camp."
"Let one of us accompany you, Mr. Dick."
"No, Tom, I shall go alone. I can approach without being seen. Stay
here."
The little troop, that followed Tom and Dick Sand, halted. The young
novice left at once and disappeared in the darkness, which was
profound when the lightning did not tear the sky.
Some large drops of rain already began to fall.
"What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Weldon, approaching the old black.
"We have perceived a camp, Mrs. Weldon," replied Tom; "a camp--or,
perhaps, a village, and our captain wished to reconnoiter it before
leading us to it."
Mrs. Weldon was satisfied with this reply. Three minutes after, Dick
Sand was returning.
"Come! come!" he cried, in a voice which expressed his entire
satisfaction.
"The camp is abandoned?" asked Tom.
"It is not a camp," replied the young novice; "it is not a village.
They are ant-hills!"
"Ant-hills!" exclaimed Cousin Benedict, whom that word aroused.
"Yes, Mr. Benedict, but ant-hills twelve feet high, at least, and in
which we shall endeavor to hide ourselves."
"But then," replied Cousin Benedict, "those would be ant-hills of the
warlike termite or of the devouring termite. Only those ingenious
insects raise such monuments, which the greatest architects would not
disown."
"Whether they be termites or not, Mr. Benedict," replied Dick Sand,
"we must dislodge them and take their place."
"They will devour us. They will be defending their rights."
"Forward! Forward!"
"But, wait now!" said Cousin Benedict again. "I thought those
ant-hills only existed in Africa."
"Forward!" exclaimed Dick Sand, for the last time, with a sort of
violence. He was so much afraid that Mrs. Weldon might hear the last
word pronounced by the entomologist.
They followed Dick Sand with all haste. A furious wind had sprung up.
Large drops crackled on the ground. In a few moments the squalls of
wind would become unbearable. Soon one of those cones which stood on
the plain was reached. No matter how threatening the termites might
be, the human beings must not hesitate. If they could not drive the
insects away, they must share their abode.
At the bottom of this cone, made with a kind of reddish clay, there
was a very narrow hole. Hercules enlarged it with his cutlass in a few
moments, so as to give a passage even to a man like himself.
To Cousin Benedict's extreme surprise, not one of the thousands of
termites that ought to occupy the ant-hill showed itself. Was, then,
the cone abandoned?
The hole enlarged, Dick and his companions glided into it. Hercules
disappeared the last, just as the rain fell with such rage that it
seemed to extinguish the lightnings.
But those wind squalls were no longer to be feared. A happy chance had
furnished this little troop with a solid shelter, better than a tent,
better than a native's hut.
It was one of those termite cones that, according to Lieutenant
Cameron's comparison, are more astonishing than the pyramids of Egypt,
raised by the hands of men, because they have been built by such small
insects.
"It is," said he, "as if a nation had built Mount Everest, the highest
mountain of the Himalaya chain."
CHAPTER V.
ANTS AND THEIR DWELLING.
At this moment the storm burst with a violence unknown in temperate
latitudes.
It was providential that Dick Sand and his companions had found this
refuge!
In fact, the rain did not fall in distinct drops, but in streams of
various thickness. Sometimes it was a compact mass forming a sheet of
water, like a cataract, a Niagara. Imagine an aerial basin, containing
a whole sea, being upset. Under such showers the ground was hollowed
out, the plains were changed to lakes, the streams to torrents, the
rivers, overflowing, inundated vast territories. In temperate zones
the violence of the storms decreases according to their duration; but
in Africa, however heavy they are, they continue for several entire
days. How can so much electricity be collected in the clouds? How
can such quantities of vapor be accumulated? It is very difficult to
comprehend this. However, such are the facts, and one might suppose
himself transported to the extraordinary epochs of the diluvian
period.
Fortunately, the ant-cone, with its thick walls, was perfectly
impervious. A beaver's hut, of well-beaten earth, could not have been
more water-tight. A torrent could have passed over it without a single
drop of water filtering through its pores.
As soon as Dick Sand and his companions had taken possession of the
cone they occupied themselves in examining its interior arrangement.
