Adams Henry Cadwallader
Hair-Breadth Escapes: The Adventures of Three Boys in South Africa

Chapter Twenty Four
The Long-Expected Arrival – Captain Wilmore’s Narrative – The Tutelary Spirit – Lion to the Rescue – Plans for the Future – The Future Church

It was not until quite late on the morning after the departure of the boys, that the fact became known to De Walden and Ernest. It chanced to be the day appointed by the missionary for the baptism of two of his adult converts, for whom Ernest and Ella were to act as sponsors. In the interest of the occasion, the absence of the two boys was not noticed; and it was not until after the conclusion of the rite, that Ernest, happening to enter Frank’s sleeping room, to ask some casual question of him, saw the note left on the table. As soon as he had read it, he repaired to his friend’s apartment, and the two held an anxious consultation as to the course which, under the circumstances, it would be most expedient for them to pursue. De Walden knew – what none of the three lads could surmise – how great was the danger incurred by the truants, and how slender the hope of their succeeding in carrying out their projected scheme. They must be pursued, and overtaken, and warned of their peril, whatever might be the risk or fatigue incurred by so doing. If, after such warning, they persisted in their rash enterprise, they could not, of course, be prevented from pursuing it; but the blame would then rest wholly with themselves.

They were still engaged in arranging their plans for immediate pursuit, when Ella entered the room where they were seated, with tidings which were even more unexpected than those they had that morning received.

“My father,” she said – so she always addressed De Walden – “the visitors you and Ernest have been so long expecting, have arrived, and are now with my mother. Will you come and see them?”

“The visitors, Ella!” exclaimed Warley, starting up. “Whom can you mean? – not Lavie surely – ”

“Yes, he is one,” returned Ella, “and there is a captain, an English captain. He is Frank’s father or uncle – ”

“Captain Wilmore!” cried Warley. “Has he fallen in with Frank?”

“No, we have told him that he and Gilbert have gone off by themselves, and that they cannot be very far off, and he means to go in search of them, I believe. But he wants to see you first.”

De Walden and Ernest hastened to the Queen’s apartment, and were soon exchanging a cordial grasp of the hand with the new-comers.

“God be praised for this!” said the missionary. “You cannot think how anxious I have been about you, Charles, though I did not tell the lads so. Unwilling as I was to leave this place, I had fully resolved that if the present month should pass without tidings of you, I would set off with them for Cape Town. I wish now I had told them of my intention; it would no doubt have prevented this foolish escapade of theirs. I knew I could trust Ernest to remain quiet, and I thought I could trust the others.”

“You must not blame them, sir,” said Warley. “I have no doubt they had the same idea which I have entertained myself, though I thought it best to say nothing about it, that treacherous orders had been given to your guide to prevent your ever reaching Cape Town.”

“I cannot wonder that either you or they thought that,” said De Walden, “after Chuma’s treatment of us.”

“But,” resumed Warley, “if I was doubtful about Charles’s safety, I was much more despondent about Captain Wilmore. I had little hope, I confess, of ever seeing him again.”

“And you would have had less hope still, my lad,” said Captain Wilmore, “if you had known what befell us when we left the Hooghly.”

“You must hear the whole history from his own lips,” said Lavie; “but not just now. We have a good deal to do this morning that must be attended to.”

“I dare say the captain will relate it after supper,” said De Walden. “Now come and hear the report of the scouts.”

That evening, accordingly, when the repast in the Queen’s apartments was concluded, Captain Wilmore was called upon for the particulars of his adventures, which he was no way unwilling to relate.

“You two will remember,” he began, “the gale soon after we left the Cape de Verdes. The foreigners I had taken on board showed themselves much smarter hands than I had expected, and worked double tides all the afternoon. I didn’t suspect their motive for showing so much zeal, which was no doubt to remove any suspicions I might have entertained, and make me relax my watch over them. It quite succeeded. I turned in about sundown thoroughly knocked up, but well satisfied with the behaviour of the ship’s company, and intending to have a long sleep. A very long sleep it was nearly being – ”

“Did they intend to murder you, sir, do you think?” asked Warley.

