The report of the rifle had doubtless frightened the deer around, for fully two hours passed without anything coming to the water. The time seemed very long, and the effect of the unusual excitement passing away, the hunter again became drowsy. The position was a cramped one; the first part of the night, before the thunderstorm had cooled the air, had been hot and sultry; the breeze, heavily laden with the scent of the flowers of the mobala trees, again came in hot puffs, bringing with it the cry of the jackal and the hyena, and the other thousand noises of animal life which so distinguish night from day among the wild plains of Southern Africa. Still nearer to the watcher was to be heard the fall of the water over its ledge of rock, the moaning of the wounded ape, and once or twice, and that very distant, the roar of a lion. Spread out in the moonlight lay the plain, stretching away towards the eastern coast, watered by a small river, while to the right rose the chain of mountain land in which the river took its rise, and whose slopes were dotted here and there by what seemed large black patches of forest, principally composed of trees exactly resembling the cedar. From one of these patches there came every now and then the sound of the splintering of wood, just as though a workman were felling timber. This noise was quite inexplicable; and the baboon, too, was annoying, for not only did it keep up its moaning, but would break off pieces of the branches, and throw them at the hunter, generally with a certain aim. The time wore wearily on, and Captain Hughes had just dozed off, when his attention was suddenly roused by a noise like the bleating of a sheep. No animal of any kind was in sight, and yet there it was, the low, plaintive bleating of a sheep. It seemed to come from the bush, and presently, out of it, came the beautiful painted body of a large snake, some fourteen feet in length, gliding along with a gentle, sinuous motion, and uttering from time to time the strange bleat. Gaining the foot of the tree where the baboon was, it wound itself round the trunk, and crept slowly up it. The moment the monkey caught sight of it dragging its shining length upwards, it evinced a deadly fear. Slowly, but surely, the nogaputsane neared its prey, while the unlucky animal chattering and crying, seemed unable to escape. Moved by its distress, the hunter raised his rifle, but just as he was about to fire the baboon jumped from the tree, and leaping across the stream, seized one of the branches of a young mimosa, swinging himself into it chattering with fright. The large snake paused for a few minutes to look about it, soon slowly descending, and then starting in pursuit, the nogaputsane came to the river, which it did not like, and returned into the bush.
Time wore on; the interest of the night seemed past, and morning could not be far off. Fairly tired out, the soldier began making his arrangements for a return to camp, when he was stopped by seeing, or thinking he saw, a black mass moving among the shadows on the hill-side, where the sound of the splintering wood was heard. The cause of the noise was now made evident, for moving along slowly, the watcher saw for the first time the huge bulk of the African wild elephant. It was advancing towards the river. Suddenly it stopped, and for a few moments the hunter’s heart beat quickly, thinking the chance lost, when, trotting along in a lumbering fashion, there came from out of the shade of the cedar and mashunga forests a second, but this time a young elephant. On they came, right for the river, opposite the hiding-place, the young one stopping from time to time, and then coming on at a trot to rejoin its mother. They neared the river, the old elephant evidently carefully examining every yard of ground before putting her huge foot down. They passed under the tree where the baboon was hid, and the spirit of mischief seemed to wake up in the wounded animal, notwithstanding all that had happened to him that night. Breaking off a large bough, jabbering loudly, and making the most diabolical faces, it took aim at the young elephant, the wood hitting it a smart blow on the trunk. The mother stopped dead, uttering a strange trumpeting sound, then circling her trunk round the stem of the young tree, began to shake it violently. The monkey, active as he was, nearly came to the ground, holding on with difficulty, and crying loudly. Then the cracking of the stem was heard, just as the baboon, loosing its hold, dropped on the ground, and with one wild spring clambered into another tree, and swung himself from branch to branch, jabbering and whining with fear.
Casting the sapling from it, the elephant, as if satisfied with the lesson it had given, came down to drink. Coming to the spot where the panther and springbok had struggled, and where the grass and reeds were beaten down, the animal halted, evidently suspecting one of the native traps, and kneeling down on the edge it struck the ground all round with its trunk. It was now within thirty paces, but still the hunter’s rifle remained silent. Hoping to meet with an elephant, the heavier rifle was loaded accordingly, the right-hand barrel with the usual ball, but the left carrying one of Devisme’s explosive cartridges. Not able to detect anything wrong in the trampled ground, still the cautious creature would not tread on it, but circling round, broke her way through the bush, coming, as she did so, on the carcass of the dead panther. This she examined very carefully, turning it over with her trunk, and it was only when she had fully satisfied herself that it was dead, that she called her little one to her side. Standing in the bed of the stream, the two sucked in vast volumes of water, discharging it into their mouths, and having satisfied their thirst, the old one began spouting the water over the back of its young. Ever ready to fire, the hunter watched them, for a quarter of an hour; but now the increasing coldness of the morning warned him that dawn was at hand. The heavier rifle had not yet been used. Taking a deliberate aim, he fired. For a moment the huge mass stood firm and unmoved; the next, turning, the elephant crashed through the bush towards the forest, the young one remaining standing in the river, as though wondering what all the noise was about. Covering him with the second barrel, and dreadfully vexed at his failure, Captain Hughes was about to fire, when the larger elephant, missing its young, stopped, and began calling it. Quickly changing his aim, the report of the rifle rang out, the explosive ball striking the elephant behind the shoulder, and taking an upward direction. Moving heavily forward, the enormous bulk of the animal seemed to waver, and sway from side to side. Once it fell on its knees, recovered itself, and then gained the forest, disappearing with her young under the trees, the crash of breaking wood making itself heard once, and then all was still. The cries of the jackals and hyenas gradually ceased, the air became colder and colder as the dawn appeared, the light of the moon paled, and the noise of the falling water, with the occasional croak of a frog along the river bank, were soon the only sounds disturbing the stillness of the African plain, as, covered with the blood of the wounded baboon, soiled with wet and sand, his limbs stiff with cold and watching, as well as worn out with excitement, the weary hunter took his way up the mountain slopes, to where he knew he should find the camp.
The Ruins at Sofala
Long before the tired hunter woke, a party headed by the missionary had brought in the carcass of the lion, as well as those of the springbok and panther, and strange to say, the baboon had followed them, refusing to be driven away. It was in vain to pelt it with sticks and stones, for dashing away into the bush it would climb a tree, making the most hideous grimaces, chattering and crying, but the moment all was quiet, back it would come again. Worn out with fatigue and watching, the soldier had slept late, and the sun was high in the heavens when he awoke.
Looking about him, roused by the noise, he was just in time to save the baboon’s life. Luji had been engaged for some time pelting it with sticks and stones, but the agile brute was too much for him. Masheesh stood in the act of poising his assegai, when Hughes stopped him.
“The monkey saved my life, Wyzinski,” said he; “and besides, it would be hard to kill the creature which evidently trusts in us.”
“Trusts in you, it would appear,” replied the other; for at this moment, as if recognising Hughes, it came towards him, showing the wounds on its back, and holding out its bloody hands.
“Fetch me the arnica and some water, Luji; we will soon put those scratches to rights, though they are caused by the lion’s claws.”
“The lion’s claws!” asked the missionary; “why, what had the monkey and lion in common?”
“I’ll tell you when I have had a good wash, and some breakfast,” replied the other.
The baboon was soon caught, and his back freely bathed with the arnica water, when the intense smarting, and the grotesque grimaces and loud chattering consequent on it, caused shouts of