The lantern was lighted, and the ant-hill was sufficiently
illuminated. This cone, which measured twelve feet in height inside,
was eleven feet wide, except in its upper part, which rounded in the
form of a sugar loaf. Everywhere the walls were about one foot in
thickness, and there was a distance between the stories of cells which
adorned them.
We may be astonished at the construction of such monuments, due to
these industrious swarms of insects, but it is true that they are
frequently found in the interior of Africa. Smeathman, a Dutch
traveler of the last century, with four of his companions, occupied
the top of one of these cones. In the Lounde, Livingstone observed
several of these ant-hills, built of reddish clay, and attaining a
height of fifteen and twenty feet. Lieutenant Cameron has many a time
mistaken for a camp these collections of cones which dotted the plain
in N'yangwe. He has even stopped at the foot of great edifices, not
more than twenty feet high, but composed of forty or fifty enormous
rounded cones, flanked with bell-towers like the dome of a cathedral,
such as Southern Africa possesses.
To what species of ant was due, then, the prodigious style of
architecture of these cones?
"To the warlike termite," Cousin Benedict had replied, without
hesitating, as soon as he had recognized the nature of the materials
employed in their construction.
And, in fact, the walls, as has been said, were made of reddish clay.
Had they been formed of a gray or black alluvian earth, they must have
been attributed to the "termes mordax" or the "termes atrox." As we
see, these insects have not very cheering names--a fact which cannot
but please a strong entomologist, such as Cousin Benedict.
The central part of the cone, in which the little troop had first
found shelter, and which formed the empty interior, would not have
contained them; but large cavities, in close contact, made a number
of divisions, in which a person of medium height could find refuge.
Imagine a succession of open drawers, and at the bottom of those
drawers millions of cells which the termites had occupied, and the
interior disposition of the ant-hill is easily understood. To sum up,
these drawers are in tiers, like the berths in a ship's cabin. In the
upper ones Mrs. Weldon, little Jack, Nan, and Cousin Benedict took
refuge. In the lower row Austin, Bat, and Acteon hid themselves. As
for Dick Sand, Tom, and Hercules, they remained in the lower part of
the cone.
"My friends," then said the young novice to the two blacks, "the
ground is becoming damp. We must fill it up by crumbling the red clay
from the base; but take care not to obstruct the hole by which the air
enters. We cannot risk being smothered in this ant-hill."
"We have only one night to spend here," replied old Tom.
"Well, let us try and make it recover us from our fatigue. This is the
first time in ten days that we have not to sleep in the open air."
"Ten days!" repeated Tom.
"Besides," added Dick Sand, "as this cone forms a solid shelter,
perhaps we had better stay here twenty-four hours. During that time, I
will go in search of the stream that we are in need of; it cannot be
very distant. I think that until we have constructed our raft, it will
be better not to quit this shelter. The storm cannot reach us here.
Let us make the floor stronger and dryer."
Dick Sand's orders were executed at once. Hercules, with his ax,
crumbled the first story of cells, which was composed of crisp red
clay. He thus raised, more than a foot, the interior part of the
swampy earth on which the ant-hill rested, and Dick Sand made sure
that the air could freely penetrate to the interior of the cone
through the orifice pierced at its base.
It was, certainly, a fortunate circumstance that the ant-hill had been
abandoned by the termites. With a few thousands of these ants, it
would have been uninhabitable. But, had it been evacuated for some
time, or had the voracious newroptera but just quitted it? It was not
superfluous to ponder this question.
Cousin Benedict was so much surprised at the abandonment, that he at
once considered the reason for it, and he was soon convinced that the
emigration had been recent.
In fact, he did not wait, but, descending to the lower part of the
cone, and taking the lantern, he commenced to examine the most secret
corners of the ant-hill. He thus discovered what is called the
"general store-house" of the termites, that is to say, the place where
these industrious insects lay up the provisions of the colony.
It was a cavity hollowed in the wall, not far from the royal cell,
which Hercules's labor had destroyed, along with the cells destined
for the young larvae.
In this store-room Cousin Benedict collected a certain quantity of
particles of gum and the juices of plants, scarcely solidified, which
proved that the termites had lately brought them from without.