“I do not think about it,” returned the captain. “I am sure of it. Half a dozen of them, with their knives drawn, and accompanied by those villains Duncan and O’Hara, were stealing down the companion to my cabin when they were challenged by old Jennings, who gave the alarm, and the pirates were obliged to make the attack openly. They cut the poor old man down, but he saved all our lives nevertheless. I have heard what became of him from Lavie, and it grieves me much to think that I shall never have an opportunity in this world of thanking the good old man for his bravery and self-devotion; but he will not miss his reward.”

The captain’s voice was husky, and no one spoke for a minute or two; then Warley broke the silence.

“Well, I should quite have believed that they intended to do it from all I heard from Jennings and others about Duncan and O’Hara, as well as from the well-known character of these pirates. But then, if that was their intention, why did they allow you to leave the ship unhurt?”

“Ah, why indeed,” repeated the captain. “I can’t blame you for entertaining that notion, my lad; for I, old hand as I am, did not suspect their infernal treachery and cunning. You see, when the pirate ship came up, we were just preparing to blow up the hatches and rush on deck. No doubt they would have got the better of us, and killed us to a man; but before they had managed that they would have suffered considerably themselves. That wily villain, Andy Duncan – I have been told since it was he, and I have no doubt it was – devised a scheme by which they would be enabled to get rid of us quite as easily as if they had blown out all our brains, but without incurring any risks themselves. We discovered, when we had been an hour or two on board the boats, that some trick had been played with them, and they were very slowly but surely filling.”

“The merciless wretches!” exclaimed Ernest; “and you were some hundreds of miles from shore?”

“Yes, quite five hundred from Ascension, which was the nearest land.”

“How did you escape, sir?” exclaimed De Walden.

“Only by God’s mercy. The discovery was first made in the launch which Grey commanded. The night, you will remember, was very dark, or it probably would have been made before; but they did not find it out till it was too late to keep it afloat even for a time. They shouted to us for help, but she had sunk before we could reach them, and there was a strong current just where she went down, which swept them all away – except one of the mates, who managed to keep afloat until we picked him up. On hearing his story, we contrived to strike a light, and examined our own boat. There was a leak in her too, but providentially only just below the waterline. I suppose whoever did the job, thought the boat floated deeper than she did; but by lightening her as much as possible, and throwing all the weight that remained on the other side, we raised the damaged part out of water, and then baled her out. When day broke we were enabled to examine her more carefully. The injury was beyond our power to repair effectually. All we could do was just to keep her afloat, and if the sea had not been exceptionally calm we could not have done even that. Moreover, we had been obliged to throw overboard nearly all our provisions and water. In short, we should not only have never reached Ascension, but must have perished of hunger and thirst very speedily, if on the morning of the third day, shortly after dawn, a vessel had not appeared on our lee beam, apparently running before the light breeze which rippled the sea.

“We tried to attract her attention, but without effect. She was so near to us that we thought she must have seen us; but she did not alter her course, or in any way acknowledge our signals. Finding that she took no heed, we resolved, as a last chance, to reach her by rowing, though this obliged us to right our boat, and the water poured in so fast that incessant baling would not keep it down. At last, when we had got quite close to the ship, the boat was so water-logged that she could not have been kept afloat ten minutes more. We hailed again and again, but there was no answer, nor was any one to be seen on deck. We came to the conclusion that she had been deserted by her crew for some reason, or that they had all died on board, and that she was drifting aimlessly over the deep. Fortunately there was a rope hanging over her bows, up which one of the sailors climbed, and was followed by the others in succession. The last of us was hardly out of the cutter when she went down.”

