From 28th to 30th January,Mokoum and Emery never left therendezvous.While the bushman,true to his instinct,passed his time in shooting deer and beasts of prey indiscriminately in the covers adjoining the cataract,the young astronomer watched the course of the river—the sight of Nature so grand and so wild ravished him and filled his soul with emotions completely new to him.
He,the man of figures,the savant always bent over his catalogues,his eyes glued day and night to his telescope,watching the stars as they passed the meridian,or calculating their occultations—he enjoyed this open-air life,either in the almost impenetrable woods which fringed the base of the hills,or on the deserted hills sprinkled with moisture from the Morgheda cataracts.It was a joy for him to feel the poetry of these vast solitudes,almost unknown to man,and to refresh his mind,fatigued with mathematical speculations.He thus overcame the dreariness of the delay while both body and mind gained new life.The novelty of this existence explained his patience,which the bushman was incapable of sharing.Thence arose the same complaints on the part of the hunter,and the same calm replies from the astronomer,which failed to sooth the nervous bushman.
At last 31st January came,the last day mentioned in Mr.Airy’s letter.If the strangers they expected did not put in an appearance on that day,William Emery would have to come to some decision,and this would embarrass him considerably.Their delay might be prolonged indefinitely,and how could he wait indefinitely?
‘Mr.William,’the hunter suggested,‘why shouldn’t we go and meet the strangers?We can’t possibly miss them;there’s only one way for them to come,by the river,and if they ascend it,as your bit of paper tells you,we can’t fail to meet them.’
‘That’s a very good idea,Mokoum,’replied the astronomer;‘let’s make a reconnaissance below the falls.We can find our way back by the valleys on the south.But tell me,bushman,do you know the course of the Orange River for any distance?’
‘Yes,sir,’the hunter told him.‘I’ve come up it twice from Cape Voltas to its junction with the Hart,on the frontier of the Transvaal Republic.’
‘And its course is navigable everywhere except at these Falls?’
‘As you say,’replied the bushman;‘but at the end of the dry season the Orange is almost waterless until you come within five or six miles of its mouth.Then there’s a bar across it which raises frightful breakers when the west wind blows.’
‘That doesn’t matter,for when our friends from Europe ought to land the mouth will still be navigable.There’s no reason which could explain their delay,and so arrive they will.’
The bushman made no answer;he picked up his rifle,whistled to Top,and led the way along the narrow’path which reached the lower part of the falls about a hundred and fifty yards down stream.
It was about nine in the morning.The two explorers—for so they might be called—descended the left bank of the river.The way,it must be pointed out,did not offer the level surface of a dyke or a tow path.The steep banks of the stream,fringed with thickets,sometimes disappeared altogether;festoons hung from tree to tree,and stretched a network of green leaves and twigs across the travellers’path.Then recourse was had to the hunter’s knife,and the beautiful though troublesome garlands were pitilessly sacrificed.
William Emery drank in with delight the penetrating scents from the forest.There were fortunately several clearings,where the banks lay open;these allowed the hunter and his companion to make their way westward more easily.By eleven they had walked about four miles.
The breeze was then blowing from the west and towards the cataract,whose roar was no longer audible,though any sound from below could be heard distinctly.
‘Let’s wait here,friend huntsman,’said the young astronomer as they reached a spot whence they could see down the river,‘let’s rest;my legs,Master Mokoum,aren’t like yours,and I’m more accustomed to wandering about the starry firmament than along the roads of earth.Here we can watch the river for two or three miles,and if the steamer shows herself at the farthest turn we can’t fail to notice her.’
The astronomer seated himself at the foot of a gigantic euphorbium,whose head rose forty feet above him.The hunter,less fatigued than his younger companion and unaccustomed to sitting down,walked on along the bank,while Top amused himself by frightening the clouds of water-fowl,which rose clamorously without attracting his master’s attention.
The bushman and his companion had only been there half-anhour when Emery saw that Mokoum,about a hundred paces ahead of him,seemed to be watching more intently than ever.Had the bushman caught sight of the vessel they were expecting so impatiently?
The astronomer quitted his mossy armchair and strode towards the bank where Mokoum was standing.Soon he was by his side.
