel assured," 
 
 When the matter is brought to the knowledge of 
 Mr. Lillington, he expresses himself as very grate- 
 ful for the warning and suggestions, and says at 
 once, "I shall attend to those things just as soon 
 as we are through with the weak places in the 
 south wall. Somehow, I cannot help thinking," 
 he adds a little apologetically, "that the attack 
 will come from that direction. At any rate, it is 
 the weakest place of all, and I dare not leave it 
 as it is." 
 
 " But do not forget that the gate and the ditch 
 are equally as urgent," Captain Murray warns 
 him. 
 
 The good missionary's face grows deej)ly shad- 
 owed as he ponders over the many perplexing 
 things that trouble him. It is truly a time of 
 much anxiety and care. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 61 
 
 That his heart is sorely troubled and his mind 
 filled with many painful and anxious forebodings 
 his voice and his face give full evidence as in trem- 
 ulous tones he reads the psalm for the evening : 
 
 " Lord, how are they increased that trouble me ! 
 Many are they that rise up against me. Many 
 there be which say of my soul, There is no help 
 for him in God. But thou, O Lord, art a shield 
 for me, my glory and the lifter-up of my head." 
 
 His voice is too shaken with emotion to lead the 
 evening hymn, so Ellie's clear, sweet voice takes 
 it up instead : 
 
 " Saviour, breathe an evening blessing 
 Ere repose our spirits seal ; 
 Sin and want we come confessing ; 
 Thou canst save and thou canst heal." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Ilis tender mercy is over all his works." 
 
 ABOUT four o'clock in the afternoon of the 
 foHovving day Mr. Lillington and tlie two 
 youths, Cuunyngham and Pierce, make an expe- 
 dition to the cave in the gorge in order to explore 
 it still farther. They descend the channel of the 
 stream by way of a little footpath that leads along 
 beside the row of banian trees just beyond the 
 mission-station, and thence to the verge of the 
 gorge. At this particular spot the Malls of the 
 canon slope gradually, so that it is no very dif- 
 ficult matter to find a footing all the way to the 
 bottom, especially as innumerable projecting roots 
 and stones serve as resting-places for the feet. 
 On the opposite side, however, as also on this side 
 a little farther up, the cliffs rise sheer and abrupt, 
 with full twenty-five to thirty feet added to their 
 height. Rank-growing vines and tangled vege- 
 tation of every description cover nearly every foot 
 of the cliffs from the summit to the bed of the 
 stream, rendering it almost impossible for a de- 
 scent to be made from that side. 
 
 The original bed of the stream is about thirty 
 62 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 63 
 
 feet wide, but succeeding droughts have so dried 
 it up that now it has only a shallow flow of water 
 from three to four feet wide. In some places it is 
 only a few inches in depth, in others only about a 
 foot and a half. The water is quite clear, and 
 at the bottom are innumerable little pebbles and 
 sharp-pointed rocks that would certainly cut the 
 feet did any one attempt to walk over them. 
 
 Luckily, however, Mr. Lillingtou and the boys 
 are not compelled to take any such mode of pro- 
 ceeding, for they easily find footing over the dried 
 bed of the stream along the base of one of the 
 cliffs, where the only drawbacks are the large heaps 
 of drifted sand they sometimes encounter and the 
 innumerable thickets of tangled thorn. As they 
 go onward the scene along the channel of the 
 stream becomes more wildly beautiful. The cliffs 
 now rise to the height of over a hundred feet on 
 either side. Along the summits grow clumps of 
 the silvery-leafed sandal-wood, the delicious per- 
 fume of which is filling all the air. In many 
 places upon the walls of the cliffs, especially near 
 the bottom of the canon, are large clusters of ex- 
 ceedingly beautiful deep-green ferns, with their 
 slender feathery fronds sometimes many feet in 
 length. 
 
 As they advance there is a gradual ascent of the 
 bed of the stream, with a barely perceptible increase 
 of water in the channel. The cliffs, too, seem to in- 
 crease in height, the foliage to grow denser, and the 
 
04 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHART: 
 
 vines more tangled, while in some places the boughs 
 of the trees appear almost to meet overhead. Sud- 
 denly at a spot where he is little exj)ecting it the 
 boys point out to Mr. Lillington the position of the 
 (ave. But for their guidance, however, he would 
 never have found the entrancie, it is so shut in by 
 the dense-growing bushes and the overlianging 
 ledge. Still, the opening is of considerai)le width 
 — so wide, in fact, as to surprise him after he has 
 examined it. It ciui be made wider yet, he dis- 
 covers, by clearing away some of the bushy growtlis 
 that almost shut it in. The light is very dim, but 
 it is sufficient to reveal to them a space of some 
 fifteen or twenty feet beyond the entrance. At 
 this point they stop and light the lantern Mr. 
 Lillington has been careful enough to provide. 
 Considering the situation of the cave, the walls 
 and floor in many places are remarkably dry. At 
 two points they find water — in one instance a tiny 
 thread trickling down from a considerable height 
 overhead, and in the other a small but bold spring 
 that bubbles up from the very floor of the little 
 arched chamber that surrounds it. The main 
 chamber of the cavern is fully four hundred feet 
 in extent and about one-third as wide. Beyond 
 this is a succession of smaller chambere. 
 
 " I cannot help but think that this is a most fortu- 
 nate find, my boys," Mr. Lillington says at length, 
 as, having made a satisfactory exploration of the cave, 
 they are seated upon a small mass of rock just at 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 65 
 
 its entrance. " These are troublesome times, and 
 there is no telling what may iiappen. In case of 
 an attack by the Boers or the Zulus, and their suc- 
 cessful entrance of the village, you might escape 
 hither with Ellie, Hope and the children." 
 
 "But what would become of you, father?" 
 Pierce asks anxiously. 
 
 " I shall remain by my people," he says reso- 
 lutely. "If they fali, I must fall too." 
 
 "But, uncle," Cunnyugham exclaims vehement- 
 ly, his fair face flushing, " you surely would not 
 ask of us anything so cowardly as to fly and leave 
 you at the mercy of the enemy ? I at least must 
 stand by you. I am no longer a boy, but nearly 
 a man. If you must face the danger, I beg — nay, 
 I entreat — you to let me face it with you." 
 
 " Oil, father," Pierce adds at this point, his voice 
 quivering with emotion, " how can you want us to 
 flee like cowards, as my cousin has suggested, and 
 leave you to face the fierce Zulus or the cruel Boers 
 alone? They will surely kill you, and then think 
 what our feelings wnll be to know that we have 
 deserted you and willingly left you to the dreadful 
 fate of being murdered by them ! No, no ! better 
 death with you a hundred times than an escape 
 without you." 
 
 " But you must think of your sisters," Mr. Lil- 
 Hngton says as resolutely as before — " of Henri- 
 etta, of Marvin and of helpless Baby Louise. 
 Think of the deadly axes of the bloodthirsty 
 5 
 
66 CHI LI) RES OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Zulus beating out their innocent brains, or, worse 
 still, of your delicate sister and gentle, refined 
 cousin being carried away into a captivity far 
 more dreadful than death. No, no, ray boys. 
 I know that it is hard, but you must listen to the 
 voice of judgment and reason. Should the Zulus 
 attack us and gain au entrance to the village, there 
 will be death and destruction on every side. No 
 quarter will be given, not even to the helpless 
 women and children, not even to my own precious 
 bairns. The Zulus are incited by the Boers, and 
 the Boers are cruel as death. Therefore, it is my 
 positive command that at the first sound of au 
 attack, should one really be made, you will remain 
 in the house, or at once seek its shelter, wherever 
 you may be, if that is possible. You will remain 
 there, keeping watch over the girls and the chil- 
 dren, until a certain signal from me, hereafter to 
 be agreed upon, when you may know that the 
 town is entered. Then I charge you, as you love 
 me, to escape with the girls and the children as fast 
 as you can to the cave by way of the banian trees 
 and the path we have marked out down the side of 
 the cliff. It may be that we shall conquer even 
 after the enemy has gained an entrance, if such a 
 calamity is indeed to befall us. It may be, again, 
 that some of us may escape though the turn of the 
 battle should prove disastrous, and thus be able un- 
 observed to join you at the cave. I have an idea 
 that this cavern has before served as a refuge in 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 67 
 
 time of war — not, however, witliiii the memory of 
 any of the present members of the tril)e, or I 
 should have heard something of it. In the mean 
 time, we will secretly remove hither a stock of pro- 
 visions and bedding. The atmosphere of the cave 
 is remarkably dry, and there are several articles of 
 food we can bring that will not be injured here even 
 should they remain for months. I cautioned you 
 last night to keep the discovery of the cave a close 
 secret. Upon second thought, however, I think 
 we had better tell Mazika. He is as true as steel 
 and will not betray us, neither will Pitsane. I do 
 not know but that it will be a good plan to tell 
 them both. We shall need all the help we can 
 get." 
 
 " But do you not fear, father, that some of the 
 natives may discover us in our frequent trips hith- 
 er?" Pierce asked as they arose to go. 
 
 " I think not. They may see us coming into the 
 gorge, but I do not believe they will guess our 
 intention, especially if we are ciireful to conceal the 
 nature of our burdens. They will doubtless think 
 we are only on a hunting-expedition. But, to make 
 sure, we had best let all our trips be at night. Most 
 of the natives," he continues, " in spite of the ad- 
 vancement they have made toward enlightenment, 
 still cling stubbornly to many of their old super- 
 stitious. This gorge is regarded with much dread by 
 the natives. They have fixed upon it as the abode 
 of revengeful and turbulent beings who try to 
 
68 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 injure all who dare enter herein. Consequently, 
 they seldom, if ever, venture into the c^inon. I 
 believe Ave shall he absolutely safe from detection, 
 even in the daytime, by coming down by way of 
 the banian trees." 
 
 As they return Mr. Lillington notes very clearly 
 the form of the bed of the stream. 
 
 "It is a natural roadway," he says at length. 
 " You were right. Pierce : it would be no difficult 
 matter to get a wagon along here by entering below 
 the mission-station, even a wagon drawn by a num- 
 ber of oxen. This has set me to thinking again, 
 my boys. There is nothing like pre})aring for even 
 unanticipated emergencies. In case the Zulus do 
 overcome my people and enter the village, and 
 you children escape by being safely concealed in the 
 cave, you could not of course remain there always. 
 We must think of a position of this kind and pre- 
 j)are in advance for it. Should the worst liappen 
 and I fall with my people, if the means were at 
 hand you might make your way to the village of Se- 
 chele, fifteen days' journey south-west of this. Once 
 there, Sechele could help you on down to the Cape, 
 where you could with little difficulty, I doubt not, 
 get passage for the United States. My earnest de- 
 sire is that, should anything happen to me, my chil- 
 dren may escape and make their way to my old 
 home in the States. So I want you to pi-omise me, 
 my dear boys, in the event that I am to fall by 
 fighting with my people, you will sacredly carry out, 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 69 
 
 SO far as it lies in your power and with God's help, 
 my wishes in this matter. 
 
 "I will," he continues, "to-morrow night, with 
 your aid and with JNIazika's and Pitsane's, remove 
 hither the wagon and oxen. The wagou can be 
 driven into the cave and a pen can be made for the 
 oxen. They can be shut in the upper end of the 
 gorge, w'here there is, I noticed, splendid pas- 
 turage." 
 
 While Mr. Lillingtou has been speaking they 
 have entered the main gateway of the village. 
 They are proceeding up the principal street to the 
 side-street on which the mission-house stands, when 
 a somewhat unusual commotion a short distance 
 to the right of them and in rear of the chief's hut 
 attracts their attention. Men are seen running to 
 and fro in various directions; others, again, are 
 standing in little groups talking excitedly; even 
 the women and children are gathered about. Some 
 of the women are wringing their hands in a help- 
 less kind of way that is distressing to see. The 
 majority of them, however, are talking excitedly 
 together, as the men are doing. The children are 
 crying and tugging at their mothers' skirts as 
 though greatly frightened. 
 
 As INIr. Lillington and the boys approach they 
 see lying upon the ground in the chief's milking- 
 pen one of the most beautiful and valuable of the 
 cows he owns, and one of which he has been espe- 
 cially proud. The poor creature has just ended 
 
70 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 her deatli-st niggles, with her glossy throat cut from 
 ear to ear. 
 
 " Wliy, who could have becu guilty of a deed so 
 meau as that?" Pierce cries indignantly. "Poor 
 Nameta ! such a beautiful creature as she was, and 
 so gentle and so kind ! There wasn't another cow 
 in the whole village that gave such rich, sweet 
 milk. What will the chief say?" 
 
 "The lips of the chief himself ordered the hand 
 of jSIopane to draw the knife across the throat of 
 Nameta," says one of the men, approaching. 
 
 "Impossible!" exclaims Mr. Lillington hur- 
 riedly, turning so as to face the speaker. 
 
 " But the words I have spoken are nevertheless 
 the words of truth, my father. Nameta was in 
 the pen. The chief, Mopaue and Sansawe, all three, 
 saw her, while lying down, beat violently upon the 
 ground with her tail. She did beat yet the third 
 time, and then they knew that she was bewitched 
 and was tiuis calling down death upon the tribe. 
 She was guilty of ' tlolo,' and must be killed, for if 
 she were not killed, then would others have to die. 
 Mopane saw her first, and cried out to the chief 
 that his hand must draw the knife across the throat 
 of Nameta, else would his own life and that of many 
 of his people be required of him. But this the chief 
 would not do. It seemed as if he could not, for 
 she was truly a beautiful creature and the chief 
 valued her so. He tried to reason with Mopane, 
 but the ears of the rain-maker were deaf to all his 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 71 
 
 entreaties. Finally, Mopaue said something, we 
 heard not what, that made the chief draw back as 
 though some mighty hand had struck him. Cover- 
 ing his head with his kaross, lie called forth at length 
 to Mopaue in a trembling voice to slay, and then 
 rushed madly away in the direction of his hut." 
 
 "And where is Bubi now?" Mr. Lillington ques- 
 tions. 
 
 " He is within his hut, good father." 
 
 "Bubi," Mr. Lillington says in a gentle and 
 reproachful voice as he kneels beside the couch 
 of skins where the chief lies with his head still 
 wrapped in his kaross, "what is this I hear? 
 What is it mine own eyes have seen ? The gen- 
 tle and affectionate Nameta, the delight of the 
 chiefs eyes and the pride of the whole village, 
 lies with her beautiful glossy sides weltering in 
 blood and her slender throat severed from ear to 
 ear, slain — slain by Mopane's hand and at Bubi's 
 command." 
 
 " It was beyond the power of Bubi to stay the 
 hand that struck," the chief says mournfully, and 
 still refusing to let his eyes meet the searching gaze 
 he knows well is fixed upon him. "O friend of 
 my heart's best confidence ! do not reproach Bubi. 
 The tongue of Mopane is fierce, the fire of his 
 eyes like the lightning that slays, the force of 
 his words as a mighty hand that presses all down 
 before it. The heart of Bubi at times is weak — 
 weak, my father, in spite of the strength you have 
 
72 ClIILLRES OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 tried to put into it — his soul like that of a ohikVs 
 that gropes in the dark. The practices and cus- 
 toms of his people are strong upon iiini. Kveu 
 the religion of the great God is sometimes not so 
 strong. The tail of Xameta did heat upon the 
 ground ; it heat fiercely, as though she were very, 
 very angry and were calling down death upon us 
 all. I know that already the assegais of the Zulus 
 are raised to strike; therefore was the soul of JJubi 
 sore within him. I stood firm against Mopane 
 until he said he had seen it all in a dream, of how 
 the tail of Nameta was to beat upon the ground, 
 and how Bubi was to refuse to have the knife 
 drawn across her throat, and then how — O my 
 father, it is terrible ! — the Matabele were to strike 
 when Bubi least expected it and where he looked 
 not for it, and the blood of his people was to run 
 like the water of the river, while his own head 
 was to be borne aloft on the sj)ear of his old ene- 
 my, Mosilikatse." 
 
 "Bubi," Mr. Lillington says in a voice rendered 
 husky through repressed emotion, " let us pray, my 
 friend — let us beseech the great God on liigh to 
 strengthen the weak heart of Bubi and to send 
 light to his troubled soul ;" and then and there 
 the good missionary falls upon his knees and pours 
 forth such a petition as must assuredly pierce the 
 innermost sanctuary of the Most High. 
 
 " And now, Bubi," Mr. Lillington says in deep 
 and earnest tone as he arises from his knees and 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 73 
 
 bends once more above the recumbent form of the 
 chief, " rouse yourself, my friend, and go forth 
 strong in the strcngtli of Him who is both your 
 God and tlie God of your people. Have no more 
 to do with Mopane and his wicked superstitions ; 
 close your ears to the seductive words of the voice 
 that but seeks to lead you and your people to de- 
 struction. Come away from the old ways ; look 
 not back upon them, but turn your eyes resolutely 
 toward the new. Believe in Christ Jesus, Bubi, 
 with all your heart, and you shall be saved." 
 
 Mr. Lillington cannot at this time tell just what 
 is the effect upon Bubi of his words or of the deep 
 and heartfelt prayer he has offered up in his be- 
 half. The chief seems much overcome — so much 
 so, in fact, as to be unable to converse further — 
 and so Mr. Lillington leaves him, hoping and still 
 praying silently and fervently that he may be com- 
 pletely drawn back from the net that seems out- 
 stretched to ensnare him. 
 
 It is two days ere he sees him again, and then he 
 appears so much subdued, so thoroughly repentant, 
 so gentle and submissive, that the heart of the good 
 missionary loses much of its solicitude in regard to 
 him, and he feels that all may yet be well with the 
 fine old chief. But alas for these hopes ! 
 
CHAPTER ly. 
 
 "He shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities." 
 
 n^IIE uight is a sultry one — exceedingly so even 
 -L for tliis climate. All clay long the sun has 
 shone witli a hot, white glare that has made the 
 eyes smart and burn and the head tingle. Finding 
 the house oj){)rossive, Hope has, after their return 
 from the evening services at the kotia, proposed to 
 Ellie, Pierce and Cunnyngham that they take a 
 Avalk. 
 
 " There is one place I should like to go to so 
 much," says Ellie wistfully, in a voice that is far 
 from being as steady as her tones usually are. " It 
 has been more tiian a week since I was at — at 
 mother's grave, and if you do not object, Hope, I 
 would like to go there; that is, if father thinks it 
 safe. It is only a little distance outside the walls 
 of the station, as you know, and we might take 
 Mazika with us." 
 
 Mr. Lillington finally consents to their going, 
 with the provision that they shall be very careful 
 and look about them constantly, and also that they 
 take both Mazika and the Hottentot Pitsane. 
 " For," says Mr. Lillington, " Pitsane has the 
 ear of a cat and the scent of a dog." 
 
 74 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 75 
 
 The little cemetery in which the dearly-loved 
 "wife and mother has been laid to her last long 
 sleep is at the summit of a gently-sloping knoll 
 to the right of the valley that lies in front of the 
 main entrance. It is but little more than a mound 
 in size, and is only about two hundred yards from 
 the wall that encloses the station. Not far from it, 
 and crowning the slope of a similar mound, only 
 one that is much larger, is the native burial-place. 
 The little plot in which Mrs. Lillington rests with 
 two of her children who have preceded her some 
 years to the land beyond all shadows is about thirty 
 feet square, and is enclosed not only by a strong 
 wall of stone- work, but also by stout palisades fully 
 ten feet high. The graves are carefully kept by 
 tender and loving hands. At the head and foot 
 of each is a neat white board with the names and 
 the dates of birth and death. That of the wife 
 and mother bears a longer inscription that tells of 
 the courage and many virtues of her who has died, 
 nobly doing with all her might that which her 
 hand found to do. Many beautiful shrubs have 
 been trained to grow about the graves, while above 
 all two slender, willowy motsouri keep their mourn- 
 ful vigil. 
 
 They linger for perhaps three-quarters of an 
 hour within the enclosure, for there are many 
 things Elbe's loving hands find to do, while out- 
 side Mazika and Pitsane keep close and faithful 
 watch. 
 
76 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 " No clog of a Matabele about here," Pitsaue 
 says coufideutly as they turn to make their way 
 back to tlie mission-station — " no vulture of a 
 Boer, either, waiting to pick the bones of the Huns 
 the Zuhis have threatened to slay. If there were, 
 Pitsaue would scent them out ; Pitsaue's eai*s would 
 hear the footfalls of the hyenas that prowl through 
 the woods seeking to lap the blood of the brave 
 Bechuana lion." * 
 
 " But will they not come, Pitsane ? will they not 
 come soon?" Hope pauses beside him to question 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Pitsane cannot tell, White Lily. Perhaps 
 they come soon, perhaps they come not at all. 
 The name of Bubi is great, and the heart of the 
 Zulu dog fails him when he thinks of the shining 
 battle-axe of the lion chief." 
 
 "Are you not afraid to talk so, Pitsane, when 
 Mazika is so near?" Hope asks in a low voice. 
 " Will he not grow angry to hear his people thus 
 abused?" 
 
 " They are not his people, White Lily. The 
 blood of the Zulu, it is true, flows in the veins of 
 the Mazika, but it is not their blood. It is the 
 blood of the Amazulu, of the old brave Amazulu, 
 who scorned to kill an enemy save in open battle, 
 and who were kind to the helpless and whose ear 
 was not deaf to the cries of women and children. 
 
 * The Bamangwato are one of the many branches of the 
 fine old Bechuana tribe. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 77 
 
 But the blood of these Zulus has been mixed with 
 the blood of the Boers, of the treacherous white- 
 skinned Boers, who are as cruel as deatii to an 
 enemy and traitoi-ous to their friends. The hands 
 of these Zulus and of the Boers have crossed in 
 deeds that would make even the cheek of a Baka- 
 lahari warrior burn Avith shame. They hate each 
 other at heart, as the lion and elephant hate, yet 
 for the sake of the mean deeds they may do will 
 again join hands." 
 
 " Pitsane has spoken as a man speaks," says the 
 grim old Zulu, now taking up the conversation in 
 his deep and musical native tongue, " and tiie words 
 of Pitsane are wise. The blood of these Zulus has 
 become as the blood of dogs and cowards ; there- 
 fore will Mazika have none of it. I speak of the 
 Zulus who know too well the Boers — who, as Pit- 
 sane has said, have crossed hands in evil and cow- 
 ardly deeds with the whining jackals that even now 
 possess the mountains from whence their brave 
 fathers were driven. But farther away, beyond 
 the crests of the great mountains, still dwell many 
 of the people Mazika claims as his own. There 
 still wander the bold children of the tribe of the 
 Maquilisini, of the royal blood of the great and 
 mighty king T'Chaka. They are men and war- 
 riors, and of them Mazika is not ashamed to say 
 that he is one. They are the men who can die 
 like men and meet face to face in battle the war- 
 riors against wdioni they fight. They are not dogs 
 
78 CHILVREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 and jackals who creep upon the prey they are hun- 
 gry to possess when the hacks of tliose they seek 
 are turned. Oh that Mazika could with tiiis axe 
 draw from his veins every drop of" the l)h)()d that 
 may be mixed even so little with tiuit of these 
 Zulu dogs, whose fathers once sat with his fathei*s 
 in the house of the Amazulu !" 
 
 As he speaks he brandishes somewhat wildly 
 about his head tiie great axe lie carries, then a 
 momeut later drops it and stands gazing away into 
 space as motionless as though carven in stone. 
 
 He is a powerful-looking man, fully six feet three 
 or four inches in height, with a pair of shoulders 
 and long, sinewy arms that seem to have in them 
 strength enough to fell an ox at one blow. But, 
 strange to say, his feet and hands are rather small 
 for his size and quite aristocratic-looking in shape, 
 while his face has few of the features of the negro. 
 His nose is iiigh and long, with the thin, dilating 
 nostrils so often seen in those race-horses noted for 
 their powers of endurance. His hair is piled in 
 masses on top of his head, with a brilliantly shin- 
 ing black ring of gum crowning the centre. His 
 mouth is large and his jaws as strong and firmly 
 set as those of a mastiff. But for the keen, brown, 
 restless eyes that light up the face it would have a 
 grimncss and severity about it that would render it 
 almost a terror to those not accustomed to the sight 
 of it. But the heart of the Zulu, though stern and 
 brave when the necessity offers, is nevertheless warm 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 79 
 
 and tender, and in many things lie is as gentle as a 
 woman. 
 
 At the great gate Mazika and Pitsane leave them, 
 wliile the others take their way on toward the mis- 
 sion-house. As they reach the brow of the hill 
 near the kotla an unusual stir and the hum of 
 many voices about the hut of Mopane, that stands 
 some little distance from the chiefs hut, attract 
 their attention. 
 
 " I wonder what old Mopane can be about now?" 
 Pierce says quickly. " I don't like the look of that 
 crowd, and the sounds, too, are a little suspicious. 
 Suppose we go by and see what it all means?" 
 
 The entrance to the palisades enclosing the hut 
 and its little patch of garden is wide open, as is 
 also the door of the hut. About the latter are 
 congregated many moving forms, which make way 
 at once as the little group from the mission-house 
 draws near. Within the hut and plainly in view 
 are Mopane, Bubi and several of the head-men of 
 the tribe. Something altogether unusual seems to 
 be going on, to judge from the appearance of Mo- 
 pane, the chief and the others. 
 
 Bubi is so dressed that at first sight it would be 
 difficult to associate him with the tall, intelligent- 
 looking chief in civilized dress we have first seen 
 on the veranda of the mission-house. His scarlet 
 uniform has been completely discarded, and in its 
 place he wears a single garment of leopard-skin 
 that is fastened about his neck and falls nearly 
 
80 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 to his knoos, with wido openings at the sides 
 thronu'h which iiis arms, naked to the .sliouUlers, 
 are tlirnst. liehind, this garment is adorned with 
 innumerable white cow-tails that sweep the floor 
 as he walks. Around his neek are many strings 
 of large glass beads, while his ankles and wrists 
 are bound with broad bands of copper wire from 
 which are pendent many jingling bits of steel, iron 
 and ivory. His head is adorned with innumerable 
 feathers of the eagle and vulture and his face cov- 
 ered with a smearing of red and yellow paint. In 
 his right hand he carried a rungu, or knob-club, 
 and in liis left a great shield made of rhinoceros- 
 hide painted in bands of black and white. 
 
 Mopane is even more gorgeously arrayed. About 
 his middle is a covering made of white monkey- 
 skins with the tails pendent and striking below 
 the knees. Around his neck is gathered a flowing 
 garment of brilliant red baize, which falls behind 
 in a train and is carefully carried by a small boy. 
 All over his body are fastened innumerable charms 
 and little sacks of " medicine," while two enormous 
 antelope-horns, beautifully polished, are strapped 
 upon his head. In one hand he holds the jaw- 
 bone of some large animal and in the other a dried 
 gourd filled with rattling pebbles. 
 
 As Cunnyngham and Pierce first reach the door- 
 way and gaze through it into the hut, Bubi, preced- 
 ed by Mopane, is passing around in a circle, each 
 muttering the words of some low, weird chant, while 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 81 
 
 at the end of every stanza INIopaue wildly throws 
 his arms into the air as though invoking the aid 
 of an unseen spirit. At the same time he rattles 
 violently the pebbles in the gourd. Directly the 
 rain-maker drops upon his knees and dips his head 
 once or twice toward the floor, while Bubi stands 
 near him with a solemn face, and the other men in 
 the hut join hands and circle about them, chanting 
 the words of the same guttural refrain Mopane and 
 the chief have just been singing. 
 
 In a little while the chant stops and the men 
 W'ithdraw to the shadow of the walls. Rising to 
 his feet, INIopane now faces the chief, who imme- 
 diately drops to a recumbent position upon the 
 floor, while Mopane moves nearer. Then Mopane 
 takes from a small basket a beautifully polished 
 ox-horn which is filled with a soft white powder. 
 Some of this powder he spreads out upon the chief's 
 hand, and then begins another weird chant as he 
 bends above it. He next scrapes it carefully from 
 the cliief's hand into a small vessel of stoneware, to 
 which he adds other powders obtained from various 
 little sacks upon his body. Last of all, he pours 
 into it a crimson liquid that comes from the cov- 
 ered basket. Then, flourishing the jawbone thrice 
 across it, he raises the vessel in his hand, swings it 
 wildly above his head in a circle, shrieks out some 
 fearful incantation, and the next moment presses it 
 against the chief's lips, bidding him drink. This 
 he obediently does, while the wicked-looking face 
 
82 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 of Mopane is working with the most horrible con- 
 tortious. Ere Bubi lias drunk quite all the eou- 
 tents of the vessel Mopane's baud again seizes it, 
 aud pours what is left down the throat of a cock 
 one of the men is holding. The next instant the 
 head of the terrified bird is completely severed 
 from its body by one swift, dextrous stroke of 
 Mopane's glittering knife. Then, while the head- 
 less body is giving convulsive plunges, Mopane 
 smears his face and hands in the warm, spirting 
 blood. 
 
 "This is too horrible!" exclaims Ell ie, as, cov- 
 ering her face with her hands, her slight frame 
 trembles like that of one shaken by an ague. 
 " Let us go ; I can t^tand no more. Oh, of what 
 can Bubi be thinking?" 
 
 Hope too is trembling violently, and as they 
 pass out through the opening in the palisades her 
 brother has to support her. 
 
 " It is too dreadful you girls should have seen 
 that," Cunnyngham says in an unsteady voice as 
 they go on toward the kotla. " Had I for a mo- 
 ment dreamed of the nature of that gathering, I 
 would never have encouraged your coming hither. 
 Why, Bubi seems possessed, while as to Mopane — 
 well, he is just too horribly wicked for anything. 
 He seems to have Bubi again completely under his 
 control, and that is one point very clear." 
 
 " What did it all mean ?" Hope asks, not yet 
 sufficiently recovered from the nervous excitement 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 83 
 
 of the moment to control her voice, so that the 
 question is spoken very little above a whisper. 
 
 " Simply one of Mopane's high-and-mighty ex- 
 hibitions of the old-time sorcery of his people," an- 
 swers Pierce. "He certainly must have laid his 
 plans very cunningly, or father would have found 
 out something about it. It surprised me to see so 
 many of the head-men there, and taking part too. 
 Poor fellows ! this threatened Boer and Zulu attack 
 seems to have completely demoralized some of 
 them." 
 
 "Oh what will father say?" Ellie cries as she 
 clasps her hands unconsciously in her emotion, 
 while her eyes are filling with tears. " Poor father! 
 he has counted so much on Bubi's firmness and the 
 genuineness of his conversion." 
 
 " Bubi has his weak points like all of us," says 
 Cunnyngham pityingly, "in spite of his many fine 
 qualities. It is hard for him at his age altogether to 
 shake off the longings after the old superstitious 
 practices of his fathers. He is very impressionable 
 and easily worked upon. I doubt not that Mo pane 
 has made him fear that some terrible calamity will 
 overtake him and his people if he does not call 
 upon the aid of the many unseen spirits in which 
 the tribe has for generations had full confidence. I 
 feel assured that he has made the poor chief believe 
 that these spirits must be appeased in some way, or 
 else he and all the village will be destroyed when 
 they go into battle." 
 
84 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 "But Biibi seemed so far above all this !" ElHe 
 says again. " He appeared so earnest and faithful 
 in his professions — so repentant too after tiiat affair 
 with the poor cow whose throat he let ISIopane cut. 
 Oh, how can he act in this way ? how can he deceive 
 us so?" 
 
 " Do not be too hard upon him, dear cousin," 
 Cunnyngham says again. " Bubi is but a poor 
 weak savage after all, and it is hard at his age, 
 even with the strength of Christ's love in his heart 
 to help him, to quite draw himself away from the 
 old habits and customs of his people, especially in 
 the presence of so wily a tempter as Mopane. It 
 is like seeking to tear up a strong tree that has 
 stood long rooted in one place." 
 
 When Mr. Lillington is told of what has tran- 
 spired at Mopane's hut his heart is heavy withiu 
 him, though his faith never once falters. One 
 there is, he knows, whose ways are past our find- 
 ing out, and who in his own good time will doubt- 
 less give him to see how out of this very evil good 
 may be wrought. 
 
 " God is good," the missionary murmurs to him- 
 self. " He has promised, and most steadfast is that 
 promise, that Israel through him shall yet be re- 
 deemed from his iniquities." 
 
CHAPTER YI. 
 
 "From everlasting to everlasting Thou art God." 
 
 " rriO-DAY is court-day in Lepelole, Captain 
 
 J- Murray," says Pierce gayly, as a morning 
 or two later they are all sitting about the break- 
 fast-table. " Will not you and Mr. Cumming come 
 with us ? You will see some sights and hear some 
 arguments from the lawyers on both sides that will 
 well repay you." 
 
 " Courts and lawyers ?" questions Captain Mur- 
 ray. " Why, isn't this quite progressive for a 
 South-African native village?" 
 
 " Oh yes, indeed it is. It was my fiUher's idea. 
 All the graver offences are carried to him and to 
 the chief for adjustment, but the petty affairs he 
 has arranged to have settled by a regular court; 
 and it works beautifully, I can assure you." 
 
 The court holds its session in the kotla. The 
 judge is a grave-looking old Bamangwato warrior, 
 who follows with a most serious and attentive ex- 
 pression every point of the various testimonies, and 
 whose charges to the jury often evince a clearness 
 of insight and a power of reasoning that sometimes 
 
 85 
 
86 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 astonish even Mr. Lillington. The lawyers are 
 all chosen becmise of their readiness of speech and 
 gift of argument, that makes them the envied of 
 their less fortunate fellows. As to the jury, they 
 are generally very wise and knowing-looking, 
 despite the fact that they are })ledged before- 
 hand to have no previous leaning to either side. 
 
 One of the cases tried on this occasion amuses 
 Captain ]\Iurray very much. Even grave Mr. 
 Gumming smiles more than once over it. It, 
 however, shows them very clearly just how siirewd 
 and intelligent some of these Bamangwato amateur 
 lawyers really are. 
 
 The case is against two men who have been 
 caught in the very act of dragging off to eat the 
 carcass of a neighbor's ox. Their defence is that 
 they did not slay the animal, but found it dying 
 of a wound inflicted by another ox, which, ac(!ord- 
 ing to an old-established custom of the Bamaug- 
 watos, made it theirs, .especially as they claim to 
 have driven off the infuriated beast that inflicted 
 the wound and rescued the dying animal from the 
 probability of being devoured by hyenas. 
 
 When the defence is ended the lawyer for the 
 prosecution arises and begins in true lawyer-fashion 
 to examine the chief witness, whereupon the fol- 
 lowing colloquy ensues : 
 
 Lawyer. " Does an ox-tail grow up or down or 
 sideways ?" 
 
 Witness. " It grows downward." 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 87 
 
 L. " Do the horns of an ox grow up or down or 
 sideways ?" 
 
 W. " They grow upward," 
 
 X. " If an ox gores another ox, does he not 
 lower his head and gore upward?" 
 
 W. " He does." 
 
 L. " Could the ox whose horns are turned 
 downward gore upward?" 
 
 W. "He could not." 
 
 " Just so it is," concludes the wily interrogator 
 as he turns to the jury triumphantly, "and if you 
 will examine the ox found in the possession of the 
 accused you will find that the wound has been 
 given downward, and hence could not have been 
 made by the horn of another ox, as claimed by 
 the defence, but by the stab of some instrument ; 
 and as animals are not in the habit of carrying 
 swords or knives around with them in this country, 
 we may well know Avhat to think." * 
 
 On makiuo; an examination this is found to be 
 the case, and so the offenders are sent to work 
 twenty days on the village streets. 
 
 The next day the long-expected hunting-party 
 from the Cape arrives, and the morning following, 
 at daybreak. Captain Murray, Mr. Cumming, In- 
 koosi and the Hottentot Chaka bid adieu to their 
 friends at the mission-station and set off for Zam- 
 bezi. 
 
 * This cross-examination is given almost literally, though it 
 did not occur in this part of Africa. 
 
88 CHILDREN OF THE KALI II ART 
 
 The following Thursday afternoon, as Ellic was 
 down ill the celhir superintending old Manioehisane 
 and Jim, who were busy cutting up meat to dry, she 
 was given quite a shock by seeing her father appear 
 suddenly at the door with a white, set face and 
 almost speechless from some excitement that had 
 evidently very nearly overcome him. 
 
 " Father," she cries, springing at once to his side 
 and clasping her hands together in nervous dread, 
 "what has happened? Why do you look so? 
 Tell me quickly." 
 
 " Bubi !" he gasps almost inarticulately — " Bubi 
 has been blown up in an explosion of gunpowder. 
 We know not how badly he may be hurt ; he may 
 be dead even now." 
 
 "How did it happen?" she asks, trembling so 
 that she can hardly stand. 
 
 "Through some wicked experiment of Mopaue's. 
 The rain-maker Avas trying, as he said, to get the 
 * bewitchment ' out of the powder." 
 
 "And is Mopane also hurt?" 
 
 "Yes, to some extent, but nothing at all like poor 
 Bubi. The chief was bending directly over the 
 powder when Mopane blew the spark into it. I 
 do not like to judge," he says, only for her ears to 
 catch, " but it seems to me to have been premedi- 
 tated. Mopane certainly knew that the powder 
 would explode." 
 
 " Poor, poor Bubi !" Ellie exclaims pitifully. 
 "Will he really die, father?" 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 89 
 
 "I do not know, my chikl, I have not made 
 a close examination yet. I came for my medicine- 
 case. Will you not go with me and try to say 
 something that will comfort poor Nyamona? She 
 seems nearly beside herself over this terrible acci- 
 dent to her husband. Indeed, the whole village is 
 so excited that every man and woman seems as a 
 creature demented. It is a wonder you did not 
 hear some of the cries and lamentations." 
 
 " I thought I did, father, at one time hear an 
 unusual noise, but I have been down in the cel- 
 lar nearly all the afternoon." 
 
 " Well, leave what you are doing now to Mamo- 
 chisane and Jim and come witii me to the chiePs 
 house. lu the mean time, dear," in a lowered 
 tone, "give no hint to any one of my suspicious 
 in regard to Mopane. I may judge him unjustly, 
 after all. Did the village but get even so much as 
 an inkling that he had willfully led the chief into 
 danger, I would not answer for his life, rain-maker 
 though he is. This is truly a bad affair," he con- 
 cludes, "and if the chief dies it will be worse 
 still." 
 
 "We must trust in God and hope for the best," 
 Ellie says bravely, unconsciously taking her father's 
 place as comforter. 
 
 They find a large crowd around the door of the 
 chief's hut. In truth, so lai-ge is it that they have 
 much difficulty in making their way through it ; but 
 all press back as best they can to make way for the 
 
90 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 missionary and his daughter. Sobs and moans are 
 heard on every side, even cries and wai lings from 
 strong men, for tlie chief has been much b('h)ved 
 and this calamity is sudden and grievous. But the 
 lamentations of poor Nyamoua, the one faithful 
 wife the chief has retained after his conversion to 
 Christianity, are heartrending to hear. The poor 
 chief lies stretched upon his couch of skins, blind, 
 speechless and almost without life. It is an ap- 
 pealing and a pathetic sight. 
 
 It takes all Ellie's powers of persuasion to get 
 Nyamona away from the chiePs side long enough 
 for her father to make the examination he desires. 
 With a sad and heavy heart Mr. Lillingtou soon 
 discovers that for poor Bubi recovery is impossible. 
 He may, however, linger for some days, and the 
 j)ainful knowledge of the chiers real condition he 
 determines to keep to himself, at least for a time. 
 He will doubtless tell the older members of his 
 own family, but no one else. 
 
 Bubi in a short while recovers consciousness, 
 but his intense suffering has rendered him so 
 weak that it is with great difficulty he can reply 
 to the good missionary's questionings even in 
 monosyllables. In the mean time, Mr. Lillington 
 has given him something to deaden in part his 
 pain, and applied soothing lotions to his burnt 
 face, chest and shoulders. 
 
 After the first burst of passionate weeping, and 
 having been considerably quieted by Ellie's gentle 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 91 
 
 comforting words, Nyamona makes her way back 
 to the chiefs side, aud remains there calm, tearless 
 and watchful. Cautioning her to let J3iibi speak 
 only when absolutely necessary, and giving her 
 careful instructions as to how to administer the 
 medicines he places in her hands, Mr. Lillington 
 with Ellie leaves the hut, promising to return in a 
 short while. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Lillington informs the 
 older members of his household of Bubi's true con- 
 dition, and also tells them sadly that the end may 
 be even nearer than he thinks. His words seem 
 prophetic, for that very afternoon he is summoned 
 to the bedside of the chief. The messenger is no 
 other than Sebubi, the eldest son of the ciiief and 
 the successor to the chieftainship in case of the lat- 
 ter's death. Weak and vain as he is, Sebubi has 
 nevertheless a tender heart, and his father's terri- 
 ble condition seems to have made a deep impression 
 upon him, for the tears are rolling down his cheeks 
 as he entreats Mr. Lillington to do all he can to 
 save the chief. 
 
 Ellie, Hope, Cunnyngham and Pierce accompany 
 Mr. Lillington to the hut. It is a solemn and im- 
 pressive scene as they stand grouped about the bed 
 of the dying chief — for dying they can now see 
 plainly that he is — and a scene that not one of 
 them ever forgets. Poor Nyamona, to whom Mr. 
 Lillington has told the sad truth, is sobbing bitterly 
 but noiselessly in a distant corner, for, having been 
 
92 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 cautioned that an outburst of any kind may prove 
 hurtful to the chief, she bravely controls every par- 
 oxysm. Near his father's head Sebubi has taken 
 up his position, and stands there weak, trembling 
 and smitten with terror in the consciousueas of the 
 approach of some dread jiresence, of some impend- 
 ing danger, he knows not what. Plow truly awful 
 is the march of this fearful shadow of death to him 
 whose groping, darkened soul can grasp no light 
 from the Beyond ! 
 
 "Come nearer, good father," the chief says faint- 
 ly. " Put out your hand and touch Bubi, that he 
 may know you are here. Oh, alas is me! The 
 soul of Bubi is undone ! O friend of my heart's 
 best love ! if I had but hearkened unto the words 
 you spoke !" 
 
 " It is not too late yet, Bubi, poor friend," the 
 missionary returns in soothing but resolute tones as 
 he bends nearer and lays his hand upon that of 
 the chief. 
 
 "'Not too late'! Oh, say you so, my father? 
 Then, indeed, does the soul of Bubi leap at the 
 words. Tell me, tell me of the great God you 
 serve, and to whom you were ever trying to keep 
 Bubi faithful; is he not very, very angry?" 
 
 " I doubt not that he is angry, Bubi," the mis- 
 sionary says firmly, but in the same kind tones, 
 " but he will not long remain so if Bubi will tell 
 him how sorry he is that he has offended him." 
 
 " Oh, he must know — he nuist know how Bubi 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 93 
 
 hates the strong hard head, the sinful heart, tliat 
 led him to pay no heed to the good father's en- 
 treaty. The words of Mopaue were as the blast 
 that rushes through the forests. They drove poor 
 Bubi before them as the leaves are blown hither and 
 thither upon the ground. The words of Mopane 
 were tempting and as the honey that drops from 
 the trees. The words of Mopane were deceitful 
 as the flashing of the lake that is no lake within 
 the desert.* Oh that Bubi had never hearkened 
 thereto ! But if it is true, as the good father says, 
 that the great God will forgive, then is Bubi no 
 longer afraid to go to him." 
 
 "Yes, Bubi, my friend, he will forgive. The 
 great God of whom I have told you is both patient 
 and long-suiferiug, and he that cometh unto him 
 repentant and believing he will in no wise cast 
 out." 
 
 "And will he open to Bubi the gate of the 
 mighty village where he dwells? or will he leave 
 him without, to wander alone upon the great black 
 hills Avhere the wolves are and where the vultures 
 wait to pick the bones of those the wolves de- 
 stroy?" 
 
 " If Bubi goes believing and repentant and 
 knocks upon the gate, humbly asking admittance 
 in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, who gave 
 himself to die upon the cross for all such as Bubi, 
 then will the gate be opened. O my friend !" 
 * The mirage. 
 
94 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 goes on the missionary with impassioned fervor as 
 he hcnils nearer and clasps the hand of the dying 
 chief in his, *' cannot you understand tiiat while he 
 hates siu and condemns it, he is yet Love itself? 
 He forgives because he loves to forgive. Leau 
 upon him, Bubi — lean hard, my frieud, and trust 
 him to the end, even when your feet are sinking 
 deep within the mire over on the other shore. If 
 all seems dark at first, it will but be a trial of your 
 faith. Oh," he goes on in the same impassioned 
 tones, turning his head as though to address those 
 about him — "■ oh, icheii will man begin to realize 
 that * he that committeth siu is the servant of 
 sin,' and that the ' wages of sin is death'? But thank 
 God for the blessed privilege of repentance ! Thank 
 God, too, above all else, for the precious * blood of 
 Jesus Christ that cleanseth from all siu ' ! Oh the 
 inestimable gift of that eternal life we have through 
 Jesus Christ our Lord !" 
 
 '' Oh," cries Bubi suddenly, striving to mise 
 himself upon his elbow, ''I see a light, a little 
 light !" But it must have been the light breaking 
 upon the other shore, since poor Bubi's sightless 
 eyes will nevermore catch a ray upon earth. 
 
 A few moments he lies silent, then as a look of 
 indescribable gladness steals across his poor burnt 
 face, he makes a feeble effort to clasp his hands 
 together, while his lips murmur faintly, "Lord 
 Jesus Christ, I believe in the forgiveness of sins." 
 
 He lies quiet after this ibr perhaps five or ten 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 95 
 
 minutes. Then rousing himself once more, he asks 
 suddenly for EI lie. She comes tearful and silent 
 to his side, for for the time she is so overcome as 
 to be incapable of speech. 
 
 " Bubi wants to touch the hand for the last time 
 and say good-bye to the child of the good father — 
 to the little missy with the brave heart and the 
 steady eyes who has told Bubi and Bubi's people 
 so many beautiful things of the great God who 
 lives on high. Child of the good father, Bubi 
 wants to thank you for the earnest words and for 
 all the gentle ways ; he wants to beg you tiiat when 
 he is gone you will still talk to his people, that you 
 will seek to win them from the old evil ways, that 
 you Avill still tell them of the loving God who smiles 
 when they do what he wishes them to do, and who 
 is very angry when they disobey. And Sebubi — 
 Sebubi, who is to take the place of Bubi when he 
 is gone — will you not say again and again to him 
 the words that will make him a good son to his 
 mother and an upright chief to his people ? Will 
 the little missy do what poor Bubi asks?" 
 
 '' I will try, Bubi — oh, I will try with all my 
 heart," Ellie answere between her sobs. 
 
 "And Nyamona? Will the child of the good 
 father be very kind to poor Nyamona, whose soul 
 will be very sore when the soul of Bubi leaves 
 it?" 
 
 "I will do everything I can for Nyamona, 
 Bubi." 
 
96 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 "Then the great God bless the little missy, and 
 when the message shall come for hor own white 
 soul, may it fly as the dove flies straight to the 
 sweet-scented groves in the garden of the King's 
 palace. Oh, there will be no waiting at the gate 
 for little missy. Her white wings will bear her 
 over the wall, and the King's Sou himself will 
 guide her to the house of his Father. The child 
 of the good father has spoken very bravely to Bubi 
 and to Bubi's people ; with her own mouth she has 
 told them many things that have sunk into their 
 hearts as the seed sinks into the moist earth ; there- 
 fore wall the great God, in whose service she has 
 spoken, reward her. God bless you ! God bless 
 you ! brave-mouthed, white-souled child of the 
 good father — God bless you !" 
 
 After calling his son to him and giving him 
 many words of warning and of wise counsel, and 
 taking a most touching adieu of the grief-stricken 
 Nyamona, Bubi lies silent again for many moments. 
 A little later the same smile they have previously 
 noted gathers about his lips, while he murmurs 
 over and over, " The forgiveness of sins ! the for- 
 giveness of sins ! Lord Jesus Christ, I believe in 
 the forgiveness of sins." 
 
