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Dead Man's Land: Being the Voyage to Zimbambangwe of certain and uncertain, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 43. Prisoners |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY THREE. PRISONERS It was the day following their being made prisoners--the party of four, Mak and the pigmy having seemed to melt away amongst the trees at the first onset of the Illakas and not having been seen since. The two boys were utterly disheartened, while their companions, tightly bound, with the canes which were twisted and knotted about their arms and wrists and thoroughly secured behind their backs, looked despondent, Dan in particular, who kept fixing his eyes upon Mark and then turning to shake his head at his companion. For all had had a long and wearisome tramp, urged on by their captors, who at the slightest suggestion of hanging back made threatening gestures with the points of their spears. To the wonder of his party, this last misfortune had seemed to act like a stimulus to Mark, and though slowly, he had kept on as well as he could and had only broken down twice; but now this was the third time, and after what Dan muttered to Buck was "a crackling jabbering," their captors made preparations for lighting a fire, and some of them went off as if in search of food, while the prisoners gladly sank down to rest. "Say, messmate, drop a word or two to the poor chap." "All right," growled Buck, and he turned to where Mark lay alone with his eyes closed. "Come, hold up, Mr Mark, sir. Never say die. They don't mean to kill us, or they'd have done it before. What do you say, Dan?" "Same as you do, messmate. But what do you say to waiting until night and then as soon as they are all asleep make an escape of it?" "Can't be done, cookie, and Mr Mark knows as well as as I do that he'd break down before we had gone a couple of score yards. Wish I'd got my waggon here, and the span of oxen. That would just suit you now, sir." "Don't talk to me, Buck; don't talk to me." "Must, sir. I want to cheer you up a bit. Don't be rough upon us two. We never meant to let you go on by yourselves, and we set the little Pig after you directly to keep his eye on you, ready for us to come up soon as you gave in and couldn't walk any farther. And it's my belief that that little chap has been creeping about among the leaves ever since we started again." Mark looked at him listlessly, and then half closed his eyes again, utterly exhausted. "Where do you think they are going to take us, Buck?" asked Dean. "Oh, we two have been turning that over, sir, and we both think the same thing. The black brutes have been on the hunt after us ever since we got away, and now that they have caught us they are taking us back to our old camp." "What makes you think that?" said Dean. "Those two sugar-loaf kopjes that lie right out yonder," said Buck, giving his head a wag to indicate the clumps of rock that he alluded to. "But those look like the kopjes that we could see from the big wall beyond the waggons." "That's right, sir," said Buck. "They were a good way off, because the air is so clear here. But that's the way we are going, and sooner or later we shall be there." "What is it? Feel faint?" said Dean, for his cousin shuddered. "No," was the half whispered reply. "I can't bear to think of it. It means so much, Dean." "Then don't think," said Dean. "What's the good. What's gone by can't be altered now." "You don't understand me," said Mark passionately. "The past is bad enough. It is what we have to face when we get there." "You mean--" began Dean sadly, and then he stopped. Mark was gazing at him wildly, and Dean seemed to read now fully what his cousin meant. "Oh, don't think that," he said at last, in a choking voice. "These blacks are savage enough, but as Buck said, if they meant to kill us they would have speared us before now." "Yes," said Mark, "and I daresay he's right; but I was thinking of what happened during that horrible fight in the darkness." "Ah-h-h!" sighed Dean softly; and no more was said. Later on the blacks brought their prisoners half cooked food from their fire, which was scarcely touched, and water from the spring by which they were camped for the night; and of this they drank with avidity. Then came the soft darkness, with the light of the great stars seeming to the boys to gaze pityingly down upon them; and then as the eager chattering of their captors ceased, the great silence of the forest fell upon them, bringing with it the sweet reward of the utterly wearied out. Twice over in the night Mark, however, awoke with a start, the first time to listen to the deep barking roar of a lion which approached the prisoner, but without bringing any sense of dread. It was a familiar sound to him, that was all; and as at intervals it came nearer and nearer and the thought occurred to the boy that the savage beast might be waiting to make a spring, it did not trouble him in the least. The position was curious, that was all; and the last time he heard the beast's roar Mark found himself wondering what it would feel like to be suddenly snatched away, and he was still wondering, when all grew utterly still and lonely and then he started, knowing he had been asleep, but quite convinced that something had crawled close up to him and had lightly drawn its paw across his breast. "The lion!" he thought, and then he remembered having read about those who had been seized by one of these great beasts having felt mentally stunned and so helpless and free from fear and pain that they had made no attempt to escape, and thinking that this was exactly his case, he lay trying to pierce the darkness so as to make out the shape of the fierce beast whose jaws might at any moment close upon his arm. Just then one of the blacks sprang up, to utter a yawn and shake himself, while from close behind Mark's head something leaped away, making bound after bound. Silence again as Mark lay listening to the one of their captors who had sprung up, and who now uttered a long-drawn yawn and lay down again. It must have been quite half an hour after that Mark, though he had heard nothing approach, felt the touch of his late visitor's paw laid heavily upon his breast, and as if fascinated the boy lay without moving, until the paw--no, it was a hand--a small hand--was laid across his mouth, and directly after a pair of lips, quite warm, rested upon his right ear, and the word "Baas" was breathed therein. "The pigmy!" thought Mark, and there was the sensation as of a great sob of joy struggling from his throat. That was all; but the incident meant so much. There was a friend who was free, watching over the blacks' prisoners, and the next minute a feeling of confidence pervaded the boy's breast, for he was now sure that the inseparable Mak would be near at hand. _ |
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