"Well, no!" cried he. "No!" as if he were replying to some
contradiction, "No, this ant-hill has not been long abandoned."
"Who says to the contrary, Mr. Benedict?" said Dick Sand. "Recently
or not, the important thing for us is that the termites have left it,
because we have to take their place."
"The important thing," replied Cousin Benedict, "will be to know why
they have left it. Yesterday--this morning, perhaps--these sagacious
newroptera were still here, because, see these liquid juices; and this
evening----"
"Well, what do you conclude, Mr. Benedict?" asked Dick Sand.
"That a secret presentiment has caused them to abandon the cone. Not
only have all the termites left their cells, but they have taken care
to carry away the young larvae, of which I cannot find one. Well, I
repeat that all this was not done without a motive, and that these
sagacious insects foresaw some near danger."
"They foresaw that we were going to invade their dwelling," replied
Hercules, laughing.
"Indeed!" replied Cousin Benedict, whom this answer sensibly shocked.
"You think yourself so strong that you would be dangerous to these
courageous insects? A few thousand of these newroptera would quickly
reduce you to a skeleton if they found you dead on the road."
"Dead, certainly," replied Hercules, who would not give up; "but,
living, I could crush masses of them."
"You might crush a hundred thousand, five hundred thousand, a
million," replied Cousin Benedict, with animation, "but not a thousand
millions; and a thousand millions would devour you, living or dead, to
the last morsel."
During this discussion, which was less trifling than might be
supposed, Dick Sand reflected on the observations made by Cousin
Benedict. There was no doubt that the savant knew too much about the
habits of the termites to be mistaken. If he declared that a secret
instinct warned them to leave the ant-hill recently, it was because
there was truly peril in remaining in it.
Meanwhile, as it was impossible to abandon this shelter at a moment
when the storm was raging with unparalleled intensity, Dick
Sand looked no farther for an explanation of what seemed to be
inexplicable, and he contented himself with saying:
"Well, Mr. Benedict, if the termites have left their provisions in
this ant-hill, we must not forget that we have brought ours, and
let us have supper. To-morrow, when the storm will be over, we will
consult together on our future plans."
They then occupied themselves in preparing the evening meal, for,
great as their fatigue was, it had not affected the appetite of these
vigorous walkers. On the contrary, the food, which had to last for two
more days, was very welcome. The damp had not reached the biscuits,
and for several minutes it could be heard cracking under the solid
teeth of Dick Sand and his companions. Between Hercules's jaws it
was like grain under the miller's grindstone. It did not crackle, it
powdered.
Mrs. Weldon alone scarcely eat, and even Dick Sand's entreaties were
vain. It seemed to him that this brave woman was more preoccupied,
more sad than she had been hitherto. Meanwhile her little Jack
suffered less; the fever had not returned, and at this time he was
sleeping, under his mother's eyes, in a cell well lined with garments.
Dick Sand knew not what to think.
It is useless to say that Cousin Benedict did honor to the repast, not
that he paid any attention either to the quality or to the quantity of
the food that he devoured, but because he had found an opportunity to
deliver a lecture in entomology on the termites. Ah! if he had been
able to find a termite, a single one, in the deserted ant hill! But
nothing.
"These admirable insects," said he, without taking the trouble to find
out if any one were listening--"these admirable insects belong to the
marvelous order of newroptera, whose horns are longer than the head,
the jaws very distinct, and whose lower wings are generally equal to
the upper ones. Five tribes constitute this order: the Panorpates
(scorpion flies), the Myrmileoniens, the Hemerobins, the Termitines
and the Perlides. It is useless to add that the insects which now
interest us, and whose dwelling we occupy, perhaps unduly, are the
Termitines."
At this moment Dick Sand listened very attentively to Cousin Benedict.
Had the meeting with these termites excited in him the thought that he
was perhaps on the African continent, without knowing by what chance
he had arrived there? The young novice was very anxious to find out.
The savant, mounted on his favorite hobby, continued to ride it
beautifully.
"Now these termitines," said he, "are characterized by four joints
on the instep, horned jaws, and remarkable strength. We have the
-mantispe- species, the -raphidie-, and the termite species. The last
is often known under the term of white ants, in which we count the
deadly termite, the yellow corslet termite, the termite that shuns the
light, the biter, the destroyer--"
"And those that constructed this ant-hill?" asked Dick Sand.