 Ten minutes thereafter he is dead, with the same 
 smile beautifying all his poor burnt face. Al- 
 though the whole village is willing, nay desirous, 
 that over Bubi's body shall be performed the rites 
 of Christian burial, yet they at the same time claim 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 97 
 
 the privilege of interring him in accordance with 
 the customs of his fathers. He has been a great 
 chief, they declare, one of the greatest the Ba- 
 mangwatos have ever had, and he must therefore 
 be buried with all the honors and ceremonies befit- 
 ting his rank. To this Mr. Lillington makes no 
 dissent. It can do no harm, he tells himself, to 
 allow these poor savages to find what solace they 
 can for their grief in burying their chief as his 
 fathers for long ages before him have been buried. 
 So that Bubi's soul has found eternal peace in the 
 land beyond, it cannot matter in what way his 
 body, the mere shell, the husk of life, is given 
 back to the dust from whence it came. 
 
 As soon, therefore, as Bubi is dead he is dressed 
 in tlie full costume of a Bamangwato chief. His 
 club and shield are then laid beside him, and he 
 is placed in a sitting position upon the same couch 
 of skins Avhere he has died. His arms are folded 
 across his breast, his feet drawn up and his head 
 bent forward until his chin touches his knees. A 
 glossy leopard-skin is finally thrown over him, and 
 two vessels half full of water are set, one on either 
 side. 
 
 From the time that Bubi is placed in this posi- 
 tion until he is borne forth to his interment, which 
 is near sundown on the third day from that on 
 which he has died, there are kept up, at intervals 
 of an hour each, the solemn roll of the drum and 
 the beating of several rude instruments. 
 7 
 
98 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 On the morning of the fii'st day after the death a 
 great feast is spread under tlie trees in front of the 
 hut, of whieli all partake. Late in the afternoon 
 of the third day the body is borne in sad and slow 
 procession to its last resting-place. The grave has 
 been dug by itself not far from the centre of the 
 valley that lies without the mission-station, and is 
 some seventy-five or a hundred yards from the 
 mound whore Mrs. Lillington and her children 
 are buried, and between it and the native cemetery. 
 Just above it is a widespreading tree with deep- 
 green foliage. It seems to stand as a lonely senti- 
 nel, keeping watch beside the dead in their silent 
 slumbers. 
 
 The grave is dug six feet deep and three square, 
 and when finished the interior is rubbed with the 
 large bulbs of a certain kind of wild flower. The 
 bottom is then sprinkled with water fi-om a bowl 
 into whicii the branches of a tree that bears red 
 berries have previously been trailed. The grave 
 being in readiness, the body of Bubi is placed 
 therein, still in a sitting posture, with the face 
 toward the north. Mr. Lilliugton's voice is 
 broken with emotion as with uncovered head he 
 reads the deep and impressive words of the Chris- 
 tian burial service : 
 
 " I am the Resurrection and the Life : he that 
 believeth in me, though he were dead yet shall he 
 live ; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me 
 shall never die, . . . 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 99 
 
 " Lord, thou hast been our dwelliug-phice in all 
 generations. 
 
 " Before the mountains were brought forth, or 
 ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, 
 even from everlasting to everlasting thou art 
 God." 
 
 As the words of the fervent prayer he offers up 
 at the close of the reading fall from the minister's 
 lips, he steps slowly backward and leaves the people 
 free to carry out whatever may be their will in re- 
 gard to the further burial-ceremonies of their chief. 
 Two men now approach to place within the hands 
 of the corpse of the chief his club and shield, which 
 during the progress of the body to the grave have 
 lain beside it on the bier. This undertaking, how- 
 ev^er, is hard to accomplish, as the poor, powerless 
 hands of the corpse again and again refuse to do 
 what is required of them. But finally, after a 
 great deal of propping up and moving of the hands 
 into first one position and then another, it is accom- 
 plished. A number of eagle-feathers are now placed 
 within the hair, the whole body being at length 
 covered with a kaross, or skin rug, most beauti- 
 fully dressed. 
 
 This done, four of the men lower themselves 
 into the grave and begin packing tightly and care- 
 fully about the body a fine clay previously pre- 
 pared. This work is kept up until the clay reaches 
 the mouth. The earth is then thrown in by means 
 of bowls in the hands of the women. 
 
100 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 All the spaces iu the grave bonig now filled, a 
 number of sprigs of acacia with several long stems 
 of grass are ])lact'(l directly over the chiePs head 
 and packed about with the earth to keep them in 
 position. When the grave is entirely filled the 
 ends of these are left exposed in the centre of the 
 mound. All this being completed, several bowls 
 of water are poured upon the grave by the women, 
 who cry as they do so, "Pnla! jiula! water! water!" 
 following the cries by a mournful kind of dirge, the 
 refrain of which is " Yo ! yo ! yo !" All the while 
 they are doing this the spectators clap their hands 
 silently as though applauding. This finished, the 
 people withdraw and leave the grave to poor Nya- 
 mona and the chie 's daughters, who at once pros- 
 trate themselves upon it and give vent to the most 
 distressing lamentations. 
 
 On the fifth day after Bubi's burial the mound 
 is enclosed by slabs of stone cemented together. 
 A canopy on stout poles is also raised above it, 
 while innumerable polished stones, bits of colored 
 earthenware and the skulls of various animals are 
 placed about the slabs. 
 
 Many and grave apprehensions now fill the wak- 
 ing hours of Mr. Lillington, while his sleep is con- 
 stantly troubled by torturing dreams. Bubi is dead 
 and Sebubi has succeeded him in the chieftaincy; 
 and well does the good missionary know the effect 
 this intelligen(!e will have upon the Zulus when it 
 reaches them. It may take weeks, however, for them 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 101 
 
 to hear of it, while, on the otlier hand, they may 
 have already heard of it. This depends upon 
 whether they really have spies and scouts out, as 
 has been apprehended. But all the same, they will 
 hear of it only too soon, the missionary thinks 
 with a sinking heart. 
 
 So far, no sign of the Zulus has been seen any- 
 where near the mission-station, and but for the 
 threatening messages that have continued to come 
 with unpleasant regularity through the various 
 native traders passing back and forth, Mr. Lil- 
 lington would look upon his anxious fears of the 
 past three weeks as only the tormenting fancies 
 of some fevered dream. 
 
 Poor Bubi's tragic death is deeply and uni- 
 versally mourned. Even Mopane seems greatly 
 changed thereby, and Mr. Lillington thinks with 
 some compunction that he may, after all, have 
 misjudged him in regard to the share he has had 
 in the chief's untimely taking oif. Doubtless, 
 he reasons, if Mopane had intended the explosion 
 of powder to injure Bubi, he would have been 
 careful himself in keeping farther away from it. 
 His own hands and arms have been severely burned. 
 His horribly tattooed face, too, is rendered still 
 more hideous by several scars that are left upon 
 it when the burnt flesh has healed. 
 
 Somehow, in spite of the repentant protestations 
 of Mopane and the deep remorse he seems to feel 
 in regard to being the cause of })oor Bubi's death, 
 
102 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Mr. Lillington cannot trust him. There is some- 
 thing in his face and in his manner that docs not 
 bear the stamp of sincerity, and ahhongh Mr. Lil- 
 lington does not quite believe that Bubi's death has 
 been intentional on Mopane's part, yet he cannot 
 help but feel tiiat Mopane is not so sorry as he 
 seems. Then, too, some of Mopane's movements 
 of late have grown a little suspicious. Try as 
 hard as he can, Mr. Lillington finds himself un- 
 able to get rid of a feeling of vague uneasiness that 
 has taken possession of him in regard to Mopane. 
 
 '' Is it possible that this man is really a traitor 
 at heart?" the missionary asks himself again and 
 again. "Could he do a tliiiiir so mean as to sell 
 his own people into the hands of their enemies?" 
 
 Sometimes he feels as though he must speak out 
 and accuse him before the tribe, but when he recalls 
 that he has, after all, nothing with which to accuse 
 him beyond mere suspicion, cooler judgment pre- 
 vails. The man may really be entirely innocent 
 despite the compromising circumstances that sur- 
 round him. If this were the case, his accusation 
 would doubtless only result in the bringing about 
 of a state of affairs not at all to be desired. 
 
 In the mean time, despite the sad interruption 
 of Bubi's death, Mr. Lillington and the boys, aided 
 by Mazika and Pitsane, have been busy stocking the 
 cave with a view to its future occupancy. They have 
 also made ample provision for a journey of several 
 days across the jilains in case such a one should 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 103 
 
 become necessary. The wagou and sixteen of tlie 
 best salted oxen have already been conveyed thither, 
 with enough provisions to last a party of a dozen 
 or more several weeks. There is also a good sup- 
 ply of bedding, cooking utensils and many other 
 useful articles, including a change of clothing for 
 each member of the family. The oxen, too, are 
 well provided for, not only in the supply of food 
 stored away for them in the cave, but also in the 
 amount of pasturage the upper end of the canon 
 affords with its many waving and luxuriant grasses. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " For lo, the wicked bend the bow.'' 
 
 ON the uiglit of the tenth day after Bubi's 
 burial tlie station is visited by one of tliose 
 terrible rain- and thunder-storms which seem ])re- 
 eminently to distinguish Africa. But so terrible 
 is the one that now breaks upon the village that 
 all others that have })receded it seem as nothing. 
 It begins just as the evening services at the kotla 
 are concluded, and continues with but little abate- 
 ment for fully an hour. The night is rendered 
 absolutely dreadful by the terrific peals of thunder 
 and the vivid and startling flashes of lightning, 
 while the rain ])ours in torrents and the angry 
 winds go shrieking by. 
 
 But, though the storm is so terrible, little dam- 
 age is done by it beyond the blowing down of one 
 or two huts, the partial unroofing of the school- 
 house, and the killing of a few cattle by the 
 lightning. Yet it has a most demoralizing effect 
 upon the poor Bamangwatos. Coming so soon after 
 Bubi's death, they look upon it as the herald of 
 some far worse calamity. In vain Mr. Lilling- 
 ton tries to reason with them, and to assure them 
 
 104 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 106 
 
 that the storm has come only through natural 
 causes. The great God is very angry with them, 
 they tremblingly declare. First he has taken Bubi 
 from them, and now he has caused to break over 
 them the mi«;htv' rushino; and roaring of his ele- 
 mcnts, during which the earth has been dressed iu 
 fire and the voice of the thunder is more terrible 
 than that of all the wild beasts upon the hills. 
 Next he will send some awful thing that will sweep 
 them all out of existence. 
 
 To add further to Mr. Lillington's anxiety, the 
 news is now brought to the village that a large 
 band of Zulus had again been seen the evening be- 
 fore, and not more than four or five miles from the 
 mission-station. It is true they may not be a hostile 
 band, but only a company on their way down to the 
 Cape bent solely on trading pui-poses. Bands of 
 this kind have passed through Bubi's territory be- 
 fore, and are likely to pass again at almost any time. 
 But these reflections, nevertheless, do not diminish 
 Mr. Lillington's anxiety nor cause him to delay a 
 moment in getting his little garrison in readiness 
 for the attack that may come now at almost any 
 moment. 
 
 As the evening closes in he has done all that can 
 be done. The cannon has been cleaned and reload- 
 ed, the guns divided, the spears and battle-axes 
 newly polished and sharpened and everything 
 placed iu readiness. All along the walls sentinels 
 are mounted, with the number doubled at the 
 
lOG CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 weaker points. Mr. Lillington has in the mean 
 time talked with Hope and Ellie upon the same 
 subject previously broac-hed to the two youths in 
 the cave. They know now what is his desire in 
 case the enemy should succeed in entering the sta- 
 tion. With the tears streaming; down their cheeks 
 they entreat him to require anythini; else of them 
 but this, declaring, as the youths have done, that 
 they would rather die with him than save their 
 lives by dosei'ting him. It is long ere he c^n re- 
 store them to any degree of calmness or bring theni 
 to see that their refusal, instead of benefiting him, 
 will only render his ])osition the more trying ; and 
 it is not until he assures them that, after all, there 
 may be chances of escape for him that they consent 
 to do as he wishes, though still sadly against their 
 own feelings. 
 
 The signal for them to leave the mission-house 
 for the cave has now been agreed upon, and it is 
 to be three sharp, rapid strokes of the church- 
 bell. 
 
 "Must you go out again to-night, father?" 
 Ellie questions of him anxiously, as, having fin- 
 ished supper and having had prayers, he is taking 
 up his hat to leave the room. 
 
 "Yes, my child. I have asked every man in 
 the village, except those on guard, to meet me at 
 this hour at the kotla. There are affairs of grave 
 import about which I must talk to them." 
 
 " Oh how I wish you did not have to go ! I 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 107 
 
 hope you will not think me weak aud childish, fa- 
 ther, but somehow I feel as thougli something were 
 going to happen to-night — something dreadful. 1 
 try to tell myself that it is only the result of the 
 nervous strain in which I have been all day, but I 
 can't get rid of the feeling. Please don't call it 
 foolish, but if you just wouldn't go to the kotla I 
 would feel so much better." 
 
 " You are excited and nervous, my child, as you 
 suggest. It is not to be wondered at, after all that 
 has been talked over to-day. Try to compose your- 
 self, my dear. We know not, it is true, what a 
 day may bring forth, but there assuredly can be no 
 more danger in my going to the kotla than in re- 
 maining here." 
 
 As he turns to leave her he notes that her eyes 
 are filling with tears. Obeying a sudden yearning, 
 he opens his arms to her. With a little cry she 
 springs to their embrace ; then as her own are 
 clasped about his neck she draws his head down 
 until his lips meet hers. 
 
 '" Good-bye, father," she says, struggling bravely 
 with her emotion as she kisses him. 
 
 " You mean good-night, my dear child ?" he 
 says, returning the caress. " But there is no need 
 for either ' good-night ' or ' good-bye,' as I shall re- 
 turn before your bed -time." 
 
 " I do not think there will be bed-time for any 
 of us to-night, dear father, except the children," 
 she says sadly. " I, for one, cannot go to sleep 
 
1U8 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 when danger seems so near, and I liave heard my 
 brother and cousins say the same." 
 
 " But it may not be so near as we apprehend. 
 We have seen nothing absohitely to warrant this 
 state of feeling. AV^e have no more cause to ex- 
 pect the Zulus to-night than we have had any 
 night since their threats began," he says, trying to 
 reassure her ; yet, thinking of the band of prowl- 
 ing Matabele seen only yesterday, he does not 
 himself feel as composed as he would have her 
 believe. 
 
 "Where are the boys, Ellie?" he stops to 
 question as he again starts to go out. 
 
 "They are in the sitting-room with Hope and 
 the children." 
 
 " Well, I wish you would ask Cuunyngham to 
 make a tour of the walls while I am at the kotla, 
 and report to me on my return." 
 
 " And if he finds anything amiss, father, shall 
 he not speak to you at once in regard to it?" 
 
 "Yes, dear, if it is anything of grave import." 
 
 When his uncle's request is made known to 
 him, Cunnyngham goes at once to attend to it. 
 
 He has been out of the room barely fifteen 
 minutes when Ellie is nnich surprised to hear 
 him returning. At sound of his footsteps coming 
 rapidly across the veranda she unconsciously rises 
 to meet him. Cunnyngham is greatly excited, 
 but seems striving to overcome as much of it as 
 he can before speaking. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 109 
 
 " Ellie," he questions hurriedly as he comes up 
 beside her, "do you think uncle could have put 
 Mopane on guard at the front gate?" 
 
 Ellie starts visibly at the words, while her face 
 pales. 
 
 " I am sure he did not," she returns quickly. 
 " I know father's opinion of Mopane too well to 
 believe for a moment that he would have given 
 him any such post of trust." 
 
 "Well, he is there, all the same. I saw him 
 with my own eyes not ten minutes since." 
 
 " There surely must be some mistake," E|lie says 
 again, her anxiety deepening. "Are you certain, 
 Cunnyngham, that it was Mopane you saw at 
 the gate?" 
 
 " * Certain,' cousin ? Why, as certain as that I 
 am looking at you now. He was on the platform 
 at the right of the great gate and peering over the 
 wall. What makes me more anxious than any- 
 thing else is that there seemed to be no sentinel 
 on the other platform. Mopane, so far as I could 
 see, was alone." 
 
 " And did he see you ?" 
 
 " He did not. Somehow, I felt that it would be 
 best for me not to show myself. Even if he were 
 there rightfully, I knew he would resent any in- 
 spection on my part, he is so conceited and head- 
 strong." 
 
 "Oh, I am sure something is dreadfully wrong," 
 Hope cries at this moment, starting up from her 
 
110 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 chair and throwing her arms with a sudden move- 
 ment about Ellie's shoulders. " We all know what 
 uncle thinks of Mopane, and if he is at the gate, 
 rest assured my uncle did not put him there." 
 
 " No, I feel satisfied my father did not," Pierce 
 here speaks up, ''and he must be informed of it 
 at once." 
 
 "Just what I had concluded," Cunnyngham 
 says. " But," after a moment's hesitancy, " will 
 uncle like me to disturb him with such a thing as 
 this?" 
 
 " Yes, oh yes he will !" cries Ellie excitedly. 
 " Father must know it, and at once. Do not 
 delay a moment." 
 
 As she speaks she pushes him gently toward the 
 door, but at the very moment there comes a sound, 
 or rather a commingling of sounds, that strikes 
 terror to every heart. It is the noise of many 
 hurrying, trampling feet, hoarse wild shouts, blood- 
 curdling shrieks; then the sickening ring of steel, 
 and then the discharge of musketry. 
 
 "God help us!" Ellie cries, staggering back 
 against the door. " It is the Zulus, and they are 
 even now within the village." 
 
 An agonized shriek bursts from Hope, and for 
 a moment she looks as though she were going to 
 faint. The next instant Cunnyngham's arm is 
 around her and he is holding her tightly against 
 him, while his own heart throbs wildly and his 
 face is pale and set. 
 
A STOEY OF AFRICA. Ill 
 
 At Ellie's cry Mamochisane has attempted to 
 rise from her chair, has fallen back again, and 
 is now rocking aimlessly to and fro, moaning to 
 herself, while the baby, aroused from its light slum- 
 ber, is sobbing affrightedly against her shoulder. 
 Marvin and Henrietta too are both crying bitterly 
 and clinging to their sister's dress as though its 
 folds at present constitute the only ark of safety 
 left them on earth. It is a pathetic scene. 
 
 " Yes, it is the Zulus," says Cunnyngham in a 
 stifled voice. " They are even now at the kotla. 
 Mopane has proved the traitor and let them in. 
 Now I know why he was so intently peering over 
 the wall. The Zulus were even then hiding in the 
 ditch and awaiting his signal to enter. Oh, if my 
 uncle had but heeded Captain Murray's warning 
 about that ditch ! My God ! those cries are horri- 
 ble, and many of them are cries of women and chil- 
 dren. — Let me go, Hope. I must go to my uncle : 
 I cannot stand here and think of him as being 
 butchered." 
 
 At these words an agonized cry breaks from both 
 Ellie and Pierce. 
 
 " Oh, my father !" the latter cries wildly as he 
 rushes toward the door ; " I must help him or else 
 die with him." 
 
 " Yes, go, brother, go," Ellie urges. " We can- 
 not, oh we cannot do what he has asked." 
 
 As Pierce springs through the doorway Cun- 
 nyngham is close beside him. Both are half way 
 
112 CHILDRkN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 a(Toss the veranda when .suddenly there come the 
 three .sharp, distinct .strokes of the church-bell. 
 
 Cuunynghani stops as though a heavy hand has 
 fallen upon him, 
 
 *' Oh sister, cousin," he cries, springing back to- 
 ward them, *' I must do as my uncle entreated. It 
 is his own hand that has rung the bell, and I mu.st 
 obey. He made me promi.se him again and again 
 that I would uot di.sobey. It will kill him to 
 know that you are left to the mercy of the sav- 
 ages. Oh, come, I beseech you. There is no time 
 to lo.se. Come, all you ! Quick ! let us go !" 
 
 But Pierce has not turned back. He has kept 
 straight on. At the head of the short flight of 
 steps leading down into the yard he comes in sudden 
 and violent contact with some one coming up with 
 the same ha.ste that he is going down. It is the 
 Hottentot Pit.sane. The little attire that he wears 
 is in wild di.soiVler, while the gleaming black skin 
 of his arms and breast is splashed with blood. 
 Without a word he seizes Pierce and drags him 
 back into the room. 
 
 " The good father has sent me to his children," 
 he said as soon as he could command his breath. 
 " The gates of the village have been opened by 
 the traitor dog Mopane, who through his lies 
 gained the places of Sansawe and Motlatsa. Thus 
 the wolves have crept upon the lions as with their 
 backs turned they sat within the kotla. The num- 
 bers of the Matabele to the Bamangwatos are as five 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 113 
 
 to one ; therefore it will go hard with the Baraaag- 
 watos. But the good father is brave, his heart is 
 as the heart of the great rhinoceros, and his peo- 
 ple will fight like warriors and men. But the 
 hand of the good father cannot be steady in battle 
 until he knows that those who are dearer to him 
 than the eyes with which he sees or the ears with 
 which he hears are beyond the wolves' fangs. 
 Therefore he has sent Pitsane to see that his chil- 
 dren are safe within the cave." 
 
 " We must do as my uncle wishes," says Cun- 
 nyugham with decision. " There is no use to hesi- 
 tate longer. If we delay all may be lost. — Pierce, 
 dear cousin, bear yourself like a man and think 
 of your sister !" 
 
 The terrible sounds in the direction of the kotla 
 have increased tenfold, though it is not so much the 
 cries and shrieks now as the sickening ring of steel 
 and the deafening volleys of the musketry. It is 
 a haud-to-hand battle, and because of the over- 
 whelming numbers of the enemy and the disad- 
 vantage under which the Bamangwatos have been 
 caught, it grows fiercer and more desperate for the 
 latter every moment. It is well that with all they 
 surmise the heartsore little band now creeping noise- 
 lessly along within the shadow of the garden-wall 
 are far from suspecting anything like the real state 
 of the case. If they did, it is doubtful if even 
 with all Pitsane's effort they could keep from rush- 
 ing back. 
 8 
 
114 CHILDRKN OF THE KALAUART: 
 
 Never has the way to the cave seemed so long to 
 tlie two youths, who for the time have manfully 
 suppressed their own emotion for sake of the gen- 
 tle, suffering girls, whose chief protectors they have 
 so suddenly become. But the cave is reached at 
 last, and they at once set about the kindling of a 
 fire in order to dispel the darkness, which in tiieir 
 present state of mind seems all the more oppressive. 
 
 Pitsanc stays by them helping, but as soon as he 
 sees that they are as comfortably provided for as 
 they could be under the circumstances, he suddenly 
 raises himself from before the fire, exclaiming, 
 
 " Now will Pitsane to the village to see how 
 fare the brave lions the cowardly M'olves have 
 attacked." 
 
 " If you are going to return to the village. Pit- 
 sane," Pierce says with sudden resolution, " then 
 I am going with you. I miwd know something 
 of my father." 
 
 "Do not think of such a thing," Cunnyngham 
 interposes. " It will be the height of rashness. 
 Why, by this time the whole village is swarming 
 with Zulus, and wherever you may go you will be 
 certain to be seen and slain." 
 
 But it seems useless to reason with Pierce. His 
 heart is sick with auxiety over his father's uncer- 
 tain fate, and even death in its most dreadful form 
 would be preferable to his present feelings. His 
 sister too, beside herself with grief and solicitude, 
 is urging him to go, not seeming to realize in her 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 115 
 
 distracted state just wliat it is to which she is 
 sending him. As Pierce goes out behind Pitsane, 
 Cunuyugham's eyes sadly follow him. He expects 
 uever to see his cousin again in life. 
 
 " Try to be as cautious as you can, Pierce," he 
 urges, " and do not give your life rashly." 
 
 He follows them to the entrance to speak these 
 words, with his hand lingering on Pierce's shoulder 
 some minutes after the words are spoken. After 
 watching them as far as he can see them through 
 the dense shadows of the gorge, Cunnyngham re- 
 turns within, replenishes the fire, speaks to Ellie and 
 Hope a few reassuring words which he is far from 
 feeling, and then glances at the plain little silver 
 watch which has been a present from his dead 
 father. 
 
 " It is fifteen minutes after ten," he says to him- 
 self — " more than an hour and half since we left 
 the mission-house. What may not have happened 
 in this time!" 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "Tlie Lord will have mercy upon his afflicted." 
 
 IN tlie mean time, Pierce and Pitsane are stead- 
 ily making their way back in the direction of 
 the mission-station. As they reach the top of the 
 gorge near the wall of banian trees, they are sur- 
 prised at the intense stillness that everywhere 
 reigns. At first they think it must be the lull 
 before some renewed outbreak, but as they stand 
 listening for many moments, and there is still no 
 sound save the mournful call of a night-bird and 
 the sighing of the fitful gusts of the wind as it 
 goes sweeping by, their astonishment momenta- 
 rily increases. 
 
 " What can it mean, Pitsane ?" Pierce questions 
 in a low voice. 
 
 "Pitsane knows not. If the wolves have over- 
 come the lions, then there ought to be lights and 
 loud shouts and the sounds of a great feast. If, 
 on the other hand, the lions have driven away the 
 wolves, then there ought to be at least lights and 
 some sound of the lions. Instead there is dark- 
 ness everywhere and silence, like the tombs where 
 the dead lie. Hist!" 
 116 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 117 
 
 At that moment the wild yelpings of dogs break 
 upon their ears. The sounds seem to come from 
 the hills without the village. 
 
 " The poor brutes are driven nearly out of their 
 senses by what has happened," says Pierce. " Pit- 
 sane, I don't like the way they howl. It is too 
 terrible. Oh, what can have happened?" 
 
 " Hist !" cautions Pitsane. "Speak not so loud. 
 Let us go on and we shall soon see." 
 
 Moving slowly and with great caution toward 
 the house, they are on the point of moving around 
 it to the front yard when a figure crouching upon 
 the steps of the back veranda catches Pitsane's 
 sharp eyes. 
 
 " Hist !" he says again to Pierce as he lays a de- 
 taining hand upon him ; "some one moves upon the 
 steps. Be still, that Pitsane may catch the sounds." 
 
 A moment later he is apparently well satisfied 
 with some discovery he has made, for he says to 
 Pierce, 
 
 " There is but one of them. Pitsane thought at 
 first there were more. Call, but make your voice 
 low, and see if he will answer." 
 
 "Who is there?" Pierce questions in cautious 
 tones. 
 
 " Oh, Massa Pierce," cries a quick, glad, guttural 
 voice, "is it really you, Massa Pierce? It's me, 
 the Kaffir, Jim. You no know me?" 
 
 " Yes, Jim, I know you now ; but how came 
 vou here?" 
 
118 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 *' Me go at sundown to dribc in stray cattle. 
 Cattle wander far. Jim liab bad time gitt'n cat- 
 tle back. Night him done come good while Tore 
 Jim reach big hill by village. Dere him hear big 
 noise, big heap o' shontin', mo' big heap o' hol- 
 lerin', lots o' big heap o' ring — ring o' de spear. 
 Den Jim him know dat Zulu dog hab come. Jim 
 hear uex' growl o' de big Dutch Boer, en den him 
 know wicked Boer dere too. Den Jim him run 
 wid all him might to hc'j) brabe lions what Zulu 
 liyeua hab sprung 'pon. Jim, massa, dough hira 
 skin black, no cowanl. Jim tink, too, ob de good 
 farder what hab alius treated Jim like him nudder 
 white man, an' o' de good farder's cliillern what 
 Jim lub like urn brudder an' sister. But while Jim 
 run, him all sudden hear big heap o' tramplin' com- 
 in' 'long down by yudder side o' ribber. Hira stop 
 an' lissen. Dere 'twas 'gain, mo'u ebber! Soun' 
 like de gallopin' o' many horses. Sogers f'om de 
 Cape, Jim tink to hisse'f — der sogers hab come to 
 he'p de good farder's cliillern. Den Jim him 
 break an' run, him run fas' as ebber him 
 could, an' as him run him shout at top o' him 
 voice, ' De sogers ! de sogers ! De sogers f'om 
 de Cape am comin' !' Den all at onct de Zulus 
 au' de Boers dey hear de tramplin' too, eben 
 troo de big soun's o' de battle, an' dey hear Jim 
 too, what him holler, an' dey t'ink it one o' deir 
 own men, 'cause Jim him holler it in Zulu,* En 
 *The Kaffirs are one braiiih of tlic great Zulu tribe. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 119 
 
 den, massa, 'fore Jim know 'zaetly how it happen, 
 do Zuhis an' de Boers dey come teariu' down de 
 big street toward de gate, and when dat reached 
 dey pitcli troo like cattle when de wasp git 'moug 
 'em. An' such shoutin' an' such hollerin' f om 
 dem Zulu, an' such cussin' f 'om dem wicked ole 
 Boer, you nebber heard. It make Jim hair rise 
 to lissen. When onct dey git out'n de gate, you 
 orter see dem how dey cut bee-line for de mountains 
 what lie 'tween here an' Zulu-lau'. An' dat de las' 
 Jim see o' wicked Boer or dog o' Zulu." 
 
 " And have the soldiers really come, Jim ?" 
 Pierce cries aloud in his excitement. 
 
 "No, Massa Pierce, dey hab no come. De 
 trarapliu' what Jim hear, an' what scare Zulu 
 dog an' ole Dutch hyena nearly out'n him skin, 
 been made by drove of wild buff'lo what git 
 frighten deysebs at somethin', an' come tearin' by 
 wid noise like mo'n two hundred sogers f 'om de 
 Cape." 
 
 "And what has happened to our people? and 
 where, oh where, is my father?" Pierce cries again 
 in his freshly-aroused grief. 
 
 " Jim no know, massa. Him come hear fus' to 
 see 'bout good farder's chillern, 'cause good farder 
 him make Jim promise dat whatebber happen him, 
 see to him chillern fus'. Dat what him say many, 
 many times ober : ' Jim, when Zulu dog come, 
 he'p my chillern ;' an' dat what Jim alius mean 
 to do till bref go out'n him body. So Jim come 
 
120 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 straight here, an' when him fin' no liglit, no sonn', 
 all gone, den Jim him jus' fall down, all broke up. 
 Him no able for moment to go fudder. Den you 
 come, Ma&sa Pierce, an' po' Jim mos' jump out'n 
 him skin when he hear dat voice." 
 
 " Well, let us go to the kotla at once and see 
 what has hap])ened. Oh, this suspense is awful. 
 — But wait, Pitsane, and you, also, Jim, until I 
 get my father's lantern. We cannot manage well 
 without it."- 
 
 As he goes into the house something starts up 
 suddenly and with low piteous whines begins to 
 rnb itself against his legs. It is Henrietta's little 
 poodle, Chitane, who at the time of their sudden 
 and confused flight has been in another part of the 
 house, and who on finding himself the sole occu- 
 pant has become helpless and frightened. 
 
 '* Poor Chitane ! poor dog !" Pierce says sooth- 
 ingly as he stoops to caress him. 
 
 The glad dog leaps and gambols about him as 
 though quite beside himself with joy, and when 
 Pierce, finding the lantern, goes out of the house, 
 the animal keeps close at his heels. 
 
 The sight that greets them as the kotla is 
 reached is terrible beyond description. Pierce 
 feels as though he must faint in spite of his 
 bravest eiforts as the sickening spectacle of man- 
 gled corpses piled one upon another meets his gaze. 
 Bamangwato, Zulu and Boer all lie in one ghastly 
 blood-covered heap, just as they have fallen in the 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 121 
 
 last throes of death, mauy of them with their arms 
 entwined still in the desperate clutch with which 
 they have gone down, never to rise again. Where, 
 oh where, is his father ? Over and over again Pierce 
 asks himself this question. Can it be that he is 
 one of these stark and lifeless objects lying with 
 rigid, blood-stained face and sightless eyes upturned 
 to the pitiless sky ? They have been mowed down, 
 many of them, just as they sat within the kotla, lit- 
 tle dreaming of the terrible assegais of the blood- 
 thirsty enemy even then raised to strike the death- 
 blow as the stealthy forms came up the hill. 
 Others, again, who have had time to spring to 
 their feet, and even to grasp their guns and battle- 
 axes, which are near at hand, have been hewn 
 down as they sprung, slashed, stabbed, literally 
 hacked to pieces, and then trampled upon until 
 the faces of many of them are beyond recogni- 
 tion. 
 
 It is truly a ghastly carnival of death, for all 
 seem dead, not a groan nor a moan from any direc- 
 tion reaching the ears of the little searching-party. 
 This strikes them as strange until they afterward 
 learn that in the sudden flight of the Zulus and the 
 Boers at the sound of the trampling buifaloes, many 
 of the Bamaugwatos, including fully two-thirds of 
 the women and children, have escaped the massa- 
 cre that would otherwise have been complete. Find- 
 ing that the sounds came from a herd of stampeded 
 buifaloes — for they, remaining behind, have seen 
 
122 CJIILDREN OF THE KALAHMII : 
 
 wliat the fleeini; Zulus and Boers have failed to see, 
 that the nmddciiod animals go rusliinii:; by the vil- 
 lage aud into the forests beyond — and fearing that 
 at any moment the enemy, finding their mistake, 
 will return to conijjkte the horrible slaughter so 
 successfully begun, they have fled from the village 
 in the direction of Sechele's, carrying their wounded 
 with them. 
 
 About the entrance of the kotla that faces the 
 broad street leading up from the main gate, througli 
 which the treacherous Mopanc had admitted the 
 foe, the fight seems to have been most desperate. 
 Here bodies are piled up four and five deep, Zulu 
 and Bamangwato aud Boer, all in one terrible un- 
 yielding embrace. 
 
 Pierce's trembling knees can scarce sustain his 
 weight as with anguished heart he stooi)s over 
 first one body and then another, flashing the rays 
 of the lantern into the hacked and distorted faces, 
 expecting yet dreading to find in one of them the 
 well-loved face of his father. Pitsane and Jim, 
 also upon the same painful quest, turn body after 
 body over and disentangle others from the awful 
 piles of ghastly humanity, still with the same 
 disheartening result : there is no trace of Mr. Lil- 
 lington living or dead. 
 
 Su<ldenly, as they are about to give up in de- 
 spair, the low whines of the poodle, some little dis- 
 tance away from where they are now standing, at- 
 tract their attention. As they flash the rays of 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. "123 
 
 the lantern in that direction they see him cronohed 
 beside a body near a mass of shrubbery just be- 
 yond the kotla. Indeed, he is crouched ahnost 
 upon the body, the face of which he is piteously 
 licking. With a wildly-beating heart Pierce bends 
 over the body, which is lying upon its back, and 
 the next moment lets the rays of the lantern fall 
 full upon the face of his father. Feeling sure that 
 he is dead, for his face and clothing are covered 
 with blood and he lies silent and rigid, Pierce in 
 an agony of grief falls upon his breast. But as he 
 does so he notices that the body is still warm, in 
 spite of its rigid pose. In an instant he has his 
 hand beneath his father's clothing and upon his 
 heart. It is beating faintly. 
 
 " Oh, Pitsane ! Jim !" he cries in a glad, excited 
 voice, " he is not dead ! He may even not be so 
 badly wounded as we think ; the blood may be 
 that of others as well as his own. At any rate, we 
 must get him to the cave, and as quickly as we can. 
 Make a litter of boughs, do, my good fellows, 
 while I run to the house for some blankets and a 
 pillow." 
 
 The arrangements are soon completed, and at the 
 expiration of only about fifteen or twenty minutes 
 the unconscious form of Mr. Lillington is upon 
 the litter ready to be borne to the cave. As he is 
 lifted from the ground a low moan escapes him, 
 while there is a perceptible movement of the mus- 
 cles of the face. At intervals as he is borne along 
 
124 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 he gives vent to tlie same sound, that is lialf moan 
 and half" sigh. 
 
 " We must go by way of the main entrance and 
 into the gorge by the gradual descent," Pierce says. 
 " We could never get him down over the steep 
 path beyond the banian trees. Go softly, Jim, and 
 you, Pitsane, keep your eyes open." 
 
 On his return to the house, Pierce has secured 
 his father's medicine-case and a number of strips 
 of soft cloth which he knows will be useful for ban- 
 dages. They now set off, Pitsane and Jim carrying 
 the litter and Pierce walking beside it with the 
 medicine-case in his hand, while close upon his 
 heels follows the faithful poodle, Chitane. 
 
 They are only a ^q\v yards or so beyond the 
 kotla when suddenly a towering form uprises from 
 a clump of mimosa-bushes near their path and 
 stands confronting them. This apparition, for they 
 look upon it as nothing else, so startles Pitsane and 
 Jim that but for Pierce's timely intervention they 
 would assuredly have dro])ped the litter. 
 
 "Do you not see," he cries as he springs toward 
 them, "that it is Mazika? But, oh heavens ! what 
 a sight !" 
 
 And a sight most terrible to behold the tall, pow- 
 erful Zulu does in truth present. He is wounded 
 in full a dozen places, but, luckily, most of them 
 are assegai thrusts, the full force of which he has 
 warded off by means of his giant battle-axe. Yet 
 though they are merely flesh wounds, they have 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 125 
 
 been given deep enough to make the bh)od flow 
 freely, staining his great black body from head to 
 foot. Upon the side of his face, however, there 
 seems to be a most desperate wound, for as Pierce 
 covers him with the rays of the lantern the sight 
 of the mangled, bleeding flesh for the moment 
 so sickens him that he staggers as though about 
 to fall. 
 
 " Oh, Mazika," he cries, " what has hajipened 
 to you?" 
 
 " The Zulu dogs have given Mazika many tastes 
 of the sharp tongues of their assegais, but it takes 
 more than the assegais of the Matabele dogs to 
 drink the life of Mazika. The arm of Mazika 
 is strong, the heart of Mazika is as that of the great 
 rhinoceros that fears nauglit, not even the growl of 
 the fierce lion. The axe of Mazika is as deadly as 
 the cobra-bite, and woe unto him who tastes it ! 
 Twenty times in a circle did Mazika swing his 
 axe, and as many times did a Avolf of a Boer or a 
 Zulu dog bite the dust before it. Ay, and the dog 
 of all dogs, Mopane. I saw him as he stood for 
 one moment overlooking the fight, and as quick 
 as the flash of the wheels of the great sun's chariot 
 did I swing Balala" (his axe : the word means "the 
 killer "), " and lo at my feet lies the traitor whose 
 leprous hand unbarred the gate to the wolves that 
 swept down upon his own people." 
 
 It is even as he says : there at his feet lies Mo- 
 pane with his ghastly, blood-stained face upturned 
 
126 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 to the sky, the skull split almost in twain. Terrible 
 hut just has beeu the fate that has overtiiken him. 
 
 "But yourself, Mazika?" Pierce questions again. 
 "You are badly hurt. How did it happen?" 
 
 "A dog of a Matabele struck me from behind, 
 but even as he raised the axe to strike, Mazika 
 turned, and thus caught upon Balala a part of the 
 blow, but only a part, for the great blade of the 
 axe fell flat uj)on Mazika's head and cut down 
 through his cheek. It must have been a blow such 
 as that with which the butcher fells the ox, for it 
 sent Mazika down before it, and there he lay as 
 dead until a little while ago he came to himself to 
 find the Matabele dogs fled from the village and 
 only Mazika left with the spirits of the dead. 
 Then came the son of the good father, with the 
 good father borne before him wounded unto death. 
 Mazika hears the voices, Mazika sees the light, 
 and lo, Mazika is here !" 
 
 "And glad enough are we to see you, poor fel- 
 low!" Pierce says pityingly, "though so desper- 
 ately wounded. Do you think you can make the 
 journey to the cave, Mazika? But first let me 
 bandage your head and face. You have already 
 lost too nnich blood. — Pitsane, Jim, lay the litter 
 down a moment. Gently, my good fellows, and 
 come and help me." 
 
 In a short while Pierce, who has before done 
 such things under his father's careful directions, has 
 the Zulu's wounds very skillfully bandaged. The 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 127 
 
 grim old warrior is quite weak from the loss of 
 blood and faint with the pain of the desperate 
 wounds upon his head and cheek, but his courage 
 and resolution are equal to the effort that is neces- 
 sary to carry him to the cave, and so with slow, 
 majestic strides he starts off beside them. 
 
 Just as they have cautiously approached the gate, 
 and are on the point of passing through it, they 
 hear the sound of running feet rapidly coming 
 nearer, accompanied a moment later by the quick, 
 short breathing of some animal or animals, strain- 
 ing every nerve for some extra exertion. 
 
 " Hist !" says Pitsaue, " it is the dogs. They 
 run as though the wolves themselves were upon 
 their tracks." 
 
 " They have gotten scent of us," says Pierce, 
 "or perhaps they have even heard our voices. 
 There is no estimating the instinct of a dog." 
 
 Even as he speaks three large, gaunt dogs of 
 the mastiff species spring through the gate and 
 leap upon them. Two are the dogs belonging to 
 the mission-house ; the third, a great, yellow pow- 
 erful-looking brute with a massive head, is Spoorer 
 ("game-tracker"), Mazika's dog, who as soon as 
 he catches sight of his master nearly goes wild 
 with delight, his puppyisli gambols being exceed- 
 ingly ludicrous for one of his years and habitual 
 dignity. 
 
 When without the gate the little party halts for a 
 moment, thinking to catch sounds of other dogs or 
 
128 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 perhaps to see some of the brutes crouching near. 
 But all is silent upon the hills. With the same 
 instinct with which the dogs of the mission-house 
 and of Mazika have so unerringly found their 
 masters, the others have doubtless got wind of the 
 fleeing Baniangwatos and are even now upon 
 their track. 
 
 As they draw near the entrance to the cave 
 Pierce bids his companions wait a few moments 
 until he goes forward to ])rcpare Ellie and Hope 
 for a sight of Mr. Lillington. 
 
 He cannot tell how desperately his flither has 
 been wounded, he says to them after he has cau- 
 tiously related the manner in which he has been 
 found. It may be, he tells them, that he has only 
 been given back to them to be taken away again, 
 and that they must be very brave and calm and 
 not excite him by any outcry, as he may regain 
 consciousness at any moment. 
 
 Pierce's words have their effect, for, though the 
 hearts of both young girls are nearly breaking with 
 grief, and it is all they can do to keep from crying 
 outright at sight of the silent, blood-stained form 
 upon the litter, they nevertheless heroically restrain 
 their feelings, and set about doing all they can for 
 the loved father and uncle. 
 
 Besides a wound upon the head and another near 
 the shoulder, Mr. Lillington has been des})erately 
 wounded in the side, as they soon discover. With 
 M'hat knowledge he has obtained through his father's 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 129 
 
 careful instructions, added to the information lie has 
 himself acquired through a two years' close reading 
 of surgery, Pierce sets to work, with Cuuuyngham's 
 aid, to dress his father's wounds. All this time 
 there is no sign of consciousness from the wounded 
 man and but little sign of life. 
 
 When his services are no longer needed in the 
 trying and delicate task of dressing his uncle's 
 wounds, and Ellie and Hope have established 
 themselves close beside Mr. Lillington to watch 
 anxiously for any sign of returning consciousness, 
 Cunnyngham walks apart to talk with Pitsane and 
 Jim, who have stretched themselves upon a couple 
 of skins near the fire in order to snatch what rest 
 they can. Upon a similar skin reposes the massive 
 form of the Zulu, now suffering greatly from his 
 wounds, yet, after the manner of his race, giving 
 little sign. 
 
 Pierce has bestowed upon the bandages about his 
 face and head renewed attention, and is now doing 
 for him all that his partially-trained skill can 
 suggest. 
 
 " Pitsane," Cunnyngham says as he approaches 
 the Hottentot and the Kaffir, " I know that you 
 and Jim must be already greatly worn out with the 
 events of this night, and what I am about to ask 
 of you may seem very heartless, but it is only the 
 extreme urgency of the case that drives me to it, 
 I assure you. As you know, the position in which 
 we are now placed is one of much danger and dif- 
 
 9 
 
130 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 ficulty, despite the fact tluit we are now safely shel- 
 tered in the cave. This is w'ell enough, so far as 
 the present is concerned, but we must also think of 
 the luture, and nut only think of it, but provide for 
 it by taking advantage of such opportunities as are 
 now within our reach. In my uncle's condition he 
 may linger for weeks ere he recovers — if he recover 
 at all," he adds sadly. " During all this time we 
 shall doubtless have to remain in the cave. Siiould 
 we be released from our confinement, even after a 
 period of a few Meeks, there is still the journey 
 across the country to be thought of. For this we 
 are not prepared as we should be, neither are we 
 prepared to linger long within the cave. We must 
 have more supplies, and we must have some tools, 
 additional feed for the oxen, a cow or two, some 
 goats, if we can get hold of them, and by all means 
 the donkeys, and at least two of the best horses. It 
 is now half-past one o'clock. In a little more than 
 four hours it will be daylight. Do you not think 
 that within that time we can have made at least 
 three trips to the mission-station and back ? I 
 would not ask it of you, my poor fellows ! seeing 
 how tired you are already, did I not recognize the 
 desperate straits of the situation. As you know, 
 the Zulus, believing that they were about to be at- 
 tacked by a body of horsemen from the Cape, have 
 suddenly fled, leaving their work of destruction 
 incomplete. We know them too well to doubt for 
 a moment that as soon as they discover their mis- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 131 
 
 take they will returu to fiuisli their dastardly deed 
 by applying the torch to everything left within the 
 village. Even by dawu their scouts will be out in 
 every direction, and when they learn that the village 
 is deserted they will at once swoop down upon it 
 and leave nothing behind to tell the tale. There- 
 fore what we do must be done quickly — to-night?" 
 
 " Pitsaue is ready to go wherever the young Eagle 
 says," the Hottentot quickly replies, as, arising from 
 the skin on which he has been lying, he shakes him- 
 self as a oreat dog does on being aroused from slum- 
 ber. " For the good father and the good father's 
 children Pitsane would gladly give his life if that 
 would help them. Shall he therefore turn back 
 for the sake of a little fatigue ? No, no ; that is 
 not the way a man would do — that would be as a 
 child. Let the Eagle then tell Pitsaue what he 
 wants him to do." 
 
 " Jim too, massa," the Kaffir says in his low, gut- 
 tural tones — " Jim ready to do what him can. Him 
 mo' sleepy dan tired, but him soon git ober dat." 
 
 " Then come along, my brave fellows, and we will 
 go to work. — No, no, Pierce, you must not think 
 of going. You have done enough for to-night." 
 This last is to his cousin, who, having overheard a 
 part of the conversation, is now insisting that he 
 too shall be allowed to go and help all he can. 
 " You must stay here and keep watch with the 
 girls. Your father may need your attention at 
 any moment." 
 
132 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 "And now," Ciinnynglnuu says, as, having 
 reached the top of the gorge hy the wall of baniau 
 trees, they stop for a moment to listen and to re- 
 cover tiieir breath, '' Pitsane, you go to the stables 
 for the donkeys and the horses. Get both my 
 sister's and cousin's donkeys, and the three that 
 are my uncle's. Select two of the best horses. 
 Stay ! get three. Be sure that one is Khiva, the 
 horse that Captain Murray gave my uncle. Ride 
 Khiva, and lead one of my uncle's donkeys. 
 Chumah, Susi and the others will follow. You 
 will, of course, have to return to the cave by 
 way of the main entrance of the village. Go 
 cautiously, and it is unnecessary to tell you to 
 look well about you. AVheu you have reached the 
 cave turn the horses and donkeys in with the oxen 
 in the upper part of the gorge, and be sure the bar- 
 ricade is secure, for should any of them get out they 
 would be likely to stray back to the village, and we 
 would then have our work for nothing. When you 
 have done this return here to the wall of banian 
 trees, where I will await you. — And you, Jim, go 
 to the cattle-pen, select five of the best milkers 
 with young calves, eight or ten head of beeves, 
 twice as many sheep and as many goats as you can 
 get together, with two or three of the nannies and 
 their young families. Turn all the others loose, so 
 that the poor creatures may not suffer the tortures 
 of fire when those bloodthirsty savages return to 
 apply the torch. — And you, Pitsane, do the same 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 133 
 
 for the horses and tlie doukeys. — Both of you see 
 the rest of the cattle well out of the village and 
 toward the pasture-grounds ere you take out your 
 droves. — Pen the cattle, Jim, in the upper end of 
 the gorge, as I have told Pitsane to do with the 
 horses and doukeys. Return here, as I have also 
 told him to do, and I will tell you what next." 
 
