At daybreak the launch touched the north shore of the lake.There nota native was to be seen.Colonel Everest and his companions,who had expected to have to force a landing,laid aside their arms,and the Queen and Czar came to anchor in a little bay between two rocks.
When they explored their surroundings,they found them deserted.No trace of the Mokololos.But,fortunately for these famished men,game was not lacking;herds of antelope were grazing on the shore,and there were flocks of aquatic birds.The hunters did not return empty,and the travellers could regale themselves on the venison they had long been deprived of.
On that morning,5th March,the camp was pitched on the shore of the Ngami at the mouth of a small river,under the shade of some large willows:this was the rendezvous agreed upon with the vorloper.Here Colonel Everest and Matthew Strux were to wait for their colleagues,and it was likely that these would effect their return under more favourable circumstances,and therefore more quickly.There were a few days of compulsory idleness to look forward to,but no one thought of complaining of this,after such exertions as they had recently made.Nicholas Palander took advantage of this respite to verify once again the calculations of the last trigonometrical operations.Sir John Murray and Mokoum relaxed by shooting all day in a country so rich in game,so fertile and well watered,that the Scotsman would willingly have purchased it for the British Government.
Three days afterwards the report of a gun announced the arrival of the vorloper’s party—William Emery,Michel Zorn,the two sailors,and the Boschjesman,all in perfect health.They also brought back their theodolite still in working order—the only one now left with the Anglo-Russian Commission.
Needless to say how the young men were welcomed,how warmly they were congratulated.They told the story of their journey in a very few words—to get there had been the difficulty.They had lost their way for two days in the wide trackless forests,and they would never have found the summit of the Volquiria had it not been for their guide’s sagacity;the vorloper had shown himself intelligent and devoted throughout.The ascent of the peak had been difficult in the extreme,involving delays from which the young men suffered no less than their colleagues on the Scorzef.
At last they had reached the summit of the Volquiria.The electric beacon was erected during 4th March,and on that night its light,aided by a powerful reflector,shone for the first time at the summit of the peak;the observers on the Scorzef had seen it almost as soon as it appeared.
Michel Zorn and William Emery had easily made out the fire blazing on the Scorzef.As the fort burned they took its bearings,and thus completed the measurement of the last triangle.
‘And did you ascertain the latitude of this peak?’Colonel Everest asked William Emery.
‘Exactly,Colonel,by sidereal observation.’
‘What’s its position?’
‘In 19°37’35.337",with an approximation of three hundred dred and thirty-seven thousandths of a second,’replied William Emery.
‘Well,gentlemen,’Colonel Everest continued,‘our task may now be said to be complete.We have measured an arc of the Meridian of more than eight degrees by means of sixty-three triangles,and when the results of our opera-tions have been calculated,we shall know the exact length of a degree,and consequently that of the metre,in this part of the terrestrial sphere.’
‘Hurrah!Hurrah!’English and Russians were all inspired by the same feelings.
‘Now,’added Colonel Everest,‘we have nothing more to do than to get to the Indian Ocean as fast as we can by going down the Zambezi.Isn’t that your opinion,Mr.Strux?’
‘Yes,Colonel,’replied the astronomer from Poulkeiva;‘but I think our operations ought to have a mathematical confirmation.I therefore propose continuing the trigonometrical series eastward,till we find a suitable region for the direct measurement of a new base.Agreement between its rength,on the one hand obtained by calculation and on the other by direct measurement on the ground,will alone tell us what degree of certainty may be attributed to our operations.’
This proposal was adopted without discussion,and it was agreed to put their additional operations into execution at once,while the steam-launch should descend the Zambezi and wait for the astronomers below the celebrated Victoria Falls.
Everything being arranged,the little groups,headed by the bushman,set out,with the exception of the four sailors who were to handle the launch,as the sun rose on 6th March.Stations had been chosen to the westward,angles measured,and they might well hope,then,in a country so suitable for erecting sights,that the auxiliary series of triangles would be easily constructed.The bushman very cleverly caught a quagga,a sort of wild ass faintly marked with stripes like a zebra,and willy-nilly converted it into a beast of burden,and made it carry what baggage was left—the theodolite,the measuring rods,and the other instruments saved with the steam launch.