"They are the martial ants," replied Cousin Benedict, who pronounced
this word as if it had been the Macedonians, or some other ancient
people brave in war. "Yes, the warlike ants, and of all sizes.
Between Hercules and a dwarf the difference would be less than
between the largest of these insects and the smallest. Among them are
'workers' of five millimeters in length 'soldiers' of ten, and males
and females of twenty. We find also a kind otherwise very curious: the
-sirafous- half an inch in length, which have pincers for jaws, and a
head larger than the body, like the sharks. They are the sharks among
insects, and in a fight between some -sirafous- and a shark, I would
bet on the -sirafous-."
"And where are these -sirafous- commonly observed?" then asked Dick
Sand.
"In Africa," replied Cousin Benedict; "in the central and southern
provinces. Africa is, in fact, the country of ants. You should read
what Livingstone says of them in the last notes reported by Stanley.
More fortunate than myself, the doctor has witnessed a Homeric battle,
joined between an army of black ants and an army of red ants. The
latter, which are called 'drivers,' and which the natives name
-sirafous-, were victorious.
"The others, the '-tchoungous-,' took flight, carrying their eggs and
their young, not without having bravely defended themselves. Never,
according to Livingstone, never was the spirit of battle carried
farther, either among men or beasts! With their tenacious jaws, which
tear out the piece, these -sirafous- make the bravest man recoil. The
largest animals--even lions and elephants--flee before them.
"Nothing stops them; neither trees, which they climb to the summit,
nor streams, which they cross by making a suspension bridge of
their own bodies, hooked together. And numerous! Another African
traveler--Du Chaillu--has seen a column of these ants defile past him
for twelve hours without stopping on the road. But why be astonished
at the sight of such myriads? The fecundity of these insects is
surprising; and, to return to our fighting termites, it has been
proved that a female deposits as much as sixty thousand eggs in a
day! Besides, these newroptera furnish the natives with a juicy food.
Broiled ants, my friends; I know of nothing better in the world!"
"Have you then eaten them, Mr. Benedict?" asked Hercules.
"Never," replied the wise professor; "but I shall eat some."
"Where?"
"Here."
"Here; we are not in Africa!" said Tom, very quickly.
"No, no!" replied Cousin Benedict; "and, thus far, these warlike
termites, and their villages of ant-hills, have only been observed on
the African Continent. Ah! such travelers. They do not know how to
see! Well! all the better, after all. I have discovered a -tsetse- in
America. To the glory of this, I shall join that of having found the
warlike termites on the same continent! What matter for an article
that will make a sensation in educated Europe, and, perhaps, appear in
folio form, with prints and engravings, besides the text!"
It was evident that the truth had not entered Cousin Benedict's brain.
The poor man and all his companions, Dick Sand and Tom excepted,
believed themselves, and must believe themselves, where they were
not! It needed other incidents, facts still more grave than certain
scientific curiosities, to undeceive them!
It was then nine o'clock in the morning. Cousin Benedict had talked
for a long time. Did he perceive that his auditors, propped up in
their cells, had gradually fallen asleep during his entomological
lecture? No; certainly not. He lectured for himself. Dick Sand no
longer questioned him, and remained motionless, although he did not
sleep. As for Hercules, he had resisted longer than the others; but
fatigue soon finished by shutting his eyes, and, with his eyes, his
ears.
For some time longer Cousin Benedict continued to lecture. However,
sleep finally got the best of him, and he mounted to the upper cavity
of the cone, in which he had chosen his domicile.
Deep silence fell on the interior of the cone, while the storm filled
space with noise and fire. Nothing seemed to indicate that the tempest
was nearly over.
The lantern had been extinguished. The interior of the ant-hill was
plunged in complete darkness.
No doubt all slept. However, Dick Sand, alone, did not seek in sleep
the repose which was so necessary to him. Thought absorbed him. He
dreamed of his companions, whom he would save at all hazards. The
wrecking of the "Pilgrim" had not been the end of their cruel trials,
and others, still more terrible, threatened them should they fall into
the hands of these natives.