“Had she been deserted?” inquired Ernest. “Well, yes, by the survivors of her crew, that is. She was evidently a Portuguese trader running, I apprehend, between the West India Islands and Lisbon, and had probably twenty or twenty-five men on board. She must have been attacked by one of the terrible fevers prevalent in the hot climates, the action of which is sometimes so rapid that all attempts to stay it are useless. Several, I suppose, must have died, and the rest were so terrified by the fear of infection, that they had left her. Any way, there were no human remains on board, and all the ship’s boats were gone.”

“I should think the danger into which you ran was worse than the one from which you had escaped,” observed Queen Laura.

“We were of the same opinion, madam,” observed Captain Wilmore. “If we could have repaired our own boat, or if a single one of the ship’s boats had been left, we should have preferred continuing our own voyage in it. But as that was impossible, we were obliged to remain in the vessel. But after consulting with Captain Renton, I resolved to run, not for Ascension, but for the Cape de Verdes, though they were considerably further off. I don’t know whether any of you have ever been at Ascension?”

“We sighted it once, sir,” said Lavie; “but I never went ashore there.”

“There is not much to see if you do land,” said the sailor. “It is little better than a great heap of cinders, except just in the interior, where there is some land capable of cultivation. It was for a long time believed that there wasn’t a drop of fresh water to be found on it. That is a mistake. There are a few springs – enough to support life, and there are some goats, and plenty of turtle. But there are no inhabitants, and I reckoned that if the fever should break out on board we should find no doctors there, or any means of nursing the sick. We shaped our course for the Cape de Verdes, therefore. We took all possible precautions, sleeping on deck throughout the voyage, and never going below unless it was absolutely necessary to bring up food and water. Whether it was that these precautions were successful, or whether it was that I was mistaken in my conjecture as to the reason why the barque had been deserted, I cannot say. But we certainly escaped without any sickness, and reached the Cape de Verdes without the loss of a man.

“I need not tell you how welcome was the sight of Porto Prayo to us all. But I had an especial reason for rejoicing at it. You will remember, Ernest, the circumstances under which we left Porto Prayo?”

“Yes, sir,” said Warley, colouring, “I remember we had behaved very ill. I have often wished to ask your pardon for it.”

“Well, my lad, it was six of one and half a dozen of the other, I expect,” said the captain. “We may share the blame between us. I had often reproached myself for the haste with which I acted; though, at the same time, I could not help being glad that you were safe, as I imagined, at Porto Prayo, instead of being exposed to the sufferings and dangers which had befallen us. I had no sooner landed than I made inquiries concerning you; but to my surprise and disappointment I could learn nothing. I instituted a most careful search, and offered a large reward. But it was all in vain. Nobody knew anything about you, except that three foreign-looking lads had been seen about the streets of the town one day several weeks before. But no one had fallen in with them, or had heard anything about them since that date. I was still prosecuting my inquiries, when the British fleet, under Sir Home Popham, on its way, as I learned, to make an attack on the Dutch at the Cape of Good Hope, sailed into the harbour.

“Fortunately for me, I was an old messmate of the Admiral’s, and he was interested in my story. Moreover, I knew the Cape well, as was the case, I found, with very few of the officers of the squadron. Sir Home offered me the command of the Celaeno, a fine frigate, the captain of which had died suddenly. I, of course, gladly accepted it, and was enabled to render some service.”

“Ah, you were present at the taking of the Cape,” said Mr De Walden. “Did the Dutch offer a determined resistance?”

“No,” said Captain Wilmore. “I suppose the experience of the last campaign disheartened them. But certainly it was a very hollow affair. Governor Jansens seemed to me to have given it up as a bad job from the first. There was hardly enough resistance to make it any fight at all. But something did happen to me, nevertheless, in Simon’s Bay which was exciting enough.”

“What was that, sir?” asked Ernest. “You did not encounter the Hooghly, I suppose?”