 Cunnyngham has made ten or twelve trips from 
 the mission-house to the top of the gorge, each time 
 well laden with supplies, when Pitsane joins him. 
 A half hour later Jim also returns, each of them 
 with a favorable report. 
 
 It is now a quarter to four o'clock, and Cun- 
 nyngham, recognizing that what is further done 
 must be done quickly, instructs the two to convey 
 the supplies he has placed near the top of the gorge 
 down into the caiion and some little distance along 
 it, to where he designates a thicket of thorn, be- 
 hind which they are to conceal the articles. In 
 about an hour's time this is finished, when the little 
 party starts oif for a last trip to the mission-house. 
 A few faint streaks of red are already beginning to 
 stain the eastern sky, while here and there about the 
 village the crow of an awakening cock is heard. 
 
 " There isn't a moment to lose," Cunnyngham 
 says with anxious glances toward the flist-redden- 
 ing sky. " Go to the hen-house, Jim, and get a 
 dozen hens and a cou^^le of roosters. Tie their feet 
 together with these strings, so that you can carry 
 them well.— You, Pitsane, come with me." 
 
134 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 As Cunnyntjcliam oiitei*s the little side room, or 
 kind of pantrv, wliere many of the household stores 
 are kept, something soft rubs against him. The 
 next moment he cutt;hes the sound made hy the 
 gentle pui-ring of a cat. Holding the lantern so 
 that the rays fall downward, he sees that it is his 
 cousin Henrietta's cat, " Pussy Tea-kettle." Near 
 by is an open basket in which are five fat sleeping 
 kittens. 
 
 "Poor pussy!" says Cunnyngham, "it is awful 
 to think of your being left behind to be burnt up 
 in the house; and not only you, but your helpless 
 little family. No, no, it shall not be if I can help 
 it; I will take you and the kittens out." 
 
 But as he does so and deposits the basket under 
 one of the trees in the garden, Madame Pussy de- 
 liberately picks up one of the soft, purring balls 
 and starts with it back to the house. 
 
 " Evidently this will not do," Cunnyngham says 
 to himself in much perplexity. " The poor foolish 
 pussy seems determined to have herself and family 
 cremated? Yes, I will do it," he exclaims aloud 
 as a sudden thought seems to strike him. "Hen- 
 rietta will be so glad ! And," he goes on after 
 another pause, " while I am in this kind of busi- 
 ness I will make somebody else happy also." As 
 he says these words he picks up a box in which 
 there is a small magic-lantern with some views 
 that belongs to Marvin, and hands it to Pitsane. 
 "And still another some one," he continues, as 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 135 
 
 from the sitting-room he takes several photogra])hs 
 aud a half dozen or so of the choicest books. 
 
 A few moments later, as he goes on through the 
 orchard in the direction of the path leading down 
 into the gorge, there is borne aloft on his shoulder, 
 in addition to the books and pictures under his arm, 
 the small basket in which the fat kittens are snugly 
 reposing, while Madame Pussy Tea-kettle, seemingly 
 well assured as to the journey upon which her off- 
 spring are bound, as well as of the good intentions of 
 their conductor, trots contentedly along at his side. 
 
 As Cunnyngham, Pitsane and Jim meet at the 
 top of the gorge and prepare for the descent the 
 light in the eastern sky has so far increased that 
 even remote objects are now plainly visible. They 
 therefore make their way as quickly as safety and 
 their burdens will allow down the somewhat pre- 
 cipitous path, and it is with a feeling of deep 
 thankfulness that a few moments later they find 
 themselves enclosed in the deep gray shadows at the 
 bottom of the gorge. 
 
 Assuring himself that the remainder of the sup- 
 plies are well hidden within the dense growth of 
 the thorn coppice, Cunnyngham leads the way to 
 the cave, still with the basket of kittens safe upon 
 his shoulder and Madame Pussy Tea-kettle close at 
 his heels. The rays of the rising sun are just gild- 
 ing with light the tops of the trees along the sum- 
 mit of the gorge as the entrance to the cave is 
 reached. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " The Lord is the Maker of them all." 
 
 SO thoroughly worn out are tlie occupauts of the 
 cave with the events of the uight and morning 
 — for three of them, as we have seen, liave toiled 
 on until well into the morning — that it is late in 
 the afternoon of the day following the night of 
 the massacre at the mission-station ere they arouse 
 themselves from the deep slumber into which they 
 have fallen. Ellie, Hope and Pierce have taken it 
 by turns to watch beside Mr. Lillington, but have 
 finally all three succumbed to the heavy sleep that 
 has crept upon them. Even the grim Zulu, at 
 first restless from the pain of his wound, has at 
 last slept soundly. 
 
 In Mr. Lillington there is little if any change. 
 He still lies in the same unconscious condition, 
 moaning feebly at times and never once opening 
 his eyes. The children are unremitting in their 
 ministrations, and when Ellie, out of her great 
 desire to do everything that will help her dear 
 father, has tried bathing his face in water in which 
 ammonia has been dropped, and holding a bot- 
 tle of the strong fluid to liis nostrils, she is much 
 
 136 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 137 
 
 encouraged to note a very decided change iu hina 
 — a change, she hopes, for the better. A faint color 
 begins to steal into his white face, and he occasion- 
 ally makes a few restless movements with his hands 
 and arms. In the mean time, Mamochisane, as- 
 sisted by the Kaffir Jim and superintended by 
 Hope, has prepared a meal that is both breakfast 
 and dinner. Despite their sad and anxious hearts, 
 they all do full justice to it. Even Mazika is per- 
 suaded to eat something. The children are especi- 
 ally ravenous, and, fearing they may make them- 
 selves sick, Ellie has at length cautioned them to 
 desist. Chitane, Spoorer and the other dogs come 
 in for their share, and eat like famished wolves — 
 all except the former, who seems so overcome by 
 his master's condition that, after picking a few 
 bones in a lifeless sort of way, he returns at once 
 to the couch upon which Mr. Lillington is lying 
 and takes up his old place beside the pillow. 
 
 The delight of Henrietta on finding her cher- 
 ished Pussy Tea-kettle safe, with all her little fam- 
 ily, is so demonstrative and genuine that Cuu- 
 nyngham feels well repaid. 
 
 As soon as the meal is over Cuuuyngham pro- 
 poses to Pitsane and Jim that they go and see after 
 the supplies they have hidden iu the thorn coppice. 
 
 They pick their way cautiously, taking care to 
 shelter themselves as much as possible behind the 
 tangled growth of bushes and vines along the edge 
 of the gorge, for by this time they feel assured the 
 
138 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Zulus either juust liavc returned to tlie village or 
 are ke('j)iiii2: watch up<»n it. Before they have pro- 
 ceeded hallway, the mingled sounds of many iioaree 
 shouts and of various t)utcries coming to their ears, 
 they stop suddenly and shelter themselves behind 
 some stunted but thick-growing acacia-bushes. Kre 
 they have decided whether to go on or to return to 
 the cave they catch sight of numerous thick clouds 
 of smoke blowing over the gorge. 
 
 "It is the Zulus," says Cunnyngham, "and the 
 Boers too, I doubt not. They have returned, and 
 have set fire to the village. I think we had better 
 go back and wait for the darkness ere we attempt 
 to remove the supplies." 
 
 When the inmates of the cave are told what is 
 happening at the mission-station, they sit with pal- 
 ing cheeks and beating hearts, not knowing but 
 that at almost any moment they may be tracked 
 and their hiding-place discovered. But as the 
 afternoon wears on and the night approaches, they 
 gather about the entrance to the cave and watch 
 with varied emotions the great red glare in the sky 
 that is made by the burning mission-station. Di- 
 rectly there comes to them a scent both sickening 
 and overpowering, which, they recognize with a 
 shudder, arises from burning flesh. Then they 
 know that it is the kotla with its human con- 
 tents. 
 
 The reflection from the burning buildings lights 
 up all the sky overhead and falls with such inten- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 139 
 
 sity upon the trees aloDg the edges of the gorge 
 that every trunk and limb stands out witli distinct- 
 ness. Eilie thinks with an aching heart of" the 
 result of so many years of hard, patient labor even 
 now being lapi)ed up as so nuich tinder by the mer- 
 ciless flames, and thanks God that in his blissful 
 unconsciousness her father knows nothing of it. 
 
 So long does the light from the burning station 
 continue to be reflected into the gorge that it is not 
 until the following night that the supplies are re- 
 moved from the thorn coppice to the cave. Ere 
 leaving with the last load Pitsane and Cunnyng- 
 ham cautiously make their way to the top of the 
 gorge and peer over it in the direction of the sta- 
 tion. All is a heap of smouldering ruins, with 
 here and there a red tongue of flame shooting up 
 from some substance that is long in burning. No- 
 where is there a sign of life ; all is desolate and 
 deserted. 
 
 " The Zulus are gone," says Cunnynghara in a 
 low voice — " gone aiter wreaking their mean re- 
 venge like the fiends they are." Then as he strug- 
 gles bravely with the tears that are beginning to 
 rise, " Good-bye, old Lepelole ! good-bye, dear 
 place ! One can scarcely dare hope ever to look 
 upon your like in these wilds again. But as sure 
 as a just God reigueth, he will not long let your 
 blackened ruins and the charred bones of your 
 massacred people cry to him for vengeance." 
 
 The fifth day following the night upon which he 
 
140 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 has been l)orne to the cave there is a decided evi- 
 dence of returning consciousness in Mr. Lillington. 
 On the morning of the sixth day he opens his eyes 
 with a look of recognition upon the face of Ellie, 
 who is bending the nearest to hira. 
 
 "Do you know me, dear father?" she asks, 
 quietly, struggling bravely with herself so as not 
 to excite him. 
 
 He gives an answering movement of his eyelids 
 and smiles faintly upon her. In three days more 
 he is able to converse, though but for a few mo- 
 ments at a time, and then only in barely audible 
 tones. By the end of another week he is a little 
 stronger and can talk with his family for longer 
 periods and altogether intelligibly. He can even 
 sit up propped by rolls of skins and by the pil- 
 lows. But he is in great pain all the while, and 
 the ugly wound in his side has altogether refused 
 to yield to treatment. Even his own skill fails 
 to suggest anything further to do. 
 
 The knowledge comes to him soon that he is in 
 a most critical condition, and then that the end 
 cannot be very far off. How he dreads to make 
 this known to the patient, loving hearts that have 
 watched beside him for the past two weeks ! But 
 it must be done. Tliey must be ])repared, else will 
 the shock be too great when it does come. Besides, 
 there are many things about which he must talk to 
 them. The question of the future even now pre- 
 sents itself. It must be met and answered. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 141 
 
 In the uncontrollable bursts of grief following 
 upou his painful revelation it is long ere he can 
 get them to listen calmly to the plans for their 
 future that have revolved through his mind while 
 he has been lying upon the couch of skins and ap- 
 parently with his eyes closed in quiet slumber. 
 
 "Be strong, my children," he entreats them — "be 
 strong and faint not, and God will surely give the 
 grace to sustain you through this affliction. Put 
 your trust in him, and so shall you, like the spar- 
 row pursued from house-top to house-top, find at 
 last a resting-place — yea, even in the bosom of the 
 Most High. ' As thy days so shall thy strength 
 be.' Oh rely upon this ! God himself has 'prom- 
 ised it, and he never forgets his promises. And 
 now let us talk about what it is best for you to 
 do after I am no longer with you to advise and 
 direct." 
 
 He closes his eyes and remains quiet for a few 
 moments. In a little while he speaks again : 
 
 " I know of nothing better to suggest than that 
 you try to reach the village of Sechele, fifteen days' 
 journey due south from this. Once with him, I 
 feel confident he will do all he can to help you 
 on to the Cape." 
 
 " The words of the good father are well meant," 
 says Pitsane at this juncture and in his native lan- 
 guage, "and he gives to his children the counsel he 
 thinks is best and most wise. But since the good 
 father has lain here sick unto death from the 
 
142 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 wounds received from the spears of the Zulu dogs, 
 many things have come to pass of which my father 
 knuweth naught. Even now all the paths that lead 
 to Sochele's, as well as those that bend toward the 
 Cape, are watched by the Matabele wolves and the 
 Zulu vultures. They know that my father's chil- 
 dren have escaped and are somewhere within the 
 forests, and that sooner or later they will seek to 
 make their way to the good Sechele. Everywhere 
 between here and Seehele's and the Cape they swarm 
 like the vultures that circle about the dead carcasses 
 of the beasts. AVonld my father send his children 
 to be eaten of these dogs and devoured of these 
 wolves?" 
 
 "I had not thought of that " Mr. Lillinj^ton mnr- 
 fnurs faintly, his face working with emotion. " O 
 my Father, the way seems dark, exceedingly dark. 
 Show me the light. Have pity upon these help- 
 less ones and guide them from this wilderness." 
 
 In a few moments he speaks again, this time in 
 calm tones : " What are the chances, Pitsane, to 
 get through to Kingone or Quilamane on the 
 east coast?" 
 
 " No better, my father ; even worse. Here is 
 Mazika, who will tell you that even to attempt to 
 pass through the country of Mosilikatse would be 
 like rushing into the fangs of the most deadly of 
 all the Matabele wolves. He and his would de- 
 vour without mercy." 
 
 " Pitsane has spoken, ray father," the Zulu adds 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 143 
 
 iu his deep musical language, "and the words of 
 Pitaaue are wise. On the one hand are the hun- 
 gry Boer dogs and the fierce Zulu wolves, and on 
 the other Mosilikatse, the treacherous chief with 
 the cruel heart and the bloody hand." 
 
 "Then God help you, my poor children !" the 
 missionary cries in his despair. " I know not what 
 to advise." 
 
 " If the good father will listen, Pitsane will tell 
 him of a way whereby his children may escape the 
 clutches of the Matabele wolves. It is a long and 
 tedious way, and there are many dangei-s, but Pit- 
 sane believes that it is now the only one left to the 
 father's children." 
 
 " And that way, Pitsane ?" Mr. Lillington ques- 
 tions eagerly. 
 
 "The way that leads to the Chobe Kiver and 
 to the Makololo — the old brave Makololo, the peo- 
 ple of the wise and good Sebituane and the friend 
 of the great Livingstone." 
 
 " But the Makololo have met with many reverses 
 since Livingstone was last among them, especially 
 since the death of their young chief, Sekeletu. 
 Numerous tribes have made inroads among them 
 and reduced their once proud power." 
 
 " But nevertheless, my father, there are many 
 of these people still left upon the banks of the 
 Chobe and along the broad current of the Leam- 
 bye. They would gladly welcome the children of 
 the good father, the story of whose kind, brave 
 
144 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 work among their brothere, the Bamangwatos, has 
 long ago traveled to them. Ay, and they will do 
 more than welcome them : they Mill help them on 
 down to the coast, where the great ships wait to 
 bear them to their own country." 
 
 "But the Chobe lies in a north-westerly direc- 
 tion from this, and to reach it, it will be necessary 
 to pass through a portion at least of the dread Ma- 
 tabele territory." 
 
 "Not so, my father. By going straight from 
 here in an easterly direction to the Kalahari, into 
 it some miles and then turning due north, there 
 will then be no danger from the jNIatabele wolves. 
 Of all ways this is the only one left to the children 
 of ray father, and though it is so long and so full of 
 dangers, and there are so many hardships to be met 
 with on every hand, yet Pitsane believes there is 
 no other by which they could go with a chance to 
 escape with their lives. It is the very last direc- 
 tion in which the wolves will expect to find my 
 father's children, for they would as soon think of 
 guarding the way to the great skies above as the 
 paths that lead to the Kalahari." 
 
 "But the Kalahari itself," exclaims Mr. Lilling- 
 tou, "that dread place of blistering sands, parched 
 vegetation and of torturing thirst ! Tiiey will as- 
 suredly perish if they make any such an attempt 
 as that." 
 
 " No, my father, no ! They may perhaps suffer, 
 and suifer much, but they will not die. The great 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 145 
 
 God whom my father serves will not permit it. Men 
 with whit€ skins have crossed the Kalahari before 
 without perishing — yea, and women too ; and what 
 tliey have done so may others do, even the tender 
 children of my father. Near the desert lives Shobo, 
 the great Bushman guide who twice went across 
 with the mighty Livingstone. Fear not : he will 
 see your children safe through all the dangers." 
 
 " There seems no other way," Mr. Lillington 
 says after a moment of deep and painful thought 
 — " no other way, my children, except for you to 
 try and reach the Makololo. Once with them, they 
 can undoubtedly help you to the coast, and will do 
 so, I feel assured, if they can. But it is a long aud 
 dangerous journey any way we look upon it, filled 
 too with such hardships that it is terrible to think 
 of these delicate girls as facing, and of the tender 
 as enduring. But God is good, and his loving-kind- 
 ness is ever about those who put their trust in him. 
 Do you think you are prepared with sufficient sup- 
 plies to make the start?" he turns to question of 
 Cunnyngham. 
 
 "Oh yes, uncle; we are far better prepared than 
 many who have attempted similar journeys. We 
 have everything that is absolutely necessary — a 
 strong, commodious wagon, plenty of the best salted 
 oxen, horses, cows, sheep, fowls, at least two months' 
 provisions, firearms and tools of various kinds." 
 
 " You have shown activity as well as wisdom in 
 your preparations," his uncle says commendiugly. — 
 
 10 
 
146 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 "And Mazika and Pitsane and Jim," turning his 
 eyes entreatingly toward their black faces and 
 speaking in tones tliat are trenuilous with some 
 deep emotion — *' my good, brave fellows, you will 
 not desert my children ?" 
 
 " Nebber, niassa !" Jim says, speaking first and 
 for all the others, for well he knows their feelings 
 on the subject. His broken English is very deep 
 and impressive as he continues : " De good farder's 
 chillern nebber know what 'tis to be 'serted long as 
 Jim an' 'Sane an' 'Zika hab bref in deir body. Dey 
 go wid 'em ter de ens' o' de yearth fus' ; dey spill 
 ebber drop o' deir blood for 'em." 
 
 "The Kaffir has spoken," Mazika says in his 
 liquid, rounded Zulu, "and his words are as the 
 words of truth. While Mazika has one drop of 
 blood to give he will give it for his father's chil- 
 dren." 
 
 " As the lioness ]ir()tects her cubs," says Pitsane 
 in his guttural though not altogether unmusical Hot- 
 tentot, " and the rhinoceros cow her calf, so will Pit- 
 sane lay down his life for the children of the good 
 father, the true, brave man who has taught him that 
 all men are equal in the sight of the great God whom 
 he serves." 
 
 " God bless you, each and every one !" Mr. Lil- 
 lington says fervently. " Oh, may the words you 
 have spoken stand as an everlasting monument to 
 the better and nobler impulses of your race ! God 
 made us all, Mazika, Pitsane, Jim ; the same hand 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 147 
 
 that fashioued the white skiu to cover my face made 
 also the black one that covers yours. He is the 
 Father of us all. The great and universal lan- 
 guage he teaches us is love : ' Thou shalt love thy 
 neighbor as thyself.' Again he says, ' Greater love 
 hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life 
 for his friends.' And this is just what you propose 
 to do, my bi-ave, true fellows. For me and mine you 
 are ready to die. Oh, the God of heaven and earth, 
 the Maker alike of the white man and the black, the 
 great and universal Father, bless you for ever and 
 bring you at least to know the fullness of his glory 
 in his home beyond the stars !" 
 
 The next day Mr. Lillington grew very restless. 
 Fever set in, and in three days more he was wildly 
 tossing in delirium. All that loving and gentle 
 ones could do was done for him. Day and night 
 they watched him untiringly ; hour after hour they 
 were beside him holdino; the coolino- draught to his 
 lips or fanning his fevered brow. With aching 
 hearts and tearful eyes they watched the slow but 
 sure advance of that Shadow that falls alike upon 
 the hearts of the young and of the old — that draws 
 with stern impartiality in ghastly outlines its hid- 
 eous form upon the ice-gorges of the polar seas and 
 the glaring sand-heaps of the tropic deserts — the 
 Shadow against M'hich even the world's Edens are 
 powerless and the Happy Valleys not free from 
 entrance. 
 
 On the morning of the twenty-third day since 
 
148 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 they had been inmates of the cave, and following 
 upon a night of comparative quiet, Mr. Lillington 
 at length opened his eyes with a gleam of conscious- 
 ness in their depths. 
 
 " Bury me," he said faintly, " in the little cem- 
 etery on the hill beside my dear wife and the loved 
 ones who have gone before." 
 
 A few moments he closed his eyes, then opened 
 them again with one long, last loving look upon all 
 the tearful faces grouped about him. 
 
 "O God of the fatherless," he murmured, his 
 weak lips moving in prayer, " be a Father to these 
 my helpless ones. Oh bless them, kind God — bless 
 each and every one of them. O Guardian of the 
 helpless, O Protector of the oppressed, O Rock of 
 refuge for those in trouble, be thou near. Comfort 
 and help, for Jesus' sake I" 
 
 At sunrise he was dead, and the wails of his 
 stricken children told how truly desolate he had 
 left them. 
 
 Pitsane and Jim procured from the forest, where 
 many weeks before they had been sawn, the boards 
 with which Cunnyugham's own hands made the 
 coflfin in which his uncle's body was placed. 
 
 At nightfall of the following day Pitsane and Jim 
 were sent to dig the grave within the little cemetery 
 on the hill. Thither a few hours later the body was 
 carried by Cunnyngham, Mazika, Pitsane and Jim, 
 Pierce alone of his children following as mourner, 
 for the others, especially the girls, have become so 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 149 
 
 exhausted by their grief as to be utterly unable to 
 make the trip. 
 
 Cuunynghani's voice was shaken by a storm of 
 emotion as he attempted to repeat above the open 
 grave into which the coffin had been lowered the 
 beautiful and comforting words of the fourteenth 
 chapter of Revelation : 
 
 "'Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord 
 from henceforth : yea, saith the Spirit, that they 
 may rest from their labors ; and their works do 
 follow them.'" 
 
 As the fii*st clods were falling upon the coffin-lid 
 the attention of the group about the grave was at- 
 tracted by the sound of pattering footsteps. It was 
 the poodle Chitaue, who had followed them from 
 the cave, and who, as soon as he caught sight of the 
 open grave, took up his stand near it, whining pit- 
 eously. When it was filled it was all they could do 
 to induce him to leave it. Indeed, he did not do so, 
 even at the last, of his own accord. Pierce having to 
 lift him up and bear him away in his arms. 
 
 For many days following upon Mr. Lillington's 
 death and burial the occupants of the cave seemed 
 too deeply stricken with grief to think of aught 
 else or to begin any preparation whatever for their 
 long and dangerous journey across the plains. Even 
 Mazika, Pitsane and Jim seemed to have lost all in- 
 terest and to be immersed in the common sorrow. 
 The grim Zulu, the grateful Hottentot and the faith- 
 ful Kaffir had all loved the kindly, generous man 
 
150 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 who had looked iijK)n tlii'in, not as slaves and dogs, 
 as the Boers had done, but as men and brothers. 
 
 But licarts cannot long remain so cast down 
 and grief-stricken. Youth is naturally strong 
 and buoyant, and a week after Mr. Lillington's 
 death active preparations for the start across the 
 plains were begun. Mazika had almost entirely 
 recovered from his wounds by this time — though 
 the one upon his cheek had left a terrible scar — 
 and was thus enabled to give them much valuable 
 aid. 
 
 An incident has in the mean time occurred which 
 has made an addition to the little party by no less 
 a personage than old Kamati, the blacksmith. 
 Happening to go one evening on a scouting-ex- 
 pedition to gain, if possible, some knowledge of 
 the movements of the Boers and Zulus, Pitsane 
 has stumbled upon a half-starved creature hidden 
 away in the rocks of the basalt cliffs. He is great- 
 ly surprised to find in this emaciated object the once 
 fleshy and vigorous blacksmith. Kamati has es- 
 caped in the confusion attendant upon tiie stampede 
 of the buffaloes, but iu the excitement lias gotten 
 lost from his people. Ever since he has lain hid- 
 den in the rocks, fearing to venture out by day 
 lest he shall be seen by the dreaded Boers and 
 Zulus. At night he has procured what meagre 
 food he has so far subsisted upon — roots, berries 
 and a quantity of half-bu*rnt corn obtained from 
 one of the partially-consumed ruins of the village. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 151 
 
 It makes the tears spring to Ellie's and Hope's 
 sympathetic eyes to see the ravenous manner in 
 which the poor fellow devours every article of food 
 that is set before him. 
 
 Under Kamati's direction an anvil, a bellows 
 and some coal are now obtained from a little cellar 
 beneath a mound in the rear of his hut, where they 
 have escaped destruction in the general conflagra- 
 tion of the station. This seems a special dispen- 
 sation of Providence to the trusting little band in 
 the cave, all the more so since, from long standing, 
 many parts of the iron-work of the wagon have 
 become loosened and need attention. 
 
 With the aid of Kamati and Pitsane, Cunnyng- 
 ham sets about a complete overhauling of the wagon 
 and the getting of it into the best possible condition 
 for hard usage. 
 
 The wagon is almost new, having been used very 
 little, and only for one considerable trip, that from 
 the Cape to the mission-station. It is about four- 
 teen feet long by six wide, and, though solidly 
 built, is yet unusually light and easy-moving for 
 its size. Over the top of the wagon is stretched 
 a high canvas cover or " tilt," a protection against 
 sun and rain. On either side of the vehicle is 
 fastened an additional canvas sheet with falling 
 sides, so arranged that the whole can be stretched 
 out and pegged to the ground, when, lo ! there 
 are two as nice tents as one would need to have. 
 The bottom of the wagon is ingeniously fitted with 
 
152 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 various boxes and lockers. In these the ammuni- 
 tion and the stock of provisions are to be placed, 
 and in others, which are water-tigiit and made 
 somewhat in the shape of casks, is a supply of 
 Avatcr preparatory to passing over arid desert 
 wa.stes. Tliese boxes and lockers are so arranged 
 as to make a level surface upon which blankets and 
 other articles for forming a bed can be spread. To 
 the sides of the wagon above this are fitted num- 
 erous smaller boxes for miscellaneous stores; 
 brackets or racks for the holding of the rifles, 
 guns and other firearms ; also receptacles for the 
 carpenter's and blacksmith's tools. 
 
 To draw this wagon there is a team of twenty 
 large, strong Bechuana oxen, four of them having 
 afterward been added to the sixteen first carried to 
 the cave. Sixteen is the usual team, but Mr. Lil- 
 liugtou has been careful to provide four extra ones, 
 so as to guard against casualties. These oxen are 
 what is known as " well-salted ;" that is, they have 
 worked over many parts of South Africa, been ex- 
 posed to all sorts of hardships, and thus become 
 proof, moderately speaking, against many things 
 to which the fresher animals w'ould easily suc- 
 cumb. 
 
 Their arrangements being now perfected and 
 everything having been put in first-class order for 
 the journey, the trusting little band that is thus 
 fearlessly going forth to face many of the worst 
 dangers of savage Africa agrees that the start shall 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 133 
 
 be made on the following Monday evening at sun- 
 down. By journeying at night they will avoid 
 much of the danger of being discovered by any 
 prowling band of Zulus or Boers, and, as it will be 
 much cooler, it will be less trying, not only upon 
 themselves, but upon the cattle. Afterward, when 
 they are farther upon their route and have grown 
 accustomed to the heat of the sun, they can divide 
 the time between the day and the night. 
 
 The goal they desire to make during the first 
 night is a certain pool or spring in the now dried- 
 up bed of a river-course eighteen or twenty miles 
 away, where, in the dense jungles of mimosa that 
 surround it and sheltered by the overhanging cliffs, 
 they hope to remain safely hidden through the next 
 day. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " He will be our Guide even unto death." 
 
 UPON the following Monday evening, a full 
 half hour before the sun had set, everything 
 is in readiness for the start. The wagon stands 
 before the entrance to the cave with the oxen 
 yoked to it. About the barricade that has served to 
 make a secure pasturage-ground of the upper end 
 of the canon Jim has collected the cattle prepar- 
 atory to driving theiu out. Two of the horses 
 stand ready saddled and bridled, while a third has 
 simply a bridle and blanket, another saddle having 
 been unprocurable. 
 
 About the mouth of the cave the little group is 
 gathered, for ere they start forth upon the long and 
 dangerous journey across the savage wilderness they 
 assemble to ask help and protection of Him who 
 guards even the bird's flight. 
 
 In a deep and earnest voice Pierce reads the beau- 
 tiful and comforting words of the ninety-first Psalm. 
 Then they fall upon their knees and clasp their 
 hands while Cunnyngham prays aloud to God 
 for strength and help to pass safely through the 
 many terrible dangers they are about to face. 
 
 154 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 155 
 
 When prayer is ended they take their way each to 
 the ajipoiiited place he or she is to occupy in the 
 caravan, and the march is begun. 
 
 In front rides Cunuyngham on one of his uncle's 
 horses, and at his side the grim and faithful Zulu 
 mounted upon another, the one that has no saddle. 
 It has been hard work to get Mazika to mount the 
 horse. Long has he protested that Mazika is no 
 child that he should be carried by the swift beast with 
 the slender legs. But as Mazika's wounds still get 
 angry at times, strong persuasion is brought to bear 
 upon him to induce him to spare himself as much 
 as possible ; and he finally mounts the horse, though 
 still against his inclinations. He is riding in Zulu 
 fashion, with his knees pressed close against the sides 
 of the horse and his feet stuck out almost at right 
 angles. Behind Cunuyngham and Mazika come 
 the cattle, driven by Jim — five cows with their 
 calves, the extra oxen, a half dozen beeves, a 
 dozen head of sheep, and as many goats. Jim 
 has the privilege of riding one of the donkeys. 
 
 Following close upon Jim and his cattle is the 
 great wagon with the yoke of sixteen strong, splen- 
 did oxen attached. At their head, as leader, walks 
 Pitsaue, while old Kamati is upon the driver's seat. 
 It is uudei'stood that they are to change about in the 
 leading and driving. Cunuyngham, Pierce, and 
 even Mazika, are also to have their turn handling 
 the span, while Jim too is to be relieved at inter- 
 vals of his care of the cattle. 
 
156 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 In the wagon are Ellie, Hope, Henrietta, Marvin, 
 Baby Louise and Mainochisane. There, too, snugly 
 ensconced in one corner set apart for their especial 
 use, is Madame Pussy Tea-kettle with her little 
 family, the latter in one month having grown to 
 quite a respectable size. At Henrietta's feet, upon 
 a skin rug, is the poodle Chitane, now somewhat 
 recovered from the state of dejection into which he 
 has been thrown by his master's death. 
 
 Beside the wagon rides Pierce, mounted upon his 
 father's favorite horse, Khiva, named for a famous 
 African king, and which has been the gift of Cap- 
 tain Murray. About his heels frolic the dogs that 
 have come to them at the gates of the mission-sta- 
 tion, now sleek and \vell fed. INIazika's great yellow 
 dog, Spoorer, as though scorning the injudicious 
 gambols of the younger ones, walks with dignified 
 tread beside the horse upon which his master sits. 
 Fastened to the pommel of Pierce's saddle are the 
 reins of the halters by which two of his uncle's 
 donkeys are tethered, Chumah and Susi following 
 of their own free will. 
 
 Among the other appointments of the wagon, 
 there has been fitted to the top of the body on 
 either side a stout plank about nine or ten inches 
 wide and running the whole length, each of which 
 is so fastened by hinges that it can be put down or 
 up at pleasure, thus serving as a protection against 
 the spears, arrows, or even bullets, of the enemy in 
 case of an ambuscade. On a platform at the rear 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 157 
 
 of the wagon are secured two large coops, or rather 
 cages. In oue of these are the fowls that have 
 been secured from the mission-station, while into 
 the other, at regular periods, are put first the young 
 calves and then the kids, so as to relieve them in 
 part of the trying fatigues of the journey. 
 
 On starting out from the cave the little caravan 
 Ciirries with it what is a full two months' supply of 
 provisions. Of such articles as flour, Indian corn- 
 meal and the grain wherewith to make other meal 
 when this is exhausted there is a much larger supply. 
 In addition to flour, meal and corn, the commissariat 
 contains such articles as coffee, tea, sugar, crackers, 
 a small quantity of pickles and preserves, a dozen or 
 two of lemons and limes, some cheeses made of the 
 curds of goats' milk, bacon, even one or two home- 
 cured hams, and a somewhat large supply of " bil- 
 tong," or dried game-flesh. 
 
 Among the miscellaneous stores are candles, soap, 
 tar, tallow, matches, nails, spare bits of canvas and 
 ropes and many other useful things too tedious to 
 mention. There are, also, Mr. Lillington's medi- 
 cine-case, with a stock of medicines additional to 
 what that contains, a sextant and compass, a small 
 but powerful telescope, a case of surgical instrments, 
 various blacksmith and carpenter tools, including 
 the anvil and bellows and a small grindstone on 
 which to sharpen the axes and hatchets. 
 
 AVith the personal effects of Ellie and Hope are 
 carefully packed sewing articles of various descrip- 
 
158 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 tions, such as needles, thread, scissors, while Pierce 
 has many small chemical apparatuses and arsenical 
 and other preparations for preservin<; natural-his- 
 tory specimens, he being especially fond of chem- 
 istry and natural history. Marvin's store consists 
 of a collection of numerous fish-hooks and lines, a 
 kite with a gorgeous tail, to which he has clung to 
 the last, a wonderful rubber ball, a spinning-toj) that 
 goes to sleep beautifully — all presents his dear dead 
 father has obtained for him from the Cape, at great 
 trouble — and his beloved magic-lantern and views, 
 the last the gift of Captain Murray. 
 
 Among the stores intended partly for barter and 
 partly for presents to the diiferent savage chiefs, 
 especially to those with whom they may have trou- 
 ble in getting across their country, are glass beads 
 of various colors and sizes, gilt and copper rings, 
 pocket-knives, gayly-painted tin cups, iron spoons, 
 and a bolt or so of calico and baize which their 
 father has kept for bartering ])urposes at the mis- 
 sion-station. They have also a very good supply 
 of ammunition, several guns and rifles and two 
 revolvers. 
 
 As the little caravan defiles out of the gorge near 
 the main entrance to the station the sun has set and 
 the moon has already risen. AVith tearful eyes and 
 sad hearts Ellie and Hope look upon the blackened 
 ruins of what has been the only home they have 
 known for yeai-s. As rude as have been its appoint- 
 ments, as wild as have been its surroundings, it has 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 159 
 
 nevertheless held many things that have been most 
 sweet and pleasant. Now like wanderers they must 
 go out across the great wilderness that stretches be- 
 tween them and the only other home they have 
 on earth. 
 
 When opposite the little cemetery upon the hill 
 a pause is made that the eyes of these desolate chil- 
 dren may look once more — nay, for the last time — 
 upon the mounds that cover all of the earthly part 
 of that about which have been bound the purest and 
 the strongest cords that have held them to life. As 
 they go out across the great wide desert how often 
 will their hearts turn back with a sick and dreary 
 longing to the one dear and sacred spot nestled like 
 a bit of God's own acre in the midst of the silent 
 and desolate stretches of this African valley ! A 
 short distance beyond the mission-station the little 
 caravan turns somewhat suddenly and sharply to 
 the left and makes its way over a rude wooden 
 bridge that at this point spans the river. As the 
 rise of a hill on the other side is reached, involun- 
 tarily they turn for a last look upon the mission- 
 station. 
 
 The few fleecy clouds that have been at play 
 about the moon have now gone scurrying oif, and 
 the strong, clear light falls full upon everything, 
 even upon the line of low reeds along the river's 
 course. Against the southern sky the beautiful 
 stars of this hemisphere, far more beautiful here 
 than elsewhere, glitter like gems above the tower- 
 
IGO CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 iner crests of the distant mountains that stand out 
 in sucli bold relief. But there is no boldness, no 
 glare, in the moonlight, which seems to throw a 
 mantle of peace about those who gaze upon it, as 
 it also throws a mantle of silver over everything 
 upon which it rests. In another moment they 
 have descended the hill, and Lepelole, with all 
 its joys and sorrows, its days of pleasure and of 
 pain, its life of rare delights and of bitter heart- 
 aches, is left behind for ever. 
 
 Slowly but steadily they keep on their way. 
 Every hour there is a siiort stop of at least ten 
 minutes to allow the less hardy of the cattle to rest. 
 Careful watch is kept in every direction in order 
 to guard against any sudden surprise on the part 
 of hostile man or savage beast. But beyond the 
 occasional skulking form of a hyena or a wolf no 
 danger threatens : God seems, indeed, to have them 
 in the hollow of his hand. 
 
 For the first three or four miles after leaving the 
 mission-station they pass over a country that is 
 comparatively level ; then it begins to rise grad- 
 ually to the foot of a line of mountains that lies 
 directly across their course. The ascent, though 
 rough and broken in many places, is neither very 
 steep nor extremely difficult, owing to the winding 
 nature of the track they follow. They find the 
 descent of the range a little more difficult than the 
 ascent has been. More than once ihe path grows 
 so rugged that great care and caution are ueces- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 161 
 
 sary in order to get the oxen and wagon safely 
 along. 
 
 All night they travel, and then, just as the 
 whole of the eastern sky is breaking into one glo- 
 rious mass of light, they reach the bed of a dry 
 water-course some five or six miles from the foot 
 of the last ridge down which they have toiled. 
 Here Mazika, who has so far acted as guide on 
 account of being more familiar with the country 
 in this direction than any other member of the 
 party, says they are to "outspan ;" in other words, 
 to unyoke the oxen and prepare to encamp. 
 
 They follow the track of the water-course for 
 perhaps two hundred and fifty or three hundred 
 yards. Here somewhat suddenly, after having 
 passed around a thick coppice of low-growing 
 acacias, they come upon a pool, or rather a spring, 
 of most excellent water that is sheltered by an 
 overhanging ledge of rock. They are now in one 
 of the wildest portions of the river-bed. On either 
 side the bank towers many feet above them, cov- 
 ered with a tangled growth of bush and vine and 
 interspersed here and therewith clumps of swaying, 
 feathery ferns and tall, rank-growing reeds. 
 
 The spring itself is about two feet deep, and 
 gushes with much freedom from the very heart of 
 the earth. Around it, as though to give it a cooler 
 and still more inviting appearance, are clumps of 
 tall ferns and dewy grasses and the fragile stems 
 and creepers of many delicate ice-plants. 
 
162 CHILDREN OF TUB KALAHARI: 
 
 At this inviting spot they hope to remain secure- 
 ly sheltered during the day, as well as to obtain the 
 sleep and rest so necessary to fit them to endure 
 the fatigues of the coming night's travel. The 
 oxen are outspauned, watered and turned to graze 
 upon the luscious grasses that grow in such rich 
 abundance all along the river's bed. The other 
 cattle and the horses and donkeys are also treated 
 in the same manner, after one or two of them have 
 first been tethered in order to prevent them from 
 straying. The fowls too are watered and given 
 grain to eat. Then a sheep is killed, and while 
 Kaffir Jim milks the cows, Ellie, Hope and Mamo- 
 chisane see to the getting of breakfast. And a 
 most palatable meal it is when ready, consisting of 
 lamb nicely roasted, biscuits, eggs, coffee for the 
 older ones and rich sweet milk for the younger. 
 
 When all are satisfied, even the dogs and Mad- 
 ame Tea-kettle and her little family, Mazika care- 
 fully puts out the fire, fearing that the smoke may 
 attract attention. That is, he puts it all out with 
 the exception of one large chunk, which he hus- 
 bands with a view to saving matches, securely 
 wrapping it in the ashes. Then the arrangement 
 having been entered into for Cunnyiigham, Pierce, 
 Mazika, Pitsane, Kamati and Jim to take turns 
 about in keeping watch, they all, with the excep- 
 tion of the one who is to go on guard-duty first, 
 lie down to the much-needed rest. Even the chil- 
 dren and old Mamochisane, despite the fact that 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 163 
 
 tliey have slept much and Avell during the journey 
 of the previous night, nevertheless feel themselves 
 so overcome by the common drowsiness that pre- 
 vails as to soon fall into a slumber quite as deep 
 and sound as the others. Ere lying down they 
 have agreed that they will have but one more meal 
 for this day, and that well toward evening. 
 
 The sun is just two hours high when Mazika, 
 who has been the last on duty, awakens them with 
 the intimation that it is time they were making 
 preparations for the evening's meal and the night's 
 travel. 
 
 While the meal is in preparation Cunnynghani 
 coaxes Ellie and Hope to go with him and Mazika 
 to the summit of a small wood-crowned hill near 
 by, where they desire to make some observations 
 of the surrounding country by means of the tele- 
 scope. The hill is only a few hundred yards di- 
 rectly to the right of the camping-place, but as 
 they have to go back along the bed of the stream to 
 the point at which they have entered it, it is alto- 
 gether the walk of a half mile or more. 
 
 It is more a mound than a hill, and of that pe- 
 culiar cup-shape so common in Africa. It has an 
 altitude of only about seventy-five or a hundred 
 feet ; but as much of the country round about is 
 rather level, and the other hills in the vicinity are 
 of less eminence, they have a very good view. 
 
 Suddenly, Cunnynghani, who has the telescope 
 adjusted to his eye and is pointing it first in one 
 
164 OHTLDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 direction aiul then another, gives a quick little cry 
 and almost lets the instrument fall from his hand. 
 
 " What is the matter?" asks Hope hurriedly. 
 
 "There, Mazika ! take the glass," Cunnyngham 
 says, hastily placing it in his hand. " Quick, old 
 fellow !" he says again to ^lazika, "and bring it to 
 bear upon that clump of acacias out yonder, and 
 tell me what you see." 
 
 " Zulus!" is the one terrible word that falls from 
 Mazika's lips, as, being familiar with the use of the 
 glass, he has adjusted it to the proper focus. 
 
 "'Zulus'!" repeats Ellie, feeling that in spite 
 of her every effort she must cry out in this sudden 
 terror that has come upon her. " Oh, surely not, 
 Mazika ! Look again ! You must be mistaken." 
 
 As to Hope, at the first sound of that dreadful 
 word she has leaned heavily, pale and speechless, 
 against the tree near which she has been standing. 
 The tree, but a mere sapling, begins to bend under 
 her •weight. 
 
 " Mazika is not mistaken, missy. It is Zulus 
 — Zulu dogs, full a score in number and with shin- 
 ing assegais ready for battle." 
 
 "And are they coming this way, Mazika?" 
 
 " Straight as the arrow flies, missy. 
 
 " About how far away are they ?" this last to 
 Cunnynghara, who has again taken the glass. 
 
 "Only about a mile and a half, I should judge, 
 but perhaps a little more," his lips striving in vain 
 to speak the words steadily. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 165 
 
 "Then may God help us, for we are surely 
 lost !" 
 
 " Say not so, child of the good father," exclaims 
 Mazika, falling into his old rounded, musical Zulu. 
 " The hand of Mazika is strong, his heart as the 
 heart of the black rhinoceros that fears naught, and 
 his mighty battle-axe, the great Balala, is thirsty 
 for battle. Before Balala's awful blow many warriore 
 have kissed the dust, and many more will yet kiss 
 it ere Mazika himself goes down. Fear not, child 
 of the good man with the warm hand and the brave 
 heart ; a score of warriors are as but the chaff 
 before the wind to the hand of Mazika, but as the 
 grass the tongues of fire lick up to the kiss of the 
 mighty Balala !" 
 
 " Oh, Mazika," Ellie entreats, " do not talk so 
 extravagantly. You are a brave man, I know, and 
 you are strong, as you say, but what are even your 
 strength and your bravery against a score of blood- 
 thirsty savages armed with their deadly assegais? 
 Oh quick ! tell us what to do !" 
 
 " There is nothing," says Cunnyngham, answer- 
 ing ere the Zulu can speak, " except to return to 
 the camp and prepare to make what defence we can. 
 I, for one, propose to sell my life and that of those 
 dear to me at as great a cost as possible. — What 
 say you, Mazika?" 
 
 " The M'ords of my white brother are brave ; 
 they are the words of a man and warrior. Many 
 Matabele dogs shall kiss the earth this night ere 
 
1.66 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Mazika sleeps with his face turned to the land of 
 his fathers."* 
 
 " Oh, this is dreadful to think of!" cries Hope 
 piteously at this moment. — " O dear God !" clasp- 
 ing her hands and falling upon her knees, "hear us 
 — hear us now as we pray to thee ! Help us ! save 
 us ! for unless you do, we are all lost." 
 
 It is surely in answer to this impassioned prayer 
 that just at this moment Cunnyngham, who has 
 been again looking through the glass, cries excited- 
 ly as he drops it : 
 
 "Oh look! look, all of you ! for you can sec it 
 plainly now without the glass. But be careful to 
 keep within the shadow of the trees." 
 
 They all obey this hastily-given injunction, and 
 as they raise their eyes to glance in the direction in 
 which he is jwinting more than one heart almost 
 ceases to beat, so great is the anxiety that now 
 takes possession of them. 
 
 The Zulus have come out from the shelter of the 
 woods, have crossed the sandy strip, and are now 
 bearing straight toward them across the grassy plain. 
 But even as the watchers under the trees gaze upon 
 them with almost pulseless hearts and bated breath, 
 there happens something that causes the blood to 
 rush back again in its normal condition and every 
 faculty to experience a great reaction. 
 
 * It is the custom of the Zulus, wlien buried away from 
 home, to be sepultured with their faces turned in the direction 
 of Zulu-liiud. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 167 
 
 The Zulus come straight on with heads erect and 
 their terrible assegais catching and reflecting the 
 rays of the now fast setting sun. But suddenly 
 across their path, as though frightened from their 
 covert by the approach of the dread enemy, there 
 bounds a large herd of " klip-springers," or moun- 
 tain gazelles, a beautiful species of the antelope 
 tribe. With wild yells, the faint echoes of which 
 are borne to the watchers even at this distance, the 
 Zulus spring to the chase, some brandishing their 
 assegais, others making ready their bows and 
 arrows. 
 
 " They are gone !" says Mazika — " gone upon 
 the track of the swift-bounding deer that will lead 
 them a chase long after the sun's setting ere they 
 are caught. Another way now will the Zulu go, 
 another place will know his camp for to-night. 
 The children of the good father are safe." 
 
 " That was certainly a miraculous eseajjc," says 
 Cunnynghara, still white and with his hands trem- 
 bling in spite of himself. 
 
 " It was God's mercy," says Ellie reverently. 
 " Did you not hear Hope's prayer ?" 
 
 When they return to the camp and tell the 
 others what has happened, there are many expres- 
 sions of deep gratitude at the miraculous escape, 
 and most fervent is the prayer of thankfulness to 
 God for all his mercies that is offered up at the 
 beginning of the evening meal. 
 
 " ' Surely I know it shall be well with those who 
 
1G8 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 fear God/ " reads Pierce impressively from his 
 father's well-worn Bible, and El lie's voice has a 
 stronger and fuller ring as it leads the evening 
 hymn, despite the fact that they have to sing in 
 somewhat subdued tones in order to guard against 
 detection. 
 
 By six o'clock they have " inspanued " and are 
 ready for the start, which Mazika tells them must 
 be early in order to reach by eleven o'clock a cer- 
 tain spot some fourteen miles distant. 
 
 Their way for many miles yet must lie along the 
 course of the river-bed. Thus, as its banks are 
 very high and deep, and in many places shut in by 
 all manner of dense-growing shrubbery, it will be 
 extremely difficult as well as dangerous to attempt 
 to travel after the moon has gone down. There 
 will be not only the peril to be apj)rehended from 
 lurking wild beasts, but also the danger of either 
 losing their way or of being dashed to pieces against 
 some of the precipitous ledges with which the gorge 
 is lined. As the moon sets at a little after eleven, 
 it is most important that they shall have reached 
 their next camping-place by that time. 
 