The journey was carried out fairly quickly and even the work did not delay it.The accessory triangles were of moderate size,and it was easy to find vantage-points for their apices on this undulating ground.
The relations between Matthew Strux and the Colonel never occasioned the least dissension,and their personal rivalries seemed to be forgotten.There was admittedly no real intimacy between them,but this could hardly be expected.
For three weeks,from 6th to 27th March,no incident took place worthy of being recorded.The surveyors were seeking above all for a region suitable for setting out a base,but the country did not lend itself to this.For such an operation a vast stretch of level country was needed,and the very undulations which facilitated the finding of vantage-points for the triangles prevented the direct measurement of a base.So they went on north-eastwards,sometimes following the right bank of the Chobe,one of the principal tributaries of the Zambezi,so as to avoid Maketo,one of the principal Makololo towns.
Colonel Everest and his friends were now traversing a country compara-tively wellknown,and it would not be long before they fell in with the hamlets and villages on the Zambezi which Livingstone had already visited.
They concluded,therefore,and not unreasonably,that the most difficult part of their task was accomplished.Perhaps they were right;but for an incident which might have been extremely serious,and indeed have irreparably compromised the success of the whole expedition.
Nicolas Palander was the hero,or rather the victim,of this adventure.
The intrepid but absent-minded calculator,when lost in some algebraical problem,would sometimes stray away from his companions.In flat,open country this was not so dangerous—he was soon hunted up—but in a district abounding in forests and undergrowth his fits of absence of mind might produce disastrous resuls.Matthew Strux and the bushman had repeatedly warned him against this practice.Nicolas Palander promised to pay attention to their advice,wondering all the time at this excessive prudence.The worthy man was not even aware how absentminded he was!
On 27th March,Matthew Strux and the bushman passed several hours without seeing him.They were then passing through thick coppices,where a number of tall trees rose above the undergrowth,which restricted their view beyond a few yards.This was of all others the time for them all to keep close together,for it would have been extremely hard to find the tracks of anyone who had strayed from the main body.But Nicolas Palander,neither seeing nor foreseeing anything,had dropped behind with his pencil in one hand and the registers in the other,and it was not long before he was out of sight.
Judge then,the uneasiness of Matthew Strux and his companions when,about four in the afternoon,they missed him;they recollected the adventure with the crocodiles;of them all,perhaps,the absent-minded calculator was the only one who had forgotten it.Great was their anxiety:no further advance was possible until Nicolas Palander rejoined them.
They were all extremely uneasy,but Matthew Strux was not only uneasy,but also extremely angry with his unlucky colleague.This was the second time this had taken place through the man’s own fault,and certainly if Colonel Everest had made it a subject of complaint,he,Matthew Strux,would not have known what to say in his defence.
Nothing,therefore,was left for them put to camp in the wood and begin a thorough search for the missing calculator.
The Colonel and his companions were arranging a halting place near a large glade,when a cry—a cry that hardly sounded human—was heard a few hundred paces to the left of the wood.Almost at once Nicolas Palander appeared;his head was bare,his hair standing on end,his clothes were almost all gone,and only a few rags remained round his waist.
The poor wretch came up to his companions,who overwhelmed him with questions.His eyes were wide open and their pupils dilated;his nostrils were so flattened that he could not breathe except spasmodically;he could hardly speak;he tried to answer,but the words would not come.
What had happened?Why was he so bewildered?Why was he so terrified?They could not imagine.
At last these words escaped him,almost unintelligibly:
‘The registers!—The registers!’
The same shudder ran through them all;they now understood everything.The registers,those two registers which contained the full resuls of their operations,which the calculator never let out of his possession even when he was asleep—these registers were missing!These registers Nicolas Palander was no longer carrying!Had they been lost?Had any one stolen them?It was of little consequence which.These registers were lost,and they had to begin all over again.