“Ah, but I did though,” said Captain Wilmore, “the Hooghly herself, as large as life. The scoundrels had knocked away her figure-head, and painted her, name and all, anew; but I knew her in a moment, as well as I know my own face. We hailed her, and the moment they saw me on the quarter-deck, they cut their cable, and tried to run for it. But we were just entering the harbour, prepared for action, and sent such a broadside into her as knocked all the mischief out of her in a jiffey. O’Hara was killed, and White mortally wounded, and as for Andy Duncan, he was run up to the yardarm and hanged the next morning. The others were put into irons, and received various sentences. Some had seven dozen. Others were simply dismissed and sent home.”

“Did you learn on board the Hooghly what had befallen us?” asked Warley.

“Yes, my lad, to my great satisfaction I did. One of the sailors came to me on the morning of Duncan’s execution, and told me all that had happened, so far that is, as he knew it. But he could tell me nothing, of course, as to what had become of you after your escape from the ship. All he knew was that you had appeared suddenly on deck two days after we had left, and it was conjectured by the crew that you had been concealed somewhere by old Jennings. Mr Lavie, it also appeared, had gone off with you, and none of the party appeared to have been hurt. That comforted me a little, but still I was very anxious and uneasy – the more so because all inquiries at the Cape for a long time were wholly fruitless.”

“Ah, I was afraid you would be at fault there,” said Warley. “I suppose you simply heard nothing at all?”

“Very nearly that,” said the captain. “Some of the messengers whom I sent out did come back with a story that some white men with guns had been seen in the neighbourhood of Elephant’s kloof; but the Hottentots living near about there denied, one and all, the truth of the rumour.”

“The rascals!” exclaimed Ernest. “When you heard the truth of the matter, sir, you must have been amused at their denial.”

“Yes, afterwards,” said Captain Wilmore; “but not at the time. I was, in fact, almost in despair when Lavie here arrived all of a moment one day, looking like a ghost returned from the grave.”

“Ay, I am afraid you must have had a trying time of it, Charles,” said De Walden. “I have sometimes reproached myself for allowing you to go, considering what the danger and exhaustion must needs be.”

“You have no need to do so,” said Lavie. “Whatever I may have undergone has been more than compensated by our meeting to-day, not to speak of the appointment which my kind friend has obtained for me. In fact, if I had not undertaken the journey, we must have remained in hopeless captivity.”

“Did your Bechuana guide play false?” asked the missionary.

“No, I have no right to say so. Whether he would have been as faithful as he was, had matters fallen out differently, may be a matter of doubt. I half fancy he had received some private instructions from Chuma, which he did not carry out, for what may seem a very strange reason. He was frightened out of his senses by our dog, Lion!”

“Lion!” exclaimed Warley. “Why, he has been dead for weeks and months, hasn’t he?”

“Not he! He is as much alive as you or I. He is at one of the huts along with Kama and Kobo at this moment.”

“I thought I saw him swept away by the flood during that night on the Gariep.”

“So you did, I dare say; but he must have contrived to swim ashore. Anyhow, we met him two days’ journey from the Bechuana village, tracking us, I fancy, by his instinct, and he would have joined us there before long, if I had not fallen in with him; but he would not leave me, when we had once met, and I thought the best thing under the circumstances would be to take him with me to Cape Town. But Kama, who had never seen an animal like him, and who had heard of his having been swept away by the torrent, believed, I am convinced, that he was a sort of tutelary spirit, who would be sure to detect any knavery and avenge any false dealing on his part. It amused me, I must say, a good deal; but any way, from the day Lion joined our company to that on which we reached Cape Town, he never attempted any tricks.”

“And then you and Captain Wilmore resolved to go in quest of us,” said De Walden. “I understand that But how did you find out where we were? Did you go to the Bechuanas, and hear it from Chuma?”

“No; we were making our way to the village, when we fell in with a man who was known to Kama, and who, it seemed, knew me too, though I had quite forgotten him.”

“What! Kobo, I suppose?” exclaimed Warley.