 It is a tortuous and trying journey along the 
 river-course, even with the friendly moonlight to 
 aid them, but beyond a thrilling adventure with a 
 leopard, nothing further occurs to disturb them. 
 This creature, which seems very bloodthirsty and de- 
 termined, suddenly springs at the throat of the horse 
 Mazika is leading, just as they have entered one of 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 169 
 
 the wildest portions of the gorge. It misses it, how- 
 ever, and lauds in front of the horse upon which 
 Pierce is mounted. The animal rears wildly, and 
 but for the youth's firm seat in the saddle would 
 surely unhorse him. As the crouching beast turns 
 for a second spring, this time upon the Kaffir, 
 Jim, who has sprung forward to catch the bri- 
 dle of Pierce's plunging horse, a mighty swing 
 of Mazika's great axe lays it dead across their 
 path. 
 
 " Dis here mighty bad plan 'bout trabblin' at 
 night," philosophizes Jim as, quiet and order hav- 
 ing once more been restored, they proceed ou their 
 way. "Fus' t'ing you know lion wid him great 
 blazin' eye gwine ter come ; den what happen, I 
 wonder? But what wid de sharp eyes o' dem 
 sneakin' Zulu watchin' ter spy us out troo de day, 
 it eben wors' dan de beasts." 
 
 " There is very little danger of meeting a lion 
 in this section, I have heard Mazika say," Cun- 
 iiyngham here reassures him. "He says there 
 isn't water enough to suit His Lordship. When 
 we get farther on, about the ' vleys ' and big pools, 
 then we may look out." 
 
 At a few minutes after eleven o'clock, just as the 
 moon is setting, they reach their second camping- 
 place. Here Mazika decides to keep a fire burning 
 through the remainder of the night as a precaution 
 against the attacks of numerous panthers, wild-cats, 
 jackals and such troublesome and dangerous beasts, 
 
170 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 the howls and cries of which are already beginning 
 to sound unpleasantly near. 
 
 The next night's march is a repetition of the 
 preceding one, with the exception of the adventure 
 with the leopard, whicii in this instance is substi- 
 tuted by a most dangerous encounter with a fero- 
 cious pack of ravenous jackals, out of which they 
 come at last with safety, but with tlie loss of two 
 of their sheep and one of the goats, which are 
 killed and carried off by these bloodtliirsty crea- 
 tures. 
 
 That night, which is the third since their start- 
 ing out, they camp at a spot, still along the bed of 
 the dried river-course, a little more than fifty miles 
 in a slightly north-westerly direction from tiie mis- 
 sion-station. They are now well out of the usual 
 range of the Zulus and Boers, but there is still 
 great danger, Mazika tells them, to be apjirehended 
 from one or two tribes that are great allies of the 
 former, although on most hostile terms with the 
 Boers, who have treated them shamefully ; hence 
 they have declared uncompromising war upon all 
 the whites. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "He shall give bis angels charge concerning thee." 
 
 THE spot that has been selected as their third 
 camping-place is even more wildly picturesque 
 than that at which they first stopped. 
 
 The rocky walls of the gorge, however, are not 
 so precipitous nor so high. Indeed, there are many 
 places at which it is quite easy to climb them, even 
 to the top, where an unbroken view of the country 
 may be had in more than one direction. In the 
 distance stretches the long line of mountains over 
 which our travelers have passed in their first night's 
 journey. Farther beyond, bolder and more tow- 
 ering; crao^s rear themselves against the horizon. 
 These last are more than fifty miles away, yet so 
 dry and clear is the atmosphere that in this wonder- 
 ful climate objects at even a much greater distance 
 have been known to be visible. 
 
 Although the spot at which the little caravan has 
 now halted until the following night is not so well 
 shut in as those of their previous camping-places, it 
 is nevertheless one in which they can with some 
 precaution lie securely hidden. There is on every 
 side a luxuriant tangle of trailing vines, lush grasses 
 
 171 
 
172 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 and bending ferns, with thick copijiccs of acacia. A 
 little beyond the camping-phice the bed of the river 
 rnns ahnost on a level with the surrounding country, 
 forming a most convenient outlet. 
 
 Here, a little while after the breakfast-hour, ap- 
 pears Mazika on his way to reconnoitre for the pur- 
 pose of discovering if the country in front of them 
 is sufficiently clear of danger to allow of their pro- 
 ceeding on their way. They are now, he had said 
 to them, about eight miles from a village the chief 
 of which is a great ally of Mosilikatse. As the way 
 before them lies within less than a mile of this vil- 
 lage, it will be quite dangerous to attempt the jour- 
 ney until the outlook for a safe passage is known to 
 be favorable. Therefore the brave Zulu is deter- 
 mined to satisfy himself as to this matter, and, 
 although it is daylight and he will run a great 
 risk in thus exposing himself, he nevertheless sets 
 determinedly forth. Ere leaving he cautions the 
 party not to quit the ravine for any space of time, 
 to build no fires until toward night and to tether 
 the cattle so that they will not stray. 
 
 It is a long and trying day to all, for, the ravine 
 being so closely shut in, the heat is at times almost 
 unbearable. Even Henrietta, with all her irre- 
 pressible spirits, seems for once to have lost the 
 better part of her energy and liglit-heartedness. 
 Nevertheless, she determines to take up again the 
 Catechism she had begun teaching Jim at the sta- 
 tion, and which has been sadly interfered with by 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 173 
 
 the painful and exciting events of the past weeks. 
 Jim comes readily in response to the notice she gives 
 him, the broad smile that displays his great white 
 teeth showing; liow eao;er he is to resume the role of 
 pupil to so charming a little instructress. 
 
 "Jim, who made you ?" questions Miss Henrietta, 
 coming at once to the point. 
 
 " De great Man in de sky, missy." 
 
 " And what is his name, Jim ?" 
 
 " Him name God, missy." 
 
 "Of what did he make you, Jim?" 
 
 " Out'n de black mud, missy." 
 
 " Oh no, Jim ; he made you of the dust of the 
 ground." 
 
 " Mus' er been mighty black dus', missy," 
 
 " And for what did he make you ?" 
 
 " Ter 'tend de cattle en' miu' Miss Ellie." 
 
 " Oh no, he didn't, Jim. He made you for some- 
 thing far better than that — for his own glory." 
 
 " What dat, missy ?" 
 
 For a moment Henrietta is puzzled. It is indeed 
 a hard question for a little girl to answer. But after 
 a few moments of earnest thought she determines to 
 do the best she can. 
 
 "When God made man, Jim," she says at length, 
 speaking very slowly and impressively, " he made 
 him in his own image; and because he had made him 
 in his own image God was very proud of him and 
 wanted him to feel how good it was to be made in 
 the Creator's image. He hoped, too, that when 
 
174 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 man saw how glorious was the iiiia<:;c in whioli he 
 liad l)een made, he would do evervtiiing he could to 
 lionor it; that is, that he would do nothing vile or 
 sinful, nothing that would make God sorry that he 
 had given him his own likeness, but, on the other 
 hand, would do all he could to make himself more 
 like God, good and pure and true, so that God, see- 
 ing how beautiful was the work he had made, would 
 take glory in it." 
 
 " Anj dere a black God, missy?" 
 
 "Oh no, Jim; there is but the one God — pure 
 and white and radiant." 
 
 " Den him nebber mek Jim, missy," with mourn- 
 ful conviction. 
 
 "Oh yes, he did, Jim; he made us all, you as 
 well as me." 
 
 " But you said, missy, 'im mek um all in Mm own 
 picter, en' dat 'im pure and white. Now, poor Jim, 
 'im so black !" 
 
 "Oh, it does not matter about your skin, Jim. 
 It is in your heart where the true likeness of God 
 is placed. If your heart is pure, then you may 
 know that God is there." 
 
 Here Ellie calls Henrietta, and the lesson is 
 ended, for this time at least. 
 
 About three o'clock in the afternoon Mazika re- 
 turns. The signs are favorable, he tells them, for a 
 safe passage around the hostile village, though the 
 utmost caution will be required. This evening a 
 great feast is to be given in honor of some exploit 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 175 
 
 of the chief, Moudokoro, to which many Zulus 
 have beeu invited. Doubtless the Zulus they have 
 seen on that evening at their first camping-place 
 have been on their way thither. At ten o'clock 
 Avill occur the great war-dance, and if they can 
 manaire to reach the neiw-hborhood of the village 
 while this is taking place it will be about the safest 
 opportunity of getting by unobserved. 
 
 The start is arranged for seven o'clock, and it is 
 their determination to put at least twenty miles 
 between the hostile village and their next stopping- 
 place. To accomplish this it will be necessary to 
 travel not only all night, but well into the next 
 day, as the route over which they will have to pass, 
 with the exception of some five or six miles, will 
 lead for the most part over level tracts, many of 
 them treeless, and others, again, only thinly ver- 
 dured ; and as Mazika is altogether familiar with the 
 route, there will be little danger, he assures them, 
 of their losing the track in the dark after the moon 
 has set. If there was, there would be the light of 
 the stars to guide them. 
 
 As they are preparing their evening meal a very 
 exciting thing happens. 
 
 Just as they are all gathered near the fire, where 
 a pot of goat's meat is boiling, their attention is 
 suddenly attracted by the heavy crash and subse- 
 quent trampling of some large animal that has 
 evidently leaped from some little height into the 
 gorge, and is now running up it toward their camp. 
 
17G CHILDREN OF THE KALAUARI: 
 
 " To that ledge of rock at the side of the gorge, 
 quick, all of you !" Cunuynghani cries, and hurries 
 tlioni thither not a moment too soon. 
 
 The next instant there is the piercing cry of " Bo- 
 rele! borele!" (the black rhinoceros! the black rhi- 
 noceros!) from Kamati, followed immediately there- 
 after by the appearance in the cleared spot that forms 
 their camping-place of a full-grown black rhinoceros 
 charging at headlong speed. The first thing it 
 encounters is the rear end of the wagon turned 
 slightly sideways across the line of its course. 
 With one thrust of its deadly horn it dashes the 
 chicken-coop to splinters, kills three of the fowls, 
 and sends the others flying in terror to the shelter 
 of the thorn-coppices. From the wagon the great 
 beast charges full tilt upon the fire where the pot 
 is boiling, overturns it and scatters the burning 
 brands in every direction. 
 
 "Aim for the shoulder!" Cunnyngham cries to 
 Pierce, who fortunately has his rifle in his hand at the 
 time of the infuriated animal's entrance of the camp. 
 
 He obeys, but the excitement of the moment has 
 rendered his hand unsteady, and instead of striking 
 the monster brute in the shoulder the ball enters 
 a portion of the spine. But it is a most fortunate 
 shot, and made not a moment too soon. In another 
 instant the maddened beast would have charged full 
 upon the trembling group crouched within the 
 shadow of the overhanging rock. But as Pierce's 
 bullet penetrates the spine, it has the effect of par- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 177 
 
 tially paralyzing it, so that for an instant it stands 
 perfectly motionless. The next moment Pierce has 
 taken aim npon the huge exposed shoulder and fired 
 the second time. It is a splendid shot, for the ball, 
 ploughing its way through the thick fold of skin, 
 pierces the heart and brings the animal witii one 
 wild plunge to the ground. 
 
 The slain rhinoceros is a huge beast, and proves, 
 after careful examination, to be in unusually good 
 order for one of his kind. Some steaks are there- 
 fore cut from the tenderest part and thrown upon 
 the coals to broil, in place of the stew of goat's meat 
 the infuriated animal has so wantonly destroyed. 
 
 A most pathetic little incident happens as the 
 carcass of the huge beast is dragged away. Under 
 one of his great feet is found a mangled and shape- 
 less mass of soft fur that, as they gaze upon it, they 
 recognize as all that is left of poor little Kitten 
 Lightfoot, one of the most headstrong and disobe- 
 dient of Madame Tea-kettle's somewhat willful 
 family. Instead of remaining to play with his 
 little brothers and sisters on the skin rug over by 
 the great rock, where Henrietta has placed them, 
 and where Madame Tea-kettle herself stays to keep 
 close watch over her somewhat unmanageable little 
 family. Kitten Lightfoot, puffed up with a sense of 
 his own importance and of his mother's old-fogyish 
 ways, has wandered off in search of adventures; 
 and this has been his end ! 
 
 " Poor little Kitten !" says Henrietta, sobbing 
 
 12 
 
178 CHILDREN OF TlIK KALMIART: 
 
 over his shapeless remains, " you were very naughty, 
 I know, and gave your poor nianinia heaps of trou- 
 ble, but I ciiu't help feeling sorry for you. If all of us 
 ■who are ugly and naughty, and don't every time do as 
 we are told to do, were to be taken off becjuise of our 
 naughtiness, there would be awfully few of us left. — 
 Marviu," she continues, " let us bury Kitten, and let 
 us write something over liis grave that will warn 
 all the little children-beasts how very, very sinful 
 it is to be disobedient to their parents." 
 
 " But they couldn't read it," says Marvin sturdily. 
 
 " Well, maybe they'll somehow know. At any 
 rate, I'd feel better if I did it, somehow as if I'd 
 'tended to a warning I'd been asked to make." 
 
 So the tiny grave is dug and the remains of the 
 poor little disobedient Kitten laid therein, carefully 
 enveloped in one of Cuunyngham's well-worn hand- 
 kerchiefs, which he cheerfully contributes for the 
 occasion. When the tiny mound is raised this epi- 
 taph is placed at the head thereof, carefully printed 
 in Pierce's best hand : 
 
 Co tte iHfmorp 
 
 OF 
 
 KITTEN LTGHTFOOT, 
 
 Son of Mrs. Pussy Tea-kettle Grey 
 
 (AVidow of Tlionias Grey), 
 
 Who was Walked on by the Big Rhinoceros, 
 
 April 17, 188-, 
 
 Fob Running away from his Motheb. 
 
 ChUdreriy obey your parents. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 179 
 
 In a short while, by means of some strips of 
 plank they have fortunately brought with them, 
 another chicken-coop is constructed. The fowls 
 are soon coaxed back to the clearing by means of a 
 generous sprinkling of grain thrown to them by 
 Ellie and Hope, and, as they shortly go to roost 
 on some low bushes near by, they are finally caught 
 and returned to the coop with but little trouble. 
 
 This accident delays them somewhat, and it ia not 
 until nearly eight o'clock that the start is made. 
 
 By following closely and carefully the many 
 cautious directions of Mazika they are enabled at 
 last to get safely around the hostile village, but 
 they catch an idea of just how critical is the situa- 
 tion from the various sounds that from time to time 
 are borne to them from the centre of the village, 
 where the leaping, howling savages are holding high 
 carnival. 
 
 As they reach a point about half a mile beyond 
 the village Pierce rides back to where Pitsane has 
 lingered to help Jim bring up a few head of strag- 
 gling cattle, and to make sure that there is no sign 
 of discovery or pursuit. 
 
 " Pitsane," Pierce says as soon as Jim starts to 
 the front with his stray cattle, " I am fairly de- 
 voured with curiosity to return and see the sights 
 that are going on in that village. Mazika tells me 
 that as soon as Moudokoro's people are through, the 
 Zulus present are going to engage in the genuine old 
 Zulu war-dance. Do you not think we might man- 
 
180 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 age to crcej) up near enough to see witliout being 
 seen ?" 
 
 Pitsane sliakcs his head donhtfully : 
 
 " Pitsane thinks not. There would be many 
 risks, and Pitsane would never forgive himself 
 did he not warn the sou of the good father of the 
 great danger." 
 
 " But if we are cautious we can surely creep 
 through the woods without being detected. We 
 can fasten our horses in that clump of trees there 
 and make our way to the village on foot. The sav- 
 ages will be so taken up with their dancing and feast- 
 ing that they will not think of anything else. We'll 
 take care to keep Avithin the shelter of the brush- 
 wood. Come, Pitsane, let us risk it. We can 
 easily overtake the others in an hour's time. 
 Come, teach me your trick of gliding along noise- 
 lessly. I believe you Hottentots could make your 
 way over creaking floors without giving forth a 
 single sound." 
 
 Thus importuned, Pitsane at last consents, but 
 still against his better judgment. 
 
 Tying their horses securely within the thicket 
 Pierce has pointed out, they cautiously make their 
 way in the direction of the village. Between this 
 thicket and the stretch of woods that encloses the 
 town of INIondokoro there is an open space of wav- 
 ing grass, with here and there a single scrubby 
 mimosa or a tussock of thorns and thistles. If 
 they should be discovered while crossing this, there 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 181 
 
 would be little chance for concealment. They, how- 
 ever reach the shelter of the woods on the other side 
 without detection. Here Pitsaue pauses and places 
 his finger upon his lips as a sign for perfect silence. 
 Then throwing his body forward he begins to ad- 
 v^ance through the matted underbrush with a half- 
 creeping, half-gliding movement that is absolutely 
 noiseless. Pierce endeavors to imitate him, and 
 finally succeeds very well, though he fully realizes 
 that even with years of careful practice he will never 
 acquire the perfection of soundless movement that 
 seems to be a very part of the gliding Hottentot. 
 
 Ere they have advanced more than two hundred 
 and fifty or three hundred yards they catch sight 
 of the glow of the fires burning within the open 
 space in the centre of the village. Five minutes 
 more, and they can see clearly the outlines of the 
 dome-shaped huts straggling in somewhat irregular 
 lines across the clearing. A little nearer still, and 
 now they can plainly distinguish many moving 
 forms and catch snatches of noisy shouts and of 
 excited conversation. Creeping to the edge of the 
 clearing and cautiously concealing themselves behind 
 a tangled mass of undergrowth, and within the 
 shadow of a tall tree that towers many feet above 
 them, they are now enabled to see and hear much 
 of what is passing within the village. 
 
 The first dance seems to have been over for some 
 little time, and the Zulus are now preparing for 
 the great feature of the night's revelry. There 
 
182 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 are a liuudrcd or more of tliein, all totally nude 
 and with their gleaming blaek bodi(;.s smeared 
 from head to foot with a horrid mixture of grease 
 and red clay. In the glow of the fire they look 
 more like demons than men, and as Pierce glances 
 at them a shudder passes over him. To add still 
 further to their horrible appearance, they are throw- 
 ing their faces into all sorts of contortions and ges- 
 ticulating wildly with their arms. 
 
 A loud beating noise upon some rude, drum-like 
 instrument now summons them to the dance, when 
 they quickly place themselves in a circle. The 
 drum now ceases to beat and the dance begins, 
 with a slow movement to a sort of humming noise 
 that is made by a group of women who have sta- 
 tioned themselves in the rear. The men now begin 
 to stamp and keep time with their feet until the ex- 
 citement, gradually increasing, culminates finally in 
 a simultaneous spring, accompanied by a series of 
 most blood-curdling shouts. This seems to urge 
 the now thoroughly possessed actors to a most 
 unnatural frenzy, during which they throw their 
 bodies about in the most terrible abandon and their 
 already hideous faces into such horrible contortions 
 as strike a sick fear to the heart of Pierce, and 
 make him wish from the bottom of his heart that 
 he had not been so foolhardy as to venture into such 
 danger. For just how great a danger is this into 
 which his curiosity and rash impetuousncss have 
 led him he sees now plainly enough. The picture 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 183 
 
 of these howling, leaping savages going through all 
 these horrible contortions is indeed sufficient to pro- 
 duce in even the strongest mind the most appalling 
 sensations. The dusky glare of the fire, too, blaz- 
 ing in front of the dancing warriors during their 
 wild and unearthly evolutions, added to the flaming 
 torches which many of them have snatched from 
 the burning heaps and are now whirling wildly 
 around their heads, gives an additional degree of 
 awful effect to the terrible scene. At length, nature 
 having thoroughly exhausted itself, the savages 
 begin one by one to drop out of the ring and to fall 
 along the ground, Nvhere they lie nearly motionless. 
 Finally, the movements of those who are left grow 
 slower and slower, though every now and then 
 there is a convulsive effort on the part of some one 
 of them to throw the body into wilder contortions 
 than any yet essayed. Suddenly there is a loud tap of 
 the drum-like instrument, similar to that with which 
 the dance has begun, at sound of which the strained 
 evolutions of the remaining warriors instantly cease. 
 They are at once surrounded by a great company of 
 the villagers, men, women and children, who crowd 
 about them to offer congratulations upon the won- 
 derful power displayed by them in holding out so 
 long. This lasts for some minutes, during which 
 those warriors who have fallen out before the dance 
 ended also come forward to compliment their more 
 successful companions, which is done with very good 
 grace considering their own defeat. 
 
184 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Just as the savages are on the point of breaking 
 up to take their way to various parts of the village, 
 Pierce gives Pitsane the signal for their own de- 
 parture. But, unfortunately, at this moment, in 
 turning around, the youth's foot treads upon a dry 
 twig, which at once breaks asunder, giving forth a 
 sharp, snapping sound. In an instant several of 
 the heads of the savages who are the nearest to 
 them are thrown back and turned in the direction 
 whence the sound has issued. Pierce's heart begins 
 to beat violently, for he feai"s that all is now lost. 
 And it does, in truth, seem so, especially as some 
 half dozen of the savages now start up, evidently 
 as thouo-h with the intention of making toward the 
 spot where the Hottentot and youth are now crouch- 
 ing in momentary terror of being discovered. In a 
 few seconds more all would indeed be over with 
 them but for a timely diversion that now occurs. 
 
 The sound of the snapping twig has fallen upon 
 other ears besides those of the savages, and evi- 
 dently with a note of alarm. Near where Pierce 
 and Pitsane have been crouching two hyenas, one 
 of them but little more than half grown, have 
 taken up their stand, waiting for the savages to 
 disperse, so that they may feast upon the bones of 
 the various animals that have been slaughtered and 
 eaten during the evening. At sound of the snap- 
 ping twig the younger has been considerably start- 
 led, and just as the savages have started up to make 
 their way to the spot where Pierce and Pitsane are 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 185 
 
 crouching, the auimal, with one frightened bound, 
 springs into the midst of the clearing directly in 
 front of them. With a loud shout one of the men 
 impales the terror-stricken animal upon the point 
 of his spear. Apparently satisfied that the break- 
 ing twig has been caused by the hyena, the savages, 
 after a short consultation, returu to the circle of 
 light produced by the blazing fires, thus enabling 
 the Hottentot and the youth to steal cautiously 
 away from their dangerous hiding-place. 
 
 " That was a close run, Pitsaue," Pierce says at 
 length, as some ten or fifteen minutes later they 
 reach in safety the thicket where their horses are 
 fastened. "■ I tell you what, old fellow," he con- 
 tinues, when, having mounted, they ride slowly 
 and cautiously away for fear of the sound of their 
 horses' hoofs attracting attention, " curiosity when 
 not properly directed is a bad thing. Here, for the 
 mere sake of seeing how those ugly Zulus looked 
 when engaged in that great war-dance of theirs, I 
 imperiled not only my own life, but that of 
 another." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "How manifold are thy works!" 
 
 PIERCE and Pitsane have not proceeded more 
 tlian two miles on their way wlien tliey catch 
 sight of a figure riding rapidly toward them across 
 the open plain. It proves to be Cunnyngham, who, 
 having grown alarmed at their protracted absence, 
 has returned in search of them. 
 
 Pierce feels more deej)ly than ever the inexcusa- 
 bleness of his conduct when he learns how much 
 his sister and cousin have been distressed in regard 
 to his disapjiearance, and then and there forms a 
 firm resolve never to be guilty of so thoughtless 
 and so rash an act again. 
 
 The little caravan is overtaken some six miles 
 beyond the village. The moon has now gone down 
 and there is only the light of the stars to guide 
 them. But this seems to be sufficient for Mazika, 
 ibr not ouce does he lead them astray from the 
 course, even conducting them safely over an outly- 
 ing ridge of the mountains over which they passed 
 during their first night's travel. Here the path 
 has to be cleared by the use of axes. 
 
 While crossing this range tlioy have at the hour 
 
 186 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 187 
 
 of midnight the rare delight of hearing rich, liquid 
 bird-notes in a roundelay as sweet and pure as ever 
 issued from the throat of feathered songster. la 
 delighted surprise the weary travelers pause to 
 listen, each liquid note falling with a sweet and 
 indescribable effect upon their hearts and seeming 
 to make suddenly glad all the dreary way. 
 
 " That is assuredly the ' little shepherd,' " says 
 Cunnyngham as he rides near the wagon where 
 Ellie and Hope are sitting. " I have often read 
 accounts of travelers who spoke of this bird, and 
 of the inspiring effects its glad, beautiful notes had 
 upon them, coming thus unexpectedly in the dead 
 of night." 
 
 " ' The little shepherd ' ?" repeats Ellie, interrog- 
 atively. " Why is it called that ?" 
 
 " It was said to have been so named by some of 
 the native farmers and herders because of its famil- 
 iarity in approaching them while tending their sheep, 
 as well as from the affection it is said to display for 
 these woolly animals. It is a very gentle and harm- 
 less bird, and I dare say if we could gain a sight of 
 this brave little fellow, who sings so cheerily in the 
 midst of this darkness and desolation, he would show 
 little, if any, disposition to fly away from us." 
 
 They travel steadily all night, only stopping at 
 short intervals to rest the tired cattle, and once for 
 about an hour to give them water from the casks 
 in the wagon. 
 
 By eight o'clock the following morning they have 
 
188 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 put fully sixteen miles between them and the hostile 
 village, IMaziku tells them, but they lack a good six 
 miles' journey yet of reaching the spot where they 
 are to halt. A snack of biscuit and biltong (dried 
 game-flesh) is eaten as they go along, washed down 
 with water from the casks, which they find a little 
 warm and unpalatable from its standing since the 
 preceding night. But despite this drawback they 
 drink it gratefully, thinking how much worse it 
 might be if they had none at all. 
 
 The sun has now grown very warm, almost un- 
 bearably so whenever a strip of woods is left and 
 they come out upon an open plain. More and 
 more frequent now grow these plains or treeless 
 tracts. The country, too, has undergone quite a 
 change. It is much less rugged, and the forest 
 growths are not so deep in their verdure. Instead 
 of the widespreading banian, there are now more 
 pines and palms, with many clumps of a tree that 
 resembles the wild olive. 
 
 Here, too, in great abundance grows the camel- 
 thorn or acacia-giraffe, called by the Dutch " ka- 
 meel-dorn," and so named because of the fondness 
 shown for it l)y the cameloj)ard. It is also the 
 tree. Pierce tells Ellie and Hope, that gave Dr. 
 Livingstone the belief that it was the same as that 
 of which the ark of the covenant and the frame 
 of the tabernacle were made. 
 
 "And is it really so?" Hope asks. 
 
 "I do not know, but J think it is. Dr. Liv- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 189 
 
 ingstoue fully believed it, and gave raauy proofs to 
 sustain his belief. One is that its wood answers 
 accurately the description of it given in sacred his- 
 tory, and the other is that the tree is found where 
 the Israelites were at the time that the ark and 
 tabernacle were built?" 
 
 " But I thought they were made of shittira-wood?" 
 Ellie says. 
 
 '' So they were, sister, and I suppose that is the 
 name by which the camel-thorn was known at that 
 day and in that place. The tabernacle, as we know, 
 was fitted up in the wilderness, or, more definitely 
 speaking, the desert of Arabia. As no other tree 
 from which timber of any size or durability could 
 have been obtained grows there except the acacia, 
 and as the acacia-giraffe is one of the most abun- 
 dant of this species, there is then full evidence that 
 it is the tree alluded to as the shittim. Dr. Liv- 
 ingstone proved by careful observation, as well as 
 by experiment in various ways, that the wood of 
 the camel-thorn is imperishable, while that usually 
 pointed out as the shittira-wood not only soon de- 
 cays, but lacks beauty." 
 
 Again and again as they pass on their way they 
 come in sight of numerous antelopes, either peace- 
 fully feeding or scampering away at their approach. 
 Indeed, the whole face of the country seems richly 
 stocked with these graceful and beautiful animals. 
 But for the peculiar character of their horns many 
 of them mio-ht be taken for deer. 
 
190 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 As they are pas.sing a slightly elevated mouud 
 a short distance to the right of the track they are 
 iollowing, they catch a moraciitary glimpse of a large 
 fine genisbok stiuuling alone, wiiile below him ou the 
 plain a number of his fellows are grazing. 
 
 Another animal of the antelope species of which 
 they have a very good view as it gaRops off across 
 the plain in front of them is the nyl-ghau or white- 
 footed antelo])e. It is one of the most peculiar 
 they have yet seen, seeming to partake of the na- 
 ture of both the antelope and the ox. It is most 
 majestic in its carriage and bright in its coloring, 
 the predominant hue being a steely blue that fairly 
 glittei*s as the back of the glossy animal catches the 
 rays of the sun. Intermingled with the blue are 
 several white patches here and there. From the 
 throat and shoulders hangs a dense bunch of hair. 
 It is the largest of any of the antelopes they have 
 yet seen, being over four feet from the ground at 
 the shoulders. 
 
 "It is unusual to see a fellow of that species 
 out here in the daytime," remarks Pierce. "But 
 I suppose hunger drove him from his covert. 
 According to travelers who are familiar with his 
 habits, he is said to do most of his feeding at 
 night." 
 
 " Well, he does look like a coward galloping 
 away from us as he is doing now," observes Hope. 
 
 "But on the contrary, cousin, he is very coura- 
 geous, constantly being known to attack even the 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 191 
 
 leopard and tiger, although he is very well a^vare 
 of the fiict that these great enemies of his usually 
 get the better of him. It is only shyness that is 
 the matter with him now. He has doubtless never 
 seen such a sight before on these plains as our im- 
 posing little caravan presents." 
 
 The most curious of all the interesting animals 
 of which they have a sight is the harness deer. As 
 Marvin catches a glimpse of it bounding off before 
 them he suddenly calls out to Pierce : 
 
 " Oh, brother, do look at that goat with a saddle 
 on his back !" 
 
 They all have a hearty laugh at this; but indeed 
 the illusion is almost perfect, and it is no wonder 
 the little fellow is deceived thereby. The peculiar 
 marks upon the body of this strange animal make 
 him look at a distance exactly as if he had not 
 only a saddle, but also a set of harness, fastened 
 to his back. 
 
 Of birds there seems no end. The strips of for- 
 est through which they pass are faii-ly alive with 
 them, and the trills of delicious melody as they 
 sing their morning roundelays fill hearts and ears 
 with gladness. There is a magnificent species of 
 the hoopoe, almost entirely of a deep rich purple 
 color. There are also pigeons innumerable, but 
 these are generally seen only in pairs, running 
 along the ground picking up insects and seeds 
 from the grass. 
 
 They come upon many nests of various kinds 
 
192 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 of birds, some of them altogether different from 
 any they have ever seen. One of these nests is 
 like a iiorn in shape, suspended with the point 
 downward. Its greatest diameter is about three 
 inches, gradually diminishing toward the base. It 
 has for some time been abandoned, and as Pitsane 
 detaches it from its resting-place between two 
 branches of a mimosa tree and brings it to them, 
 all bend over it with many exclamations of curios- 
 ity and wonder. 
 
 Another remarkable nest is one fully two and a 
 lialf yards in circumference and more than a yard 
 in length. It seems to have been the home of sev- 
 eral birds instead of one, all of them quite small, and, 
 judging by a poor dead inmate, to have been birds 
 somewhat resembling the goldfinch. At the bottom 
 of this nest there are as many as seventeen holes or 
 entrance-places, and near the centre and top at least 
 as many more. This strange nest is among the 
 upper branches of a thick shrub-like tree, and as 
 he rides uj) near it Pierce can easily reach it with 
 his extended hand. As he is on the point of bring- 
 ing it down for the others to have a view, some- 
 thing flies suddenly and awkwardly forth, almost 
 into his face, and the next moment with a clumsy 
 beat of wings a horned owl alights ujwn a limb, 
 or rather falls in a blind sort of way to a limb 
 below. 
 
 A mile or more farther on Hope suddenly rises 
 to her feet in the wagon, so great is her excitement 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 193 
 
 at what she has discovered, while she exclaims hur- 
 riedly, 
 
 " Oh, do you see that great basket hanging up 
 near the top of that tree ! Wlio could have put 
 it there, I wonder?" 
 
 " It is not a basket, cousin," says Cunnyngham, 
 laughing; "it is a bird's nest." 
 
 "A bird's nest?" incredulously. 
 
 " Yes, a bird's nest, or rather the nest of many 
 birds. If I mistake not, that is the former home 
 of a company of the sociable grosbeaks, who have 
 now doubtless gone to seek another neighborhood 
 where bugs, berries and seeds are more numerous. 
 At any rate, it seems so from here. But let us 
 stop, and I will send Pitsane to get the nest. If 
 it is really what I think it is, it will be well worth 
 an examination." 
 
 It proves indeed, as Cunnyngham has said, "well 
 worth an examination," for never have they seen 
 anything more curious and wonderful in bird-archi- 
 tecture. 
 
 While suspended from the tree it has had the 
 basket-like appearauce that has deceived Hope, but 
 now that it is removed, and they have a closer view, 
 it bears more resemblance to a hogshead than to 
 anything else. It is fully three yards in circum- 
 ference, and is composed of a strong coarse straw 
 regularly thatched, the straw having been so inge- 
 niously woven that all the ends point downward, 
 thus avoiding the possibility of the rain entering. 
 
 13 
 
194 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 "There is wonderful instinct for you !" says 
 Cunnynohain jidniiriiii^Iy. " Who will say now 
 that birds haven't a rare amount of intelligence? 
 To think these little fellows have so much sense as 
 to build their abode after this ingenious fashion !" 
 
 By half-past ten o'clock the little airavan reaches 
 a small strip of woods surrounded on three sides by 
 a plain covered by tall waving grasses and gemmed 
 with myriads of brilliantly variegate<;l wild flowei*s. 
 On the fourth side it leads away into a much denser 
 forest, near the edge of which are heaped up many 
 wild and picturesque-looking rocks. In tiie midst 
 of these there is a deep " vley," or pool, where, 
 Mazika tells them, many animals come to drink. 
 This, he says, is to be their camping-place, and here 
 the tired animals are at once outspanned, and here 
 also the fatigued travelers seek the inviting shade 
 of the trees with deep thankfulness that the long, 
 hot ride is at length at an end. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 "Lo, I am with you alway." 
 
 IT is now Friday, and they are fully eighty-five 
 miles from their starting-point, and about half 
 the distance to the Kalahari desert. As the spot 
 at which they have now halted affords many attrac- 
 tions as a camping-place, and as the poor tired ani- 
 mals seem much worn out with their recent hard 
 trip, it is determined, after some consultation, to 
 remain here until the following Monday morning, 
 deciding to make the start then by the break of 
 day, in order to get through, ere night falls, the 
 dense strip of forest that lies between them and 
 the open plains beyond. Through this forest, 
 Mazika tells them, they will have to cut fully 
 two-thirds of their way, and, although it is not 
 more than twelve miles to the plain on the other 
 side where he ho])es to make their next camping- 
 place, it will take them all day with their best 
 efforts to accomplish the passage. 
 
 In the mean time, it is decided, considering the 
 somewhat unprotected position of the camp and the 
 nearness of dangerous wild beasts, to erect a bar- 
 ricade of some kind. After they have refreshed 
 
196 CHILDEEN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 themselves by a hearty meal and a few hours of 
 sleep, they all set cheerfully to work upon it, 
 even Ellie, H()i)e, old Mamooliisane and the chil- 
 dren doing what they can to help. By sundown 
 they have formed of poles and of scrubby thorn- 
 busiies an enclosure about fifty or sixty feet square, 
 into which, at nightfall, the cattle are all driven, 
 and where, the wagon having already been placed, 
 they prepare to lie down to sleep, feeling almost as 
 secure as soUliers in a fort. But that this security is 
 not so real as it seems is proved by a thrilling expe- 
 rience that takes place ere the night is passed. 
 
 About eleven o'clock Cunnyngham, who is on 
 guard, begins to have his ears greeted by all sorts 
 of hideous noises — hoarse growls, harsh yells and 
 deep, piercing cries. Nearly all of these proceed 
 from the ueighborhood of the pool among the 
 rocks. 
 
 " It seems as though there is a whole menagerie 
 of wild beasts let loose to-night," Cunnyngham com- 
 ments to himself, not without many cold shivers and 
 various other unpleasant little sensations, it must be 
 confessed. " Well, all I hope is they will not any 
 of them take it into their heads to treat us to an 
 attack." 
 
 In an hour or so the noises gradually decrease, 
 and beyond catching a glimpse every now and then 
 of a blazing pair of eyes unpleasantly near, nothing 
 else occurs just at that time to disturb the youth's 
 somewhat trying watch. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 197 
 
 Suddenly, just as he is cougratulatiug himself 
 upon the entire cessation of all the hideous noises 
 that have made such unpleasant music for his ear, 
 he is startled by a low, deep growl close at hand. 
 The next moment a huge body comes flying through 
 the air and lands full among the sleeping cattle. In 
 an instant they start up completely terrified and 
 uttering piercing, piteous cries or deep bellowings 
 of fright. 
 
 By this time the whole camp is aroused, and the 
 girls, with old Mamochisane, are on the point of 
 springing from the wagon when Cunnyngham calls 
 loudly to them, " Stay where you are ! A lion ! a 
 lion !'' 
 
 In the mean time the lion has seized one of the 
 calves, while the dogs, now thoroughly aroused, are 
 leaping about in every direction with a perfect 
 charivari of piercing barks and threatening growls, 
 though thev make no movement to attack the dread 
 beast, seeming to know only too well what will be 
 their fate if they do so. Pierce, Mazika, Pitsane 
 and Jim have now gathered about Cunnyngham, 
 all armed, and all watching with fascinated eyes 
 the great yellow brute that, having despatched the 
 poor, struggling calf, is now standing over the body 
 with blazing eyes and threatening growls. They 
 are afraid to fire for fear of wounding, perhaps 
 killing, some of the cattle, many of which are now 
 tearing wildly about the enclosure as though they 
 had gone mad, as they doubtless have for the 
 
198 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 moment, poor creatures! Several of tlie oxen 
 have already escaped by literally tearing through 
 the weaker portions of the harricade. 
 
 Directly, as Mazika and Pitsane have both ad- 
 vanced to seek aome chance to deal the growling 
 brute a deathblow, the one with his spear and the 
 other with his axe, the lion seizes the body of the 
 calf and gives a sudden spring forward, as though 
 to get off with his prey. In an instant Pitsane 
 makes a lunge at him with the sharp point of his 
 spear. It pierces the animal to the depth of several 
 inches, but instead of inflicting a mortal wound only 
 serves to arouse the beast to fury. With a horrible 
 growl he drops the calf and springs toward Pitsane. 
 It is well for the Hottentot that, like so many of 
 his race, he is endowed with a wonderful agility, 
 else would this beyond a doubt prove his last mo- 
 ment on earth. Seeing the intention of the brute, 
 Pitsane, with a quick spring to one side, dodges 
 him, but not sufficiently quick to avoid the stroke 
 of one of his great paws, the sharp claws of which 
 sink to some depth in the flesh of his right shoulder, 
 most painfully lacerating it. The lion turns for the 
 second spring, and this time would doubtless put an 
 end to poor Pitsane but for the powerful and well- 
 directed blow of Mazika's great axe, which, striking 
 directly between the eyes, quite crushes the brute's 
 skull and stretches him in death-agony upon the 
 ground. 
 
 It is a young lion, but full grown and of unusual 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 199 
 
 size, aud all feel thankful as tliey gather about it 
 and realize what might possibly have happened but 
 for the well-directed blow of Mazika's axe. They 
 do not wonder at him for the love and pride he be- 
 stows upon his great " Balala," as he calls it, for it 
 surely is a wonderful, and in his hands a most deadly, 
 weapon. 
 
 It is now almost daylight, and as nearly all of 
 them have been more or less shaken up by the 
 attack of the lion, they decide not to return to bed. 
 So they set about replenishing the fire, and in a little 
 while the cooking of breakfast. 
 
 While this is going on Pierce dresses Pitsane's 
 wounded shoulder, which, though very painful, is 
 not dangerously hurt. Mazika in the mean time 
 has skinned the lion, and is now busy pegging the 
 skin out and rubbing salt aud grease upon it pre- 
 paratory to hanging it in the sun to dry. It will 
 make a fine rug, he declares, for the little ladybird, 
 as he calls Louise. 
 
 The ease with which the lion has come flying 
 over the palisade has been a matter of much specu- 
 lation to them, but the next morning the mystery is 
 fully cleared away. Near one side they discover a 
 small ledge of rock which in the building of the 
 barricade has been overlooked. Crouched upon 
 this ledge, and almost on a level with the top of 
 the thorn fortifications, the lion has found it no 
 difficult feat to spring downward into the midst 
 of the little camp. 
 
200 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 The next day the line of thorn fenee is moved 
 farther away from the roeks, and also streni»;theued 
 in many places. The cattle that have made their 
 escape during the stampede of the previous night 
 are recovered. 
 
 The morning following the lion adventure, which 
 is Saturday, EUie, as soon as breakfast is over, gets 
 out her sewing and repairs to the shade of a thick- 
 foliaged tree just without the enclosure. There is 
 much that calls for the attention of her busy and 
 careful fingers, for during the week of rough trav- 
 eling just passed many rents have apj>eared, not 
 only in the boys' clothing, but also in her own and 
 Hope's. 
 
 While Ellie sews, Hope, who is sitting near, oc- 
 cupies herself in jotting down in a small blank- 
 book the more striking events of their week's jour- 
 ney. This finished, she next, with Ellie's help, 
 makes careful estimate of their resources. 
 
 " If the boys can kill some game now and then," 
 says Ellie at length, " I think, Hope, we can man- 
 age capitally until we get to the Makololo. Our 
 flour and meal will last even longer than that, with 
 careful husbanding." 
 
 "But suppose something should haii])en, Ellie? 
 What if w^e did not procure the right kind of a 
 guide to go with us across the Kalahari, and so 
 should get out of the track, and be many more days 
 than we calculate u})on in getting to the Makololo, 
 —what then ?" 
 
A STOEY OF AFRICA. 201 
 
 "TheD we must trust in God," says Ellie firmly. 
 
 Tliat day at dinner an excitement occurs. As 
 they arc gathering about the cloth under the trees 
 upon which the dinner is spread, the very startling 
 discovery is made that Marvin is missing. Just as 
 Cunnyngham and Pierce have both started up to 
 go in search of him, the poodle, Chitane, makes 
 his appearance, coming hastily from without the 
 palisade. As he catches sight of Ellie he springs 
 toward her and takes a portion of her dress between 
 his teeth. The next moment he begins to pull her 
 with all his strength toward the opening in the 
 barricade. 
 
 " There is something wrong with Marvin," she 
 cries suddenly and with much excitement. " Do 
 you not see the dog, how he is trying to lead me? 
 — Gently, Chitane ! brave fellow ! I am coming. — 
 Oh, what can it be ? — There ! run ahead ; we are 
 all waiting to follow." 
 
 At this the dog, as though he understood every 
 word, lets go her dress and springs through the open- 
 ing in the thorn fence. The next moment they are all, 
 with the exception of Kamati and Jim, who have 
 been left to guard the dinner, close upon his track. 
 Even Mamochisane is there with the little Louise 
 clasped closely in her arms. 
 
 About two hundred yards to the right of the 
 entrance there is a small coppice of " wacht-een- 
 bigte," or " stop-a-while thorn," as the Dutch call 
 it. Toward the coppice the dog now makes his 
 
202 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 way as fast his fat little legs will carry him. As 
 they draw near it faint cries and exclamations reach 
 them. On Ellie's calling " Marvin ! Marvin !" a 
 much louder cry is borne to them, but the words, 
 if there are any, are indistinguishable. 
 
 " He is there," she cries, her excitement deepen- 
 ing. ''That was his voice, but, oh, what can be 
 the matter?" 
 
 On rounding the side of the coppice that is far- 
 thest away from the opening in the palisades, they 
 come suddenly upon poor Marvin caught hard and 
 fast by the fish-hook-like prongs of the *' wacht-ccn- 
 bigte ;" that is, they see a portion of him, and take 
 it for granted that the rest is there ; which it is, 
 though in a considerably "worsted" condition, as 
 he himself afterward expresses it. He has crawled 
 in on hands and knees for a short distance, and 
 then risen erect, or tried to do so, in order to pro- 
 cure the body of a poor little bird whose life has 
 been pierced out by sudden and swift contact with 
 the sharp thorns. He is making brave efforts to 
 extricate himself, pulling first one way and then 
 another, not angrily or impatiently, EUie notices 
 with pleasure even at that moment, but slowly and 
 steadily. It is all useless, however ; the more he 
 pulls, the more hopelessly entangled he becomes. 
 He might as well seek to free himself from the 
 grasp of a giant. It is not only " wait a while " 
 with him, poor little fellow ! but it has evidently 
 proved wait a long while, to judge by the exhausted 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 203 
 
 and dilapidated condition in which he now ap- 
 pears. 
 
 " Oh, sister ! oh, brother ! oh, cousin !" he cries, 
 appealing pathetically to Ellie, Pierce and Cun- 
 nyngham in turn, "can't you help me out of this? 
 I know that I ought to have stopped to think 
 before I came in here, but that doesn't make the 
 thorns hurt any the less. It's just like a lot of hor- 
 rid old fish-hooks, only worse: the harder I pull, 
 the tighter I get fastened. — Do something for me, 
 Pierce, can't you ? — Oh, there is dear, good Ma- 
 zika !" his face clearing instantly as he catches 
 sight of the tall form of the Zulu. "I know," 
 confidently, " that he will get me out, if anybody 
 can." 
 
 " Bring axes," Mazika says to Pitsane, and with 
 these two brief words prepares for action. 
 
 It is a delicate and difficult task, ev^en with the 
 aid of the sharp axes, to clear a way into the dense 
 thorn-jungle, for the bushes are thickly matted to- 
 gether and the spines or prickles are long and sharp, 
 some of them being full four inches in length, with 
 points as piercing as a steel needle. But the patient 
 and determined Zulu and Hottentot toil on unre- 
 mittingly, although their hands and other portions 
 of their flesh are repeatedly lacerated. At length 
 they have come so close to the imprisoned boy that 
 working with the axes is no longer safe. Now 
 comes the hardest part of all, as hands and knives 
 have to take the place of axes. But finally Marvin 
 
204 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 is borue safely to his sister's side, though much 
 the worse for his hour's imprisonment among the 
 " wacht-een-bigte " thorns. 
 
 "Oh, Ellie, I thought I never was going to get 
 out," lie cries as he throws himself down across her 
 lap. "Those old sharp fellows held me so tight 
 that eveu Mazika's knife had a hard time to get 
 them to let me go. Wasn't it funny about Chitane, 
 though ?" he continues after a moment's pause, and 
 smiling through his tears. " He wouldn't come 
 anywhere about the thorns, though I did my best 
 to coax him to go in with me when I went after 
 the bird ; but he wouldn't budge a step. He just 
 sat off there on his little old squatty legs and kept 
 looking at me. I do believe, sister, he knew just 
 what these thorns would do." 
 
 "I dare say he did. Do you know, my little 
 brother, Avhat you have just admitted?" 
 
 He gazes up at her quickly, much mystified at 
 first ; then as her meaning dawns upon him blushes 
 until eveu his deepest patch of freckles is hidden. 
 
 " That Chitane has more sense than I have," he 
 says at length, dropping his eyes. " Oh, sister, I am 
 so ashamed of it, but I must admit that it is so. I 
 went into the thorn-bushes without stopping to 
 think, while Chitane, who is only a dog, wouldn't 
 go even when I coaxed him, for he saw well enough 
 it wouldn't be for his good. Oh, Ellie, I promise 
 you I M ill stop to thiuk hereafter before I go any- 
 where or do anything about which there is the least 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 205 
 
 doubt. I just wou't be outdone by a dog, now see 
 if I do." 
 
 " See that you do take the lesson to heart, little 
 brother," EUie says gravely, " though it has been 
 learned from a dog. In the great world to which 
 you are going, if God spares your life to reach it, 
 there are many things even worse than the ' wacht- 
 een-bigte ' thorns. The 'stop-a- whiles' tore your 
 clothes and pierced your flesh, it is true, and held 
 you so fast that it took both Mazika and Pitsane to 
 free you. But there are thorns even sharper and 
 more determined than these — thoi'us which, when 
 once you are in their grasp, hold you so firmly that a 
 giant's strong arm can scarcely release you. There 
 is one thorn that we call bad habits and another that 
 we call bad company. Think of Chitane and the 
 example he has set you, dog though he is, and when 
 you come anywhere near these thorns turn reso- 
 lutely away or pass determinedly around on the 
 other side." 
 