While his terrified companions—yes,terrified is the word,—looked at one another in silent consternation,Matthew Strux gave way to his anger—he could not contain his rage.How he treated the poor wretch!What abuse he showered upon him!He did not hesitate to threaten him with the whole weight of the Russian Government’s anger,adding that if he survived the knout he should go and rot in Siberia.
To all this Nicolas Palander answered only by nodding affirmatively;he seemed to acquiesce in all the abuse lavished upon him;he seemed to say he deserved it all,that it was too good for him.
‘But has he been robbed?’asked Colonel Everest.
‘What does it matter?’Matthew Strux was quite beside himself.‘Why did the wretch lose sight of us?Why couldn’t he stay with us after all the warnings we gave him?’
‘Very true,’observed Sir John Murray;‘but it would be as well to know if he’s lost the registers,or if they were stolen.Have you been robbed,Mr.Palander?’he asked,turning to the poor man,who had dropped on the ground from fatigue—‘have you been robbed?’
Nicholas Palander nodded affirmatively.
‘And who robbed you?’continued Sir John—‘the natives,the Makololos?’
Nicolas Palander shook his head.
‘Europeans—whites?’added Sir John.
‘No!’gasped Nicolas Palander.
‘But who,then?’Matthew Strux,thrust his fists in the poor fellow’s face.
‘No,’spluttered Nicolas Palander—‘not natives,nor whites—baboons!’
If this accident had not been so serious,the Colonel and his companions would have burst out laughing.Yes,Nicolas Palander had been robbed by monkeys!
The bushman assured his companions that this was not unfrequent.Many times,to his own knowledge,travellers had been robbed by the chacmas,or dog-faced baboons,of which numerous bands are met in African forests.The calculator had fallen in with these plunderers and had been stripped by them,not without making some resistance,as the state of his clothes testified.But that was no excuse.It would not have happened if he had kept in his place;and the registers of the scientific commission were none the less lost—an irreparable loss—and one which nullified the effect of all their dangers,sufferings and sacrifices.
‘The fact is,’said Colonel Everest,‘it was not worth while measuring an arc of the meridian for a clumsy—’
He would not finish the sentence.It was useless abusing an unfortunate wretch,who was punished enough already,and on whom the irascible Strux was lavishing the most unseemly epithets.But they must consult what was to be done,and the bushman was there to advise them.As the only one not directly affected by this loss,he alone kept his temper.The Europeans were all at their wits’end.
‘Gentlemen,’he told them,‘I fully understand your despair,but time is precious,and there is none to be lost.Mr.Palander’s registers have been stolen.He’s been plundered by baboons.Well,we must start at once in pursuit of the thieves.These chacmas take good care of the objects they steal.Now,as the registers aren’t good to eat,if we find the thief we shall find the registers too.’
This was good advice.The bushman had kindled a spark of hope,and it must not be allowed to go out.Nicolas Palander roused himself,and became quite another man.He wrapped his rags around his body,borrowed a jacket from one sailor and a hat from another,and declared himself ready to guide his companions to the scene of the crime.
That evening their route was changed to the direction he pointed out,and the Colonel’s troop turned more directly towards the west.
Neither that night nor the following day brought any favourable result.In many places,from the marks left on the ground and on the bark of the trees,the bushman and the vorloper found evidence of a troop of dog-faced baboons which had recently passed by:Nicolas Palander declared there were at least a dozen of them.The travellers soon became certain they were on their track,and they advanced with very great caution,for these baboons are sagacious,and are not to be approached easily.The bushman thought that their only chance of success lay in surprising them.
Next day one of the Russian sailors who was ahead of the others saw if not the thief at least one of his comrades.He prudently fell back on the main body.
The bushman halted them,and begged them to remain where they were;then,taking Sir John and the vorloper with him,he made his way in the direction indicated by the seaman,keeping carefully under cover of the trees and bushes.
They soon saw the baboon described by the Russian,with about ten others,gambolling among the trees.Hidden behind the trunk of a tree,the bushman watched them attentively.
It was,as Mokoum had said,a band of chacmas;their body covered with a greenish fur,black face and ears,the tail long,and always whisking about on the ground;robust animals,whose muscular arms,powerful jaws,and strong teeth make even beasts of prey respect them.These chacmas are great devastors of the maize-fields and orchards,and are a constant terror to the Boers,whose dwellings they often plunder.At play they bark and snarl like great ill-made dogs,which in shape they somewhat resemble.