And how to avoid this danger, the worst of all, during their return to
the coast. Harris and Negoro had not led them a hundred miles into the
interior of Angola without a secret design to gain possession of them.
But what did this miserable Portuguese intend? Who had merited his
hatred? The young novice repeated to himself, that he alone had
incurred it. Then he passed in review all the incidents that had taken
place during the "Pilgrim's" voyage; the meeting with the wreck and
the blacks; the pursuit of the whale; the disappearance of Captain
Hull and his crew.
Dick Sand had found himself, at the age of fifteen, intrusted with the
command of a vessel, the compass and log of which were soon injured by
Negoro's criminal actions. He again saw himself using his authority in
the presence of this insolent cook, threatening to put him in irons,
or to blow out his brains with a pistol shot. Ah, why had he hesitated
to do it? Negoro's corpse would have been thrown overboard, and none
of these catastrophes would have happened.
Such were the young man's various thoughts. Then they dwelt a moment
on the shipwreck which had ended the "Pilgrim's" voyage. The traitor
Harris appeared then, and this province of South America gradually
became transformed. Bolivia changed to the terrible Angola, with its
feverish climate, its savage deer, its natives still more cruel. Could
the little party escape during its return to the coast? This river
which he was seeking, which he hoped to find, would it conduct them to
the shore with more safety, and with less fatigue? He would not doubt
it, for he knew well that a march of a hundred miles through this
inhospitable country, in the midst of incessant dangers, was no longer
possible.
"Happily," he said to himself, "Mrs. Weldon and all are ignorant of
the danger of the situation. Old Tom and I, we alone are to know that
Negoro has thrown us on the coast of Africa; and that Harris has led
me into the wilds of Angola."
Dick Sand was thus sunk in overpowering thoughts, when he felt a
breath on his forehead. A hand rested on his shoulder, and a trembling
voice murmured these words in his ear:
"I know all, my poor Dick, but God can yet save us! His will be done!"
CHAPTER VI.
THE DIVING-BELL.
To this unexpected revelation Dick Sand could not reply. Besides, Mrs.
Weldon had gone back at once to her place beside little Jack. She
evidently did not wish to say any more about it, and the young novice
had not the courage to detain her.
Thus Mrs. Weldon knew what to believe. The various incidents, of the
way had enlightened her also, and perhaps, too, that word, "Africa!"
so unluckily pronounced the night before by Cousin Benedict.
"Mrs. Weldon knows everything," repeated Dick Sand to himself. "Well,
perhaps it is better so. The brave woman does not despair. I shall not
despair either."
Dick Sand now longed for day to return, that he might explore the
surroundings of this termite village. He must find a tributary of the
Atlantic with a rapid course to transport all his little troop. He had
a presentiment that this watercourse could not be far distant. Above
all, they must avoid an encounter with the natives, perhaps already
sent in pursuit of them under Harris's and Negoro's direction.
But it was not day yet. No light made its way into the cone through
the lower orifice. Rumblings, rendered low by the thickness of the
walls, indicated that the storm still raged. Listening, Dick Sand also
heard the rain falling with violence at the base of the ant-hill. As
the large drops no longer struck a hard soil, he must conclude that
the whole plain was inundated.
It must have been about eleven o'clock. Dick Sand then felt that a
kind of torpor, if not a true sleep, was going to overcome him. It
would, however, be rest. But, just as he was yielding to it, the
thought came to him that, by the settling of the clay, washed in, the
lower orifice was likely to be obstructed. All passage for the outer
air would be closed. Within, the respiration of ten persons would soon
vitiate the air by loading it with carbonic acid.
Dick Sand then slipped to the ground, which had been raised by the
clay from the first floor of cells.
That cushion was still perfectly dry, and the orifice entirely free.
The air penetrated freely to the interior of the cone, and with it
some flashes of lightning, and the loud noises of that storm, that a
diluvian rain could not extinguish.
Dick Sand saw that all was well. No immediate danger seemed to menace
these human termites, substituted for the colony of newroptera. The
young novice then thought of refreshing himself by a few hours' sleep,
as he already felt its influence. Only with supreme precaution Dick
Sand lay on that bed of clay, at the bottom of the cone, near the
narrow edifice.