 It is quite a sober and thoughtful face that Marvin 
 carries with him back to the camp, and there is glad- 
 ness in Elbe's heart at these unmistakable signs of 
 the depth to which the lesson has sunk. But he is a 
 most distressing-looking little object in other ways, 
 and it takes an hour or two of her most careful and 
 patient work to make him once more presentable. 
 The poodle Chitane comes in also for his share of 
 attention, but in a different way. He is cuddled 
 and fondled and called a brave, good fellow so 
 
20G CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 many times over that, but for the fact of his beiug 
 one of the soberest and most sensible of dojrs, he 
 ^vonld surely have his head quite turned. 
 
 That afternoon Pierce, who is quite skillful with 
 the gun, kills a number of francolin, or wild quail, 
 which prove a most acceptable addition to their 
 evening meal. 
 
 That same afternoon Cunnyngham and Mazika, 
 who are also on the hunt for game, witness a most 
 terrific battle between a giraffe and a pack of hungry 
 lions. It is truly a terrible sight, and causes even 
 Mazika to turn his face away for a time. The poor 
 giraffe is almost completely devoured ere the glut- 
 tonous lions make off at last with low, satisfied 
 growls. 
 
 When Kamati and Jim hear of it, they hasten at 
 once to the spot and secure the bones, which being 
 full of marrow are considered a great dainty by 
 them. Pierce and Mazika at length succeed in 
 killing; a voung and fat cow-eland, which furnishes 
 abundant fresh meat for the next two days. 
 
 In the mean time, Mazika has made for Ellie and 
 Hope a goblet each from the horn of the black rhi- 
 noceros Pierce had killed at their third camping- 
 place. These goblets are most ingeniously con- 
 trived, and beautifully finished and polished. Both 
 the girls prize them very highly. 
 
 " I have heard," says Pierce, " that a vessel of 
 this kind made of the rhinoceros's horn has the 
 power of detecting any poison that may be in the 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 207 
 
 liquid that is poured into it. Is this true, Ma- 
 zika?" 
 
 " The words are true. If that which is the 
 least poisonous be put into the cup of rhinoceros- 
 horn, then will the liquid bubble up till it bubbles 
 over. If it be a very great poison, a poison that 
 makes death, then will the horn split so," throw- 
 ing his hands widely apart. 
 
 That night the roars of many wild beasts and 
 the snorts and cries of others disturb their sleep, 
 while those who are on watch are treated to many 
 thrilling and magnificent sights of the various 
 kings of the jungle. But, thanks to a merciful 
 Providence, none of them show any disposition 
 to molest the little camp, and morning finds every- 
 thing in safety. 
 
 That day is the Sabbath, and never have they 
 seen a more beautiful one. A shower has fallen 
 during the night, aud when the sun comes up it 
 shines upon a w'orld of diamonds. They are 
 everywhere. The leaves of the trees are glitter- 
 ing with them and the tall stems of grass look like 
 blades of Damascus steel set with flashing gems. 
 The air is delightfully fresh and cool and laden 
 with the perfume of many sweet growing things. 
 Even the cattle seem to rejoice as they lift up their 
 voices in deep, loud bello wings. The horses, too, 
 neigh gladly. Of all the dumb brutes, only the 
 one poor cow who has lost her calf by the raid of 
 the lion seems sad and dejected, giving vent every 
 
2U8 CUILBREX OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 now and then to low moaus and jMteons cries 
 of distress. As soon as morning prayers and 
 the breakfast that follows are over, they have 
 Sunday-school, and Henrietta resumes once more 
 her pleasing; task of teaching Jim the Catechism. 
 Mamochisane forms the second member of this 
 class ; Hope takes Kamati and Pitsane ; while 
 !Mazika is left solely to Ellie, greatly to his de- 
 light. She finds him both a docile and an intel- 
 ligent pupil, yet there are some things she cannot 
 make him see clearly, even with her best efforts, 
 among them the beautiful plan of the resurrection. 
 Poor Mazika ! he has so long dwelt amid the dark- 
 ness that now that the light is sent, it for the time 
 almost blinds bis eyes with its radiance. 
 
 " Where do you suppose we go when we die, 
 Mazika?" Ellie asks him as he has taken his seat 
 attentively at her side. 
 
 " The good father told me, missy, that the spirit, 
 that is the talking and thinking part of me, goes 
 to the heaven where the great man, God, dwells. 
 The other, the body, the house in which the spirit 
 liv^es, goes into the ground. Even that is to rise 
 again. But Mazika cannot see how this is to be 
 true. The dead die," he continues solemnly; 
 "they are no more; they become as nothing. 
 They are as the beast that cannot move when the 
 hunter's knife has laid it low. If the body once 
 goes to the dust, how can it be found again? 
 When Mazika burns a log of wood, there is only 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 209 
 
 the ashes; he cannot find the log; it is gone. 
 There is not even the shape of the log. When the 
 bird is killed the singing part goes ; it never comes 
 back again. The bird has no more voice; its song 
 is finished. Now, when the talking part of man 
 gets away, how can it be brought back again?" 
 
 " God is a great God, Mazika," the young girl 
 answers earnestly, "and his works are even more 
 wonderful than we know. He put the stars and 
 the moon and the sun in the sky ; he makes the 
 lightnings flash and the thunders roar; he sends 
 the rain to water the earth ; he causes the trees 
 and the flowers and the grass upon the plains to 
 grow ; but, more wonderful than all, he fashioned 
 Mazika's body and mine, and he put into them 
 breath, which is life itself. Then if he can do 
 all this from nothing, do you not think he can 
 put the life back again when once he has taken it 
 away ? See ! here is an egg. If I break it, Ma- 
 zika knows that only a watery and yellow sub- 
 stance will come forth. But suppose I put it 
 under the wings of a fowl ? Then Mazika also 
 knows that it will bring forth a living thing. It 
 is God's hand that has done it, the same hand that 
 has placed in our nostrils the breath that is life. 
 Mazika too has seen the seeds planted in the ground 
 — tiny seeds, some of them no larger than the point 
 of this pin I hold — seed so light that a breath may 
 blow them away. But in a little while up shoots 
 the glad green blade, and how soon it grows into 
 
 14 
 
210 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 the strong brave stalk that bears the food for Mazika 
 and for nic ! The Lord Christ Jcsns himself died and 
 his body was placed in the ground, but after three 
 days he arose again and ascended into heaven. So 
 also shall our bodies arise at that great day, brought 
 forth by the same hand that brings the buried seed 
 as a fresh green shoot from its bed of earth. Let 
 Mazika trust Christ, and he will one day know just 
 how it is the talking part may be brought back to 
 the body again when once it has been carried away, 
 and also how the body itself, a shapeless mass of 
 dust, may be given its living semblance." 
 
 After Sunday-school they hold church-services, 
 when Cunnyngham, at Elbe's suggestion, reads the 
 fifteenth chapter of First Corinthians and explains 
 as clearly as he can the signification of Christ's death 
 and resurrection. Elbe then, in her own sweet and 
 earnest way, relates the story of the Saviour's cru- 
 cifixion and burial as narrated by the evangelists. 
 Her heart is cheered to note the absorbed atten- 
 tion with which the dusky portion of her audience 
 regards her from the beginning until the close. 
 
 The greater part of the day is spent in an entire 
 cessation from work of every kind. Not even a 
 fire is lighted to get either supper or dinner, cold 
 meals being eaten instead. It is truly a day of 
 rest. At the evening's service the departure of 
 the Israelites into the wilderness is read by Pierce, 
 and many incidents of various portions of their 
 journey narrated. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "He sendeth the springs into the valleys." 
 
 AT least an hour before daylight on the follow- 
 -^^ ing morning the little camp is astir. By sunrise 
 everything is in readiness for the start, and a few 
 moments later, just as the great orb of day comes 
 up bright and glorious, the head of the little cara- 
 van is put in motion and the journey is resumed. 
 
 Now comes the most trying time of any since 
 they have left the mission-station, for the march to- 
 day is through the dense forest, where for fully two- 
 thirds of the way the road has to be cut out with 
 knives and axes. The trees are uot only close to- 
 gether and of dense foliage, but they are so entwined 
 with numerous tough climbers that at some spots it 
 is difficult to get through even by aid of the axes. 
 One of these climbers proves especially difficult to 
 deal with. 
 
 " If we are to accept Darwin's theory that even 
 the vegetable kingdom gives evidences of possessing 
 instinct," says Pierce, "then I should say the in- 
 stinct of this toughened old customer is to do all 
 the mischief he can." 
 
 This proves the worst climber of all, as well as 
 
 211 
 
212 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 the densest and most difficult part of the forest, and 
 they are fully two hours cutting their way through 
 a space of not more than the third of a mile. Other 
 climbers they meet with, but none so terrii)le as this 
 which they nickname " The Dragon's (not the 
 dragoon's) Sword." 
 
 As Pierce is tugging with all his might at one of 
 these unmanageable creepers that has twisted itself 
 high up amid the boughs of a tall but somewhat 
 slender tree, a funny thing happens. Making an 
 extra effort, Pierce gives a tremendous pull, when 
 all at once the top of the tree snaps off. The sud- 
 den relaxation of the tension against which he has 
 been pulling sends Pierce flying heels over head into 
 a dense mass of slu'ubbery. At the same moment a 
 small black body shoots downward from the dis- 
 mantled top of the tree and falls some little distance 
 beyond him upon an uncovered portion of ground. 
 
 " A monkey ! a monkey !" cries Marvin's excited 
 voice. " Oh, brother, do look at the monkey !" 
 
 And a monkey indeed it proves to be, a young 
 monkey about half grown. It is quite stunned by 
 the force of the fall, and when, after a few moments, 
 it revives and attempts to make off, it seems unable 
 to do so through some injury to its back. 
 
 " Oh, do let us keep it," urges Henrietta. " What 
 a grand pet it will make ! I never did have a 
 monkey for a pet, though I've always wanted one. 
 Oh, brother, do give it to me here in the wagon." 
 
 " Let her have it " Ellie returns in answer to 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 213 
 
 Pierce's look of inquiiy. " It would be cruel to 
 leave the poor thing here to suffer." 
 
 "But do you think it will ever get well?" ques- 
 tions Henrietta with the tears in her eyes, for, hav- 
 ing a very tender and sympathetic heart, she is 
 already much attached to the poor little suffering 
 creature. 
 
 '•'Oh, I hope so. I can't see that any of the 
 bones of the back are broken. It is only bruised, 
 perhaps." 
 
 Much comforted, Henrietta proceeds to do every- 
 thing she can devise for the relief of this new pet. 
 
 As they toil and struggle on through the tangled 
 labyrinths of the forest, they are more than once 
 filled with the apprehension that they may yet, in 
 spite of their exertions, be forced to spend the 
 night in it. The thought is far from a pleasant 
 one. Indeed, it is most harrowing, for well they 
 know how extremely dangerous at night are the 
 buffaloes, elephants and other large animals, fresh 
 traces of which they see all around them. 
 
 The sun is almost down when the edge of the 
 dense belt of wood is reached and they come out 
 upon an open plain or flat, the surface of which is 
 quite sandy and heaped here and therewith piles of 
 fantastically-shaped rocks. For a short distance 
 beyond the forest there are many very luxuriantly- 
 growing acacias, with now and then a lofty can- 
 delabra-shaped euphorbia and various clumps of an 
 evergreen tree resembling the cedar. But soon 
 
214 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 these give place to numerous tamarisk coppices and 
 low-growing stretches of the hardy karroo-bush. 
 There are, too, numerous isolated aloes, stunted 
 and dwarfish, about which grow dense tangles of 
 thorns. 
 
 The sun hod now declined and everywhere is a 
 dense gray gloom. It throws its shadows all about 
 them; it creeps even into their hearts, filling them 
 with an oppressed and dreary feeling. In compari- 
 son with the dense green wood through which they 
 have recently come, freshened by its bits of moss 
 and peeping wild flowers, it is like exchanging a 
 scene of vigorous childhood for the inert chill of 
 old age. The only living thing they see is a soli- 
 tary vulture, which, startled from its feast upon the 
 decaying carcass of a jackal, spreads its broad gray 
 wings and sweeps over them with a rushing sound. 
 
 Despite their hard work and the stea ly vim with 
 which they have pushed their way onward, they 
 have come only about ten miles from tlieir last 
 camping-place, Mazika tells them, and must go at 
 least two miles farther before they will reach a 
 place at which it will be safe to camp without hav- 
 ing first erected a barricade. As they are nearly 
 exhausted with their day's experience in the woods, 
 this last is not to be thought of. 
 
 The camping-place is at length reached, a kind 
 of hollow shut in by precipitous masses of rock. 
 There is, however, an opening at one side through 
 which the wagon and cattle mav be driven. It is 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 215 
 
 an excelleut place iu which to pass the night secure 
 from the attacks of wild beasts, but it has one serious 
 drawback : there is no water. Against this, how- 
 ever, Mazika has guarded by having had the casks 
 filled at their last stopi)ing-place. There is still a 
 sufficient supply left, although they have had to 
 draw very freely upon it while coming through 
 the woods. 
 
 From this point Pitsane, who knows more of the 
 country now tiian Mazika, takes the lead. 
 
 By daylight they are off, and ere the sun has 
 risen have made two miles across the plain. 
 
 The "flat" now proves to be several succes- 
 sions of valleys, separated from each other by 
 ridges of sand iu some places, and by sharp up- 
 heavals of rocks iu others. There is, of course, 
 little vegetation, and such as there is is quite un- 
 attractive. Occasionally, while passing along the 
 more sterile parts of these desert-like tracks, they 
 come upon precipitous upheavals of black basaltic 
 rocks. 
 
 These hills crossed, they enter upon a country 
 that consists mainly of large patches of trap-cov- 
 ered tufa, having little soil or vegetation except 
 tufts of grass and wait-a-bit thorns iu the midst 
 of extensive sandy stretches. 
 
 The heat is now intense, and the hot glare of 
 the sun upon the white sand makes their heads 
 ache intolerably. Cunnyngham and Pierce are 
 finally driven to seek the shelter of the covered 
 
216 CHILlJJiEN UF THE K ALA II A II I: 
 
 wagon, where the two girls, Ellie and Hope, and 
 the children lie ahiiost gaspiui>; for breath. Mu- 
 zika, Pitsane, Kaniati, Jim and Maniochisane stand 
 it mnch better, but the poor cattle and the hoi-ses and 
 donkeys are suflbring greatly. It is therefore with 
 a feeling of deep relief that about eleven o'clock 
 they reach a small grove of low-growing tama- 
 risk trees. By this time they are not only suffer- 
 ing intensely from the heat, but also from thirst, 
 the supply of water having given out some distance 
 back. The cattle too are bellowing piteously. As 
 the travelers can see no sign of water in any direc- 
 tion, their spirits begin to sink, until a word or two 
 from Pitsane reassures them. There is water near, 
 he says confidently. 
 
 In a little while he has discovered two or t^ree 
 sand-wells, which have apparently been dug by 
 some wandering tribe. These wells exhibit much 
 perseverance and skill in their construction, being 
 from ten to twenty feet deep and from twelve to 
 fifteen in diameter. As they are partially filled 
 with sand, and no water is anywhere visible, Ellie 
 and Hope are not the only ones who wonder whence 
 the precious fluid is to come. In a little while Pit- 
 sane, who has darted off to a clump of tall-grow- 
 ing reeds, returns with several of them about a 
 half inch in diameter and from fifteen to twenty 
 feet long. These he carefully presses down into 
 the sand at the bottom of one of the wells, and 
 with a confident air bids Ellie, Hope and the others 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 217 
 
 drink. They at once obey, and find that they can 
 get quite a refreshing draught of the fluid by draw- 
 ing it up through the reed by mouthfuls. But there 
 are still the poor dumb brutes, who cannot quench 
 tlieir thirst in this way. Taking a spade, Pitsane 
 descends to the bottom of one of the wells by means 
 of a rope, the other end of which is tied about a 
 tree and the length gradually let off by Jim and 
 Kamati. When Pitsane has reached the bottom 
 the rope is unfastened from about his body, when 
 he gives the signal for it to be drawn up again. 
 This is soon done, when a bucket is attached to it 
 and let down into the well. Pitsane now begins to 
 dig into the sand at the bottom of the well and to 
 send it up when dug by means of the bucket. In 
 a little while, to the great joy of the thirst-tortured 
 cattle, the water begins to come instead of the sand 
 and gravel. It takes two hours of hard work to 
 reach the precious fluid and to get the horses and 
 cattle all watered ; but through the entii-e time Pit- 
 sane, Kamati and Jim hold out bravely. 
 
 As the sun gets higher and hotter they are thank- 
 ful for the shelter of even these small shrub-like trees, 
 among which they now remain. A most amusing 
 incident, though in some respects quite a thrilling 
 one, occurs as they are encamped at this place. 
 
 On leaving Lepelole there has been one thing to 
 which Kaffir Jim has clung most persistently in 
 spite of every difficulty. This is the long tin horn 
 with which he has been wont to summon the Lepe- 
 
218 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 lole population to tluMr meals and to ])ravers. He 
 has come upon it lliat niirlit wlK-n tlun' have visited 
 the kotla in search of Mr. Liliington, and amid all 
 the terrors and distress of that time he has safely 
 kept his preeious horn. At times it has served as 
 a gentle goad to the lagging energies of the cattle; 
 again its shrill notes have summoned them when 
 astray. Even when he lies down to sleep the pre- 
 cious horn is clasped closely in Jim's hands. 
 
 On this occasion he has thrown himself down 
 upon a skin rug, which he has fastened about him 
 as a protection against the unpleasant maraudings 
 of various ants, flies and other troublesome insects. 
 Head, body and limbs are all enclosed in the rug, 
 only an opening large enough to breathe through 
 being left, while under his arm is securely tucked 
 the tin horn. 
 
 Suddenly, just as the little camp is in the midst 
 of its deepest sleep, it is violently aroused by a 
 series of piercing yells that seem to come from some 
 little distance outside. Their horror is great when 
 they behold a huge lion trotting off as fast as he 
 can with the skin rug between his teeth, and poor 
 Jim securely wrapped in its folds. 
 
 There is a simultaueous spring for the guns on 
 the part of Cunnynghara, Pierce and Pitsane, while 
 Mazika grasps his great axe. But suddenly, even 
 as they have sprung forward in pursuit, a long, 
 loud, ear-splitting blast wakes all the silent echoes. 
 It must prove deafening indeed to the lion, since 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 219 
 
 the terrible instrument from which it comes is 
 thrust right up against his liead. Instantly drop- 
 ping his burden, the lion gallops off, roaring with 
 fright. Quite unhurt, Jim wriggles from the rug 
 and makes his way back to the camp as fast as his 
 long, slim black legs can carry him. 
 
 They remain at this place until seven o'clock in 
 the evening, when, to avoid the heat, they have de- 
 cided to journey to their next stopping-place during 
 the night. This is to be in the neighborhood of a 
 series of fountains, near the first of which, Pitsane 
 tells them, there is a small tribe of Bamaugwato 
 who have fled hither from their former village near 
 the boundary-line of the Matabele territory in order 
 to escape the raids of the fierce and cruel Mosili- 
 katse. 
 
 Accordingly, at seven o'clock they are off, and at 
 sunrise the next morning have reached in safety 
 the fountain known as the " Fountain of the Rising 
 Sun " because of its standing upon a prominence 
 where it catches and reflects in a thousand different 
 lights and with all the prismatic hues of the rain- 
 bow the rays of the sun as it comes peeping up 
 over the eastern hills. 
 
 A little farther on they come upon the village 
 of the Bamaugwato. They find both the chief, 
 Nakomi, and his people exceedingly friendly, espe- 
 cially when they find that they have come from 
 Lepelole, It is only a little while after they have 
 made their camp that the chief and several of the 
 
220 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 head-men and women of his tribe pay them a visit, 
 bringinjr with tliein, by way of a friendly olTering, 
 a sweet kind of gnni very jjlea^^ant to the taste, 
 some curds of goat's milk, a few ostrich eggs and a 
 brace of fine wild guinea-fowls. In return the Ba- 
 mangwato are presented with some beads, some 
 copper rings, two or three yards of cloth, together 
 with a pocket-knife and a large red handkerchief 
 for the chief. 
 
 Ijate in the afternoon, after our travelers have 
 enjoyed a very refresliiug sleep of several hours, 
 the chief and the people return and give them a 
 very pressing invitation to spend the night in the 
 village. This they soon decide to do, especially as 
 they are quite anxious to learn all they can of the 
 country beyond. 
 
 These Bamangwatos, they soon discover, have 
 large flocks of sheep and goats, which they keep 
 at various spots along a desert-like expanse some 
 little distance beyond the fertile stretch about the 
 fountain. 
 
 AVhile here, the Caucasian portion of the little 
 caravan is inducted for the first time into the mys- 
 teries of making ostrich-egg omelet. The manner 
 of making the omelet is this: At one end of the 
 egg a small opening is made and into it is put a 
 seasoning of salt and pepper. The Q^g is then well 
 shaken, so as thoroughly to mix the white, the yolk 
 and the ingredients. After this a hole is dug in hot 
 ashes, where it is placed until completely cooked. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 221 
 
 When ready it is a very palatable dish for three or 
 four persons, since one of the eggs of this great bird 
 contains as much as two dozen of those of the com- 
 mon fowl. 
 
 They find Nakorai's people well versed in many 
 of the native industrial arts. The women prove to 
 be great mat-makers. These mats are woven of 
 various flags, reeds, and even of a species of bul- 
 rush that grows quite luxuriantly in the neighbor- 
 hood of the fountain. Earthen pots and other vessels 
 are also manufactured by the Bamangwato. These 
 are made solely of the mould obtained from various 
 ant-hills. In addition to the earthen vessels they 
 manufacture various vessels of wood, some of them 
 most ingeniously shaped. 
 
 Ellie and Hope have two plates, two bowls and 
 a pot and a jar of earthenware presented to them 
 by the kindly Bamangwato, and they find them 
 afterward most useful. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " M7 God shall supply all your need." 
 
 AT sunrise the next morning, having bidden 
 -^^ adieu to the cln'ef Nakonii and his people, the 
 little caravan is again on its way. Their route leads 
 them now over a succession of sandy, yet in many 
 places quite fertile, plains, richly covered with tall 
 grasses and fine brushwood. Near the middle of 
 the afternoon, when eyes and head are aching 
 with the intolerable glare of the sun, they come 
 in sight of a long blue line stretching off toward 
 the horizon. 
 
 " A lake ! a lake !" cries Pierce delightedly, while 
 Marvin and Henrietta clap their hands in joyful an- 
 ticipation. 
 
 Pitsane, however, only shakes his head in any- 
 thing but an encouraging way. 
 
 A mile farther, and their beautiful lake turns 
 out to be nothing but a large hollow, in the rainy 
 season doubtless filled with water, but now quite 
 dry and covered with innumerable saline incrusta- 
 tions. These, catching the liuht i'rom the sun, 
 have reflected it again in the deep blue line the 
 222 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 223 
 
 young people have seen and mistaken for a pretty- 
 sheet of water. 
 
 That night they encamp near tlie borders of the 
 largest of all the series of wonderful fountains by 
 which this section of country is marked. It is 
 called " Elephant Fountain," probably more on 
 account of its size than from any association with 
 that animal, since very few elephants are found in 
 the neighborhood. 
 
 Near this fountain they find a tribe of Bechuanas 
 who have been living here for a number of years, 
 having been driven from their former village north- 
 west of the Transvaal by the persecutions of the 
 Boers. They are a very intelligent people for 
 savages, strong and fine-looking, and partially 
 civilized in many of their ways. Their mode of 
 dress, too, is much above that of the ordinary 
 savage, though many of the women still cling to 
 the old custom of wearing copper rings about their 
 wrists and ankles. 
 
 Their chief, Mokatchani, is a well-informed sav- 
 age of perhaps sixty years of age. When a young 
 man he had been attached to the mission-station of 
 Kuruman, and had there heard both Moffat and 
 Livingstone preach. For the latter he has a special 
 veneration, while among his proudest possessions 
 is a small Bible in the Sichuana language which 
 Livingstone himself has presented to him. Upon 
 the fly-leaf is written in the great missionary's own 
 hand : 
 
224 CJULDRES OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 MOKATCHAKI, 
 
 Sehoini's tribe of the Bakwains, 
 Becliuaiia-land, Dec, 18 — , 
 From his friend 
 D. Livingstone. 
 
 "All the ends of the earth sJuill see the salva- 
 tion of our God." 
 
 The chief speaks the pure Sichuana language ; 
 therefore it is no difficult matter for them to con- 
 verse with him. It is a very soft and easy-flowing 
 language, and when w^ell spoken is quite melodious. 
 
 They are greatly entertained by Mokatchani's 
 talk. There is about him, too, a fund of dry 
 humor that is irresistible. His theory of the order 
 of creation is both amusing and striking. Says 
 Mokatchani : 
 
 " Since we believe that one Being created all men, 
 then we must also believe that he improved upon his 
 work as he went along. First he tried his hand ou 
 the Bushmen, but he didn't like them, because they 
 were so ugly and their language was like that of 
 the frogs. Then he tried the Hottentots, but their 
 mouths were so great they couldn't talk without 
 qua-quaing like the night-heron ; so they didn't 
 please him either. He then exercised all his power 
 and skill and made the Bechuanas, wiiich was a great 
 improvement ; and at last he made the white people, 
 which were best of all ; and," concludes the flat- 
 tering old chief, looking very meaningly at the Cau- 
 
Pitsane and the Buftalo. 
 
 Page 225. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 225 
 
 casian portion of his audience, "then he was so very 
 well pleased indeed that he has never made anything 
 since." 
 
 A pressing invitation is given by the chief and 
 his people that they remain with them a day or 
 two. This they finally decide to do, especially as 
 the meat department of their commissariat has run 
 rather low, and the chief tells them that this is a 
 capital part of the country for game. So they 
 arrange to remain until Monday morning. 
 
 It is now Friday. That same afternoon Pitsane 
 quite distinguishes himself by killing unaided a 
 fine large buifalo. They have been both amused 
 and interested when he has prepared himself for 
 the hunt, for, finding the old ties and inclinations 
 far too strong for him to resist, Pitsane has arrayed 
 himself in the full Hottentot fashion, even to the 
 bow and arrow and the spear. It is only at the 
 last moment that Pierce can induce him to carry a 
 rifle, suggesting that it will surely prove a far safer 
 weapon in the midst of danger than either his bow 
 or spear. 
 
 When the remainder of the little hunting-party, 
 which has been separated for a time from Pitsane, 
 comes upon him rather suddenly, they find him sit- 
 ting upon the haunches of a freshly-slain buifalo 
 and chanting to himself one of the battle-songs of 
 his peoj^le. 
 
 Our young travelers find much to increase their 
 wonder and interest in the great " Elephant Foun- 
 
 15 
 
226 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 tain." Among other tilings there is a large cavern, 
 the entrance to which they can plainly see above the 
 line of water. 
 
 The more Pierce gazes upon the entrance to the 
 mysterious cavern, the more it excites his interest 
 and curiosity, until finally he is quite overcome 
 with the desire to explore it. He is a most expert 
 swimmer and diver, and he feels assured that the 
 only difficulty will be in getting up from the water. 
 But this, he decides, can be overcome by help of 
 Pitsane, Jim and a suj)ply of ropes. He decides 
 that he M'ill say nothing to Cunnyngham, for fear he 
 will try to dissuade him from the attempt, Cunnyng- 
 ham being of a more cautious nature than Pierce. 
 
 That afternoon, which is Saturday, while the 
 others, well sheltered from the sun by the trees 
 of the village, are having a most enjoyable nap, 
 Pierce steals away accompanied by the faithful 
 Pitsane and Jim, who carry as many pieces of 
 stout rope as they have been able to get together. 
 Reaching the side of the fountain, he at once 
 divests himself of his clothing and fastens the 
 rope about his body. Creeping as near to the 
 edge of the water as he can, he plunges boldly 
 in. It is very cold — so cold, in fact, that for a few 
 moments his teeth chatter. But in a little while 
 he grows used to it, and with vigorous strokes sets 
 out for the entrance of the cavern. It is a great 
 deal wider thau it appears to be from the cliffs, and 
 he has no trouble in entering it. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 227 
 
 He is niucli struck by the beautiful transparency 
 of the water all about the cavern's mouth. How- 
 ever, on closer iusj)ection he does not pronounce it 
 a cavern, but a tunnel — a tunnel that has every 
 appearance of having been cut by the hand of 
 man. He is sorry when his length of rope comes 
 to an end and he can go no farther. He is almost 
 tempted to undo the knot about his armpits, fasten 
 the rope to a projecting ledge and go on without it. 
 But good sense and cool judgment finally prevail, 
 and, scrambling out of the water upon an over- 
 hanging shelf, he prepares to rest for a few mo- 
 ments ere setting forth on his return. He is now 
 several feet into the passage. Only a dim gray 
 light like that of twilight prevails, yet he can see 
 some feet farther on. But beyond this all is an 
 impenetrable blackness. He is much struck by 
 the sparkling appearance of the water beneath 
 him. It seems to reflect the light of a thousand 
 scintillating substances. The roof is also covered 
 with another formation — a very curious formation, 
 in truth, and one that attracts his curiosity to such 
 an extent that he begins to climb up nearer to it 
 by means of various projecting ledges, so as to sat- 
 isfy himself as to what it is. Wlien within reach- 
 ing distance he discovers that the dark, pendent, 
 ball-like formations dotted here and there over the 
 surface of the roof are made by the bodies of in- 
 numerable bats and owls. To his astonishment, 
 they are all dead, all firmly fastened to their 
 
228 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 clinging places, and all as well preserved as 
 mummies. 
 
 He is on the point of descending again to the 
 water when two great eyes of light very near 
 together attract his attention. He wonders what 
 they can be. Surely not the eyes of some beast, 
 since it would be next to impossible for one to be 
 here. Creeping nearer, he finds two brilliant peb- 
 ble-like stones firmly imbedded in the earth — so 
 firmly, in fact, that they for a long time resist his 
 efforts to dislodge them. 
 
 " Suppose they should be diamonds !" he cries 
 with a beating heart as he finally holds them in his 
 hand. Then after a moment's pause, "Oh, pshaw! 
 it couldn't be true : it would be too much like the 
 Arabian Nights. However, this may be the work- 
 ings of some ancient diamond-mine, abandoned on 
 account of the workmen coming suddenly upon a 
 spring of water that overflowed everything," 
 
 Placing the shining stones in his mouth, he en- 
 ters the water again and swims back to the point 
 at which he left Pitsane and Jim. Here, clinging 
 to the rope with both hands so as to prevent it from 
 cutting his body, he is safely hauled up to the rocks 
 above. 
 
 Ellie and Cunnynghani have quite a scolding for 
 him when they learn of his adventure, but are filled 
 with wonder at his description of the mysterious pas- 
 sage, as well as at the sight of the sparkling stones. 
 They agree with him in his supposition that the 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 229 
 
 fountain is but the water-filled shaft of an aban- 
 doned diamond-mine. 
 
 " They are assuredly diamonds !" Cuunyngham 
 exclaims in some excitement in reference to the 
 stones, "and doubtless of much value. If they are, 
 it is truly a most fortunate find, for I have often 
 wondered how, in case we rea(;hed the coast in safe- 
 ty, where we were to procure the means of defray- 
 ing the expenses of our passage to America. My 
 uncle gave me all the money he had, but it is noth- 
 ing like enough. He said when he gave it to me 
 that God would surely provide the remainder." 
 
 Miss Henrietta especially is nearly wild with de- 
 light at sight of the flashing stones. Scarce know- 
 ing their real value, she teases Pierce to let her 
 have one of them for the centre-piece of a wonder- 
 ful collar she has recently fashioned out of red 
 cloth and black beads for her pet the monkey. But 
 Pierce assures her that his treasures are far too 
 valuable to be entrusted to the keeping of a mis- 
 chievous little ape, who would as soon swallow 
 them as not. 
 
 The little creature has now almost entirely re- 
 covered from its hurts, and is able to walk, though 
 apparently still with some pain. Despite Pierce's im- 
 plied predictions, it proves in many respects quite 
 docile, and has already learned to follow Henrietta 
 about like a dog. However, at times it displays 
 towanl tiie others a very naughty disposition, which 
 Pierce emphatically declares ought to be switched 
 
230 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 out of it. But so long as her pet is sick and suffer- 
 ing the little lady will liear to no such loirihle 
 means of correct ion. 
 
 Henrietta has named her j)et Murray, in honor 
 of the kindly and genial captain they all reineml)cr 
 so gratefully. Tiic full name is " Captain John 
 Murray Lillington," but on Ellie's suggesting, with 
 visible amusement, that the real Captain Murray 
 miy;ht not relish the idea of haviny: iiis name so 
 closely associated with so ugly and so unpromising 
 a pet, Henrietta compromises the matter by calling 
 him ''Captain John," then "Captain Jock," finally 
 decapitating it permanently into "Jock." 
 
 The chief, Mokatchani, and Marvin in a little 
 while grow to be the fastest of friends. To the 
 great delight of the usually grave and dignified 
 savage, the lad brings forth his wonderful spinning- 
 top and rubber ball. It is interesting to watch the 
 expression of the chief's face as the top, seemingly 
 instinct with life, flies from the boy's hand and de- 
 scribes its graceful circles upon the ground, and it is 
 indeed most amusing to note the comic changes the 
 same face undergoes as, flat upon the ground, Mo- 
 katchani lies with his ear bent down to listen to 
 what it says before it quite goes to sleej). 
 
 "Him talk, him say many heap o' t'ings," he 
 declares in his broken English, " but him all one 
 long, sing-song, hum-hum word. Him say, 'Zoo- 
 o-o-o-o-zoo, how you do-o-o-oo-doo ?' an' me say, 
 'Velly well, me t'aidv you; de samoy to you.'" 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 231 
 
 The ball too comes iu for its share of* interest. 
 " Hira hab one little birdie inside o' him to make 
 him fly so straight up to'rd de sky," declares the 
 chief oracularly. 
 
 On parting with his young friend, Mokatchani, 
 greatly to Marvin's delight, presents him with a 
 parakeet, a wide-awake, saucy fellow a friend of 
 the chief has brought all the way from the forests 
 about the Zouga. It has already learned to talk, 
 and can repeat many words and sentences both in 
 Sichuana and in broken English. 
 
 Not to be outdone by Miss Henrietta in the way 
 of a select choice of a name for his pet, Marvin 
 has called it " Colonel," finally diminishing it to 
 " Colo." 
 
 On Sunday, Cuunyngham, at the chief's request, 
 holds religious services among the people. Youth 
 though he is, he is very earnest and impressive. 
 Ellie's sweet singing, too, seems to make a most 
 pleasing impression upon the dusky hearers. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " They that dwell in the wilderness shall bow before Him." 
 
 THEY are oif the following Monday morning at 
 daylight, followed by the best wishes of the 
 chief and his people, as well as by many regrets, 
 for even in this short time they have snceeeded by 
 their cordial, fearless manners in completely win- 
 ning more than one heart among the tribe. 
 
 After leaving the Bechuana camp some half dozen 
 miles behind, their way for the most part lies across 
 dry and sandy plains, destitute of even a suggestion 
 of water and having very little vegetation. 
 
 It is well for our travelers that they take old 
 Mokatchani's advice and carry a full day and 
 night's supply of water, otherwise they would suf- 
 fer greatly from thirst. As it is, they suffer enough 
 from the heat of the sun, and the poor tortured 
 animals, on being stopped near noon for two or 
 three hours' rest, seek even the scanty shade of 
 some low-growing karroo-bushes with neighs and 
 bellowings of the deepest enjoyment. 
 
 They follow as closely as they can the route 
 mapped out for them by Mokatchaui, and that 
 afternoon, a little past sundown, reach, as he has 
 
 232 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 233 
 
 told them they would be likely to do, a village of 
 Namaquas who have fled hither all the way across 
 the dread Kalahari in order to escape the persecu- 
 tions of some neighboring chief. 
 
 The Namaquas prove very friendly, especially so 
 when Pitsane conies forward to act as spokesman. 
 Being of the same race and speaking nearly the 
 same language, it is not at all difficult for them to 
 understand each other, and in a little while every 
 preparation is made to receive the travelers into the 
 village. A huge bonfire is at once built within the 
 palisades, the chief and head-men don their best 
 attire, while word is now sent to the little caravan 
 that it may enter by the large entrance- way of the 
 village and will be made welcome. 
 
 As soon as Cunnyngham and Pierce dismount, 
 they, together with JSIazika, Pitsane, Kamati and 
 Jim, are led within the circle that has been formed 
 by the Marriors of the village around the fire. A 
 short distance within the circle and about halfway 
 between it and the fire are the chief, Topnaar, and 
 several of his principal men. The chief is a little 
 old wizened man with a monkeyish face covered 
 with as many wrinkles as the too-rapidly dried 
 outer hull of a walnut is apt to be. Dirt has so 
 accumulated upon his person as to make his skin 
 almost indistinguishable, while, as though it were 
 not spfficiently disguised, it is smeared with a tliick 
 coat of red ochre and grease. In imitation of the 
 costume of the half-civilized Bechuanas, with whom 
 
234 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 he has had much friendly intercourse, he is attired 
 in a ba<>:try j>air of trousers made of roughly-dressed 
 jackal-skins. He has no shirt, however, and no 
 shoes or stockings. Over the upper part of his 
 body he wears a kind of cloak made of the skins 
 of goats with the hair on. It is fastened about the 
 neck and thrown buck over the shoulders, leaving 
 the shrunken, hairy chest completely bare. About 
 his wrists and ankles are attaclad bands of iron 
 with pendent copper beads, while his head is 
 adorned with a little round skin-cap in which is 
 stuck a dilapidated ostrich-feather. 
 
 The men are attired very much after the same 
 fashion as the chief, save that not many of them 
 wear trousers, but instead the skin of some animal 
 fastened about the waist and falling to the knees. 
 Their heads, too, with the exception of those of a 
 few of the more prominent members of the tribe, 
 are destitute of any covering. The women wear 
 short skirts of skin, some few of cloth, while nearly 
 all of them have the upper portion of the body cov- 
 ered with a kind of bodice made from thousands of 
 little rounded pieces of osti'ich egg-shells strung on 
 strings. The married women are distinguished from 
 the single by having their hair raised high above 
 their heads and dressed in the shape of ti helmet. 
 
 As Cunnyngham, Pierce and the others enter the 
 circle the chief motions them to a seat upon some 
 skins that have been placed near him on the ground. 
 A large dish of butter is now produced, from which 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 235 
 
 the chief begins to smear his face and chest and those 
 of the principal men who are grouped about hira. 
 This accomplished, he picks up the dish and ad- 
 vances toward Cunnyngham and Pierce. 
 
 " Oh my !" the latter exclaims quickly and a 
 little nervously, it must be confessed, " what can 
 he be about to do ? Surely not to smear our faces 
 with that horrid stuff after he has fairly washed his 
 own in it and the faces and chests of those other 
 horrid dirty fellows?" 
 
 But this is exactly what the chief is about to do, 
 as both Pierce and Cunnyngham soon discover, 
 greatly to their consternation and disgust. , 
 
 " Quick, Pitsane !" Pierce cidls out. " Quick ! 
 there's a good fellow, and invent some excuse for 
 us — anything to keep that dirty stuff' from being 
 smeared over us." 
 
 " If the great chief of the Namaquas Avill listen 
 to the words of his black brother, he will tell him 
 how the white chiefs are much pleased with the 
 friendliness of his greeting, and how their hearts 
 are made glad that Topnaar has gone so far as to 
 provide the dish of butter, which they recognize is 
 the highest welcome he could give them. But in 
 their own country the white brothers have a bet- 
 ter way than this of welcoming the stranger whom 
 they wish to receive as a friend ; it is by shaking 
 the hand. Therefore, if the chief will now permit 
 it, the white chiefs will return his friendly greet- 
 ings after the manner of their own country." 
 
236 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Greatly pleased by the prospect of being greeted 
 as the wiiite br(»thers greet, Topnaar forgets all the 
 anger and chagrin he might otherwise have felt at 
 the rejection of his precious bowl of butter. There- 
 fore he at once settles back into his former place, 
 assumes great dignity and awaits the advances that 
 have been suggested. A little later, when not only 
 his hand but those of many of the head-meu have 
 been grasped and heartily shaken by the young 
 strangers, Topnaar's little old wizened face is one 
 broad smile of delight. 
 
 In the mean time, the women of the village have 
 taken charge of Ellie, Hope, Henrietta, ^lamochi- 
 sane and the baby, and are treating them as kindly 
 and as hospitably as it is in their ])ower to do. 
 There are many things about the new-comers that 
 arouse the deepest curiosity and wonder. In the 
 first ])lace, they are the first females of the white 
 race they have ever seen. One or two white trav- 
 elers have at different times visited their village, 
 both at its present location and at the former. But 
 they have all been rough, thick-bearded men, no 
 more like these delicate, fair-skinned girls, with 
 their smooth faces and long soft hair, than if they 
 were not of the same race. No wonder these simple 
 savages look upon them as creatures of an altogether 
 different world. But as much as Elbe's and Hope's 
 hair calls for their wonder and admiration, it is noth- 
 ing like the feelings with which they examine the 
 long golden curls of the little Louise. They cluster 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 237 
 
 about lier and grasp the beautiful strands in their 
 hands, twist them over their fingers and lay them 
 against their faces, until the poor little one, growing 
 at length thoroughly frightened by so many strange 
 countenances bent near her, cries to her sister to 
 take her away, and, running to EUie, hides her face 
 in the skirt of her dress. Seeing the fear displayed 
 by the little one, the women are much distressed, for 
 in spite of their ugly faces their hearts are kind, and 
 to produce this ejEJ'ect upon the child has been very 
 far from their intention. They are therefore much 
 relieved when, after a great deal of coaxing on 
 Ellie's part, Louise is finally induced to hold her 
 head up, and, after throwing a kiss at them, to 
 say very sweetly, 
 
 "I t'ank 00 ver' much for t'iuking my hair so 
 pooty. Oo is ver' nice, an' me lub oo. Da-da!" 
 
 With the last meaningless, but in baby language 
 quite expressive, exclamation she throws them an- 
 other kiss and drops them a most charming little 
 courtesy. 
 
 She does not speak the words plainly, nor would 
 they understand them if she did, but the look in 
 the sweet baby eyes, the cunning movement of the 
 tiny hand from the lips toward them and back to 
 the lips again, the demure bob of the golden head, 
 are quite sufficient. They understand these if they 
 understand nothing else. 
 
 Learning how dreary and desolate and utterly 
 devoid of shade is the track over which they will 
 
238 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 have to pass during the morrow, and receiving from 
 the chief the assurance that if they will wait until 
 the followino: niijht he will, for a small consid- 
 eration, send two of his men with them as guides, 
 they decide to tarry until the time specified. That 
 evening they sleep most soundly with the protection 
 of the village ahout them, a part of the company in 
 the wagon as usual, and the others upon blankets 
 under sheher of the canvas stretched out from each 
 Bide of the wagon. The bed of those on the ground 
 is made much softer by the addition of several 
 armfuls of (h-ied rushes tendered them by the hos- 
 pitable Namacpias. 
 
 The next day they have ample opportunity of 
 lookintr about the villaire and of studvins much 
 of the dispositions and habits of the Xamaquas. 
 These people display much skill in the manufacture 
 of baskets, stools and a rude kind of chair, though 
 very few of them sit upon these chairs after they are 
 manufactured. Oftener than anything else the chairs 
 are found hanging from the tops of their huts by 
 way of ornament. Two of the baskets and one of 
 the stools are presented to our little party, and after- 
 ward prove of much service. 
 
 The Namaquas are also, like so many of the sav- 
 age tribes, strong believers in sorcery, and have at 
 their village various " kaiaobs," or witch-doctors, 
 both male and female. These " kaiaobs " are firm- 
 ly believed to possess the power of making rain, 
 of restoring the sick to health, of discovering the 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 239 
 
 cause of a person's death aud of performing many 
 miracles. 
 
 While our young people are at the village an 
 incident that is most revolting — to them, at least 
 — occurs. 
 
 One of the chief's wives being taken suddenly 
 ill, a "kaiaob" is at once called in. In this in- 
 stance it is a woman, and as on her way to the hut 
 she passes by the wagon where our young travel- 
 ers are assembled, they think they have never seen 
 a face more repulsive. She has not long passed 
 them when the sounds of quite a hubbub within 
 the hut attract their attention. Very soon Pitsane, 
 who has by some chance been within hearing-dis- 
 tance, returns to tell them that the witch-doctor has 
 declared that a great "toros," a mythical kind of 
 serpent, has fired an arrow into the woman's back, 
 and further asserts that unless a couple of goats 
 are forthwith killed and the combined hearts of the 
 two placed upon the wound tlie woman will die. 
 
 "That is just a trick of the wily old witcli- 
 doctor to get the flesh of the goats for herself," con- 
 cludes Pitsane with confldence. " She will apply the 
 hearts of the goats to the woman's back, but the 
 rest of the flesh she will apply to herself" 
 
 The Avords are hardly spoken when two men 
 pass by on their way to the chieFs cattle-pen, 
 where some of these animals are always kept in 
 case of an emergency, as at the present. A little 
 later they return with the two slain goats. 
 
240 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 The Namaquas liave a superstitiou in regard to 
 the hare wliic-h, as soon as they have heard it from 
 the chief, impresses our young people very much. 
 One expression in it especially seems so akin to 
 a certain passage of the Bible that they wonder 
 whence these people could have obtained it. 
 
 " Once upon a time," begins the chief, " the moon 
 called the hare and bade him convey to man the fol- 
 lowing message : ' As I die and am born again, so you 
 shall die and be again alive.' The hare hastened to 
 obey, but instead of saying, 'As I die and am born 
 again,' he said, ' As I die and am not born again.' On 
 his return the moon inquired what words he had con- 
 veyed to mankind, and on being informed the moon 
 indignantly exclaimed, 'What! have you said to 
 man, "As I die and am not born again "? If this 
 is true, then shall you die and not be again alive.' 
 With this she hurled a stick at the hare with such 
 force as to split open his lips, which is the cause of 
 his queer-looking mouth to this day." 
 
 On account of this legend the flesh of the hare 
 is not eaten by the Namaquas, for they firmly be- 
 lieve that if they do so they will at once die. Old 
 Toj^naar further adds: "We are still so enraged 
 with the hare for bringing us such a message from 
 the moon, that we will not let him live near us, but 
 when we find one we send him on and on." 
 
 When speaking of the moon Namaquas do not 
 say, as our young people are so used to saying, that it 
 "rises and sets," but that it "dies and is born again." 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 241 
 
 But the most ridiculous theory they have is oue 
 in regard to the rising of the sun. 
 
 "The great fiery ball that shines up yonder," 
 says one of the villagers in explanation of the 
 matter to Pierce, " is nothing but a mass of fat 
 on fire. At night it descends into the sea. There 
 it is caught by the chief of a white man's ship, 
 who cuts away a portion of the tallow, and giving 
 the rest a kick, it bounds away, sinks under the 
 waves, goes rouud below, and then comes up again 
 in the east." 
 
 " The sun, moon and stars are all God's work," 
 says Pierce, trying to speak as impressively as he 
 can. " He put them into the sky to give us light 
 by day and guidance by night. They never go out 
 of the sky, but stay there always. It is the earth 
 that moves. When it turns over from the sun, 
 then it is night ; when it turns back toward the 
 sun, tiien it is day." 
 
 " The world cannot turn," declares the man, much 
 astonished, "for if it did we should all tumble about 
 and roll off, and the trees would stand on their heads, 
 and the rivers would flow out of their beds." 
 
 They are standing near the wagon as they are 
 speaking. Seeing a tin bucket half filled with 
 water standing upon a stool near by. Pierce takes 
 it up and with a swift dextrous movement swings 
 it around and around so that not a drop is spilled, 
 
 " Now, why does not the water come out of the 
 bucket?" he questions. " I turn it around and 
 
 J6 
 
242 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 around, I even turn the bucket upside down, and it 
 still stays. So we stay upon the earth without fall- 
 ing off, althougli it swings around and around. As 
 the movemeut I give the bucket is just the move- 
 ment to keep the water within, so the movement 
 the earth has is just such a movement as to keep 
 the objects upon its surface undisturbed. 
 