Not one of them noticed the hunters who were watching them.But the question was,which was the robber of Nicolas Palander’s registers?That was the point.But no doubt existed when the vorloper pointed out one of the chacmas with a fragment of cloth round his body,evidently part of Nicolas Palander’s coat.
Hope returned to Sir John Murray.He had no doubt that the large baboon had got the stolen registers.They must at all events get possession of him,and to do that they must act most cautiously.One false move and the whole troop would decamp at once through the wood,and it would be impossible to find them.
‘Stay here,’Mokoum told the vorloper;‘Sir John and I will go and fetch the others and arrange to surround them.Don’t lose sight of them for a moment.’
The vorloper stayed at his post,and the bushman and Sir John returned to Colonel Everest.
The only way of catching the right individual was to surround the whole troop of baboons.The Europeans split up into two parties—one,consisting of Matthew Strux,William Emery,and Michel Zorn,with three sailors,was to join the vorloper and spread out in a semi-circle round him;the other detachment,composed of Mokoum,Sir John,Palander,and Colonel Everest,with the three remaining seamen,moved to the left,so as to turn the position and fall upon the baboons.
Following the bushman’s instructions,they advanced very cautiously.Their weapons were ready,and it was agreed that the chacma with the rag should be the universal target.
Nicholas Palander,whose furious anger they could hardly restrain,was next to Mokoum.The latter kept a watch on him lest in his rage he should give the alarm prematurely.
After advancing for half-an-hour in a semicircle,and halting several times,the bushman judged it was time to move on them.His companions advanced in silence twenty paces apart.Not a word was spoken,not a twig stepped upon;they resembled a band of Pawnees on the trail.
The hunter suddenly stopped.His companions followed his example,their fingers on the trigger.The chacmas were in sight.These animals evidently suspected something;they were on their guard.A very large baboon—the one who had stolen the registers—showed clear signs of uneasiness.
Nicolas Palander recognised his highwayman,but the baboon had not got the registers now—at least,they could not see them.
‘Doesn’t he look like a thief?’he muttered.
The large baboon got very anxious,and began making signs to his comrades.Several females,with little ones hanging on their shoulders,had joined the group,and the males were moving about near them.The hunters drew nearer still.Each man had recognised the thief and made sure of his aim.But then,through Nicolas Palander’s clumsiness,his rifle went off.
Sir John uttered a curse and fired.Ten other reports followed.Three baboons fell dead on the ground.The others,by making prodigious leaps,sprang over the heads of the bushman and his companions and disappeared.
Only one chacma remained,and that was the thief.Instead of flying,he sprang up the stem of a sycamore and disappeared among the branches.‘That’s where he has hidden the registers.’cried Mokoum,and he was right.
But the chacma might escape by springing from one tree to another,so Mokoum took careful aim at it;wounded in the leg,the baboon tumbled from branch to branch.One of its paws held the registers,which it had taken out of a fork in the branches.At this sight,Nicolas Palander bounded like a chamois upon it and the fight began.
And what a fight it was!The calculator was convulsed with rage.The barking of the ape was echoed by the yells of the Russian.What discordant cries!It was difficult to distinguish mathematician from monkey;they could not fire at the chacma lest they should hit the astronomer.
‘Fire at them both!-fire!’shouted Matthew Strux,and so exasperated was he that he would certainly have done so had his rifle been loaded.
The fight continued.Nicolas Palander,sometimes uppermost,sometimes underneath,was trying to strangle his adversary;his shoulders were covered with blood,for the chacma had scratched him terribly.At last the bushman,his axe lifted,saw his opportunity,and struck the baboon a blow on the head which killed it.
Nicolas Palander fainted,away,and was picked up by his companions;he still pressed to his heart the two registers.The baboon’s body was taken to the camp,and at the evening meal the guests,including their plundered colleague,suppered on the thief with a feeling of satisfaction as well as of gratified vengeance,for its flesh was excellent.