Stories by English Authors: Africa (Selected by Scribners)
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Stories by English Authors: Africa (Selected by Scribners)
Africa -- Fiction; Short stories, English
“Start!” cried Tom; and we moved off, he to the right, I to the left,
each with our eyes fixed intently on the base of the crag. I had moved
perhaps twenty feet, when in a moment it burst upon me. Through the
growing darkness there shone a small, ruddy, glowing point, the light
from which waned and increased, flickered and oscillated, each change
producing a more weird effect than the last. The old Kaffir superstition
came into my mind, and I felt a cold shudder pass over me. In my
excitement I stepped a pace backward, when instantly the light went out,
leaving utter darkness in its place; but when I advanced again, there
was the ruddy glare glowing from the base of the cliff. “Tom, Tom!” I
cried.
“Ay, ay!” I heard him exclaim, as he hurried over toward me.
“There it is--there, up against the cliff!”
Tom was at my elbow. “I see nothing,” said he.
“Why, there, there, man, in front of you!” I stepped to the right as I
spoke, when the light instantly vanished from my eyes.
But from Tom’s ejaculations of delight it was clear that from my former
position it was visible to him also. “Jack,” he cried, as he turned and
wrung my hand--“Jack, you and I can never complain of our luck again.
Now heap up a few stones where we are standing. That’s right. Now we
must fix my sign-post firmly in at the top. There! It would take a
strong wind to blow that down; and we only need it to hold out till
morning. O Jack, my boy, to think that only yesterday we were talking of
becoming clerks, and you saying that no man knew what was awaiting him,
too! By Jove, Jack, it would make a good story!”
By this time we had firmly fixed the perpendicular stick in between the
two large stones; and Tom bent down and peered along the horizontal one.
For fully a quarter of an hour he was alternately raising and depressing
it, until at last, with a sigh of satisfaction, he fixed the prop into
the angle, and stood up. “Look along, Jack,” he said. “You have as
straight an eye to take a sight as any man I know of.”
I looked along. There beyond the farther sight was the ruddy,
scintillating speck, apparently at the end of the stick itself, so
accurately had it been adjusted.
“And now, my boy,” said Tom, “let’s have some supper and a sleep.
There’s nothing more to be done to-night; but we’ll need all our wits
and strength to-morrow. Get some sticks and kindle a fire here, and then
we’ll be able to keep an eye on our signal-post, and see that nothing
happens to it during the night.”
Well, sir, we kindled a fire, and had supper with the Sasassa demon’s
eye rolling and glowing in front of us the whole night through. Not
always in the same place, though; for after supper, when I glanced along
the sights to have another look at it, it was nowhere to be seen. The
information did not, however, seem to disturb Tom in any way. He merely
remarked, “It’s the moon, not the thing, that has shifted;” and coiling
himself up, went to sleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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