 " I am afraid that was a very far-fetched illus- 
 tration," Pierce says in confidence to himself a few 
 moments later, " but at the time I couldn't think 
 of anything else that the poor ignorant fellow 
 would be at all likely to comprehend. I won- 
 der what the scientists would say?" he questions 
 with an amused laugh. 
 
 As for the poor man, he is so badly frightened 
 by what Pierce has done as not to be capable, at 
 least for a time, of even thinking of what he has 
 said. That the youth should swing the bucket 
 in so violent a manner around and around, and 
 yet not spill the water, is truly a most wonder- 
 ful thing. In short, he looks upon it as nothing 
 less than magic, and at once runs away as fast 
 as his legs will carry him to tell to his associates 
 how the young white witch-doctor has turned a 
 bucket upside down without any of the water 
 running out, and also how he has said that the 
 world is constantly rolling over, and that the sun 
 is not a ball of fat, and that it never was known 
 to go down into the sea, and ever so nnich more. 
 
 Quite a pathetic, and yet in most respects an 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 243 
 
 amiiising, incident occurs ere our friends leave the 
 Namaqua village. 
 
 The moans and ])iteous bellowings of the poor 
 cow whose calf the lion has destroyed have by this 
 time become so distressing that even the people of 
 the village are touched with pity. Topuaar sug- 
 gests that a straw calf be made for her, declaring 
 that he has often cured cows of his own in this 
 way. At first the white people are greatly amused 
 by the idea, but finally decide to let it be tried, 
 especially as it can do no harm. 
 
 "She will slobber over it as though it were her 
 own," declares the chief confidently. "You will 
 see if she does not." 
 
 With these words he sends several of the women 
 to prepare the calf. In a short while they return 
 bearing what our young travelers are surprised to 
 see is really a first-rate imitation of a baby bovine, 
 spots and all. Slipping up behind the cow, they 
 place it near her when her back is toward them. 
 All at once, on turning, she beholds it. A most 
 joyful bellow is the result, followed by a delighted 
 licking of its bogus skin. Indeed, she shows every 
 sio-n of havinor recognized the calf as hers, and con- 
 tinues to treat it to a series of most animated ca- 
 resses, lowing deeply and contentedly to herself 
 all the while. 
 
 But suddenly a most amusing thing occurs. On 
 giving it a more demonstrative caress than any that 
 has yet preceded it, her rough tongue comes in con- 
 
244 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 tact witli a {lefcctive portion of tlie material, when 
 a considerable rent is made in it through which at 
 once protriule uuincrous wisps of hay and straw. 
 Instantly the animal nature asserts itself over the 
 maternal, for, bending her head downward with a 
 sudden little excited sniff, she proceeds at once to 
 devour most greedily the alluring outlines of her 
 pretended offspring. 
 
 When all is over and the bogus calf has entirely 
 disappeared, she seems rather ashamed of herself, 
 but principally on account of her haste and greed. 
 Strange to say, from that time forth she makes no 
 further moan for her lost calf, seeminfj now to re- 
 gard its disappearance as quite natural and after 
 the way it should have gone. 
 
 That evening, before the preparation for their 
 departure is begun, Cunnyngham, at Ellie's re- 
 quest, holds a public service to which all the vil- 
 lage is invited. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " They shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts." 
 
 AT sundown they bid adieu to their friends the 
 - Namaquas, and, accompanied by the two 
 guides that Topnaar has for a moderate considera- 
 tion provided, turn their faces bravely in the direc- 
 tion of the Kalahari, that dreaded bugbear of South 
 African travelers. 
 
 Topnaar also accompanies them for a short dis- 
 tance on the way, trailing behind him the branch 
 of a tree that is thickly covered with small red 
 berries. This, he declares, is to give them success 
 on the journey and to take them safely beyond any 
 snares that may be set for them. 
 
 After gravely shaking hands with them all, even 
 with the children, and begging a few strands from 
 Baby Louise's hair as a charm, he leaves them, and 
 the last sight they have of him he is standing still 
 in the midst of the grassy track over which they 
 have come and waving wildly above his head the 
 branch with the red berries. 
 
 It is a glorious night, one of those magnificent 
 tropical moonlight nights that have been so often 
 
 245 
 
246 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 described l)v travelers in this luinisplu'rc. With 
 the soft hush of the niooiilinlit over everything the 
 way does not seem either so dreary or so desolate 
 as it would doubtless appear during the day. Oc- 
 casionally they come upon a clump of stunted aca- 
 cias or a small thicket of thorn-bushos. 
 
 At daylight they outspan near the kraal of a 
 tribe of Bushmen under their chief, Mokoun, aljout 
 eighteen miles from the Namaqna village. 
 
 Our young travelers have heard much of the 
 state of extreme degradation in which these people, 
 the lowest of all the African tribes, live, but they 
 are scarcely j)re[)ared for the reality. 
 
 The iiabitations are mere burrows in the earth, 
 giving to the entire place more the appearance of 
 dens of wild animals than the abodes of humau 
 beings. The people, too, are such a dirty, miser- 
 able, woe-begone-looking set of creatures that it 
 brings tears to Hope's and Ellie's sympathetic eyes 
 to look upon them. They are entirely nude with 
 the exception of a small skin covering that hangs 
 from the waist to M'ithin half the distance of the 
 knees. 
 
 But for the guides they have brought with them 
 our young travelei-s would find it extremely diificult 
 to make themselves understood. Even as it is, mis- 
 understandings are constantly occurring — misunder- 
 standings that might sometimes have very unpleas- 
 ant results but for the merry and fun-loving dis- 
 position of the Bushmen. In truth, never have 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 247 
 
 our young friends seen a people so degraded, 
 having no comforts and but a scant portion of 
 the barest necessities, and withal dwelling in such 
 content and cheerfulness, or a people whose dis- 
 positions so strongly belie their looks. Their en- 
 tire worldly possessions consist of a burrow in the 
 ground, a bit of skin to partially hide their nudity, 
 and a few miserable-looking dogs and goats that 
 seem never to have known what it was to partake 
 of a full meal in all their life. 
 
 Only the great black ants seem to flourish, and 
 they are here in abundance, giving to our travelers 
 again and again much trouble and annoyance. Just 
 where they get the moisture to work up the mortar 
 for their queer-looking abodes seems a mystery, for 
 on Pierce's asking of Pitsane where water is to be 
 found, he is told that there is none whatever here- 
 abouts. 
 
 " No water ! Then how do the j)eople live ?" 
 Principally by storing up in the shells of ostrich- 
 eggs during the rainy season a supply of the precious 
 fluid and by burying them in the sand, he is told. 
 Again, they obtain from the tubers of certain plants 
 hidden in the earth a refreshing supply of the life- 
 sustaining fluid. It is also chiefly through these 
 plants that the goats and dogs are kept from dying 
 of absolute thirst. The hiding-place of these plants 
 is discovered by means of a stalk about the size of a 
 crow's quill which runs for some little distance along 
 the top of the ground. 
 
2-18 (JlllLDREN UF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Near the habitation of these Bushmen, Pitsane 
 also tells Pierce, there are a few saud-wclls, or 
 rather what are little more than mere "sucking 
 holes." The method of obtaining water from these 
 holes is both singular and repulsive. The supply is 
 generally procured by the women, who gather about 
 the spot with their vessels, which are usually nothing 
 more than ostrich egg-shells with a sniall hole at one 
 side of them. Thrusting the end of a large reed 
 down through the sand to where the water is, they 
 apply their lips to the other end. The water is then 
 sucked up through the reed into the mouth, whence 
 it is ejected into an ostrich-egg-shell vessel by means 
 of another reed leading from it to them. Some- 
 times the water is simply squirted from the mouth 
 into the vessels. It seems revolting to write of 
 this, but then there are other methods and ways 
 of these degraded people which are even more re- 
 pulsive. 
 
 The cows belonging to the little caravan seem to 
 attract the attention of Mokoun and his ])eople more 
 than anything else. They crowd about them, talk- 
 ing and gesticulating with all their might, and when 
 Jim, having finished the morning's milking, holds 
 up for their inspection the buckets of rich, foaming 
 milk, they leap into the air and clap their hands 
 vigorously together, then upon their sides and 
 (;hests, thus displaying extraordinary delight and 
 appreciation at so unusual a sight. They finally 
 fall upon the ground and roll from side to side 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 249 
 
 with their tongues protruding. Ellie and Hope 
 are frightened, thinking the poor creatures have 
 assuredly gone into a fit, but Cunnyngham reas- 
 sures them by telling them that they are only 
 expressing their great delight at seeing what nuist 
 appear to them a most magnificent array of cattle 
 for one camp to possess. 
 
 " Poor creatures !" says Hope pityingly ; " I 
 know they are half starved. Let us give them 
 some of the milk." 
 
 " You may do so if you think best," returns 
 Cunnyngham, " but I am afraid it will end in 
 having the whole village around us begging. It 
 will be hard to give to some and not to others, and 
 we have nothing like enough to go around. These 
 poor creatures have so long subsisted upon the roots 
 and berries of the desert and the carcasses of all 
 kinds of animals, that it would be little less than 
 an absolute cruelty to give them a taste of that 
 which might lead them to be less contented with 
 their hard lot. But I will tell you what we will 
 do : we will kill two of the sheep and send them 
 as a present to the chief, with the request that he 
 divide them among his people." 
 
 This is accordingly done, and a short while there- 
 after the sounds given forth by the delighted creat- 
 ures as they feast upon the meat are like strains of 
 music to the ears of Hope and Ellie. The poor 
 half-starved dogs also come in for a share of the 
 feast in the offal of the slaughtered animals, for 
 
2o0 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Cunnvnp;hain lias takeu care to have the carcasses 
 cleaned ore sciidiiiij tlioni to the chief", well knowing 
 the filthy inclinations of these degraded people. 
 
 The wretched dogs excite the sympathy of Ellie 
 and Hope quite as much as their masters have done, 
 and they forthwith proceed to bestow upon them 
 sundry scraps of dried flesh and various odds and 
 ends purloined from the commissary department of 
 the wagon, and others, again, that are more than 
 odds and ends. The dogs are indeed most })itiable- 
 looking objects, little more than skin and bones, 
 with glassy eyes and froth-covered jaws. One of 
 them especially attracts Hope's attention. He is a 
 large dog — large even with his skin clinging close 
 to his bones. His hair, what little there is left, is 
 gray in color with stripes of black. His head is iu 
 shape somewhat like a wolf's, only more massive, 
 while his eyes, in spite of the sickly gleam starva- 
 tion has given them, have a much more intelligent 
 look than those of the rest of his fellows. It makes 
 Hope's heart throb with jiity to notice the innumer- 
 able marks of stripes and blows upon his poor 
 emaciated frame. 
 
 " He nmst have a very cruel master," she says. 
 " If only I could take both him and his miser- 
 able fellows and make fat, haj)py creatures of 
 them !" 
 
 Late in the afternoon of that day, as they are 
 about to begin preparations for their departure, 
 Hope's attention is attracted by a commotion a 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 251 
 
 short distance to the right of where the wagon 
 stands. On turning in that direction she catches 
 sight of the same dog she has been so deeply pity- 
 ing ravenously devouring a pair of skin shoes that 
 Pitsane has made for Mazika only two or three days 
 before. 
 
 Jim has already spied the miserable brute, and is 
 now running toward him hallooing loudly. Pitsane 
 and Kamati have also started hastily in the same 
 direction, but, despite the shouts and the various 
 other demonstrations, the poor starved brute still 
 keeps up his vehement attacks upon the shoes. 
 
 Others now catch sight of him, among them a 
 number of Bushmen who have been lingering about 
 the camp in order to see the travelers take their de- 
 parture. With these is the dog's master, who as 
 soon as he comprehends the situation recognizes, 
 doubtless, that this is a shabby return indeed to 
 make to those who have bestowed so many favors, 
 and forthwith proceeds to impress this fact in the 
 most emphatic manner upon the seemingly ungrate- 
 ful brute. 
 
 When the blows from a great stick in the Bush- 
 man's hand first rain down upon the scarred body 
 of the miserable l)rute, he merely shrugs up his back, 
 opens his jaws and grins in a most ghastly manner. 
 Evidently this is but an every-day occurrence to 
 him. But flesh and blood are flesh and blood after 
 all, and as the blows continue to fall thick and fast 
 he drops the remnant of the shoe he has nearly de- 
 
252 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 voured and crouches before his master howliDg pit- 
 eou.sly. 
 
 Hope cau staud uo more. In a moment she is 
 flying over the ground that intervenes between her 
 and the inhumanly bclal)orcd brute, and ere any 
 one can surmise her intention has thrown herself 
 between the howling dog and his savage master. 
 So quick is she that she has precipitated herself in 
 front of tlie dog ere the man is aware of her pres- 
 ence. Thus she receives across one arm the full 
 force of a blow that has been intended for the dog. 
 It makes her sick and giddy, and for the first few 
 seconds she thinks the bone must surely be broken. 
 
 As to the Bushman, when he realizes what he 
 has done he is nearly beside himself with terror. 
 Dropping his stick, he stands rooted to the spot 
 with his eyes rolling as though they would quite 
 roll out of his head. Then, recovering himself, he 
 begins to gesticulate wildly, finally falling upon his 
 knees in front of Pierce and Cunnyngham with his 
 hands clasped entreatingly. As for Hope, fi^'get- 
 ting for a time the pain of the blow, Avhich has also 
 raised a great angry-looking wheal several inches in 
 length across the soft white flesh of her arm, she is 
 now sobbing over the poor beaten dog with her arms 
 about his neck and murmuring pitying words to him 
 all the while. 
 
 " Oh, II<>j)e," Pierce cries as he springs to her 
 side, " what have you done? That blow was enough 
 to break your arm. Is it hurt very much, dear?" 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 253 
 
 *'Oh no," she answers quickly, yet somewhat 
 brokenly, "I scarcely feel it." 
 
 " That is because you are so much excited. Let 
 go the dog," taking hold of her arms as he speaks 
 and trying gently to disengage them. 
 
 "Oh, I cannot; that man will surely kill him if 
 I do. Oh, Pierce, ask him if I may not have the 
 dog. I will give him anything that is reasonable." 
 
 Pierce goes forward, and by using Pitsane and 
 one of the Namaqua-men as interpreters, makes 
 known to the Bushman Hope's desire to possess the 
 dog, at the same time asking him to name what he 
 will take for the creature. The man is very much 
 surprised at first, and hesitates a long time, but he 
 finally makes public his willingness to take in ex- 
 change for the dog a pocket-knife that Pierce has 
 shown him and the skins of the two sheep recently 
 slaughtered. 
 
 " The poor miserable brute is hardly worth so 
 much as that," Pierce comments to himself. "I 
 hope my cousin will have no cause to repent of her 
 bargain." 
 
 It is quite evident that on her own part Hope 
 has no such apprehension, at least not at present, 
 for the moment the trade is struck and the dog 
 is hers she starts up joyfully, calliug to him to 
 follow. 
 
 "I shall call him Smike," says Hope a few 
 minutes later. — " You remember, Ellie, the wretch- 
 ed, half-starved little creature in Dickens's Nicholas 
 
254 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 Nichhhy who was the cruelly outraged hack of all 
 those thvadful Squeers?" 
 
 " Yes, clear, and the name docs seem most appro- 
 priate," reaching out her hand as she speaks to pat 
 the dog's great bony head. 
 
 Hope has no trouble in getting Smike to fall in 
 behind the wagon as they start off from the Bush- 
 man village. Indeed, he has even in this sliort 
 time so learned the tones of her voice that he will 
 get up at once and follow anywhere she leads. 
 
 But the most pathetic })icture is that made by 
 Smike's late comijanions, the dogs of the Bushmen 
 village. In a wildly-staring, curiosity-stricken 
 grouji they sit upon their lean haunches and watch 
 the dej)arture of the caravan. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 /'He made and loveth all." 
 
 ABOUT midnight, as they are passing near a 
 - small oasis-like expanse in the midst of the 
 almost trackless waste over which they have come 
 for the })ast ten miles, their attention is suddenly 
 attracted by a glare of light that seems to penetrate 
 an opening in a tangle of shrubbery. 
 
 " That must be a camj)," says Cunnynghara to 
 Pitsane as they are riding together at the head of 
 the little caravan. " Why, who can it be at this 
 place and awake at this hour?" 
 
 " If Pitsane mistakes not, it is Bushmen — Bush- 
 men who hunt the ostrich." 
 
 On riding in the direction whence the light 
 issues they find it is as Pitsane has surmised. 
 The Bushmen are eight in number, the greater 
 part of them entirely nude. But, strange to say, 
 all of them but two have on queer-looking skin 
 caps, which they seem to think is all the covering 
 necessary and quite ample for the entire body. 
 With the exception of one who seems to be the 
 leader, they are squatted about a small fire on 
 
 255 
 
2oG CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Avliicli is placed a strange-looking round vessel 
 that seems to have sometliing boiling within it, 
 doubtless a soup made of the bones of some ani- 
 mal recently slain. 
 
 Pierce and Pitsaue dismount and approach the 
 camp, and by means of various signs and with 
 what help Pitsane can give. Pierce soon learns 
 that they belong to the same kraal of Bushmen 
 recently passed, and are, as Pitsane has surmised, 
 on an ostrich-hunt. They have already been a 
 week away from the village, and have slain over a 
 score of ostriches, besides gathering a large num- 
 ber of eo-ffs. Pierce makes the Bushmen's hearts 
 quite happy by the purchase of a goodly number 
 of the feathers and eggs. 
 
 The sun is quite two hours high and its rays are 
 beating fiercely down ujion them ere they reach the 
 kraal of the Busiiman, Shobo. Tiie curiosity of 
 our young wanderers concerning this man, whose 
 name has become so well known througii its close 
 association with that of Livingstone, is so great 
 that scarcely a day has passed since the journey 
 was begun that they have not thought and talked 
 of their meeting wMth him. 
 
 They find the kraal of these Bushmen in every 
 respect a decided improvement upon that they have 
 left some twenty miles back. The village has some 
 regularity about it, the huts being arranged in rows. 
 About them all there is quite a respectable barri- 
 cade of thorn-bushes. There are also several small 
 
Coming on a Bushmen's Camp. Page 256. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 257 
 
 herds of goats in good condition, and even a cow 
 or twt). 
 
 On the inqniry being made for Shobo, they are 
 mucii shocked to learn that the old chief is very 
 ill — in fact, said by the fetish-man (medicine-man) 
 to be about to go to the other country of which he 
 has so long talked. 
 
 At first the fetish-man declares most positively 
 that they cannot see the chief, but on Shobo him- 
 self learning of the presence of white people in his 
 village, he at once sends for them. Pierce and 
 Cunnyngham respond to this message. 
 
 " Shobo heart him make glad to see one mo' time 
 w'ite brudders," he says in broken English as they 
 approach him, and he motions them to a seat upon 
 a skin rug. " Shobo him plenty got fear him neb- 
 ber see no mo' w'ite people same as w'ite fetish- 
 man Shobo loved.* W'ite fetish-man done gone 
 way ober big desert; him gone one time, him gone 
 two time, him gone tree time, an' den him nebber 
 come back no mo'. Shobo go wid him one time, 
 Shobo go two time, Shobo go tree time, but Shobo 
 no go wid him when him come back ober desert 
 las' time. Fetish-man him go on down to Cape. 
 Dere he go 'way on big city what moves on water,f 
 an' him nebber come back no mo'. Can w'ite 
 brudders tell Shobo where fetish-man gone?" 
 
 " If it is Dr. Livingstone of whom you speak, 
 Shobo," Cunnyngham says in deep, feeling tones, 
 
 * Livingstone. f A ship. 
 
 17 
 
258 VHlLDREy OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 "then he lias indeed gone away never to n'tiini. 
 He is in that world beyond the sky of* which hi' 
 has doubtless told you often." 
 
 "Oh yes, him tell Shobo one big heap 'bout 
 great worlil where mighty chief lib name God. 
 Him tell 'im b'leebe in great INIan, den him tek 
 Shobo some day lib wid him. Oh, is fetish-man 
 weally gone where great God stay? Den Shobo 
 him no mo' 'fraid. Him see dere good fetish-man 
 what say all men brudders." 
 
 "Then you loved Livingstone very much? he 
 was good to you ?" Pierce questions. 
 
 "Him one big heap good to po' Shobo, but him 
 yillie heap stern too. Shobo need it. Shobo one 
 time mighty bad man. Him git mad, den him 
 leab go bang 'gainst tree as not ; him smash yudder 
 heads dere too if dey in his way. When Shobo go 
 bad, fetish-man jus' look one time at Shobo — look 
 one time hard like him look 'im troo — den Shobo 
 no mo' all ober big smart. Him jus' fall down an' 
 creep 'way. Wish him could die. Den fetish-man 
 him follow Shobo ; him say kind word to Shobo. 
 Den Shobo feel mo' yillie still wish him mo' die 
 dan ebber. 
 
 "One time Shobo lose way. No water, no water 
 anyw'eres. Country him all dry up. Oxen nearly 
 die; men nearly die. Fetish-man wife look like 
 him all time ready dead. Yillie chillen dem sholy 
 dead, Shobo t'ink. Shobo lose him head like him 
 lose way. Shobo like one 'sleep. Shobo no find 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 259 
 
 water. All dry country, no water ebberways look. 
 Den yuckler w'ite mens git mad, say big heap bad 
 words Shobo. Wan' er strak Shobo wid stick ; 
 fetish-man no let 'em. Him say, 'Shobo no all 
 bit to blame.' Him feel some mad wid Shobo 
 too, but him no show him mad like y udder mens. 
 Him talk kind to Shobo. Him tell him try to 
 t'ink where water is. But Shobo done lose him 
 head, an' Shobo dat night run off; him 'fraid 
 yudder white men kill him when de day come if 
 he no find water. Him no stop till him git to 
 Mahobe. 
 
 " Den fetish-man him git troo de desert ; find 
 Shobo heap time later. Shobo t'ink now him 
 sholy be killed. But no ; fetish-man him talk 
 kind same's ever to all-bad Shobo. Him tell him 
 mo' 'bout de great sky-man what care for eben 
 all-bad Shobo. Him tell him heap mo'. Him say 
 de kind word ebber day him stay where Shobo 
 was. Him tell him great IMan's name God. Him 
 tell him great Man lub Shobo big heap if Shobo 
 just make try do what right ; but wdien Shobo all 
 ober bad an' no sorry him bad, den sky-man no 
 lub him. Den Shobo him t'ink what fetish-man 
 say, an' him all time sorry him big bad ober. Den 
 fetish-man fall down by Shobo; him clasp him 
 han', an' him pray to great Man in sky gib Shobo 
 new heart. Den Shobo him pray too what fetish- 
 man tell him. Den new heart mus' come, 'cause 
 Shobo no mo' feel bad all ober, an' him no mo' 
 
260 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 long to go bang 'gainst tree. Him like new Shobo 
 all troo an' troo. Ilini come an' tell him people. 
 Him try let yndders know 'bont great Man what 
 make ober all-bad hearts. Some him people b'leebe, 
 some on'y langh, but Shobo him no git mad. Him 
 tell 'em 'mong yudder tings dey mus' no longer lib 
 in holes. So Shobo git 'em make houses. Den 
 Shobo git 'em be one heap mo' clean. An' den 
 him git 'em mo' goats an' one, two, tree, fo' cow. 
 Him sho' 'em heap t'ings what people do Avhat try 
 please great Man in sky. Shobo people now 
 mighty heap good to -what hab been. Shobo him 
 great lot glad, an' when him see good fetish-man 
 up dere, him too be mighty heap great glad hear 
 what Shobo done." 
 
 Ellie and Hope are much struck with Shobo 
 when they see him, while he, on his i)art, takes 
 greatly to them. Henrietta, too, comes in for her 
 share of the old Bushman's regard, and is never 
 better pleased than when she is allowed to go and 
 read to him from her little pocket Bible, which 
 she does during every day of their stay at the 
 village. 
 
 On making inquiries of Shobo, our young travel- 
 ers are much perplexed and worried to learn that 
 there is at present no one in his village who has suf- 
 ficient knowledge of the Kalahari to ])rove a trusty 
 guide across it — that is, in the direction they wish 
 to go. There are many, it is true, who say they 
 know, and who are eager to attach themselves to 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 261 
 
 the little company because of their desire to obtain 
 the liberal amount of pay that is offered. But 
 whenever the matter is referred to the old chief 
 with the name of the applicant, he shakes his head 
 very decidedly. He assuredly ought to know, he 
 says, if any one docs, the real difficulties of the 
 undertaking, as well as the great peril that is in- 
 vited by having a guide who is not expert about 
 finding water. There are many men of his village, 
 he tells them, whom he could trust if only they 
 were here, and again and again he bemoans the 
 absence of his son, Horoye, who, he tells them, 
 knows almost every foot of the desert and would 
 be just the very one to go with them. But Horoye 
 is away at present with fully a dozen of the best 
 and most trusty men of the village. As they are 
 on a trading-expedition, it is not known when they 
 will return. 
 
 Finally, just when their despair is at its height, 
 two Bushmen from a neighboring kraal make their 
 appearance at Shobo's. They are armed with their 
 bows and poisoned arrows and are on their way 
 to hunt ostriches. When they hear of the dilemma 
 of the little party, they at once offer their services 
 as guides. They seem very clever fellows, have a 
 straightforward way about them and faces much 
 more intelligent-looking than the average men of 
 their class. 
 
 Our young people are inclined to put much con- 
 fidence in them, but on i\\Q subject being broached 
 
262 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 to Sliobo he is quite doubtful as to their ahility. 
 They may know the desert very well, he says, but 
 the water, the most important thing of all, will 
 they know what to do about that? It finally ends 
 in Shobo sending for them and questioning them 
 minutely. Our young friends await in mueh sus- 
 pense the result of this interview. Late that after- 
 noon Shobo makes his opinion known to them. 
 As it seems so absolutely necessary for them to 
 proceed on their journey, and as it is not known 
 when Horoye and his men will return, he, Shobo, 
 thinks maybe these men will do. They have stood 
 the test of his numerous questionings fairly well, 
 and while they are not so good as Horoye or Shobo 
 himself would be, still they may succeed in getting 
 the little caravan through all right. He, Shobo, 
 would be glad, nay proud, to have the travelers 
 remain with him and his people as long as they 
 care to stay, but if they think it necessary to go 
 on, then the men may be given a trial. 
 
 Each one of the traveling-party is for pushing 
 on at once. They have already been at Shobo's vil- 
 lage more than a week, and as every day decreases 
 their stock of provisions, there is great danger that 
 if they do not soon proceed on their way the store 
 will be quite exhausted ere the Makololos are 
 reached. It is true they can add to it from time 
 to time by the flesh of such animals as they chance 
 to slay, but still this will not help matters much 
 if once the supply of flour and meal gives out. It 
 
A STOBY OF AFRICA. 263 
 
 will be a most trying diet to live on flesh alone. 
 Shobo comes manfully to their aid in this matter by 
 insisting that they shall take with them a quantity 
 of pumpkins, potatoes and maize his people have 
 recently obtained in trade with a tribe of the Baka- 
 lahari. This they finally consent to do on Shobo 
 agreeing to receive the value of these supplies in 
 such articles as compose the currency of the dis- 
 trict. He also informs them that there is another 
 tribe of the Bakalahari about ten miles on their 
 route from whom they may very likely obtain 
 additional supplies of pumpkins, potatoes, beans, 
 maize and the like. 
 
 The parting with Shobo is very aifecting. He 
 has grown much attached to them, while on their 
 part they have formed for the sturdy old Bushman 
 a sincere regard, as well as an honest admiration 
 for his many fine traits of character. Tears are 
 in their eyes as they shake his emaciated hand at 
 parting, while his voice is little more than a sob 
 as he bids them good-bye : 
 
 " Shobo see chillen o' white brudder uo mo' here, 
 but Shobo meet 'em up sky." 
 
 These are almost the last words the old Bushman 
 ever utters, for after they leave him he turns his 
 face toward the wall of his hut, and in two days 
 more is dead. 
 
 Our little party is successful in obtaining from 
 the Bakalahari alluded to by Shobo quite a good 
 supply of potatoes, pumpkins, maize, and even a 
 
264 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 few l)eaii.s. They now set tbrtli on their journey 
 with light and trusting hearts, despite the many 
 perils that they know lie before theui. 
 
 For forty miles after leaving the liakalahari 
 there is an absolutely waterless track, and had they 
 not been prepared tor it their sutl'ering would be 
 great. Even as it is, they have to stint the sup- 
 ply of the precious Huid to such an extent that for 
 the first time they catch a most unpleasant foretaste 
 of what the horrors of thirst really are. 
 
 At a pleasant spot in the dreary desert they camp 
 for two days. Here, too, they find a very fair su}> 
 ply of water, and here for the fii-st time they catch 
 sight of a drove of ostriches. They are feeding on 
 the plain fully a half mile away, and seem totally 
 unconscious of the presence of the travelers. 
 
 As pleasing a sight as these great birds present 
 to the eyes of our young friends, the sight is even 
 more pleasing to those of the Jiushnien guides. The 
 latter prepare at once for the slaughter, determined 
 to procure as many feathers as possil)le. 
 
 First they get out their bows and arrows, taking 
 care to dip afresh the points of the latter in the 
 ])oisonons matter carried along for this purpose. 
 Next out of a bundle they protluce two pieces of 
 wood carved so as to represent the head and neck 
 of an ostrich. These the guides fasten to the napes 
 of their necks so that when they stoop forward the 
 contrivances stand upright. They next cover their 
 backs and shinddcrs with a kind of saddle made of 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 265 
 
 ostrich-feathers, the feet and legs being whitened 
 with a preparation resembling chalk. 
 
 Thus equipped, the two Bushmen make their way 
 slowly and cautiously across the plain in the direc- 
 tion of the spot M'hcre the ostriches are so quietly 
 feeding. The birds })ay very little attention to 
 what they seem to think is only a new addition of 
 their own species. 
 
 But in a moment one or two of the ostriches begin 
 to show some little signs of uneasiness. They raise 
 their heads suddenly and glance backward, as though 
 not altog-ether assured of the friendly intentions of 
 these feathered strangers. But, alas ! they are too 
 late, for even in the midst of the act of doing this 
 the two concealed Bushmen lift their bows and 
 twang go their arrows. The birds that are hit be- 
 gin at once to reel around like drunken men. Di- 
 rectly one falls, while the other, after trying to run 
 a short distance, staggers from side to side, and also 
 falls dead. 
 
 The other ostriches seem determined to keep up 
 their reputation for stupidity, for instead of making 
 off at once out of danger, they only gaze curiously 
 at the strange behavior of their companions, and, 
 moving off a space, go on feeding again. 
 
 Two more now fall victims to the poisoned arrows 
 of the Bushmen. By this time it seems to penetrate 
 even the stupid heads of the remaining birds that 
 something is wrong, and one of the Bushmen now, 
 by a false movement, getting between them and the 
 
266 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 wind, their long legs arc at once put in motion for 
 flight. 
 
 "If tliose Bushmen get anotliorshot at the birds 
 now, they will have to run much faster than I give 
 them credit for being able to do," exclaims Pierce, 
 greatly interested, " Why, did you ever see any- 
 thing to equal the way those birds use their legs? 
 I believe they could outrun the swiftest horse. 
 There ! they seem to be heading directly toward 
 this spot. Surely they will catch a sight of us in 
 time to turn another way. I^ook out ! here they 
 come ! Quick, everybody, and get to the shelter 
 of the wagons. Steady now, and let's give them a 
 shot as they go plunging by." 
 
 By this time the great flying birds are almost 
 upon the campiug-j)lace. In another moment they 
 have reached it and are plunging through, scatter- 
 ing everything before them. As they clear the 
 camp there sound sinudtaneously the sharp reports 
 of four rifles, while almo.-^t immediately two of the 
 birds fall dead. A third one, they think, nnist sure- 
 ly be hit, by the track of blood it leaves behind it, 
 though it keeps steadily on. But gradually its pace 
 begins to slacken, until finally about two hundred 
 yards beyond the camp it suddenly reels and falls. 
 
 "I never saw anything so stupid," comments 
 Pierce again. "Why didn't they go around us? 
 They must have seen us at the last, and yet they 
 never made even a movement of swerving from 
 their course." 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 267 
 
 "Ostreedge him one big heap fool bird," says one 
 of the Bushmen in broken English, having by this 
 time reached the camp in his pursuit of the flying 
 birds, and coming up just in time to overhear 
 Pierce's remarks. " When ostreedge all over heap 
 fear, him run all one way. Him butt him brains 
 out 'g'in' en't'ing in 'im paff (path) 'fo' 'im turn 
 out'n de way. When ostreedge once git all ober 
 scared, him shut 'im.eye an' run. Him no open 
 'im eye for en't'ing. One time me see ostreedge 
 go bang slap 'g'inst tree an' mash him head flat, 
 flat as massa hand." 
 
 The seven dead ostriches are now brought into 
 camp and the work of securing the feathers begins. 
 Four of them of course belong to the Bushmen, the 
 others to our travelers. Two of the birds are males, 
 the other five females, and all are, with one excep- 
 tion, fully grown. On the lower part of the necks 
 and bodies of the male birds the feathers are of a 
 deep and glossy black, intermingled with a few 
 whitish ones. In the females the general color of 
 the neck-feathers is of a grayish or ashy-brown, 
 fringed with white. But the most beautiful feath- 
 ers, as also the most valuable, are those upon the 
 wings and tails. These in both the males and 
 females are of a beautiful pure white that calls 
 forth exclamations of admiration, from Ellie and 
 Hope especially, the moment they see them. 
 
 From twenty-five to thirty of these feathers are 
 taken from each bii-d, though only about two- 
 
268 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 thirds of tlicin prove worthy of jireservation. 
 However, those that are di.seanled Pitsane care- 
 fully gathei-s up. Ellie and Hope wonder what 
 he can be going to do with tin in. Their sjiecula- 
 tion is changed to a feeling of delight when a few 
 days later he pi*eseut.s each of them with a very 
 creditable parasol made of the feathers most in- 
 geniously woven together and fastened upon a 
 frame, which while it is somewhat rudely con- 
 structed is, nevertheless, very light and service- 
 able. The young girls are exceedingly proud of 
 their parasols, and find them really very much of 
 a protection while walking about in the sun. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "Plenteous in mercy." 
 
 TRAVELING now except at night and in the 
 early mornings is impossible, for overhead is a 
 scorching sun and underneath are great stretches 
 of blistering sand that it would be next to madness 
 to attempt to toil over while it is in this condition. 
 Ten or twelve miles a day — or rather a night — is 
 the best they can now accomplish, even with their 
 bravest efforts. At some places they find that the 
 heat daring the day has been so great that the grass 
 as they touch it crumbles to dust iu their hands. 
 
 But the nights are comparatively cool, and during 
 them, at least, they have some relief, although they 
 have to provide against the great danger of taking 
 cold. 
 
 They have left the fertile tract where they have 
 encamped for two days nearly three days' journey 
 behind them, and there is still no sign of water. 
 Lucky for them that they have brought a supply 
 from this camping-place. But in three days it is so 
 nearly run out that there is now only a limited sup- 
 ply for the people, and none for the poor dumb toil- 
 
 269 
 
270 CHILD HE S OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 ing brutes whose sufferings it is alromly licartrend- 
 ing to witness. 
 
 Another day, and now tlie last drop in the eask is 
 exhausted, and peo})le and animals are alike eon- 
 fronted by the fieree tortures of maddening thirst. 
 Now, indeed, do their troubles begin. All else that 
 has gone before seems as a mere trifle. The two 
 older boys and Ellie and Hope bear up bravely, but 
 it is especially trying to the children, who have no 
 such fortitude to sustain them. The pleading of 
 the poor little baby for water is the most agonizing 
 thing they have to endure. 
 
 " Oh," exclaims Ellie, clasping her hands [)assion- 
 ately together, *' I remember how Dr. Livingstone 
 saw his wife and little ones in just such sore straits 
 as this, and how fervently he prayed f )r strength 
 and help. It seemed at first as if God had indeed 
 deserted them. Yet at last help came. Oh, surely, 
 if we trust him he will hear and send water." 
 
 On the night of the fourth day since the supply 
 of water has given out they lay them down, not to 
 sleep, but to await tiie coming of the morning they 
 long yet tremble to see. And why this strange 
 contradiction ? Because their guides have told 
 them that they must have the daylight in which 
 to find water. Of these guides Cunnyngham and 
 Pierce now begin to entertain serious doubts. But 
 perhajis, after all, the men may not be to blame. 
 Such things have happened before, even with the 
 best of guides. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 271 
 
 At length the morning dawns, and with its com- 
 ing the journey is again resumed, for to stay where 
 they are is to pci-ish, wliilc to go forward may also 
 be to perish, but still it is the one hope that is left 
 to them. 
 
 On they toil silently and despairingly. The 
 poor tortured oxeu do little more than stagger 
 through the great stretches of sand, their parched 
 tongues protruding from their mouths. The horses 
 and cows are sutfcriug even more, and it takes all 
 the efforts of the drivers, themselves in a pitiable 
 condition, to urge them forward. The goats stand 
 it very well, but the last of the sheep have dropped 
 by the way the evening before. At length the poor 
 cow who has lost her calf also succumbs, and then 
 one of the calves of the other cows. 
 
 Slowly and painfully the little company creeps 
 onward, hotter and hotter grows the sun, more ter- 
 rible the thirst. By nine o'clock, in the shade of 
 the wagon, the little thermometer that Ellie car- 
 ries among her other treasures registers 110°. 
 This heat, added to the already maddening tor- 
 tures of thirst, renders their condition wellnigh 
 insupportable. To add to the other misery, Hope, 
 Henrietta and the little Louise show unmistakable 
 signs of having beeu attacked by that dread scourge 
 of African travelers, fever, and now lie moaning in 
 delirium. 
 
 About half-past nine o'clock, Pitsaue, who is in 
 advance, sees what he at first thinks is a lion crouch- 
 
272 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 ing iK'liiiid ;i line of scrubby bu.shes that dot the 
 plain sonu' little distance ahead. But on drawing 
 nearer, he is sur})rised to discover that it is a Bush- 
 •\vonian in a bent position, and evidently trying to 
 creep away without attracting attention. 
 
 As soon as she sees that she is discovered she 
 springs up and endeavoi's to fly beyond Pitsane's 
 grasp. But she is too late, for he has seen that 
 about her body that has lent him renewed strength 
 and agility. Ere she has more than risen from her 
 crouching position he has sprung from his horse 
 and seized her by the shoulder, at the same time 
 giving her to understand that the circle of ostrich- 
 egg-shell vessels fastened about her body is the 
 only thing he desires, for Avell he knows the pre- 
 cious fluid they contain. 
 
 But, evidently, the woman has no intention of 
 yielding these up easily. By this time, the wagon 
 having come up and Pierce and Cunnyngham catch- 
 ing an inkling of the nature of the encounter, the 
 M'omau is now given a yard or two of bi'ight cloth 
 and a bunch of beads. There is no hesitancy on 
 her part after this. She at once allows the pre- 
 cious contents of her shell vessels to be emptied 
 into one of the casks in the wagon, jabbering all 
 the while in the most abandoned delight over her 
 newly-acquired treasures. 
 
 There is no need to describe the excessive joy 
 with which those parched lips drink of the old 
 Bushwoman's precious store. But, alas! their joy 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 273 
 
 is sncltlenly quenched by the piteous neighiugs and 
 bellowing.s of" the poor horses and cattle, which, hav- 
 ing caught a scent of the water, are now sending 
 fortli the most heartrending appeals. 
 
 "Oh, this is terrible!" cries Ellie, covering her 
 ears with her hands. "Can nothing be done? Oh, 
 I feel as though every drop of that water l)urns my 
 throat. See ! there is half a cask left ; take it and 
 at least rinse their months." 
 
 " But, my dear sister," protests Pierce, " it is too 
 valuable. Think how much more precious our 
 lives are than those of these brutes that have no 
 souls. My own heart aches for them, but we must 
 let reason guide us in this matter." 
 
 " If I mistake not," says Cunnyngham, " this 
 W'Oman can tell us where we may find a small sup- 
 ply, at least, of water. Pitsane is of the o])inion 
 that her vessels have not been many hours filled." 
 
 At first the woman seems very reluctant to dis- 
 close where the water may be found. But after 
 many bribes she finally consents to show them 
 where the water is. To their great joy, they learn 
 tliat it is not more than an hour's journey distant. 
 
 Turning almost directly across their present path, 
 they prepare to follow the old Bush woman. It is 
 a painful and toilsome journey, and again and 
 again it seems as if the exhausted oxen must 
 surely give out ere it is accomplished. But by 
 persistent efforts on the part of their drivers they 
 are urged along, and at about twenty minutes to 
 
 18 
 
274 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 eleven o'clock come to a staii^gering halt beside 
 what seems to be a little wilderness of scrubby 
 karroo-bushes and stunted acacias. 
 
 Finding an entrance in the seemingly impenetra- 
 ble thicket, the Bushwoman crawls through, fol- 
 lowed by Pitsane, Pierce, Cuiniyngham and Ma- 
 zika. In the centre is a kind of cleared spot, and 
 almost the entire space is a rocky hollow with a 
 heavy accumulation of sand at the bottom. 
 
 Approaching the spot, the woman arrauges her 
 vessels in a cluster at her right side, and securing 
 a reed al)out three feet long ties a bunch of grass 
 to one end of it. Then with her hand she scoops 
 out the sand at the bottom of the hollow until an 
 opening is made that admits her arm to the elbow. 
 This completed, she inserts into the ()j)euing the end 
 of the reed that is bound about with grass, and pro- 
 ceeds to pack the sand about it until the orifice is 
 completely filled. Everything being now appa- 
 rently to her satisfaction, she places her mouth 
 over the up])er end of the reed, at the same time 
 inserting a straw in the right corner of her mouth. 
 This straw she keeps in direct comnmnication with 
 a small opening in the top of the egg-shell vessel. 
 
 As she draws mouthful after mouthful from be- 
 low, the woman empties it into the vessel at her 
 side by means of the straw, which guides the flow 
 along the outside, and not through the inside as some 
 might suppose. 
 
 At last the Bushwoman has her vessels filled, 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 275 
 
 and tlioy arc free to obtain what supply they can 
 for the poor siiifering brutes. 
 
 lu three hours the torturinf^ agony of each dumb 
 brute is relieved by a cooling draught of the precious 
 fluid. Even the dogs are not forgotten. But that 
 it has taken great fortitude and tact to reach a suc- 
 cessful accomplishment through so harrowing an 
 ordeal no one can doubt. Many times it seems as 
 thouo-h the frantic cattle must set entirelv bevoud 
 their control, while it takes all Mazika's powerful 
 strength and agility to guard the opening that leads 
 through the tangled coppice to the pool. At length 
 all is finished, and, thoroughly exhausted, they are 
 glad to eat without the least complaining the supper 
 of bread and dried game-flesh, washed down with 
 pure cold water. 
 
 During all this time the old Bushwomau has 
 shown no disposition to take her departure, but 
 hangs about the wagon, taking in everything with 
 the most astonished eyes. They wonder greatly at 
 her lingering now that she has been repeatedly 
 assured that she is free to depart at any time. 
 
 " I think she is afraid that we will follow her," 
 says Pierce. " I surmise that she belongs to a small 
 company of her people who have hidden themselves 
 from some enemy. She does not know but that we 
 may be in communication with the foe and thus dis- 
 close their hiding-place." 
 
 That night, when all are asleep and even Pitsane, 
 who is on guard, is so far overcome by the terrible 
 
276 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHART: 
 
 trials and cxliaiistioiis of the last three days as to 
 sink into heavy sluniher, the old Bnshwonian steals 
 away, whither no one knows. The desert may have 
 swallowed her up, for all the traee she leaves. 
 
 As the symptoms of those who have been stricken 
 with the fever grow more alarming on the follow- 
 ing day, our weary travelers decide to remain where 
 they are for the next two or three days, or at least 
 until there is a more favorable turn in the condition 
 of the sick. By clearing away some of the thick 
 undergrowth, enough shade is procured to shelter 
 the animals during the fierce heat of the day. 
 
 AVhile camping at this spot Cunnyngham and 
 Pierce have some entertaining experiences with a 
 small drove of ostriches, and through them learu 
 many interesting things of this gigantic bird. 
 
 Late one afternoon, while making a kind of 
 scouting-tour in a circle of about two miles from 
 camp, they come suddenly upon the parent-birds 
 and a happy family of newly-fledged young os- 
 triches that are concealed by a large sandbank. 
 The moment the birds catch sight of the enemy 
 they take to flight, but not rapidly, because of the 
 not very assured movements of the young fledg- 
 lings. As it is the first time the two youths have 
 ever seen the newly-hatched ostriches, they at once 
 start in pursuit, determined to catch one or two of 
 them if possible. 
 
 Suddeidy dismounting, they each seize one of 
 the young birds, and regain their horses ere the male 
 
 276 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 277 
 
 parent can ])repare for the attack, which would 
 untloiibtedly ensue but for their quick movements. 
 Tliey decide to keep the two young ostriches and 
 see if tiicy cannot tame them. 
 
 " At any rate," says Cunnyngham, " I feel that 
 we will have no trouble in finding something with 
 which to feed our two pets. We can give them chaff, 
 barley, maize and an occasioua^handful of cracked 
 corn." 
 
 On being introduced into the coop where the 
 fowls are, the two young ostriches show unmistak- 
 able signs of fear, while the fowls, on their part, 
 give vigorous evidence of resenting the intrusion 
 of such uncouth-looking companions. But in a 
 little while all is amicably adjusted, and at the end 
 of two or three days they are living as happily 
 together as though they were of one family. 
 
 On the evening of the sixth day after stopping 
 at this camping-place, the condition of the fever 
 patients having grown more favorable, the little 
 caravan is again set in motion. 
 
 Another long and dreary waste now stretches 
 before them. Two days and three nights have 
 passed since they left the little fountain in the 
 acacia-thicket, and again, as before that place was 
 reached, there has been one absolutely waterless 
 track, destitute of signs of life, with the exception 
 of now and then a crawling deadly serpent or a 
 great unwieldy bird of prey. 
 
 The last drop of water is now exhausted, and 
 
278 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 still there is no sign of any more on nil this dreary 
 wiLste. Thongli sick and d('s])airing at iieart, they 
 nevertheless prepare themselves to face with what 
 fortitude they can a repetition of those terrible ex- 
 periences that have j)reeeded their coming to the 
 little fountain in the tliieket. 
 
 The morning of the fifth day finds them passing 
 over a parched andjdesolate stretch with no sign of 
 life anywhere visible, and with a pitiless sun beat- 
 ing down from a glaring firmament. Here, in one 
 of the loneliest and dreariest spots, they come sud- 
 denly upon a solitary grave. At the head there is a 
 rude board fashioned in the form of a cross. The 
 board having been smoothed on one side, the follow- 
 ing inscription is cut into it in deep, clear letters : 
 
 "T. C, 
 
 Born April 24, 1848. 
 
 Died Sept. 19, 18 7-. 
 
 *God be merciful to me a sinner!'" 
 
 "Oh!" says Ellie, wiping the fast-falling tears, 
 "what a lonely spot to die and be buried in I 
 And yet," with a smile that beautifies all her face, 
 "God can be here as well as elsewhere." 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " He will hear their cry. " 
 
 ¥HEX they took up the line of march that 
 evening they had been two days without 
 water, and tlie poor brutes three days. That even- 
 ing a most uneasy suspicion took possession of 
 Cuunyngham. It was of the Bushmen guides — a 
 doubt as to their knowledge of the locality in which 
 they now found themselves. Again and again Cuu- 
 nyngham questioned the guides as to the probabil- 
 ity of water being found in the vicinity. At first 
 they had seemed truly concerned, and answered 
 these anxious questionings by the assurance that 
 water would surely be come upon before very long; 
 but again, on being pressed in regard to the matter 
 and urged to do their best, they had grown sullen, 
 and finally would scarcely answer at all when ad- 
 dressed. 
 