“Yes, that, I believe, is his name. He told us that you all had escaped in his company from Chuma, who had quarrelled with you, or with Mr De Walden. He said he had left you on an island on the Yellow River awaiting his return, and we had better accompany him to the place. So we did, but there was no trace of you to be found.”

“No,” said Warley. “We didn’t stay twenty-four hours on the island after Kobo’s departure. We have been playing at cross purposes with him. How did you find out at last where we were?”

“We met your messenger returning from his errand to the Bechuanas, and learned that the quarrel had been made up. Nevertheless, all things considered, it is quite as well that we didn’t go there.”

“All’s well that ends well,” said the Queen, who had sat listening to the discourse of her English guests with the deepest interest, recalling, as it did, so many varied associations.

“I trust it will end well, madam,” observed Captain Wilmore. “But until I find my nephew, and young Gilbert, and bring them back safely, I cannot consider that there is an end to my anxieties.”

“We will set off in quest of them to-morrow morning, as soon as you have had a good rest,” said De Walden. “I have already set some of the best hunters to follow their track, so as to save us time to-morrow. I feel sure that in two or three days, at furthest, we shall come up with them.”

So they probably would have done, had it not been for the length of the journeys made by the lads on the first two days, and the rains which had fallen on the third and fourth, which had almost entirely obliterated all traces of them. If De Walden had not remembered the questions put to him by Nick, as to the direction in which the Gariep lay, they would have been more than once completely at fault. But this served as a clue, when everything else failed, and every now and then they came upon the white embers of a fire, or heaps of dry grass, which had evidently served for beds, showing that, however slowly they might be progressing, it was in the right direction.

It was on the afternoon of the ninth day, when Kobo, who, it should be mentioned, had formed a warm friendship with Lion since leaving the Basuto village – it was just in the late afternoon, when Kobo, who had been a little in advance of the rest of the party, came hurrying back with the news, that there were both hoof marks and large stains of blood to be seen in the grass and bushes about a hundred yards ahead, as though some large animal – a gnu, or an eland, or perhaps a buffalo – had been severely wounded. If such was the case, most probably they were in the neighbourhood of the English lads, as there were neither Bechuanas or Basutos to be found thereabouts. He added, that it was with the greatest difficulty that he could restrain Lion, who wanted to rush off, at the top of his speed, in the direction of the footmarks.

“You had better let him go, Kobo,” said De Walden, “and follow him up as closely as you can. He’ll find Frank, if he is to be found, I’ll answer for it.”

“And we’ll all come after you,” added Lavie. “Meanwhile, I’ll fire my gun. They’ll hear it if they are anywhere hereabouts.”

Lion was accordingly let loose, and immediately galloped off, arriving, as the reader has heard, just in time to rescue Frank and Nick from their imminent peril.

It was a joyful meeting, when the whole party assembled on the spot where the carcasses of the two leopards, and an ugly rent in Lion’s side, bore evidence to how narrow had been the escape of the two boys from death. The tears stood in Captain Wilmore’s eyes, as he grasped his nephew warmly by the hand, noticing, even at that moment, how his figure had improved in strength and manly bearing, and the thoughtful expression which had taken the place of mere boyish recklessness, on Gilbert’s face.

“My lads,” he said, “I was hasty with you. But for me, you would not have had to undergo this wandering and danger. But I have paid the penalty – ”

“Oh, uncle,” broke in Frank, “you mustn’t say that. It was all our fault, mine particularly. And it hasn’t been such bad fun, after all. I am sure we have most need to ask your forgiveness.”

“You mustn’t regret what has happened, captain,” said De Walden. “Under God’s good providence, it has been the making of them both. But now, I suppose, we must be setting out on our return to the Basuto village.”

“I am afraid I cannot go there,” said Captain Wilmore. “I have been away a good deal longer than I had expected, as it is: and I know my presence is urgently needed at Cape Town. I and my guides must set out homewards without loss of time – as soon, that is, as the lads are prepared to accompany me.”

