Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African HighlandsStrang, Herbert
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Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African Highlands
Strang, Herbert
Africa, East -- Juvenile fiction
John pressed on now even more rapidly. Though he had met with no
natives on the way, he could not be sure that some of the fugitives had
not outstripped him along another route. For the most part he kept to
the river, striking off here and there to avoid wide sweeping curves, as
the prisoner indicated. Presently he saw in the distance a bold bluff
rising to a hundred feet above the plain, and stretching across the line
of march. The fort, said the prisoner, lay a short distance beyond the
bluff, which was cut in two by the river. Up the side of the bluff
wound a steep pathway, and at the top a look-out was constantly
stationed, except at night, when he was withdrawn into the fort. From
this high post the plain could be seen for miles. Knowing how keen is
the negro’s sight, John called a halt before it was likely that his
party had come within the range of vision. The rest of the journey must
be performed in the dark. He led the men into the bush at some distance
from the river, so that they should not be seen by any one who might
pass either to or from the fort. Again he impressed upon them the
necessity for silence.
At nightfall, refreshed by the rest, they started once more, confident
of being able to approach the bluff unobserved. An hour’s march under
the pale light of the stars brought them to its foot, and John heard the
noise of water rushing swiftly through the gorge. The pathway, said the
prisoner, started from a spot very near the river-bank. Even with his
directions it proved by no means easy to find in the darkness, and when
at last they lit upon it, and John began the ascent, it was scarcely
less difficult to keep to the track. Bill fell on his knees and groped
along it with his hand, saying when he arose that it had not been made
originally by men, but trodden by game descending from the hills to the
plain.
Coming at length, after a tortuous and toilsome climb, to the summit,
John paused to take breath and to look about him. Below on his left he
could now see the foaming river racing through the gorge. Beyond, the
ground sloped gradually to the plain. There was no sound save that of
the swirling water, no sign of the presence of men. He went on, until
he came once more to the brink of the river, and a mile further on saw
gleaming in the starlight a broad pool, in the midst of which rose a
dark mass. This, said the prisoner, was the island and fort, and at the
upper end of the pool the river ran down swiftly, but not so swiftly as
below.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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