 It was these things that had combined to give 
 Cuunyngliam that restless and uneasy feeling of 
 w'hich, with all his efforts, he could not get rid. 
 How well grounded were these fears and anticipa- 
 tions was shown only too forcibly when, the morn- 
 ing having come, the terrible revelation was forced 
 
 279 
 
280 cniLDRES OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 upon thcin that their guides had deserted during 
 the night. With the direction to Jim and Mazika, 
 who were at that moment at tlie head of the little 
 company, to go straight forward until directed other- 
 wise, they had walked back toward the rear of the 
 wagon . 
 
 Tiiat was the last ever seen of them. One thing, 
 however, only too forcii)ly appeared, and that was, 
 that the absconding guides had taken good care to 
 })rovide most liberally for themselves at the expense 
 of our young travelers, one of the best guns, an axe, 
 a supply of ammunition, two l)lanket.s, some beads 
 and cloth, a quantity of ship's bread and two of the 
 goats being taken off among other things. 
 
 Abandoned thus by their treacherous guides, our 
 friends now find themselves in the midst of the 
 wild and almost trackless desert with no knowledge 
 whatever of the course before them, and, to add 
 more acutely to the horrors of the situation, suffer- 
 ing agonies from thirst. 
 
 The terrible day draws on toward its close, the 
 evening is approaching, the time at which the march 
 is generally resumed, but there seems literally not 
 strength enough left to the suffering brutes for 
 them to make even the effort to start. The men, 
 too, appear to have lost all their spirit and to be 
 utterly regardless of the consequences of their inac- 
 tion. 
 
 "My God, this is terrible!" cries Cunnyngham, 
 " If we do not move off from this place we will 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 281 
 
 surely die here ! — Pitsane, Jim, my good fellows, 
 why do you not yoke the oxen ?" 
 
 " Hab tried, massa," is the Kaffir's reply, but iu 
 a way that is altogether a contrast to his usual ani- 
 mated movements, " but with all de beatin' me only 
 get t'ree ob urn to 'im feet." 
 
 " Oh, try again, my good fellows, try again ! We 
 must be on the move. It is — " 
 
 But at this moment a voice in agonized supplica- 
 tion falls upon his ears. It is Ellie, who with 
 clasped hands and streaming eyes is beseeching suc- 
 cor of Him who has promised to hear even the 
 ravens when they cry. 
 
 " Our Father God," entreats the young girl with 
 burning lips, " hear us now when we cry to thee. 
 Send help, O God, for Jesus' sake ! Behold, we 
 are utterly dependent upon thy will ; our very 
 breath is in thy hands. O God, behold our suf- 
 fering and pity us. Oh, it cannot, cannot be that 
 thou hast forgotten us, that thine eyes are veiled to 
 our distresses ! Remember, O God, thy servant, 
 our father, who out of his love and zeal for thee 
 served thee long and faithfully. Oh, for sake of 
 him, thy faithful servant, hearken now unto the 
 cries of these his children in the hour of their sorest 
 distress. O God, hear! hear ! pity, pity, and save! 
 — save for Jesus' sake !" 
 
 Utterly exhausted, the young girl falls back upon 
 her pallet in the wagon, and with closed eyes and 
 bated breath lies like one Avho is dead. 
 
282 CHILDRES OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 But see! what is this which, even as the last de- 
 spairino; words dvop from the tortured lips, begins 
 to outline itself" along the distant horizon? A 
 floating bit of cloud no larger than the skirt of an 
 infant's robe. Then another and another come to 
 keep it company, until at last a great mantle thick 
 and murky is spread across the face of the descend- 
 ing sun. 
 
 " Rain ! rain !" shouts Pierce. "Oh, thank God, 
 it is going to rain ! — Pitsane ! Kamati ! Jim ! arouse 
 yourselves, my good fellows, and put the casks 1o 
 catch the precious fluid. And come, let us tid<c the 
 spades and scoop out hollows to catch some of it for 
 the poor brutes." 
 
 There is uow do longer any sign of listlessness. 
 The casks are placed so that they can be guarded 
 from any sudden rush toward them on the part of 
 the thirst-maddened brutes, while a firm, hard bot- 
 tom is made for the hollows the workers soon have 
 scooped out. 
 
 These details are barely accomplished and the 
 little camp put in the best shape it can to receive 
 the threatening tempest, when forth from the angry 
 clouds leap livid flames of lightning and deafening 
 peals of thiuider roll overhead. Suddenly the very 
 floodgates of heaven seem opened, and forth with a 
 rush and a roar the blinding, imj)etuous, yet life- 
 giving, torrents descend. They pour upon the 
 parched sands of the desert, that lick them up 
 with greedy tongues, into the recesses of the water- 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 283 
 
 casks, where their uoisy fall sounds like the sweet- 
 est music to the strained ears that listen, and upon 
 the cattle themselves, cooling tiieir burning coats 
 and soothing the tortures of cracked and swollen 
 tongues. With what bellowings of joy they rise 
 up to meet it, and throw out their heads, and lap 
 it in with their tongues, and roll over and over in 
 the pools it forms beneath them as though they 
 could never get enough ! 
 
 For nearly two hours the torrents pour, followed 
 near the close by a heavy fall of hail. Then almost 
 as suddenly as it came the force of the tempest 
 abates. In a little while hail and rain have both 
 ceased altogether, and now there is a damp, raw 
 chill in the air, which is quickly followed by an 
 atmosphere of such intense cold that our travelers 
 feel at once that they must by some means procure 
 a fire. There are many damp things to be dried, 
 and others, again, that are soaked through and 
 through ; for although the two thick coverings of 
 the wagon have kept everything within the vehicle 
 comparatively dry, yet much of the bedding and 
 many of the belongings of those who sleep in the 
 little drop tents at the side of the wagon have 
 become so wet that it would be dangerous to at- 
 tempt to sleep on them ere they are dried. But 
 where are they to obtain the fuel for a fire ? As 
 far as the eye can reach there is absolutely no sign 
 of vegetation, not even a twig of any kind. 
 
 The night has now come on. All around the 
 
284 VllILDREN OF TlIK KALAHARI: 
 
 desert lies in solitary vastness, nothing hut stretch 
 after stretcli of desolate sand, with no stir, no 
 warmth, no promise of anytliing pleasant any- 
 where visible. 
 
 Finding it simply impossible to obtain fuel of 
 any kind on this barren spot, they at first arrive at 
 the conclusion to huddle together as best they can 
 and brave it out till morning. But as the atmo- 
 sphere grows colder and colder every moment, after 
 a time assuming a degree of temperature that makes 
 their teeth chatter forcibly together and their whole 
 bodies to feel as though the very marrow in their 
 bones is freezing, they unanimously decide to inspau 
 and move on until they come to fuel of some kind. 
 
 All hands fall to work with what alacrity they 
 can to prepare for the move. The yoking is ac- 
 complished, and the party once more sets out 
 bravely across the desolate plain. 
 
 For four hours they struggle courageously on- 
 ward through the cold and in the face of a biting 
 wind that has now sprung up. Again and again it 
 seems as if they must give up and fall by the way, 
 for, added to the other perils, a great drowsiness has 
 now seized uj^on almost every member of the party, 
 and it takes their bravest efforts to keep themselves 
 from falling asleep. It is, as they realize only too 
 sensibly, the fatal drowsiness that precedes the last 
 sleep of those overcome by cold. 
 
 There has been at first only the light of the stars 
 to guide them, but after a while the moon comes up. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 285 
 
 All is as bright now as day, and to their great joy 
 they soon after espy the straggling outlines of a 
 small stretch of scrubby bushes. They succeed in 
 cutting several of the larger, tree-like bushes, and 
 having found also a quantity of dried twigs, they 
 manage to keep up a cheery blaze throughout the 
 night. Not only are chilled bones newly invigor- 
 ated, but the bed-clothes and other saturated articles 
 are thoroughly dried. 
 
 Despite the intense chill of the preceding night, 
 the next day shines out bright and warm. After 
 the morniug meal is over and preparations are 
 made for passing the day at this spot, a consulta- 
 tion is entered into respecting their future course. 
 Abandoned as they have been by their treacherous 
 guides in the midst of one of the most cheerless and 
 desolate parts of the inhospitable desert, trying 
 indeed is the prospect that stretches before them. 
 
 "I am of the opinion," says Cunnyngham, "that 
 our safest course at present is to try to find some 
 spot where there is water, and where ^ve can also 
 secure some protection against the heat of the sun, 
 and construct a temporary abode. It is now the 
 first of November, and the annual rains, I doubt 
 not, have already set in upon the country below, 
 and we may confidently expect our portion of 
 them here in the desert by the last of the mouth. 
 If, then, we can find some place where, compara- 
 tively sheltered, we may pass the months of the 
 rainy season, we can then resume our journey across 
 
286 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 the desert with one liorror less to confront us, the 
 horror of thirst, for there will be ten pools of 
 water — nay, twenty — then where there is but one 
 now. There will be also the reasonable hope of 
 coming every now and then upon a pateh of water- 
 melons, with which li<iuid fruit I have heard certain 
 parts of the desert abound after the annual rains. 
 In the interval, by means of the compass and 
 through other aids, we can gain some knowledge 
 of our whereabouts and of our future course. We 
 know that the country of the Makololo is almost 
 due north from the Kalahari. Alas ! I had hoped 
 we should have reached it at least two weeks ago, 
 but God has disposed otherwise. Besides," he con- 
 tinues, taking up his old line of thought, " if we 
 can establish ourselves at some temporary camping- 
 place, there is the possibility of our abode being 
 chanced upon by some one of the many stray 
 parties of Bushmen who are constantly wander- 
 ing over the desert." 
 
 " Further," says Pierce in a voice of concern, 
 " there is something else that appeals most strongly 
 for the coui^se you suggest. Hope, Henrietta and 
 Louise have been now nearly two weeks sick with 
 the fever, while Ellie, I fear, is also about to take 
 it. Mamochisane, I think, has it already, and this 
 morning I noticed some very unfavorable symp- 
 toms in Marvin. If we push on with them to 
 the river-country in this condition, it will be al- 
 most certain death for some of them. We still 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 287 
 
 have three axes and seven pairs of good strong 
 arms left. If only we can find any sort of a 
 showing for timber, wc can assuredly erect a ser- 
 viceable shelter." 
 
 " But have we sufficient pravisions for such a 
 step ?" questions Cunnyngham after a moment of 
 sober reflection. " I had not thougiit of this when 
 I proposed the plan." 
 
 " We have some flour and a little meal yet," 
 returns Pierce. " Then there are the maize and 
 some of the pumpkins and a few of the potatoes 
 and beans we obtained from the Bakalalmri. And 
 I heard Ellie say only yesterday we had enough 
 dried meat to last us at least two weeks, with 
 double the quantity of ship's biscuit. I doubt 
 not but that we can occasionally kill some game, 
 and there is the chance of finding some spot to 
 plant seed and have a little garden. But come 
 now and let us go and consult with Pitsane and 
 Mazika." 
 
 The two sagacious blacks fully concur in the 
 opinion of their young friends, and when they 
 set off' from their camping-place at sundown that 
 evening it is with the understood determination to 
 seek a favorable spot for their abode during the 
 next four or five mouths. 
 
CHAPTER XXIT. 
 
 "AH Tliy creatures magnify Thee." 
 
 THEY have now a two days' supply of water for 
 themselves and one and a half days' supply 
 for the animals, so that it is with cheerful hearts 
 that they set forth once more across the barren 
 plain. 
 
 Just at suurise the next raorniug, as they are pass- 
 ing over an unusually inviting grassy stretch, they 
 are much startled by suddenly catching sight of 
 what seems to them the outlines of a village drawn 
 directly across the horizon. With hearts that in- 
 crease in gi-atitude every moment they now ])ress 
 forward toward the village. But on coming with- 
 in hailing distance of it they are greatly surprised 
 to see no sign whatever of human life. 
 
 " Well, it is queer !" ejaculates Pierce, his face 
 showing plainly all the perplexity he feels. 
 
 A light seems suddenly to break upon Cunnyng- 
 hani, at the same time that an amused little laugh 
 escapes Pitsane, while Mazika nods his head know- 
 ingly. 
 
 "It is an ant-village," says Cunnyngham joining 
 in Pitsane's laugh. " How silly of us not to have 
 discovered it sooner !" 
 
 288 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 289 
 
 " Aut-villao;es fool many travelers far older than 
 my white father's children," says Mazika. "Fool 
 even great Zulu warrior, Dingaan, who one day 
 rushed upon one with his men, flinging right and 
 left the assegai, and thinking he had surely this 
 time eauglit the enemy asleep." 
 
 "I wonder if any of the creatures are inside?" 
 observes Cunnyngham. 
 
 " I have a notion to see," declares Pierce, and he 
 knocks oif with tlie butt of his rifle the top of one 
 of the conical-shaped turrets. Immediately a great 
 flat head, followed by an elongated body about the 
 size of an overgrown grain of rice, aj)pears above 
 the opening. 
 
 Suddenly it disappears for a few moments, and 
 when it returns again it is followed by several 
 scores of its companions, who come pouring out 
 of the opening. 
 
 Directly they begin disappearing and reappear- 
 ing, and on drawing nearer the curiosity of the be- 
 holders is still more excited to see them brino-ing 
 from tlie interior a substance resembling chiy. It 
 is brought and laid on, mouthful after moutliful, 
 with all tlie skill and exactness of a practiced 
 mason. 
 
 They travel until about ten o'clock that morning, 
 then, finding another belt of scrubby forest-growth, 
 rest within the scant shade it affords until six 
 o'clock in the evening, when the line of march is 
 again resumed. 
 
 19 
 
290 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Tliere is iis yet no sigu of water, and u.s the 
 night advances their march is continually disturbed 
 by the roars and cries of various wild animals. 
 But all this they endure with unshaken fortitude 
 until a fierce tiger, suddenly springing directly iu 
 their midst, des})atches one of the oxen. The tiger 
 is finally killed, but the adventure so excites tiieni 
 that, after a consultation, they decide to stop for 
 the remainder of the night. 
 
 Four or five large fires are now kindled, forming 
 a kind of circle with the wagon in the centre. 
 The male members of the little caravan, with the 
 exception of Marvin, take it iu turn to watch and 
 to keep up the supply of fuel for the fires. 
 
 No accident befalls their camp that night, and 
 by daylight they have breakfasted, inspanned and 
 are ready for the start. 
 
 After leaving the little strip of forest behind 
 they enter upon another stretch of treeless plain. 
 But with increasing hope they notice that the grass 
 that covers it is very thick and vigorous. After a 
 consultation they decide to stop here for an hour 
 at least and give the hungry and jaded horses and 
 cattle an opportunity for grazing. 
 
 The sun is a little more than an hour high when 
 the march is resumed, and all at once they catch 
 sight of a line of forest directly across their path. 
 The desert is yet all about them, but as they pro- 
 gress it becomes less like a desert and more like a 
 fertile savanna. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 291 
 
 A little shout from Pitsane, M'ho is loading the 
 company, attracts the attention of Cuunyngham and 
 Pierce, and on going forward they soon learn that 
 he has suddenly come upon a well-braten " spoor," 
 or track, that leads in the direction of what they 
 can now see plainly is quite an opening in the 
 forest. 
 
 The nearer they draw to the belt of woods the 
 broader and more firmly trampled becomes the 
 spoor. Where it opens into the shrubbery it is 
 quite wide enough easily to admit the oxen and 
 wagon. 
 
 They seem now to be gradually descending, while 
 more and more frequently occur upheavals of rock. 
 At length, in the very centre of a basin-like forma- 
 tion, they come somewhat suddenly upon a large, 
 clear pool of water. 
 
 "We could not have found a more delightful 
 spot if we had searched the whole country for it," 
 declares Cuunyngham, gazing enthusiastically about 
 him.—" What says Mazika?" 
 
 " Mazika too is pleased with everything but 
 one." 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
 " INIazika likes not the look of these great tracks 
 about the pool. Many great animals come here to 
 drink — the lion, the tiger and the elephant. Mazika 
 likes not the thought of the abode of the good 
 father's children and of himself being so near the 
 resort of creatures so fierce and so cruel." 
 
21(2 L'lllLDRES OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 About four o'clock this afternoon Cunuyngham 
 and Mazika, wlio have been out about three hours 
 prospecting, return to camp very much elated at 
 being able to report that they have, about a mile 
 farther on, come upon another jwol of water. 
 
 The travelers have barely time to reach the re- 
 cently-discovered j)ool and make a few prci)arati()ns 
 for the night wiien the darkness closes in about 
 them. Not until morning have they the op])or- 
 tuuity to judge to any extent what manner of a 
 place is this one which is likely to prove their 
 home for the next five or six months. 
 
 The little sheet of water is not more than four 
 feet wide at its greatest width and about a foot and 
 a half deep at its greatest depth. On three sides 
 it is nearly choked with rank-growing rushes, ferns 
 and with a peculiar reddish-colored grass that at- 
 tracts Cunnyngham's eyes at once. 
 
 " Unless I am very much mistaken, this is an 
 almost certain indication of water underneath — at 
 least so Dr. Livingstone generally found it." 
 
 This conjecture proves correct, and in three days 
 more, by constant work, they have a steady flow 
 of water that soon fills the deep basin they have ex- 
 cavated to overflowing, and begins to trickle its way 
 down into the 2:or<re. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 "The wilderness liatli shut them in." 
 
 THE spot selected upon which to erect their tem- 
 porary home is at the summit of a gently-slop- 
 ing decline. In the rear it is shut in by a natural 
 wall of precipitous rock that to\vers full forty or 
 fifty feet above it. An examination of this wall on 
 the reverse side reveals the fact that the top of it is 
 totally inaccessible to either man or beast, while 
 from the side next the encampment it can be reached 
 by a series of shelf-like projections that form a kind 
 of natural stairway. They are thus completely pro- 
 tected from an attack in that direction. 
 
 Stretching away from the face of this rocky wall 
 is a park-like expanse of straight-stemmed and 
 dark-foliaged timber-trees, with here and there a 
 widespreading Ficus indica, the real banian, and 
 clumps of the beautiful white-thorned mimosa. 
 About the " drop-shoots " of the banians many 
 brilliant vines have entwined themselves, the rich 
 coloring of their pendent blossoms gleaming like 
 globes of flame. High into space the majestic 
 branches of an occasional " iron " tree flino; them- 
 selves, or the silvery outlines of a sycamore are 
 
 293 
 
294 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 tlirown into relief against a picturesque tangle of 
 evergreen thorns. As to the undergrowth, there is 
 not much of it, save now and then a stretch of 
 berry-yielding shrubs, a cluster of wild sage, a 
 clump of dwarf fig-bushes, and an occasional cactus 
 that beai"s a crimson flower and stands in some places 
 from eight to ten feet high. From many of the 
 branches of the trees, especially from the acacias, 
 spring bright clusters of a parasite resembling the 
 mistletoe, and, like the mistletoe, bewaring bei-ries of 
 a waxy texture ; only, unlike the mistletoe, the berries 
 are of a rich creamy yellow. 
 
 The soft cooing of the doves, the merry trills and 
 pipes of many sweet-singing birds as they flit from 
 tree to tree or peep shyly forth from the (juaint and 
 curiously-constructed nests that adorn the boughs, 
 lend a life and charm to the already pleasant scene 
 that render it delightful beyond description to the 
 worn and weary travelers, and give them a feeling 
 of such tranquil happiness and sweet serenity as 
 they have not felt since setting out upon their long 
 and trying journey. After their tortuous wander- 
 ings through the desert it is like a glimpse of some 
 other world. 
 
 As she is raised up for a sight of it a beautiful 
 smile breaks over Hope's wan face, while with 
 clasped hands she exclaims, " Oh, how good God is 
 to have brought us here ! It would not be so hard 
 to die in a place like this." 
 
 "Do not talk of dying, dear," remonstrates EUie, 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 295 
 
 while unconsciously a shudder passes over her. For 
 the first time a dreadful thouglit presents itself — a 
 thought that has beeu called into suddeu being as 
 she notes now more plainly than she has ever done be- 
 fore the extreme pallor and emaciation of her cousin's 
 appearance. Suppose that Hope should die, after 
 all ? But oh no, no, no ! she will not think of it. 
 Surely, surely, God will not be so cruel as that! 
 But the next moment at this impotent outcry 
 against the INIaker who gave life, and who alone 
 has the right to claim it, the young girl stands 
 aghast, and, clasping her hands tremblingly to- 
 gether, beseeches pardon of Him who is ever ready 
 to grant it to the honestly penitent : 
 
 " O God, forgive me, for I knew not what I said. 
 But, O Father, spare her life ! Do not take it from 
 us, for oh it is so jirecious !" 
 
 The condition of some of those who have been 
 attacked by the fever has changed very much for 
 the better since their arrival at this pleasant place, 
 while in others, again, there has been no material 
 improvement that can be seen. Henrietta is very 
 much better ; in fact, almost well. Ellie and 
 Marvin too, who have had only a slight attack, 
 are now almost recovered, thanks to liberal doses 
 of quinine administered in time. But Hope, Baby 
 Louise and poor old Mamochisane are still very 
 sick. At present Hope's condition gives them more 
 cause for anxiety than either of the others, for with 
 her youth and usual vitality they have expected to 
 
296 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 see her make a miicli more vigorous effort to rally 
 from the dread effects of the fever. As it is, how- 
 ever, she seems gradually to have sunk into a state 
 of extreme listlessness and exhaustion from which 
 nothing ap])ears to arouse her. 
 
 The condition of little Louise also gives them 
 much cause for alarm, as violent chills have now 
 succeeded the fever, with some symptoms that 
 Pierce fears threaten pneumonia, caused, he feels 
 assured, by the sudden change in the temperature 
 following upon the rain-and-hail-storm that had 
 overtaken them in the desert. Mamoehisane too 
 is similarly affected. The brave and persevering 
 young amateur physician is (piite sanguine of the 
 ultimate recovery of all, provided they are not sub- 
 jected to any unusual exposure or sudden change 
 in the weather. Pierce, Cininyngham, Pitsane and 
 !Mazika have all likewise had a touch of the fever, 
 but not enough completely to prostrate any one of 
 them, and from which, by liberal doses of quinine, 
 they have by now entirely recovered. 
 
 While awaiting the proper seasoning of the tim- 
 ber for their pro]>osed abode a temporary shelter of 
 poles covered with the branches of trees has been 
 erected, under which the wagon is driven, the "whole 
 being protected by a palisade of stones and tiioru- 
 bushes, sufficient in its extent to enclose also the 
 cattle at niglit. At the beginning of the third week 
 everything is in shape for the raising of the frame- 
 work of the new abode. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 297 
 
 Their first step is to mark ofF on the ground, close 
 under shelter of the stone wall, a circle of about 
 twenty-five feet in diameter. Around the circum- 
 ference at short intervals are placed stout, flexible 
 poles. Another pole, much stouter and stronger 
 than any of the others, is now erected exactly in 
 the centre of the circle. The tops of the other 
 poles are carefully drawn together and fastened to 
 this, one by one, by means of stout thongs of the 
 quagga's hide. This satisfactorily accomplished, 
 their next step is to bind about this stout frame- 
 work of poles with the same strong ligatures an 
 encircling line of pliant young saplings at regular 
 intervals from bottom to top. 
 
 The frame of their building is now complete, 
 and looks, as Pierce laughingly declares, like noth- 
 ing so much as a great, overgrown bee-gum. But 
 Cunnyngham tells him that his laughing will soon 
 be changed to admiration when he sees how 
 nice it will appear when finally shajDcd and cov- 
 ered. 
 
 Their next step is to surround the structure with 
 a trench a foot and a half deep, and so constructed 
 that in case of a heavy rain it will drain the water 
 away from the dwelling. As an extra precautiou, 
 however, against the entrance of the water a circu- 
 lar wall of stone is built around the lower part of 
 the structure. This wall, which is about four feet in 
 height, is a most creditable piece of workmanship, 
 and to complete it it has been necessary to make 
 
298 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 two trips with the wagon and oxen to the deserted 
 ant-village some ei<:;ht or nine miles away. The 
 material of these ant-heaps forms, when sprinkled 
 M'ith water, a strong and adhesive mortar. They 
 secnre enongh of this mortar to lay also a floor for 
 their cabin, which proves, after it has been thor- 
 oughly kneaded and trampled down and allowed 
 to dry, as smooth and solid as though formed of 
 stone. 
 
 " I don't think there is any danger now of our 
 suffering from a flooded cabin," declares Cunnyng- 
 ham enthusiastically as he surveys the work. " I 
 don't believe we shall be troubled even by dauip- 
 ness, especially when m'c get the roof plastered." 
 
 They now begin the covering of the hut. Thick 
 layers of reeds are put on as closely interwoven as 
 possible, and to make the arrangements even more 
 coin])lete our travelers determine to jilaster the en- 
 tire interior. The only openings that have been left 
 are the spaces for a door and three small windows. 
 
 Some frames are next coustrueted for the M'indows, 
 which they have taken care to leave some seven or 
 eight feet above the ground. Over each of these 
 frames a thin cotton cloth is tightly stretched, which 
 is subsequently smeared with a compotnid made of 
 beeswax, a little tallow and pure gum arai)ic from 
 tlie acacia trees. Outside shutters of }>]aid< are con- 
 structed to })rotect these at night, during heavy rains 
 and in case of an attack. The abode is now con- 
 sidered complete, and with thankful and joyful hearts 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 299 
 
 they take possession of it at the end of the fifteenth 
 day since beginning its erection. But, though the 
 dwelling is in itself finished, their arrangements are 
 by no means so, for there are the shelters for 
 the horses and cattle and for the wagon, some 
 kind of a place to do their cooking, and the pali- 
 sade to enclose and protect the whole. 
 
 In ten days more these various details are com- 
 pleted. The horses, cows, oxen, and even the goats, 
 have now quite comfortable quarters, the wagon is 
 under cover and the palisade that encloses the whole 
 is as formidal)le as large stones and sharp thorn- 
 bushes can make it. The best arrangement they 
 can devise for cooking is between two ledges in the 
 rock-wall, where the ovens and other utensils can 
 be set back into a kind of cavity above which there 
 is an opening for the smoke to penetrate. A shel- 
 ter made of stout poles and thick reeds gives the 
 cook protection against the weather. TJiis latter 
 duty has had at first, owing to Mamocliisane's con- 
 tinued illness and Ellie's and Hope's prostration 
 from the fever, to fall upon Pitsane. But, Ellie hav- 
 ing now recovered and Jim's hand having healed, 
 the latter is permanently installed in that capacity 
 with the former to direct and give him such aid as 
 she can. 
 
 The outward arrangements finally completed, 
 Pierce and Pitsane set about the interior appoint- 
 ment of the abode, while Cunnyngham, Mazika and 
 Kamati search out and prepare a suitable spot for 
 
300 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 a garden. Pierce, with ritsane's aid, first proceeds 
 to ]iartition off into three ai)artiiK'iit.s the interior 
 space of the cabin. Two of these apartments are 
 half circular in shape, the other and lander one is 
 somewiiat oval. The two former are intended as 
 sleeping-rooms, the other as a general sitting-room. 
 The partitions separating them run only about half- 
 way up, and are formed of a network of light, slen- 
 der poles ingeniously covered over with the stiff 
 fronds of various fan-]ialms fastened into place by 
 means of a strong and durable rush that is rendered 
 quite pliable by being dij>ped in water. Before the 
 entrance of each apartment is hung a curtain of cloth 
 that can be lifted or dropped at ])leasure. 
 
 These partitions satisfactorily completed, Pierce's 
 next step is to procure several strong, straight poles. 
 Taking four of these poles, cut to five feet in length, 
 and placing them in an ujiright ])osit ion, he proceeds 
 to fasten between them light, strong side-pieces of 
 the same material. With a small auger he next bores 
 holes at regular intervals along the side-pieces, and, 
 this completed, constructs from one to the other a 
 strong clastic network formed of thongs of antelope- 
 hide interlaced. He has now as durable and com- 
 fortable a bedstead as any one; could desire. 
 
 Three of these he constructs — one for Cunnyng- 
 ham, Marvin and himself, and the other two for 
 the girls' room. As to Mazika, Pitsane, Kamati 
 and Jim, they vastly prefer their pile of skins com- 
 fortably arranged in one corner of the youths' apart- 
 
A STOEY OF AFRICA. 301 
 
 ment ; that is, Katnati, Pitsane and Jim sleep there, 
 Mazika choosing to establish himself in the outer 
 apartment and directly across the main entrance, 
 the door of which has to be left open on mild 
 nights in order to secure sufficient ventilation. The 
 windows are also left open at such times. As they 
 have taken care to perforate their door with number- 
 less auger-holes, and have fitted a piece, transom- 
 like, above it, this gives them sufficnent ventila- 
 tion on other occasions. But often and often the 
 weather is so warm as to cause more than one of 
 the male inmates to seek the outside of the cabin, 
 where, throwing a skin rug under the branches, 
 they pass the remainder of the night. Much secur- 
 ity is lent them on these occasions by the thought 
 of the stout barricade they have erected around 
 them. 
 
 By way of furnishing his and Cunnyngham's 
 bed, Pierce contents himself with numerous soft 
 skins and two good blankets, but for the beds 
 for the girls' room he makes two most comfortable 
 mattresses out of ticks of canvas cloth, stuifed with 
 the soft down obtained from certain large decayed 
 flowering bulbs. 
 
 A lounge of olive-wood, with bottom of inter- 
 laced antelope-hide and cushions that are also stuffed 
 with the silky fibre obtained from the flower-bulbs, 
 is now constructed for the general sitting-room, and 
 proves a source of much comfort and pleasure to the 
 sick who are convalescing. With hammer, plane and 
 
302 CHILDREN OF TEE KALAHARI. 
 
 nails a table is next formed with the top made of two 
 wide planks cut from a large "yellow-wood" tree, 
 the sawing, trimming and planing of which have been 
 quite a feat on the part of both Pierce and Pitsane. 
 Two small stands are similarly constructed for the 
 holding of various small articles and for Elbe's sew- 
 ing material ; then four or five stools, and lastly an 
 arm-chair with seat and back upholstered in leopard- 
 skin and arms of beautifully twisted eland-horns, 
 which, taken all together. Pierce considers his chef 
 d'oeuvre. 
 
 With a shelf or two for the books, brackets for 
 the guns picturesquely formed of antelope-horns, 
 and a half dozen or so of tawny leopard, lion and 
 tiger-skins placed like rugs about the apartment, 
 the whole preseuts a cheerful and homelike picture, 
 all the more so when contrasted with their savage 
 surroundings. 
 
 All the sick, with the exception of Mamochisane, 
 are now very much better, Hope especially so. It 
 does not seem to be the fever now that is so much 
 the matter with old Mamochisane as a complication 
 of things that completely baffles Pierce, despite the 
 very creditable knowledge he has of medicine. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 "He giveth alike seed-time and harvest." 
 
 THREE months have now passed away since the 
 coming of our travelers to this oasis-like spot 
 in the desert. They have had many sore trials, 
 chief among them the loss of all the horses but 
 one, Khiva, the present of Captain Murray to their 
 father, a cow and two of the calves and two of the 
 donkeys, among the hitter Hope's faithful and affec- 
 tionate Chumah. They have all died of that fatal 
 disease known among African farmers as "lung 
 sickness " or " lung fever," brought on by the 
 numerous hardships of their trying journey across 
 tlie desert, the exposure to the fierce rays of the sun, 
 to the night-airs and dews, and lastly to that terri- 
 ble rain-and-hail storm with the sudden fall of tem- 
 perature succeeding it. Only unremitting attention 
 and care in stabling them and the timely administer- 
 ing of certain remedies save the other brutes. As 
 to the oxen, fortunately for our travelers, they have 
 all had this dread sickness, and hence from one at- 
 tack have secured immunity from another. What is 
 more, they have all been, in the language of the Cape 
 cattle-dealers, " inoculated " against it. This form 
 
 303 
 
304 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 of inoculation consists in cutting a slit in the tall of 
 the oxen and introdueing therein a ])ieee of the dis- 
 eased lung of an animal that has died from the 
 sickness. The result is that the ox thus inoculated 
 takes the disease iu a mild form, which causes a 
 portion of its tail to drop off, and it thus heeomes 
 proof against future attack. 
 
 Several members of the little party have also 
 suffered from ophthalmia, a disease of the eyes 
 brought on through exposure to the glaring rays of 
 the sun. Fortunately for our travelers, Pierce has 
 had considerable exj)erience with the disease under 
 his father's instructions, so that in each of the pres- 
 ent cases he is enabled to bring the patient around 
 all right. 
 
 Another trial has also been theirs. The stock 
 of provisions with which they left Lepelole has 
 long since given out, save small quantities of 
 sugar, coffee and tea, a half-can of ship's biscuit 
 and a little jelly; which delicacies Ellie guards 
 with jealous care for those who are sick. As to the 
 others, they have had for the past six weeks to 
 depend almost entirely lipon the products of the 
 forest — fruits, nuts, berries and the like — and upon 
 such game as they are able either to slay with the 
 gun or to entrap. 
 
 They have at first been put to considerable trou- 
 ble in finding a spot quite suitable for their garden. 
 But they finally settle upon a kind of valley lying 
 along the river-bed. Four acres are selected, staked 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 305 
 
 out and cleared. In the " patch " beans, peas and 
 other garden vegetables, the cassava, groundnuts, 
 kaffir corn and the like, are successfully sown, and 
 iu due season, by proper care and atteutii)n, brought 
 to a satisfactory yielding. 
 
 One afternoon old Karaati finds a rich store of 
 honey deposited by a colony of wild bees iu the 
 clefts of some rocks. He is led to the honey 
 through his attention having at first been attracted 
 by the piercing notes of a houey-bird, which he at 
 length follows, with the result of finding a large 
 and delicious supply of honey — nearly three gallons 
 iu all when strained. 
 
 The only necessary article they really lack is salt. 
 For some little time after the giving out of the sup- 
 ply with which they have started they are at a com- 
 plete loss to know what to do. At length Pierce 
 and Pitsane come to the rescue by proposing to go 
 in search of one of the many salt-pans with which 
 the Kalahari is known to abound. 
 
 One is at length found some fifteen or sixteen 
 miles north of them, which the discoverers report 
 to have about its margin and for a consider- 
 able distance down a solid cake of salt quite two 
 inches in thickness. The wagon and oxen are now 
 sent to convey to the camp cuttings from this saline 
 incrustation. In a few days more, by dint of much 
 patience and care and by various processes of boil- 
 ing, straining and evaporation, they have an article 
 which, if it is not as white and attractive-looking 
 
 20 
 
306 CniLDJiEN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 as the salt known to civilized commerce, i.s never- 
 less quite equal to it in suliuo properties. 
 
 It is now the middle of Fctbruury and the rains 
 have set in again, for during the mouths of Decem- 
 ber and January there has been a comparatively dry 
 season. 
 
 Once or twice during these months our friends 
 have thought quite seriously of abandoning their 
 home in the wilderness and of starting once 
 more upon the arduous journey across the plains. 
 But four things, each one in itself of sufficient 
 moment, have deterred them : the insufficiency 
 of food at their command, the condition of the 
 sick, their knowledge that should they start at 
 this season they would miss the crops of water- 
 melons upon which they have been depending, and 
 lastly that they would in all probability find the 
 M'ater-pools dried off again, for beyond one or two 
 heavy showei'S the fall of rain up to this time has 
 been comparatively light. They have thus, all 
 things being taken into consideration, returned 
 to their old decision of waiting until the heavier 
 rains of February, March and April have fallen. 
 By that time their crops M'ill be gathered and the 
 sick doubtless sufficiently recovered to travel. 
 
 They have now had an ample opportunity 
 of testing the waterproof quality of their abode. 
 The hardness of the rushes and other substances 
 forming the thatch, the closeness of their weft 
 and the coating of plastering underlying all, are 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 307 
 
 siicli that no drop of rain finds entrance throngli 
 the roof. The only trouble is at the junction of the 
 rushes and palm mats with the stone wall. Here 
 the rain, running down from the roof, trickles 
 through in a way that is at times most unpleasant. 
 However, this is soon remedied by an outside circle 
 of poles to winch the roofing is extended. 
 
 Pierce has also added to the general arrangements 
 for Ellie's comfort and convenience in rainy weather 
 a pavement that leads from the door of the abode to 
 the cooking-shed. This pavement, which is of 
 palm-nuts firmly fixed together by an undercoating 
 of mortar, is not only an ingenious piece of work, 
 but quite a pretty one as well. After it has become 
 hardened and been walked on for some time it ac- 
 quires the smoothness and lustre of polished metal. 
 
 More than once they have had a severe storm of 
 wind and rain, accompanied by startling flashes of 
 lightning, in which several trees of tlie forest have 
 been uprooted or struck by the electrical current. 
 But they are securely protected by the wall of rock 
 that towers like a fortress behind them. Once or 
 twice they have also witnessed from the summit of 
 this rocky wall, which has now grown to be quite 
 a favorite post of outlook with them, the approach 
 of one of those dread sand-storms against which 
 old Shobo has warned them. How thankful they 
 are at this moment that they have this rock and 
 the forest surrounding it for protection ! Thankful 
 are they also that the cattle are at the time feed- 
 
308 CHILDREN OF THE KALAIIART: 
 
 iug along the bed of the dried water-course, and 
 not on the phains. 
 
 As to the wild animals, they seem to have a pre- 
 monition of what is coming even before the sand- 
 clouds appear, and rush in terrur-stricken groups, 
 some of them with tiie swiftness of the wind, to 
 the shelter of the woods. In consequence, many 
 of them come dashing right by the enclosure, 
 where a few well-directed shots bring to the earth 
 two large fine bucks, a buffalo and a giraffe. 
 
 One of these wild, frightened creatures, a young 
 zebra, unheeding the stone wall that surrounds the 
 camp, dashes against it with such violence as to 
 crush in his skull completely, instantly dying from 
 the effects of the blow. The flesh of this animal, 
 however, is of little value to them, with the excep- 
 tion of one or two portions, on account of a strong, 
 unpleasant flavor ; but they preserve the skin, which 
 comes in well for various uses. 
 
 The days now speed haj)pily and ])lcasantly by, 
 despite the fact that they are passed in this lonely 
 and desolate waste far from the haunts of men. The 
 hours of dayligiit, whether rainy or sunshiny, are 
 taken up with occupation of some kind, either in 
 work about the encampment or in the fields, in the 
 procuring of supplies from forest and plain or in 
 some preparation for the renewal of their journey 
 across the desert. In the evenings, when their 
 frugal supper is over, they gather in the larger 
 apartment, where the time, until ten o'clock, is 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 309 
 
 pleasantly passed in reading, talking, laying plans 
 for the future, and occasionally, for the benefit of 
 the younger ones, in games and pastimes. Some- 
 times Ellie and Hope, for the entertainment of the 
 others, read aloud from the little stock of books, 
 or Pierce and Cunnyngham relate some interest- 
 ing incident that has befallen them in a recent 
 trip about the forest or out on the plains, or Ma- 
 zika or Pitsane is coaxed into the interesting role 
 of story-teller. 
 
 Sometimes to the pleasant diversions of the even- 
 ing the two pets, the monkey and the parrot, lend 
 an animated digression by originating some amazing 
 episode, greatly to the edification of their respective 
 owners, each of whom has now come to look upon 
 his or hers as in every way the very smartest and 
 most promising of its kind. 
 
 The parrot, Colo, has now learned to talk in very 
 creditable English, greatly to the satisfaction of his 
 young master. But the monkey, Jock, now thor- 
 oughly tamed and as hearty and strong as he can well 
 be, proves the source of much more real amusement 
 and interest; for he is an unusually intelligent lit- 
 tle animal and has acquired quite a number of tricks. 
 He has, besides, shown himself very valuable in 
 the alertness with which he guards the approach 
 to the abode, having in one or two instances proved 
 a better sentinel even than the dogs. Once he has 
 warned them of the ap[)roaeh of a leopard that has 
 effected an entrance through a weak spot in the pali- 
 
310 CHILDREN OF TUK KALMIMll: 
 
 sade. Since tliat time thcv have all slept soundly 
 and tranrjiiilly, swiire in the belief that Jock will 
 not fail to warn them in time of any threatening 
 danger. 
 
 If there is one thing of which Jock is particu- 
 larly fond, it is to be allowed to go hunting with 
 Pierce, Pitsaue and the dogs. Immediately when 
 he can detect any prejmrations for an expedition 
 of this kind he will show the greatest joy. If 
 allowed to join the party, he evinces his satisfac- 
 tion and delight by the wildest caperings; if for- 
 bidden, he will at once liide himself in some dark 
 corner and mope and sulk, sometimes through an 
 entire day. 
 
 One of Jock's favorite pastimes on these expe- 
 ditions is to climb into the trees and seek for gum 
 and nuts of various kinds, of the former of which 
 he is particularly fond, and over which he works 
 his jaws with all the abandon of a school-girl of 
 the present day with her cakes of taify-tolu. 
 
 Although quite brave in some respects, there 
 are nevertheless two things, in addition to being 
 left alone in the desert, of which Jock stands in 
 great dread. If he but catches sight of a ser- 
 pent of any kind, he w'ill shake as though with an 
 ague, and, uttering a series of piercing cries, will at 
 once creep as far as possible out of sight. An(»ther 
 great dread that he cherishes is of his own species, 
 for, strange to say, now that he has grown thor- 
 oughly domesticated, Jock seems to have entirely 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 311 
 
 forgotten liis old iKUints and companions. Some- 
 times, therefore, when lie hears the cries of other 
 apes in the woods, although they seem to terrify 
 him considerably, he will yet answer them, for this 
 much of the old instinct seems to have remained. 
 But if, on the other hand, they approach him, he 
 will at once fly, overcome with terror and uttering 
 hideous cries. Never stopping until he has reached 
 the house, he will there creep between the feet of 
 one of the inmates and cower, shaking with fright. 
 It always requires a day or two for him to recover 
 from the shock. 
 
 However pleasing he may be otherwise, there is 
 yet one trait in Jock's character that considerably 
 troubles his friends. Jock will steal. Like the 
 majority of his species, he seems to think that any- 
 thing he may desire is his by right of coming upon 
 it, and sometimes when not coming upon it, but by 
 searching it out. He seems fully to understand the 
 art of unloosing the strings of a basket or other 
 receptacle where something to eat has been stored, 
 especially if it is something of which he is particu- 
 larly fond. And there is no counting the times 
 that he has stolen milk from the jars and pans after 
 it has been strained and set away. Once or twice 
 both Cunnyugham and Pierce have undertaken to 
 chastise him for these thefts, but beyond keeping 
 out of their sight for a day or two and scowling at 
 them most vigorously when he does come in sight 
 of them or they of him, no effect is produced. 
 
312 CHILDREN OF THE KALMIMlf: 
 
 Anotlur depredation of wliich lie is guilty is 
 roi)bin<j: the liens' nests. At first, when the eggs 
 begin to he missed, Ellie aiunot believe that it is 
 really Joek who makes way with them. But ou 
 learning of the disapjiea ranee of the eggs, Pierce, 
 who has suspicious of his own and some ground 
 for them, as he thinks, determines to institute a 
 "watch. 
 
 At about nine o'clock in the morning there come, 
 shrill and prolonged, the sounds of the first hen's 
 cackle. Jock, who has been perched in the branches 
 of a mimosa, ajiparently sound asleep, is now seen 
 suddenly to leap down and start in the direction 
 of the fowl-yard as fast as he can g«). Disappear- 
 ing within the enclosure, he soon reappears with an 
 egg in his mouth, and is making oil' with it to a 
 secluded corner where he can without molestation 
 enjoy its contents, when just at this moment Pierce 
 apj)ears upon the scene. 
 
 "Oh yes, you grand rogue, I have caught you 
 now !" he exclaims as he starts toward him. 
 
 The words are scarcely out when Jock suddenly 
 stops, and, assuming a careless position, appears the 
 very picture of injured innocence. His look says 
 as plainly as a look could say, " It surely can't be 
 me, now, of whom you are speaking as a rogue?" 
 
 The next moment he has placed the egg at Pierce's 
 feet with another look, which again says as ])lainly 
 as the words could, " Thai is the place to which I 
 intended from the first to bring the egg." 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 313 
 
 But Pierce isn't at all taken in by this hypocrit- 
 ical performance, although Jock flatters himself that 
 he is. Ketu ruing to his watch, Pierce this time 
 waits until Jock has gained his corner, where, com- 
 ing upon him in the very act of devouring the egg, 
 and a further hypocritical display of innocence 
 being out of the question, the cunning thief is ou 
 the spot given such a sound thrashing as he surely 
 deserves. 
 
 But this beating, like all the others that have 
 preceded it, having no effect, the eggs continuing 
 to disappear as regularly as ever, and all attempts 
 to shut him away from the nests proving unavail- 
 ing. Pierce finally decides to resort to the novel 
 expedient of training one of the dogs — a fine Eng- 
 lish pointer that has been a present from Captain 
 Muri-ay to his father — to keep a watch upon the 
 hens' nests and to bring the eggs to some one at 
 the house as soon as they are laid. 
 
 In a few days' time the dog has learned his les- 
 son so well that he scarcely ever fails to come with 
 the egg as soon as the hen has laid it. For the 
 first three or four days Jock stands aside, an amazed 
 spectator of this new arrangement of affairs, and 
 then a most remarkable contest takes place of which 
 no one has even thought, much less expected. Jock 
 now also establishes himself just without the enclo- 
 sure and close beside the dog, where he lies stretched 
 out, apparently as sound asleep as the dog seems to 
 be ; but if any one were noting closely he could see 
 
314 CHILDIiEN UF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 very ])]:iiiily that his wicked little eyes arc far from 
 beiiii; closed. 
 
 The inument a hen cackles, up s])ring both auiinals, 
 when a most exciting race ejisues in the direction of 
 tiie nest. Sometimes the dog reaches it first, and 
 sometimes it is tiie monkey; but whichever it is, 
 a fierce contest as to who shall have the egg takes 
 place, unless the dog can manage to elude the 
 monkey, which he occasionally does. 
 
 Whenever the dog succeeds in gaining tlu; vic- 
 tory he at once runs joyfully to the house with the 
 egg held carefully in his mouth. Nearly always on 
 occasions of this kind Jock, being unable to con- 
 ceal his chagrin at the defeat, will follow after, 
 grumbling all the way and making threatening 
 grimaces. Sometimes the moidcey will keep close 
 beside him until the egg is deposited at the feet 
 or in the lap of some one, when the hyi)()critical 
 little animal will appear to be greatly delighted 
 at its safe delivery. 
 
 If, on the other hand, Jock succeeds in getting 
 the egg, he will at once run with it to the boughs 
 of a neighboring tree or to an elevated perch near at 
 hand, where, having devoured it, he tosses the shell 
 at his adversary as though to make game of him. 
 
 Every expedient exhausted without any salutary 
 effect, they have finally to resort to tying Jock dur- 
 ing the day, or at least through such a part of it as 
 it takes to secure the eggs. 
 
 Tlie other pets, the young ostriches, have by tiiis 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 315 
 
 time grown so rapidly tliat our young people are 
 already beginning to entertain serious misgivings as 
 to the feasibility of taking tlicm farther upon their 
 journey. They are now too large to be carried in a 
 coop, and it is not to be expected that they will fol- 
 low regularly, while to drive them will involve more 
 care and attention than the travelers are capable of 
 giving with the other duties on hand. It is there- 
 fore feared that when the caravan starts once more 
 upon its journey the ostriches will have to be turned 
 loose on the plain. 
 
 As for the dogs, with but one exception, they have 
 all by this time grown to treat Smike with much 
 friendly consideration and to welcome him to all 
 their gambols and feasts. This single exception, 
 it is needless to add, is Master Chitane, who still 
 holds out as the ugly, stubborn dog in the face of 
 many really humiliating advances on the part of 
 the peaceful and generous Smike. But at last there 
 comes a day, as generally happens in cases of this 
 kind, when the hearty and overwhelming return 
 of srood for evil arouses the better side of even 
 this mean little dog-nature. 
 
 One morning, when at some little distance away 
 from the camp, Chitane, through some of his high- 
 and-mighty ways, so offends two of the larger dogs 
 that, not having any very great amount of friendly 
 feeling for him to begin with, they forthwith set 
 upon him and give him such a drubbing as he has 
 never known before, and doubtless never will again. 
 