“I am ready to go this moment,” said Frank.

“And so am I,” added Gilbert. “That’s well,” said the captain. “Frank, I haven’t told you that I have got a commission for you in a line regiment now at the Cape. Sir David Baird signed it the day I came away. That’s good news, isn’t it?”

“The best there could be, thank you, uncle,” returned Frank, joyously.

“And you, Nick, what do you say? Will you be put on the quarter-deck of the Atlantic– that’s my new ship; – and rated as a midshipman?”

“I should like nothing better, sir,” answered Gilbert, almost as much pleased as Frank. “Thank you very much for your kindness!”

“That’s well,” again said the captain. “And you too,” he continued, turning to Lavie and Warley. “Do you mean to return with me to Cape Town, or with Mr De Walden to the Basutos? You will not be wanted, you know, Lavie, for two months yet; so you can stay behind awhile, if you choose.”

“Thank you, captain, I should like to have a good talk with Warley about his prospects; he does not, as yet, know the change that has taken place in them. And besides, I haven’t stood the journey as well as you have. I think I shall remain a week or two with Mr De Walden before following you.”

They shook hands accordingly, and went their several ways. De Walden, accompanied by Lavie and Warley, returned to the village; where, after a few days of rest, they were enabled to arrange their plans for the future.

“Ernest,” said Lavie one morning, after they had just returned in company with De Walden from an inspection of the native school, “I am glad I delayed telling you what has happened at Cape Town. I think the effect it will have on you may be different from what I had expected.”

“What has happened?” asked Warley with interest. “You have lost your brother,” answered Lavie. “I know he was never really a brother to you, but you will be sorry for his sudden death, nevertheless. When the rumour of the approach of the British fleet was circulated in Cape Town, some of the English tried to organise a British force to help their countrymen. The Dutch governor heard of it, and sent soldiers to arrest the ringleaders. Your brother offered an armed resistance, and was killed on the spot. The Dutch authorities declared all your brother’s property to be forfeited by his rebellion; but the new governor, Sir David Baird, at once rescinded that. As your brother had made no will, all his money has become yours.”

Warley turned very white, and leaned forward on the table, covering his face with his hands.

“I have told you, perhaps, too abruptly,” said Lavie, “but you must remember that you have nothing to reproach yourself with, so far as your brother is concerned. Is it not so, Mr De Walden?”

“So far as I know,” said the missionary affectionately, “nothing at all.”

“I hope not,” said Ernest, in a low tone; “but this is very awful.”

“Sudden deaths are always awful. But you have now to consider what you will do. I thought, when I first heard it, that you would return to England and go to one of the Universities. But I perceive that there is an attraction that may keep you here.”

“Yes, Charles, I cannot but view this strange and unexpected event as a solution of the difficulty that has been burdening my mind for many weeks past. But I should like to have Mr De Walden’s advice. He must have seen, I think, the attachment between myself and Ella – ”

“Yes, Ernest, and I have seen in it the working of God’s merciful providence for the enlightenment of the heathen in this land of darkness and superstition.”

“You think, then, that I ought to stay here and take up your work when you leave for Namaqua-land, as I know you mean to do some day?”

“Even so. I mean that you should remain here, and become the husband of this dear girl, who is worthy to be the bride of a king. The wilderness has indeed blossomed as the rose for you. But I do not advise that your marriage should take place at once. Return to England, and prepare yourself for your office by two or three years of study, such as you can pursue only there. Meanwhile, I will remain here till your return, and complete the education of your future wife. Then, seek ordination, which also, unhappily, you cannot obtain in Southern Africa. Some day, God will set up His Church in this land, and it will grow like the mustard seed, and the people will rest under its shadow. But that time is still far off. Let it be your work, as it has been mine, to prepare the furrows for the seed that will then be cast in. Will you do this?”

“God being my helper,” answered Ernest, “I will.”