The storm was not long in beginning. The rising ground was still two miles away. Although the sun was above the horizon, the darkness was almost complete; the overhanging volumes of vapour sank lower and lower towards the earth, but happily the full force of the deluge which must ultimately come did not descend as yet. Lightning, red and blue, flashed on every side and appeared to cover the ground with a network of flame.
Ever and again the little knot of travellers were in peril of being struck by the thunderbolts which, on that treeless plain, had no other object of attraction. Poor little Jack, who had been awakened by the perpetual crashes, buried his face in terror in Hercules’ breast, anxious, however, not to distress his mother by any outward exhibition of alarm. The good-natured negro endeavoured to pacify him by promises that the lightning should not touch him, and the child, ever confident in the protection of his huge friend, lost something of his nervousness.
But it could not be long before the clouds would burst and discharge the threatened downpour.
“What are we to do, Tom?” asked Dick, drawing up close to the negro’s side.
“We must make a rush for it; push on with all the speed we can.”
“But where?” cried Dick.
“Straight on,” was the prompt reply; “if the rain catches us here on the plain we shall all be drowned.”
“But where are we to go?” repeated Dick, in despair; “if only there were a hut! But look, look there!”
A vivid flash of lightning had lit up the country, and Dick declared that he could see a camp which could hardly be more than a quarter of a mile ahead.
The negro looked doubtful.
“I saw it too,” he assented: “but if it be a camp at all it would be a camp of natives; and to fall into that would involve us in a worse fate than the rain.”
Another brilliant flash brought the camp once again into relief; it appeared to be made up of about a hundred conical tents, arranged very symmetrically, each of them being from twelve to fifteen feet in height. It had the appearance, from a distance, of being deserted; if it were really so, it would afford just the shelter that was needed; otherwise, at all hazards, it must be most carefully avoided.
“I will go in advance,” said Dick, after a moment’s reflection, “and reconnoitre it.”
“Let one of us, at least, go with you,” replied Tom.
“No, stay where you are; I shall be much less likely to be discovered if I go alone.”
Without another word, he darted off, and was soon lost in the sombre darkness that was only broken by the frequent lightning.
Large drops of rain were now beginning to fall.
Tom and Dick had been walking some little distance in advance of the rest of the party, who consequently had not overheard their conversation. A halt being made, Mrs. Weldon inquired what was the matter. Tom explained that a camp or village had been noticed a little way in front, and that the captain had gone forward to investigate it. Mrs. Weldon asked no further questions, but quietly waited the result. It was only a few minutes before Dick returned.
“You may come on,” he cried.
“Is the camp deserted?” asked Tom.
“It is not a camp at all; it is a lot of anthills!”
“Anthills!” echoed Benedict, suddenly aroused into a state of excitement.
“No doubt of it, Mr. Benedict,” replied Dick; “they are anthills twelve feet high at least: and I hope we shall be able to get into them.”
“Twelve feet!” the naturalist repeated; “they must be those of the termites, the white ants; there is no other insect that could make them. Wonderful architects are the termites.”
“Termites, or whatever they are, they will have to turn out for us,” said Dick.
“But they will eat us up!” objected Benedict.
“I can’t help that,” retorted Dick; “go we must, and go at once.”
“But stop a moment,” continued the provoking naturalist; “stop, and tell me: I can’t be wrong: I always thought that white ants could never be found elsewhere than in Africa.”
“Come along, sir, I say; come along, quick!” shouted Dick, terrified lest Mrs. Weldon should have overheard him.
They hurried on. A wind had risen; large spattering drops were now beginning to fall more heavily on the ground and in a few minutes it would be impossible to stand against the advancing tempest. The nearest of the accumulation of anthills was reached in time, and however dangerous their occupants might be, it was decided either to expel them, or to share their quarters. Each cone was formed of a kind of reddish clay, and had a single opening at its base. Hercules took his hatchet, and quickly enlarged the aperture till it would admit his own huge body. Not an ant made its appearance. Cousin Benedict expressed his extreme surprise. But the structure unquestionably was empty, and one after another the whole party made their way inside.
The rain by this time was descending in terrific torrents, strong enough to extinguish, one would think, the most violent explosions of the electric fluid. But the travellers were secure in their shelter, and had nothing to fear for the present; their tenement was of greater stability than a tent or a native hut. It was one of those marvellous structures erected by little insects, which to Cameron appeared even more wonderful than the upraising of the Egyptian pyramids by human hands. To use his own comparison, it might be likened to the construction of a Mount Everest, the loftiest of the Himalayan peaks, by the united labour of a nation.
V
White Ants
The storm had now burst in full fury, and fortunate it was that a refuge had been found. The rain did not fall in separate drops as in temperate zones,