31G t'lULDREy OF THE KALAILXRI: 
 
 Just as there has been a short hill in the attack, 
 ami the dogs are on the point of setting upon Chi- 
 tane again with a view to completing the lesson, 
 Sniike makes his appearance, and at once, without 
 seeming to stop to consider the danger he may him- 
 self invite, rashes into the midst of the combatants. 
 
 In a little while he has so separated them that 
 he is standing before the beaten and cowed Chitane 
 with his body interposed, so that he completely 
 shelters that of the now thoroughly used-up aud 
 frightened poodle. 
 
 Recognizing that it is Smike's brave determina- 
 tion to save the life of his former little tormentor 
 even at the risk of his own, and not wishing to 
 injure the courageous fellow for so insignificant a 
 cause as Chitane, the other dogs now withdraw and 
 leave them alone. 
 
 Chitane is so badly bruised and bitten that it is 
 with great difliculty he can take even a few steps. 
 Seeing how it is, and not wishing to leave the poor 
 little beggar out upon the plain or to crawl home 
 as best he can in his present condition, Sniike forth- 
 with picks him up in his mouth by his long wool 
 and trots off to camp with him. The victory over 
 the surly-tempered little poodle is from this day 
 complete. 
 
 But, brave and generous as is this act, Smike 
 becomes the hero of another even braver ; and in 
 consideration of the cause in which his life is this 
 time risked he endears himself a hundred times 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 317 
 
 more to all iu the camp, who never cease to bless 
 the day that they have brought him from the Bush- 
 men village. 
 
 One very hot afternoon, Hope, who by this time 
 has almost entirely recovered, takes a leopard-skin 
 rug and a book to the shade of a mimosa tree in a 
 distant part of the enclosure. 
 
 At length, overcome by drowsiness, she falls 
 asleep, and an hour or so later Cunnyngham, who 
 happens to be passing by the spot, is overcome with 
 horror at the sight he sees. 
 
 The young girl is lying asleep, one arm under 
 her head, the other thrown some little distance from 
 lier, while coiled up between the extended arm and 
 her breast is a huge cobra, or hooded snake, with its 
 venomous head raised ready to strike at her throat. 
 Cunnyngham looks about him for some Aveapon with 
 M'hich to attack the deadly creature. But another 
 pair of eyes has caught sight of the young girl's 
 peril almost at the same moment that Cuunyng- 
 ham has discovered it. 
 
 As usual when he is about the encampment, 
 Smike has followed Hope, and as she has lain 
 down upon the rug beneath the tree he has stretched 
 himself near at hand. Like Hope, he has been 
 overcome with drowsiness, but now he suddenly 
 awakens, with a quick, somewhat spasmodic drop- 
 ping apart of his great eyelids, just at the moment 
 that the cobra has darted its head upward from 
 its coils. 
 
318 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 In an instant Smike seems to realize tlie danger, 
 and almost in the same instant has sprung forward 
 to avert it. The snake is in front of him, the back 
 of its head toward him. Just as the venomous fangs 
 are on the point of being buried in the young girl's 
 white throat, Smike's long, sharp teeth have seized 
 the reptile just below the horribly dilating hood with 
 a grasp that I do not believe death itself could make 
 him relax. The next moment he has dashed the 
 snake against a tree with such violence that it never 
 moves again after striking the ground. 
 
 That the brave fellbw has now paid his debt in 
 full for every kind w'ord, for every gentle pat, for 
 every good meal — of which there have been many 
 — no one will question. Even the ugly bruise that 
 Hope has so long borne for him ujron her arm 
 finds its more than eloquent requital in the carcass 
 of the mangled snake from whose deadly fangs his 
 teeth have saved her. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 "Consecrated, Lord, to thee." 
 
 THE middle of Marcli finds our little baud in 
 quite a distressed frame of miud. It is uow 
 known that old Mamochisane cannot live, while 
 the little Louise, whom they had been thinking 
 for some time previously out of danger, has now 
 taken a relapse and grown alarmiugly worse. 
 
 The old black woman's many ailments have 
 finally culminated in the only too surely fatal dis- 
 ease — consumption. As it seems to be of the rapid 
 kind. Pierce has told them that her death is uow 
 only a question of a few days at best. 
 
 At last, about eleven o'clock at night dnring 
 the first week of April, they are all gathered to 
 witness what with sorrowing hearts they feel is 
 old Mamochisane's last hour on earth. 
 
 She is fully conscious, and, though scarcely able 
 to speak above a whisper, yet answers all their 
 questions rationally and in her native tongue, 
 which she seems now to speak with far less dif- 
 ficulty than the broken English she has acquired. 
 
 "Are you afraid to die, Mamochisane?" Ellie 
 
 319 
 
320 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 questions just a little anxiously as slic bends with 
 tear-wet eyes above her. 
 
 " No, niissie — no more afruiil tiian to go along 
 the broad white path at Lepelole to the great 
 spring where the waters gurgle and where the suu 
 shines all the day through. Once," continues the 
 black woman after a moment's pause, "Mamochisaue 
 was all afraid, for then it was everywhere dark — 
 dark as a night when no star shines. But then came 
 the white father and held out his hand to Mamo- 
 chisane, and he said, ' Maraochisane, do not stumble. 
 Here, take my hand and let me guide you. Do not 
 draw back, do not be afraid ; I come not to hurt, 
 but to help you. I am your brother, your brother 
 in Christ Jesus, and the great Father of all, he has 
 sent me.' — Oh, missie, dear good missie !" the old 
 woman cries suddenly, her voice ringing out with a 
 clearness and strength that startles them, " I want 
 to thank you for everything you have done for poor 
 old black Mamochisane. This night would her soul 
 have gone forth among the howling beasts of the 
 great dark wilderness to wander for ever lost, but 
 for my white father and my white father's children. 
 Oh, mi&sie ! missie! Avhen Mamochisane thinks of 
 all those who still wander away from the light, the 
 heart of Mamochisane is pierced as the heart the 
 arrow strikes, and her wailings are as the wail- 
 ings of those who weep for the lost. Oh, missie, 
 who will tell them of the way? who will now hold 
 the light before them, now that the white father is 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 321 
 
 gone, and the white father's children too have turned 
 tlioir faces away from the country of the blacks to 
 seek the country of their white brothers ?" 
 
 Almost at the same instant Ellie and Cunnyng- 
 ham raise their heads to glance at each other, while 
 a look, the intense meaning of which it is impossible 
 to mistake, passes between them. 
 
 " Comfort yourself, Mamochisane," Ellie says in 
 a soothing voice. " My father's mission was by no 
 means the only one in the country of the blacks, 
 nor even in your section of it. Along the east 
 coast and the west coast, about the great lakes, 
 upon the southern borders, even in the neighbor- 
 hood of the wild Zambezi, there are planted the 
 standards of many brave soldiers of the cross who 
 have come to tell your people of Him who is 
 mighty to save from the curse of sin." 
 
 A happy light breaks over the withered face, 
 while the sunken eyes dilate and glow with the 
 glad reflection : 
 
 " Oh, missie, is this true ? is this true ?" 
 
 " It is true, Mamochisane." 
 
 "Then, missie, Mamochisane can die with the 
 pang gone from her heart. Oh, bless God ! bless 
 God !" 
 
 The last words are barely spoken when Cunnyng- 
 ham, intensely pale, but with a look upon his face 
 that transfigures its every lineament, approaches the 
 bed, and, dropping upon his knees, fixes his eyes 
 steadfastly upon Mamochisane. 
 
 21 
 
322 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHAIU: 
 
 " Mamochisane," he says iu tones that are barely 
 audible at times through the great emotion that 
 sways him, " if it will comfort you any to know 
 that / will be one more to ciu'ry the light to those 
 who yet wander iu the darkness, then take that 
 comfort with you. If God spares my life to reach 
 the United States — and somehow I do not doubt 
 it — I shall at once offer myself to one of the mis- 
 sionary societies to go in training for the field in 
 Africa. — Here, O God, upon my bended knees and 
 by the side of this ransomed soul that has been 
 given thee as an eloquent witness of what man, 
 even humble man, may do for thee, I consecrate 
 myself to thy work in Africa." 
 
 Ere these last sentences are spoken two forms 
 have prostrated themselves beside Cunnyngham, 
 and now, clasping him closely in their arms, Ellie 
 and Hope give vent to the sobs of mingled feelings 
 of sadness and joy that for some moments over- 
 come all efforts at words. 
 
 As for Mamochisane, she lies there with glisten- 
 ing eyes and smiling lips, too happy to speak. 
 
 Ellie is the first to find her voice : 
 
 "Oh, my cousin, you have been rightly named. 
 I can see now the happy light that will come into 
 the face of him whose name you bear when this 
 is told him. In the golden morning of his own 
 young manhood he went bravely and nobly forth 
 at the call of China, and now, following worthily 
 in his footsteps, you have devoted your life to 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 323 
 
 Africa. Truly that name has been a grand inspi- 
 ration, leading you ever onward toward all that is 
 noblest and best. Oh, if my father could only have 
 lived to see this day! But do not think/' she goes 
 on after a moment's pause, " that you are to be 
 alone in this sacrifice, if sacrifice it can be called. 
 Like you, I see the way clearly now, though it was 
 a hard struggle at first, and, like you, I shall follo\v 
 unhesitatingly in it. My sex, I know, \vill debar 
 me from the broader and more useful field into 
 Avhich yours will carry you ; but being a woman 
 "will make me only the more earnestly desirous 
 of doing a woman's part as only a woman can do 
 it. One woman's fall work for the Master ! Oh 
 is it not a hundred — nay, a thousand — times better 
 than the scant and incomplete service of many men ! 
 If God wills it that we shall reach the States iu 
 safety, I too shall offer myself for the instruction 
 and training necessary to fit me for the work in 
 Africa. To what point they send me matters not, 
 so that it is with you, my cousin, and to the most 
 benighted of all these lost souls that wander in 
 the darkness. — Where there is the most work to be 
 done, where the aching brow and the toiling hands, 
 the blistering feet and the fierce pangs of the fever 
 and the death-dealing darts of savage enemies are 
 but a few of the many discomforts and dangers to 
 be faced and borne in the promotion of thy king- 
 dom, there send me, O Father, and keep me and 
 streuii-then me and use me as an humble instru- 
 
324 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 mcnt in thy hands for the accomplishment of thy 
 purposes." 
 
 "Oh, EUie!" Hope exclaims at this moment as, 
 rising, she throws one arm aroiuul her cousin's and 
 the other about her brother's neck, drawing them 
 as close to her as siie can, "you two have but given 
 voice to all the thoughts tliat have for so long a time 
 past been crowding within my heart. Many, many 
 times I have wanted to speak them where all could 
 hear, but always my timidity restrained me. Now 
 I say to you in words that well forth from the very 
 depths of my soul : ' I too have chosen, my brother, 
 my cousin. Your cause shall be my cause, your 
 work my work, and wherever that work may lead 
 you there will I follow, and, toiling by your side, 
 will find my sweetest reward in the words of encour- 
 agement you each shall give and in the approval of 
 God our Father.' — Oh, Cunnyngham, I have not 
 your zeal nor your strength nor your talent nor 
 your will to wrest success where failure seems im- 
 minent; nor your faith and courage, EUie, to sus- 
 tain me in the hours of weakness and trial ; but 
 what I lack in ability I feel that God will give me 
 in willingness, and cause me yet to be the humble 
 means, through his sustaining grace, of bringing 
 many of these perishing souls to Christ." 
 
 "Every word that you three have uttered has 
 found an echo in my heart," says Pierce, who for 
 some time past has been kneeling at his sister's 
 side, aud now raises his head to glance bravely 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 325 
 
 from one to the other. "But I fear that you will 
 feel some disappointment when I confess to a con- 
 viction that shows me the path of duty not alto- 
 gether in the direction that it has been shown to 
 you. Yours is to be a mission to sin-sick souls — 
 mine to disease-stricken bodies. I shall offer for the 
 study of medicine, to return, when ray course is com- 
 pleted, to any one of these mission-fields in Africa 
 to which those in authority may see fit to send me ; 
 but, like you, Ellie, my one hope is that they may 
 send us together or so near together that we may 
 work one with the other." 
 
 A wonderful change has now come over JSfa- 
 mochisane. Every word of this conversation has 
 been heard and understood by her. That the chil- 
 dren of the white father, the man who has done 
 so much for the spiritual welfare of Mamochisane 
 herself and for so many of her people, — that his 
 children are really, after all, not going away for 
 good, that they will return in a little while only 
 the better equipped for bringing the messages of 
 healing and hope to those sick in soul and body, 
 is happiness enough for Mamochisane. Now, in- 
 deed, has the arrow been taken from her heart, with 
 not one pang remaining. No more do her lips send 
 forth wailiugs for those who wander in the dark- 
 ness, but all is peace and joy indescribable. 
 
 "Missie," says the old black suddenly, turning 
 so as to face Ellie with the full force of her burn- 
 ing eyes, " where is my baby ? where is the little 
 
326 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 one that has so long hiin against old Mamoehisane's 
 breast? — the little one that my white father's wife 
 placed in Maniochisane's arms when the message 
 came for her to go to the country where the great 
 God dwells, and that the white father himself gave 
 again into Maniochisane's keeping with the words, 
 ' Never leave my little one, Mamochisane. As you 
 have cared for her and watched over her so faith- 
 fully for our sakes, now take her and love her and 
 care for her for her own sake.' Oh, missie, many, 
 many times Mamochisane has thought of those 
 words, and again and again has she begged of the 
 great God whom she loves and trusts to make her 
 faithful in the charge." 
 
 Carefully and tenderly Ihe little one is brought 
 and laid on the bed with Mamochisane. The pale, 
 pinched face, strangely pathetic now in its look of 
 utter unconsciousness, is turned so that the piereing 
 eyes of the faithful old black woman may rest full 
 upon it. The fair hair sweeps the pillow upon which 
 Maniochisane's head with its cleanly-kept crown of 
 gray-sprinkled fleece lies extended. A glittering 
 strand here and there falls against the heaving breast 
 of the dying black woman or lies like a thread of 
 finely-spun gold across her arm. 
 
 For many moments they lie thus, neither mov- 
 ing, the baby's white face upturned, strangely white 
 and deathly still — Maniochisane's black one, alert 
 with all the instincts of life, droo])ing toward it. 
 Directly those who wateli this scene witness that 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 327 
 
 the memory of which never leaves them to their 
 last hour. Not more than ten minutes have gone 
 by since the phicing of the little one upon the bed 
 beside Mamochisane, when suddenly the arms of 
 the old black woman are extended, and ere any one 
 can stay the action they raise and clasp the little 
 one against the swelling breast with a quick, con- 
 vulsive movement, while with a smile that illu- 
 mines the face as no smile of earth could ever 
 illumine it the lips send forth the glad, exult- 
 ant cry, 
 
 " Mamochisane has not left the little one, white 
 father! She is here! she is here!" 
 
 A tremor passes along the muscles of the arms ; 
 they quiver, then lie motionless, with their burden 
 still clasped closely between them ; the light dies 
 out of the eyes, the heavy lids drop across them, 
 but the smile still abides in all its beauty upon 
 the withered fice. 
 
 When, after some moments of gentle yet per- 
 sistent effort, the young people release the stiffened 
 clasp of the arras from about the form of the child, 
 they discover the fact — a sad premonition of which 
 has been carried to their hearts with that last ring- 
 ing cry of Mamochisane's — that both are dead, the 
 faithful black guardian, faithful in death as in life, 
 and the tender innocent charge : the breath of the 
 destroyer of all earthly semblances has claimed each 
 alike, the fragile lily and the scarred and hoary 
 trunk against which it drooped. 
 
328 VHlLDliEN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 And ill that saiiu' inomoiit that those glad, exult- 
 ant notes have swelled from the lips of the dying 
 blaek woman, the two spirits, mingling as the sweet 
 perfume of the opening flowers sometimes min- 
 gles witli the rushing winds of the night, have been 
 borne upward, upward as the unfettered bird takes 
 its flight, to the waiting ones in the land beyond all 
 shadows. Black soul and white, they have ascend- 
 ed unto Him who has breathed into each the same 
 breath of life, and through whom each is to receive 
 the radiant habiliments of that immortality that is 
 the reward of every soul made spotless through his 
 grace — an immortality born of the glory that shines 
 for ever from the countenance of the living God, 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "His hand sliall guide them to the end." 
 
 AT dawu on the fifth day of May all is in readi- 
 ness for the renewal of the journey across the 
 plains. 
 
 From observations taken as accurately and as 
 carefully as he can with the instruments at hand, 
 Cunnyngham has arrived at the belief that they 
 are not more than a hundred miles from the north- 
 ern edge of the desert and about one hundred and 
 fifty from the eastern, or, as near as he can calcu- 
 late, in latitude between 21° and 22° south and 
 longitude 23° and 24° east. Their faithless guides 
 have therefore brought them many miles out of 
 the way, while their own wanderings have greatly 
 increased the distance. 
 
 But Cunnyngham has much hope that by means 
 of the sextant and compass, and with the knowl- 
 edge he possesses of some of the routes gone over 
 by Livingstone and his hunter-friends Cumming, 
 Oswell and Murray, he can yet guide the little 
 band aright in the journey to Liuyanti. 
 
 He therefore purposes, on leaving the encamp- 
 ment in the wilderness, to pursue a course as nearly 
 
 H2'J 
 
330 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 due iiortli-east as he' can make it, in wliii-h direc- 
 tion he liopes, after a journey of two weeks at 
 the longest, to reach tlie Zouga River at some ford 
 where it has been previouisly crossed by Living- 
 stone and other travelers. Here, by following the 
 northern bank of the river for some distance, tljey 
 will doubtless chance ujion a village of the Bayeiye, 
 a friendly tribe, from whom a guide may be ob- 
 tained to conduct them over the best and safest 
 route to Linyanti. 
 
 In the mean time, however, tliere is the proba- 
 bility ere the Zouga is reached of finding on the 
 way a kraal of Busluneu by whose direction the 
 ford can more easily be found. 
 
 By a judicious hoarding of their small stores, the 
 result of their agricultural labors and of numerous 
 foraging expeditions through the forest and across the 
 j)lains, they have, on quitting the encampment in the 
 desert, enough provisions to supply them a month, 
 perhaps as long as five weeks if they can manage 
 to add something to them on the way, which is by 
 no means improbable. 
 
 It is with hearts in which many varied feelings 
 struggle for the mastery that they look their last 
 upon a spot where six such eventful months have 
 been passed. Although it has been in the very midst 
 of the savage and inhospitable desert, and although 
 dangers have so constantly beset them on every side, it 
 has nevertheless been as a home to them. Tlie tears 
 fall thick and fast, in spite of their efforts to restrain 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 331 
 
 them, as they ck>se and bar the door upon the hut 
 where so many happy hours have been spent, while 
 choking sobs are added to the tears as they bend for 
 the last time above tlie mound that contains all of 
 the earthly part of old Mamochisane and of Baby 
 Louise. 
 
 Inseparable and devotedly attached in life, in 
 burial they have not divided them, as God has 
 not divided the two spirits at the moment of their 
 happy release. Close together tiiey lie in the same 
 narrow confine of earth, as together they shall arise 
 on the resurrection morn, the black body and the 
 white, to be made partakers with the spirits in the 
 life active, joyous, everlasting, supreme — the eter- 
 nal life with God. 
 
 The grave has been dug under one of the larger 
 mimosa trees within the enclosure, and covei^ed with 
 a raised work of stone, so as to protect it after their 
 departure from the ravages of beasts. Above it 
 the birds sing and about it the winds whisper, 
 while through the leaves of the trees gleaming 
 shafts of sunlight, dropping downward, bring with 
 them faint yet happy suggestions of the greater 
 light that lies beyond. 
 
 For the first two days after resuming the jour- 
 ney across the plains their way lies over a sandy 
 tract on which no sign of water appears, despite 
 the rains which have recently fallen. But against 
 this they have guarded by bringing a suj)ply of 
 water with them from the pool at the encampment. 
 
332 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 The third day some rain-pools are reaehed, and 
 agaiu on the fourth and filth days. On the sixth, 
 seventh and eighth days of" the journey they pass 
 through great stretches of watermelons, on which 
 both they and the cattle subsist for the entire tliree 
 days, finding them a most excellent substitute for 
 the water which they have not. 
 
 After leaving these tracts of melons two stages 
 of their journey behind, they enter upon a hard, 
 flat country — as flat as the floor of a modern house. 
 This hardness is accounted for by its having a thin, 
 light top soil lying ujion a strata of calcareous tufa. 
 This tract extends as far as the eye can reach, and, 
 despite the thinness of the soil, it yet supports a 
 vegetation of fine, sweet grass upon which the 
 horse, aittle and donkeys revel. 
 
 Several mopane and baobab trees are also seen 
 here, some of the latter being of such enormous 
 dimensions that they call forth many exclamations 
 of wonder from our young people. One of them 
 especially is of an almost incredible size. It con- 
 sists of six large branches and four smaller ones 
 united into one trunk, the dimensions of tiie latter 
 being, as they find by actual measurement, at three 
 feet from tlie ground no less than ninety-seven 
 feet six inches in circumference. And yet the trunk 
 is not more than fifteen or sixteen feet in height. 
 The liml)s branch to such an extent that Cunnyng- 
 ham feels no hesitancy in declaring that he is con- 
 fident if the circle that surrounds them could be 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 333 
 
 measured it would be found to contain no less than 
 three huiKlrcd and fifty or four hundred feet! 
 
 This enormous bulk of branches gives the tree 
 at a distance the appearance of being a whole forest 
 in itself. The lower branches, which are adorned 
 with tufts of leaves, extend from the sides horizon- 
 tally, and, bending their great weight toward the 
 earth, add still further to the gigantic appearance 
 of the tree. The bark is nearly an inch in thick- 
 ness, and is of an ash-colored gray, greasy to the 
 touch and also very smooth ; the exterior is adorned 
 with a sort of varnish, while the inside is of a bril- 
 liant green beautifully speckled with bright red. 
 The wood itself is white and soft and penetrable, 
 so much so that when an axe or other like in- 
 strument is struck into it, it is very difficult to 
 release it. 
 
 The tree toward which the attention of our young 
 travelers has been attracted in so great a degree is 
 quite hollow, while for several feet up it is denuded 
 of its bark, but despite these ravages it still shows 
 many and most vigorous signs of a wonderful 
 vitality. 
 
 " Is it true that baobab trees never die?" ques- 
 tions Hope as they stand gazing upon the battle- 
 scarred monster. 
 
 " Oh, I suppose they die some time," retui-ns 
 Cunnyngham, "but I believe all naturalists have 
 agreed in considering them the longest-lived of 
 any forest growth, while some even declare that 
 
334 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHAlll: 
 
 many of the trees now alive and flouris.luug were 
 in existence at the time of the Flood." 
 
 " I cannot believe ///«/," says Ellie with nuich 
 positiveness. " The baobab — or mowaiia, as the 
 Bechuanas call it — doubtless lives to be many hun- 
 dred years old, but 1 Icel assured that none of those 
 trees of this sjiecies alive at the present day encoun- 
 tered the nivaj^es of the Flood." 
 
 "One singular thing about it, at any rate," says 
 Pierce, "is that one rarely finds a dead baobab. 
 Livingstone records that in all his travels he only 
 came upon a single one." 
 
 " That is all owing to the wellnigh incredible 
 vitality the tree is known to possess," returns Cnn- 
 nyngham. " Dr. Livingstone saw several instances 
 in Angola in which the tree continued to grow even 
 after it had been cut down !" 
 
 " Why, I never heard of such a thing !" says 
 Hope; "and if any one else but Dr. Livingstone 
 had written that, I am very much afraid I wouldn't 
 have wanted to believe it." 
 
 "Is it true that even fire cannot destroy it?" 
 apks Hope again. 
 
 "It is true. Neither from within nor from 
 without can fire do the tree irreparable injury." 
 
 " Well, how, then, does it ever die?" 
 
 "That, my dear sister, is what Marvin and Hen- 
 rietta would call *a puzzler.' I supj)ose it finds 
 its death at last, as all things earthly must find it, 
 in a complete exhaustion of its powers." 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 335 
 
 A little farther on they eonie upon a succession 
 of salt-pans, one of them being, they estimate, fully 
 ten miles in breadth. To their surprise, they find 
 near one of these pans a s])ring of very good water. 
 It is a little brackish, it is true, but not enough so 
 to render it disagreeable. 
 
 " The salt-deposits at the bottom of this spring 
 have been removed by human agency, I feel as- 
 sured," says Pierce, " doubtless by travelers like 
 ourselves ; or it may be that we are not far from 
 the habitation of some native tribe, in all proba- 
 bility Bushmen." 
 
 Pierce's words have quite a cheerful effect upon 
 the little party, and when they leave the salt-paus 
 behind it is with much hope of soon coming upon 
 a village of some kind. 
 
 A few miles farther on they reach a habitation 
 of Bushmen under their chief, Mochotska. They 
 find this people very different in many respects 
 from those of the same family whom they have 
 met on the other side of the desert. While those 
 were of short stature and of a dull-yellow color, 
 most of these are tall, strapping fellows, with strong, 
 ])0werful limbs, big heads, prominent foreheads and 
 dark, nearly black, complexions. 
 
 The chief, howev'er, is an exception, and an odd- 
 ity, too, in his way. He is rather small of stature, 
 or he seems small in comparison with the tall, pow- 
 erful frames of most of his people. He has a 
 somewhat large, bullet-shaped head, with a reced- 
 
336 CHILDREN OF THE K ALA II Mil: 
 
 ing forehead, prominent cars, a widespreatling nose 
 and keen little black eyes that twinkle like beads 
 on which the snn glints. 
 
 One of Mochutska's favorite pastimes is play- 
 ing on the gorrah, a musical instrument resembling 
 the bow of a violin, though used quite differently, 
 and combining the properties of both a string and a 
 wind instrument. It consists of a slender bow ou 
 which is a string made of the carefully drial in- 
 testine of some animal of the feline species. To 
 the lower part of the string a flat piece of ostrich 
 quill is attached so as to form part of the length 
 of the string. On being applied to the lips this 
 quill is made to vibrate by strongly inhaling and 
 exhaling the air. The tones that result, while 
 possessing considerable power, are nevertheless so 
 sadly lacking in harmony as to give the impression 
 to the civilized ear of more noise than music. Mo- 
 chotska, however, judging by the constancy with 
 which he and his instrumciit keep each other com- 
 pany, seems never to tire of its sounds, but, on the 
 other hand, to enjoy them to the fullest extent. 
 
 Mochotska's manner of playing the instrument 
 is — first to seat himself upon a flat rock, with his 
 elbows resting upon his knees. He next puts one 
 forefinger into his ear and the other into his some- 
 what expansive nostril. His object in this is 
 doubtless to steady the head Mhile in its labor of 
 bringing forth the vigorous sounds with which he 
 keeps up his solo all the way through. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 337 
 
 Our young travelers are kindly received by this 
 kraal of Bushmen, who have before had visits from 
 the whites, oue or two parties of hunters having 
 stopped with them on their way from the south- 
 ern country to that about Lake N'gami and the 
 Zambezi River. 
 
 For a fair consideration aud with Mochotska's 
 aid our young friends are enabled to engage the 
 services of one of the Bushmen as guide to the 
 ford ou the Zouga at which they desire to cross. 
 He has also consented, in case they do not succeed 
 iu getting one of the Bayeiye, to accompany them 
 all the way to Linyauti. 
 
 After i-emaining two days at the Bushmen vil- 
 lage in order to rest themselves and their tired ani- 
 mals, they set forth again upon their journey. It is 
 with very light hearts that they take up this portion 
 of it, for now it seems to them that the worst of 
 their trials, at least until Liuyauti is reached, are 
 over. Alas ! they are but beginning. 
 
 Two days out from the Bushmen village, while 
 crossing a stretch of woods several miles in ex- 
 tent, the cattle are all bitten by that dread pest of 
 African explorers, the tsetse fly. The travelers 
 now realize only too well that the ultimate death of 
 the poor beasts is but a question of time, and while 
 they hope and pray that they may yet reach Lin- 
 yanti ere any serious consequences take place, still 
 it is with many grave doubts and misgivings that 
 they push forward on their way. 
 
 22 
 
338 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 Soon after lliey have ero.s.sed the Zoiiga they wit- 
 ness the firet signs of failing in the oxen that have 
 been bitten. Three of them — two that are leaders 
 and the very best they have — are attacked with stag- 
 gering and blindness, and in another chn- have fallen 
 by tiie way. In three days more two others are 
 dead, the poor horse Khiva and two of the dogs ; 
 of the latter, Spoorer, Smike and Chitane alone 
 remaining. 
 
 At the end of another three days all the oxen 
 show signs of the fatal visit of the tsetse. Their 
 jaws have begun to swell, their eyes and noses to 
 run, -while the poor brutes constantly shiver as 
 though attacked with a sudden ague. 
 
 They have now only fourteen of the oxen left, 
 and as this team is insufficient, even when at its 
 best, to draw the huge, lumbering wagon, it is all 
 the poor brutes can now do to stagger along with 
 it, although it has been relieved of everything that 
 could possibly be sacrificed. But even this proves 
 of little avail, for in three days more only nine of 
 the oxen are left, and all of these are in such a con- 
 dition that they cannot so much as pull the running 
 part of the wagon, with planks across it in place of 
 the frame, which has been removed. 
 
 At this point our friends realize that the wagon 
 and all such belongings as cannot be packed upon 
 the backs of the donkeys must be abandoned. As 
 to the poor oxen, their first thought is to kill them, 
 in order to put them out of further suffering, but 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 339 
 
 no one having the heart to undertake this, they 
 are turned loose to fare as best they can. There is 
 plenty of grass upon which they can graze, and 
 water for them to drink, but that the poor brutes 
 will soon be beyond the need of anything of the 
 kind they know only too w^ell. 
 
 The condition of our travelers, especially of the 
 feminine portion, is now most distressing, for all 
 have to fare alike in walking. Sometimes, however, 
 the children get a lift upon one of the donkeys, or 
 Ellie and Hope can in the like manner obtain a few 
 miles of rest, but as the poor beasts have usually 
 about all they can carry, the older girls never avail 
 themselves of this means of relief for bruised and 
 swollen feet or stiff and aching limbs as long as it 
 is possible to keep from it. Sometimes, too, the 
 faithfid blacks make a litter of boughs, on which 
 they insist on cariying the two young girls and 
 the children for a part of the day at least. 
 
 All are now reduced to the single suit of cloth- 
 ing each wears, which in many instances has been 
 brought to a most forlorn condition owing to the 
 innumerable briers and thorny thickets through 
 which several times since setting forth on foot they 
 have had literally to fight their way. Often and 
 often the way leads through woods so dense that 
 every foot of it has to be cleared by the axes 
 before they can make any progress at all. But 
 for the thorns and briers there is no remedy, only 
 the one alternative of pushing their way through 
 
340 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 them a-s l)est they can. As to shoes, not more 
 than half of the party have any covering whatever 
 for their feet, save as they can fasten about them 
 bits of the skins of such auimals as they uow 
 and then kilh 
 
 They manage, however, to secure food enough, 
 such as it is, to keep them from actual starvation, 
 and, though in the midst of such severe depriva- 
 tions and acute sufferings, they nevertiielcss keep 
 their hearts aglow with gratitude to God that their 
 condition is no worse than it is. That he will ulti- 
 mately bring them through it all their faith is as 
 strong now as it has ever been in the sunniest hour 
 of their trust amid the comforts of their old home 
 in the wilderness. Many times now Ellie recog- 
 nizes the mercy and wisdom of God in taking the 
 little Louise unto himself ere these sorer trials 
 were reached. 
 
 At length, after many and varied ex])erieuces, 
 none of which it forms a part of our purpose to 
 describe, and after having passed through seve- 
 ral villages of natives, some of whom treat them 
 very kindly and others again rather cruelly, and 
 throughout every one of which experiences they 
 are still graciously preserved by the same almighty 
 Power that has taken note of every step of their 
 way since the moment of their setting out, they 
 come to that flat and marshy country that is com- 
 pletely enclosed by the rivers Chobe, Sonta, Mebabe, 
 Tso, and Embara. 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 341 
 
 Here tliey find a most distressing state of affairs, 
 for all tliese rivers having overflown their banks 
 during the recent rains, and tiie floods having not 
 yet subsided, the whole country as far as the eye 
 can reach is one vast sheet of water. It is true 
 that they are now on tlie bank of the Sonta, 
 farther away from the worst of the overflowed 
 country or that portion whicii the rivers named 
 so completely enclose, but still it is bad enough as 
 it is, and for the first few hours after reaching this, 
 which seems an impassable barrier to their further 
 progress, despair reigns supreme. 
 
 Doubtless it would not strike them with such 
 overwhelming force were it not that they are com- 
 pletely reduced physically, for previous to reaching 
 this inundated section they have toiled for many 
 hours through a muddy expanse, in many parts of 
 which the water has been ankle deep, with no way of 
 avoiding it. Added to the water, the place is covered 
 with a peculiar serrated grass that at certain angles 
 cuts the flesh like a razor, and by immense walls of 
 reeds, which, as they pass between them, so exclude 
 the air as to produce a feeling of almost unbearable 
 suffocation. Indeed, Hope faints completely away 
 ere she has passed through more than two-thirds 
 of the necessary distance, while Ellie and Henri- 
 etta both lose consciousness the moment the open 
 space beyond is reached. 
 
 They are now in the most desperate and forlorn 
 straits, for in addition to the terrible state of their 
 
342 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 clothing, faoos, hands, knees and ('cot are out and 
 bleeding tVoni the ra/.()i--Hk(' blades of grass. 
 
 On arriving at the inundated jiortion they are 
 compelled to halt, and to wait until a raft can he 
 constructed of such material as they have at hand. 
 Fortunately, the carpenter's tools have not yet 
 been abandoned. 
 
 Near this spot they are also fortunate in finding 
 a deserted village, abandoned by the inhabitants on 
 the approach of the flood, one or two of the huts 
 of which, being at a greater elevation than the others, 
 have escaped the ravages. These not only afford 
 them shelter while awaiting the construction of the 
 raft, but in them they also find a small stock of 
 provisions — some dried game-flesh, a basket or two 
 of cassava, some potatoes and a bag of pressed fruit. 
 
 Of the manv obstacles met with in the buildinor 
 of the raft, and of the still greater difficulties en- 
 countered in the launching of it — the almost im- 
 penetrable walls of reeds, tiie tangled mats of low- 
 growing rushes and the thick masses of papyrus 
 interlaced with convolvulus with which the banks 
 of the river are lined — it is not our purpose to 
 speak. Neither have we the sj)ace to detail the 
 many and trying experiences and narrow escapes 
 of our friends in searching for the main channel 
 of the Chobe, by means of which and of the raft, 
 made as stout and serviceable as possible, they 
 hope to reach Linyanti. 
 
 At length, after more than a week spent upon 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 343 
 
 this raft, (luring wliich their sufferings from heat 
 and cold in turn, from hunger and from blood- 
 tliir.sty attacks of huge mosquitoes, gnats, flies and 
 other like pests, and during which time they also 
 have a most thrilling experience with crocodiles 
 and another with hippopotami, in both of which 
 they come near losing their lives, and in which 
 poor Spoorer does lose his life, they arrive at last 
 in si<rht of the welcome outlines of the Makololo 
 capital. 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 The town of Linyanti, capital city of the Ma- 
 kololo tribes, is reached by our young people, after 
 many trying experiences and thrilling adventures, 
 in the early morning of June 17, 187-, just six 
 M'ceks from the time of setting out from the en- 
 campment in the desert. It is situated some miles 
 higher up the river Chobe than the old one first 
 visited by Livingstone in May, 1853. It stands 
 upon a slight elevation that slopes toward the river, 
 and, although the surrounding country is of so level 
 a nature, it is nevertheless possessed of much sce- 
 nery that is rich and picturesque. 
 
 The village is laid out in the form of a lono- 
 street, at the end of which are clustered the chapel, 
 the school-house, one or two workshops and the 
 late dwellings of the missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. 
 
344 CHILDREN OF THE KALMIAIU: 
 
 Ilelinore, Mr. ami Mrs. Mackon/io and Mr. aiul 
 Mrs. Price, whose wholesale aiul untimely taking 
 off through that dread scourge, African fever, 
 forms one of the most depressing pages in the 
 history of Africjiu missions. 
 
 It M'ill be remembered by those familiar with the 
 main incidents of Livingstone's African life that on 
 leaving the Makololo for the east coast, whence he 
 was expected to sail for England, they expressed 
 a desire that a missionary might come and live 
 with them, promising if the desire were granted to 
 remove from the deadly swamj>s in the midst of 
 which they were then residing to some healthier lo- 
 cality farther up the river. Rev. J. E. Chambliss, 
 in his admirable Life of Livingsfo)ie, thus sums up 
 the short and tragic history of the mission: "It 
 had seemed very desirable to establish a mission 
 among this people (the Makololo), because of the 
 extent of their dominion, and because at their capi- 
 tal Christian teachers would be in constant inter- 
 course with representatives of numerous tribes. 
 Accordingly, the London Missionary Society, un- 
 der whose auspices the exploration of their country 
 had been effected, undertook the work of establish- 
 ing a mission at the town of Linyanti, and appoint- 
 ed Rev. Halloway Ilelmore, who had been seven- 
 teen years a missionary among the Bechuanas, and 
 associated with him Messrs. Mackenzie and Price. 
 These younger men, accompanied by gentle and 
 true-hearted wives, who ventured to hope that they 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 345 
 
 could go where Mrs. Livingstone had gone, left 
 England in June, 1858, and in July landed at the 
 Cape. After many trying experiences the mission- 
 party at last reached the scene of their appointment 
 in February, 1860. In August of the same year, 
 wheu Dr. Livingstone arrived, there was only the 
 sad story of their efforts and a number of graves. 
 They had come ou the ground in the most unfav- 
 orable season, and almost from the time of their 
 arrival were the victims of the prevailing fever of 
 the place." 
 
 At the time of the arrival of our travelers, in 
 June, 187—, there is no missionary at the village, 
 many Avho doubtless would have come having 
 beeu discouraged by the terrible calamity that has 
 put such a complete and untimely ending to the 
 labors of the six brave and zealous spirits. But 
 as the Makololo have a serious intention of again 
 removing their village to some healthier locality, 
 there is strong probability that should they take this 
 step the society will send them another pastor and 
 other teachers, or it may be that some earnest and 
 courageous young soul may be found to v^olunteer 
 at the call of the Master to face even the dan- 
 gers of this unhealthy locality. A coming at the 
 proper season, so as to allow time for acclimation 
 ere the fever period approaches, and the timely ad- 
 ministering of plentiful doses of quinine, have a 
 telling effect in the fight with the fever demon, as 
 the steady flame of faith and the constant fire of 
 
346 CHILDREN OF TlIK KALMIMll : 
 
 ministerial zeal kept biiniiiii:: in the lieart have 
 inuoh to do toward strengthening body as \\A\ as 
 soul in the great combat. 
 
 In the mean time, however, mueh good is being 
 done at Linyanti by two native teachers converted 
 and educated through Dr. Ivivingstone's efforts, and 
 by another brougiit by Mr. Ilelmore from Kuruman. 
 These men keep up the good work in school-room 
 and shop, and regularly on the Sabbath and twice 
 during the Aveek hold religious services in the 
 chapel and the kothi. 
 
 The Linyanti reached by our travelers in June, 
 187-, immbei"s some fifteen lumdred souls, quite 
 a decrease from the population of the I^inyanti 
 visited by Livingstone in 1853. Then it w'as a 
 large and populous settlement of between three 
 thousand five hundred and four thousand souls. 
 ]5ut the death of the great " lion chief," Sebituane, 
 together with the weak governing powers of his son 
 and successor, Sekeletu, through whom the tribe 
 has been led into numerous hostile encounters with 
 fierce and warlike neighbors and plunged into va- 
 rious disasters, has so reduced this once proutl and 
 strong people that much of their former greatness 
 and glory has departed. 
 
 But that a measure of energy is still left is fully 
 attested by the neatness, order and thrift visible 
 throughout their capital town. Nearly all the 
 huts, which are tidy and well constructed, have 
 behind thcin ample gardens that stretch away on 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 347 
 
 one side to the foot of a small wooded hill that has 
 more the appearance of a large artificial mound than 
 anything else, and on the other side to the banks 
 of the river. In these gardens are cultivated maize, 
 millet, pumpkins, onions, parsnips, potatoes, beans, 
 peas and various other vegetables. A few young 
 fruit trees and various banana, cocoanut and other 
 trees are also scattered about. 
 
 Each hut has a low doorway in front, protected 
 by a kind of veranda, Mdiile about this and extend- 
 ing some feet from the veranda is a circular court 
 enclosed either with rush mats or a wattle hedge. 
 In this court the fires are made for cooking or 
 warming purposes, the food being cooked in fire- 
 proof clay pots of native manufacture. 
 
 The houses of the head-men, the mayor, court- 
 herald, town-crier and other officials are constructed 
 on a more pretentious plan, having square walls, 
 high roofs and verandas that extend the entire dis- 
 tance of each side. About them are grassy walks, 
 lined with rows of drooping willows, with here and 
 there a palmetto or stiff-fronded palm. 
 
 As the raft containing our travelers, reduced 
 through their many and varied disasters and terri- 
 ble experiences to a state in which death seems far 
 nearer than life, comes suddenly in sight of this 
 cheering and inspiring place, more than one pair 
 of lips give forth a cry of thanksgiving and joy. 
 
 The sound of a bell now ringing across the wa- 
 ters adds still further to the inspiration of the scene 
 
3-18 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHAUI: 
 
 and to tlic gladness of tlifir licarts. It is the first 
 sound of anytliing approachino; civilized life that 
 lias greeted their ears since that far-away happy 
 time at their own mission-station of Lepelole. It 
 is one of the days on which religious services are 
 held by the native teachers, and the bell-tones that 
 they have heard come from the belfry of the neat 
 stone chapel at the upper end of the village. 
 
 The raft having been anchored at a convenient 
 landing-place, they are preparing to disembark, 
 when another sound greets them — a sound that 
 awakens even deeper and more intense feeling than 
 that of the chapel-bell has done. It is the sound 
 of many native voices singing that grand Christian 
 hymn, *' Jesus, Lover of my soul," in the well- 
 known Sichuana language. 
 
 As the sweet, solemn, pathetic harmony of the 
 many richly swelling voices, joining with such force 
 and fervor in the words of the moving old hymn, 
 float down to them, the teal's glisten in more than 
 one pair of eyes, while Ellie and Hope, turning so 
 as to face each other, clasp hands witli feelings too 
 deep and too varied for expression. 
 
 Ere they have advanced many steps up the slight 
 iucline toward the village several of the population, 
 having caught sight of them, are now running forth 
 to meet them. 
 
 In a little while, the news of their arrival having 
 been carried to the chapel, they are surrounded, ou 
 reaching the foot of the broad street that passes 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 349 
 
 through the village, by a large and fast-increasiug 
 assembly, many of the people forcibly gesticulating 
 with their hands, others again asking questions as 
 fast as they can open and shut their mouths, and 
 all overcome by a curiosity none can conceal. 
 
 Having singled out the head-man, Mamosale by 
 name, Cuunyngham addresses himself to him, aud 
 soon gives him an account of the party, together 
 with the story of their wanderings since setting 
 out from Lepelole, closing with a statement of 
 their present sore straits and needs. 
 
 The old head-man proves the veiy soul of kind- 
 ness and hospitality, aud at the conclusion of Cun- 
 nyngham's narrative at once conducts them through 
 the ranks of the congregated villagers, who respect- 
 fully make way for them to pass to the huts for- 
 merly occupied by the dead missionaries. Here they 
 are at once provided with food, with vessels con- 
 taining water for bathing purposes and with cloth- 
 ing. As the Makololos dress in what is very much 
 of a civilized fashion, the men wearing fustian jack- 
 ets aud leather trousers and tlie women petticoats 
 of various patterns, karosses and either fur caps or 
 turbans made of handkerchiefs, there is no great 
 difficulty in finding clothing of a suitable nature 
 for each member of the party. 
 
 An hour or so later the old town-crier, Se-Pu- 
 lenyane, with much state announces throughout the 
 village the arrival of the party. 
 
 Mamosale's quick sympathy and ready show of 
 
350 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI: 
 
 hospitality are but a foretaste of the warm and hearty 
 ■welcome that is subsequently shown them on every 
 side by this kindly and generous people. Every 
 iiour of their stay they feel increasing gratitude and 
 joy in their hearts, while they do not neglect to re- 
 turn thanks to God for having led them to such 
 a comfortable and liospitable place. 
 
 But as much as their hearts are gladdened by 
 the Makololo, their joy is increased tenfold by the 
 news they learn on the following day. A j)arty 
 of hunters from the Cape are now on the river in 
 the vicinity of Linyanti — four white men with an 
 attendant train of more than twoscore servants and 
 bearers. It needs not the names of these white men, 
 which Mamosale afterward calls, to carry to the 
 hearts of our travelers the joyful conviction that 
 they are no other than their old friends Captain 
 Murray and Mr. Gumming, with their friends Gap- 
 tains Osgood and Saunders. 
 
 A goodly part of the effects of the hunters, in- 
 cluding two large canoes and many supplies, are 
 even now at Linyanti awaiting the return of their 
 owners down the river, when the party expect to 
 set off along the Zambezi for the east coast. 
 
 In a few days the good news is confirmed beyond 
 a doubt by the arrival at Linyanti of Captain Mur- 
 ray, Mr. Gumming and their friends. 
 
 The meeting between the former and our young 
 wanderers can much better be imagined than de- 
 scribed. There is so much to be asked and answered 
 
A STORY OF AFRICA. 351 
 
 on both sides that they sit up the first uiglit of their 
 meeting until nearly day-dawn recounting their 
 many changing and exciting experiences. 
 
 There is no further doubt as to the course to be 
 pursued by our young people in reaching the coast. 
 The hunters are fully equipped with canoes, bearers 
 and supplies for making the trip along the Zam- 
 bezi to Quilamane. Indeed, they have already 
 made it inland, transporting the canoes around 
 the various rapids by means of their sturdy bear- 
 ers. At Quilamane there is anchored the private 
 yacht of Captain Osgood, waiting to take them 
 to the Cape. From this point it will be an easy 
 matter for our traveling friends to find passage for 
 the States. 
 
 Jim will go with them, as it is Cunnyngham's 
 design to have him educated that he may be able 
 to act as a native teacher ; Kamati will remain 
 with the Makololos ; Pitsane has attached himself 
 to Captain INIurray's party ; while at a point on the 
 Zambezi, Mazika will seek to make his way to a 
 portion of his old tribe, now established in the 
 mountains to the east of the Banyai country. 
 
 It does not form a part of the purpose of the 
 author to describe the events that mark the jour- 
 ney from Linyanti to Quilamane. The task, so 
 far as this volume is concerned, is finished with 
 the recording of the arrival of our young people 
 at the Makololo capital. Suffice it to say, that 
 after many and varied experiences, some of them 
 
352 CHILDREN OF THE KALAHARI. 
 
 thrilling in the extreme, and others, again, of not 
 great importance, and after having feasted their 
 eyes to their fullest upon the wonderful Zambezi 
 country, and having had many escapes from fierce 
 and warlike tribes, they arrive at last safely at 
 Quilamane, whence the yacht is taken for Cape 
 Town. At this latter point their kind friends see 
 them aboard a steamer bound for an American 
 port. 
 
 Not long since I saw in a newspaper among the 
 
 names of those accepted by the Missionary 
 
 Society for the work in Africu that of the Rev. 
 Cuunyngham Blaudford, the paper further stating 
 that on the same vessel carrying the Rev. Mr. 
 Blandford to his distant field would go out, as 
 medical assistant, Dr. Pierce Lillington, and as 
 teachers, the Misses EUie Lillington and Hope 
 Blandford. 
 
 Thus have the vows made amid the wilds of 
 the African desert ripened into rich and fragrant 
 fruit. 
 
 THE END. 
 
3n Theological Sem 
 
 1 1012 01231 0902 
 
 
 
 
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