Half a minute more, and the canoe was right under the woodwork, but the efforts of the natives had already elevated the nets so that the anticipated danger was happily escaped; but it chanced that in making its way through the obstacle, a large piece of the grass-thatch got detached. One of the negroes raised a sudden shout of alarm, and it seemed only too probable that he had caught a sight of the travellers below and was informing his companions. This apprehension, too, was only momentary; the current had changed almost to a rapid, and carried the canoe along with such velocity that the lacustrine village was quickly out of sight.
“Steer to the left!” cried Dick, finding that the riverbed had again become clear.
A stiff pull at the tiller made the craft fly in that direction.
Dick went to the stern, and scanned the moonlit waters. All was perfectly still, no canoe was in pursuit; perhaps the natives had not one to use; but certain it was that when daylight dawned no vestige of an inhabitant was to be seen. Nevertheless Dick thought it prudent for a while to steer close under the shelter of the left-hand shore.
By the end of the next four days the aspect of the country had undergone a remarkable change, the jungle having given place to a desert as dreary as the Kalahari itself. The river appeared interminable, and it became a matter of serious consideration how to get a sufficiency of food. Fish was scarce, or at least hard to catch, and the arid soil provided no means of sustenance for antelopes, so that nothing was to be gained from the chase. Carnivorous animals also had quite disappeared, and the silence of the night was broken, not by the roar of wild beasts, but by the croaking of frogs in a discordant chorus, which Cameron has compared to the clanking of hammers and the grating of files in a shipbuilder’s yard.
Far away both to the east and west the outlines of hills could be faintly discerned, but the shores on either hand were perfectly flat and devoid of trees. Euphorbias, it is true, grew in considerable numbers, but as they were only of the oil-producing species, and not the kind from which cassava or manioc is procured, they were useless in an alimentary point of view.
Dick was becoming more and more perplexed, when Hercules happened to mention that the natives often eat young fern-fronds and the pith of the papyrus, and that before now he had himself been reduced to the necessity of subsisting on nothing better.
“We must try them,” said Dick.
Both ferns and papyrus abounded on the banks, and a meal was prepared, the sweet soft pith of the papyrus being found very palatable. Jack in particular appeared to enjoy it extremely, but it was not in any way a satisfying diet.
Thanks to Cousin Benedict, a fresh variety in the matter of food was found on the following day. Since the discovery of the “Hexapodes benedictus” he had recovered his spirits, and, having fastened his prize safely inside his hat, he wandered about, as often as he had a chance, in his favourite pursuit of insect-hunting. As he was rummaging in the long grass, he put up a bird which flew but a very short distance. Benedict recognized it by its peculiar note, and, seeing Dick take his gun to aim at it, exclaimed—
“Don’t fire, don’t fire! that bird will be worth nothing for food among five of us.”
“It will be dinner enough for Jack,” said Dick, who, finding that the bird did not seem in a hurry to make its escape, delayed his shot for a moment, without intending to be diverted from his purpose of securing it.
“You mustn’t fire,” insisted Benedict, “it is an indicator; it will show you where there are lots of honey.”
Aware that a few pounds of honey would really be of more value than a little bird, Dick lowered his gun, and in company with the entomologist set off to follow the indicator, which seemed, by alternately flying and stopping, to be inviting them to come on, and they had but a little way to go before they observed several swarms of bees buzzing around some old stems hidden amongst the euphorbias. Notwithstanding Benedict’s remonstrances against depriving the bees of the fruits of their industry, Dick instantly set to work, and without remorse suffocated them by burning dry grass underneath. Having secured a good amount of honey, he left the comb to the indicator as its share of the booty, and went back with his companion to the canoe.
The honey was acceptable, but it did not do much to alleviate the cravings of hunger.
Next day it happened that they had just stopped for their accustomed rest, when they observed that an enormous swarm of grasshoppers had settled at the mouth of a creek close by. Two or three deep they covered the soil, myriads and myriads of them adhering to every shrub.
“The natives eat those grasshoppers,” said Benedict, “and like them too.”
The remark produced an instant effect; all hands were busied in collecting them, and a large supply was quickly gathered: the canoe might have been filled ten times over.
Grilled over a slow fire, they were found to be very palatable eating, and, spite of his qualms of conscience, Benedict himself made a hearty meal.
But although the gnawings of absolute hunger were thus assuaged, all the travellers began to long most anxiously for the voyage to come to an end. The mode of transit indeed might be less exhausting to the bodily powers than a land march would have been, but the excessive heat by day, the damp mists at night, and the incessant attacks of mosquitoes, all combined to render the passage extremely trying. There