By this means, if any accident happened outside, he would be the first
to remark it. The rising day would also awaken him, and he would be
ready to begin the exploration of the plain.
Dick Sand lay down then, his head against the wall, his gun under his
hand, and almost immediately he was asleep.
How long this drowsiness lasted he could not tell, when he was
awakened by a lively sensation of coolness.
He rose and recognized, not without great anxiety, that the water was
invading the ant hill, and even so rapidly, that in a few seconds it
would reach the story of cells occupied by Tom and Hercules.
The latter, awakened by Dick Sand, were told about this new
complication.
The lighted lantern soon showed the interior of the cone.
The water had stopped at a height of about five feet, and remained
stationary.
"What is the matter, Dick?" asked Mrs. Weldon.
"It is nothing," replied the young novice. "The lower part of the
cone has been inundated. It is probably that during this storm a
neighboring river has overflowed on this plain."
"Good!" said Hercules; "that proves the river is there!"
"Yes," replied Dick Sand, "and it will carry us to the coast. Be
reassured, then, Mrs. Weldon; the water cannot reach you, nor little
Jack, nor Nan, nor Mr. Benedict."
Mrs. Weldon did not reply. As to the cousin, he slept like a veritable
termite.
Meanwhile the blacks, leaning over this sheet of water, which
reflected the lantern's light, waited for Dick Sand to indicate
to them what should be done. He was measuring the height of the
inundation.
After having the provisions and arms put out of the reach of the
inundation, Dick Sand was silent.
"The water has penetrated by the orifice," said Tom.
"Yes," replied Dick Sand, "and now it prevents the interior air from
being renewed."
"Could we not make a hole in the wall above the level of the water?"
asked the old black.
"Doubtless, Tom; but if we have five feet of water within, there are
perhaps six or seven, even more, without."
"You think, Mr. Dick--?"
"I think, Tom, that the water, rising inside the ant-hill, has
compressed the air in the upper part, and that this air now makes an
obstacle to prevent the water from rising higher. But if we pierce a
hole in the wall by which the air would escape, either the water would
still rise till it reached the outside level, or if it passed the
hole, it would rise to that point where the compressed air would again
keep it back. We must be here like workmen in a diving-bell."
"What must be done?" asked Tom.
"Reflect well before acting," replied Dick Sand. "An imprudence might
cost us our lives!"
The young novice's observation was very true.
In comparing the cone to a submerged bell, he was right. Only in that
apparatus the air is constantly renewed by means of pumps. The divers
breathe comfortably, and they suffer no other inconveniences than
those resulting from a prolonged sojourn in a compressed atmosphere,
no longer at a normal pressure.
But here, beside those inconveniences, space was already reduced a
third by the invasion of the water. As to the air, it would only be
renewed if they put it in communication with the outer atmosphere by
means of a hole.
Could they, without running the danger spoken of by Dick Sand, pierce
that hole? Would not the situation be aggravated by it?
What was certain was, that the water now rested at a level which only
two causes could make it exceed, namely: if they pierced a hole, and
the level of the rising waters was higher outside, or if the height
of this rising water should still increase. In either of these cases,
only a narrow space would remain inside the cone, where the air, not
renewed, would be still more compressed.
But might not the ant-hill be torn from the ground and overthrown by
the inundation, to the extreme danger of those within it? No, no more
than a beaver's hut, so firmly did it adhere by its base.
Then, the event most to be feared was the persistence of the storm,
and, consequently, the increase of the inundation. Thirty feet of
water on the plain would cover the cone with eighteen feet of water,
and bear on the air within with the pressure of an atmosphere.
Now, after reflecting well upon it, Dick Sand was led to fear that
this inundation might increase considerably.
In fact, it could not be due solely to that deluge poured out by
the clouds. It seemed more probable that a neighboring watercourse,
swelled by the storm, had burst its banks, and was spreading over this
plain lying below it. What proof had they that the ant-hill was not
then entirely submerged, and that it was full time to leave it by the
top part, which would not be difficult to demolish?
Dick Sand, now extremely anxious, asked himself what he ought to
do. Must he wait or suddenly announce the probable result of the
situation, after ascertaining the condition of things?