‘Can you see anything,Mokoum?’
‘Nothing to be seen,Mr.William;but though all Nature’s sounds are familiar to my ears,I fancy I can detect an unusual humming noise down-stream.’
Then,after requesting his companion to keep quiet,the bushman laid his ear to the ground,and listened attentively.After a few moments he rose,shook his head,and said:‘I must have been mistaken;it can only be the whistling of the breeze through the leaves,or the noise of the water on the stones.And yet—.
Once more the bushman listened,but he could distinguish nothing.
‘Mokoum,’Emery suggested,’if the sound you fancied you could hear is produced by the engine of a steamer,you’ll hear it better if you go down to the level of the stream—water carties sound more clearly than the air.’
‘You’re right,Mr.William,’the huntsman agreed,‘and I’ve more than once detected a hippopotamus crossing a river in that way.’
The bushman let himself down the precipitous bank,holding on by the lianas and tufts of grass which grew along it;when at the water’s edge he waded in up to his knees,and then stopped and listened.’
‘Yes,’he cried after a few moments attention—’yes,I was right;some miles below I can hear regular blows on the water like a steady continuous ripple.’
‘The sound of a screw.’
‘Probably,Mr.Emery,the men we are expecting can’t be far off.’
William Emery well knew the perfection of the hunter’s senses,either sight,hearing,or smell,and did not doubt his assertion for a moment.The latter scrambled back up the steep bank,and they decided to wait there,as thence they could command a long view of the course of the Orange.
Half an hour passed and William Emery,in spite of his natural calm,found it interminable.Often did he fancy he could distinguish the dim outline of a boat gliding along the water;but his eyes always deceived him.At last a cry from the bushman made his heart beat:
‘Smoke!’
Emery looked in the direction in which the hunter was pointing,and not without difficulty made out a light cloud of white vapour rolling up the furthest bend of the river.There could be no doubt.
The boat approached rapidly.Soon Emery could see the funnel vomiting clouds of black smoke mingled with white vapour.The crew were evidently putting on steam to reach the rendezvous at the time appointed.The vessel was then about seven miles below the Morgheda Falls.
It was just noon.The spot was unfavourable for landing,so the astronomer decided to return to the foot of the cataract.He explained this to the hunter,whose only reply was to take the path by which they had come along the left bank.Emery followed him and,on looking back,he saw the British ensign flying at the vessel’s stern.
They were not long returning to the falls,and at one the bushman and the astronomer halted a quarter of a mile below the cataract.There the bank formed a little bay,in which the steamer could easily reach the shore,for the water was deep right up to the bank itself.
The vessel could not be far off,as it had certainly gained on the pedestrians,quickly as they had walked.They could not yet see it,for the formation of the shores,shaded by lofty trees overhanging the water,kept them from seeing to any distance.But they could hear,if not the hissing of the steam,as least the shrill scream of the whistle,which rose even above the roar of the cataract.
The whistle kept on sounding,the crew thus announcing their presence at Morgheda.It was a signal.
The huntsman answered them by firing his rifle,whose report echoed noisily from shore to shore.
At last the boat came in sight,and at the same time those on board saw Emery and his companion.
At a sign from the astronomer the boat came alongside the bank.Its occupants threw a line,which the bushman made fast to the stump of a tree.
A tall man jumped ashore,and walked up to the astronomer with his companions following him.
William Emery went to meet him,and said:
‘Colonel Everest?’
‘Mr.William Emery?’asked the Colonel.
The astronomer and his colleague from Cambridge shook hands.
‘Gentlemen,’the Colonel turned to his companions,‘allow me to introduce Mr.William Emery,of the Observatory at Cape Town,who has been so good as to come to meet us at the Morgheda Falls.’
The four men who had accompanied Colonel Everest bowed to the young astronomer,who returned their greetings as the Colonel officially introduced them:
‘Mr.Emery,Sir John Murray,from Devonshire,your fellowcountryman;Mr.Matthew Strux from the Poulkowa Observatory;Mr.Nicolas Palander,from the Helsingfors Observatory;and Mr.Michel Zorn,from the Kiew Observatory—three Russian savants representing the Czar’s Government in this our international commission.’