It was then three o'clock in the morning. All, motionless, silent,
listened. The noise from outside came very feebly through the
obstructed orifice. All the time a dull sound, strong and continued,
well indicated that the contest of the elements had not ceased.
At that moment old Tom observed that the water level was gradually
rising.
"Yes," replied Dick Sand, "and if it rises, as the air cannot escape
from within, it is because the rising of the waters increases and
presses it more and more."
"It is but slight so far," said Tom.
"Without doubt," replied Dick Sand; "but where will this level stop?"
"Mr. Dick," asked Bat, "would you like me to go out of the ant-hill?
By diving, I should try to slip out by the hole."
"It will be better for me to try it," replied Dick Sand.
"No, Mr. Dick, no," replied old Tom, quickly; "let my son do it, and
trust to his skill. In case he could not return, your presence is
necessary here."
Then, lower:
"Do not forget Mrs. Weldon and little Jack."
"Be it so," replied Dick Sand. "Go, then, Bat. If the ant-hill is
submerged, do not seek to enter it again. We shall try to come out as
you will have done. But if the cone still emerges, strike on its top
with the ax that you will take with you. We will hear you, and it
will be the signal for us to demolish the top from our side. You
understand?"
"Yes, Mr. Dick," replied Bat.
"Go, then, boy," added old Tom, pressing his son's hand.
Bat, after laying in a good provision of air by a long aspiration,
plunged under the liquid mass, whose depth then exceeded five feet. It
was a rather difficult task, because he would have to seek the lower
orifice, slip through it, and then rise to the outside surface of the
waters.
That must be done quickly.
Nearly half a minute passed away. Dick Sand then thought that Bat had
succeeded in passing outside when the black emerged.
"Well!" exclaimed Dick Sand.
"The hole is stopped up by rubbish!" replied Bat, as soon as he could
take breath.
"Stopped up!" repeated Tom.
"Yes," replied Bat. "The water has probably diluted the clay. I have
felt around the walls with my hand. There is no longer any hole."
Dick Sand shook his head. His companions and he were hermetically
sequestered in this cone, perhaps submerged by the water.
"If there is no longer any hole," then said Hercules, "we must make
one."
"Wait," replied the young novice, stopping Hercules, who, hatchet in
hand, was preparing to dive.
Dick Sand reflected for a few moments, and then he said:
"We are going to proceed in another manner. The whole question is to
know whether the water covers the ant-hill or not. If we make a small
opening at the summit of the cone, we shall find out which it is. But
in case the ant-hill should be submerged now, the water would fill it
entirely, and we would be lost. Let us feel our way."
"But quickly," replied Tom.
In fact, the level continued to rise gradually. There were then six
feet of water inside the cone. With the exception of Mrs. Weldon,
her son, Cousin Benedict, and Nan, who had taken refuge in the upper
cavities, all were immersed to the waist.
Then there was a necessity for quick action, as Dick Sand proposed.
It was one foot above the interior level, consequently seven feet from
the ground, that Dick Sand resolved to pierce a hole in the clay wall.
If, by this hole, they were in communication with the outer air, the
cone emerges. If, on the contrary, this hole was pierced below the
water level outside, the air would be driven inward, and in that case
they must stop it up at once, or the water would rise to its orifice.
Then they would commence again a foot higher, and so on. If, at last,
at the top, they did not yet find the outer air, it was because there
was a depth of more than fifteen feet of water in the plain, and that
the whole termite village had disappeared under the inundation. Then
what chance had the prisoners in the ant-hill to escape the most
terrible of deaths, death by slow asphyxia?
Dick Sand knew all that, but he did not lose his presence of mind for
a moment. He had closely calculated the consequences of the experiment
he wished to try. Besides, to wait longer was not possible. Asphyxia
was threatening in this narrow space, reduced every moment, in a
medium already saturated with carbonic acid.
The best tool Dick Sand could employ to pierce a hole through the wall
was a ramrod furnished with a screw, intended to draw the wadding from
a gun. By making it turn rapidly, this screw scooped out the clay like
an auger, and the hole was made little by little. Then it would not
have a larger diameter than that of the ramrod, but that would be
sufficient. The air could come through very well.
Hercules holding up the lantern lighted Dick Sand. They had some wax
candles to take its place, and they had not to fear lack of light from
that source.
A minute after the beginning of the operation, the ramrod went freely
through the wall. At once a rather dull noise was produced, resembling
that made by globules of air escaping through a column of water. The
air escaped, and, at the same moment, the level of the water rose in
the cone, and stopped at the height of the hole. This proved that they
had pierced too low--that is to say, below the liquid mass.
"Begin again," the young novice said, coolly, after rapidly stopping
the hole with a handful of clay.
The water was again stationary in the cone, but the reserved space had
diminished more than eight inches. Respiration became difficult, for
the oxygen was beginning to fail. They saw it also by the lantern's
light, which reddened and lost a part of its brightness.
One foot above the first hole, Dick Sand began at once to pierce a
second by the same process. If the experiment failed, the water would
rise still higher inside the cone--but that risk must be run.
While Dick Sand was working his auger, they heard Cousin Benedict cry
out, suddenly:
"Mercy! look--look--look why!"
Hercules raised his lantern and threw its light on Cousin Benedict,
whose face expressed the most perfect satisfaction.
"Yes," repeated he, "look why those intelligent termites have
abandoned the ant-hill! They had felt the inundation beforehand. Ah!
instinct, my friends, instinct. The termites are wiser than we are,
much wiser."
And that was all the moral Cousin Benedict drew from the situation.
At that moment Dick Sand drew out the ramrod, which had penetrated the
wall. A hissing was produced. The water rose another foot inside the
cone--the hole had not reached the open air outside.
The situation was dreadful. Mrs. Weldon, then almost reached by the
water, had raised little Jack in her arms. All were stifling in this
narrow space. Their ears buzzed.
The lantern only threw a faint light.
"Is the cone, then, entirely under water?" murmured Dick Sand.
He must know; and, in order to know, he must pierce a third hole, at
the very top.
But it was asphyxia, it was immediate death, if the result of this
last attempt should prove fruitless. The air remaining inside would
escape through the upper sheet of water, and the water would fill the
whole cone.
"Mrs. Weldon," then said Dick Sand, "you know the situation. If we
delay, respirable air will fail us. If the third attempt fails, water
will fill all this space. Our only chance is that the summit of the
cone is above the level of the inundation. We must try this last
experiment. Are you willing?"
"Do it, Dick!" replied Mrs. Weldon.
At that moment the lantern went out in that medium already unfit for
combustion. Mrs. Weldon and her companions were plunged in the most
complete darkness.
Dick Sand was perched on Hercules's shoulders. The latter was hanging
on to one of the lateral cavities. Only his head was above the bed of
water.
Mrs. Weldon, Jack, and Cousin Benedict were in the last story of
cells.
Dick Sand scratched the wall, and his ramrod pierced the clay rapidly.
In this place the wall, being thicker and harder also, was more
difficult to penetrate. Dick Sand hastened, not without terrible
anxiety, for by this narrow opening either life was going to penetrate
with the air, or with the water it was death.
Suddenly a sharp hissing was heard. The compressed air escaped--but a
ray of daylight filtered through the wall. The water only rose eight
inches, and stopped, without Dick Sand being obliged to close the
hole. The equilibrium was established between the level within and
that outside. The summit of the cone emerged. Mrs. Weldon and her
companions were saved.
At once, after a frantic hurra, in which Hercules's thundering voice
prevailed, the cutlasses were put to work. The summit, quickly
attacked, gradually crumbled. The hole was enlarged, the pure air
entered in waves, and with it the first rays of the rising sun. The
top once taken off the cone, it would be easy to hoist themselves on
to its wall, and they would devise means of reaching some neighboring
height, above all inundations.
Dick Sand first mounted to the summit of the cone.
A cry escaped him.
That particular noise, too well known by African travelers, the
whizzing of arrows, passed through the air.
Dick Sand had had time to perceive a camp a hundred feet from the
ant-hill, and ten feet from the cone, on the inundated plain, long
boats, filled with natives.
It was from one of those boats that the flight of arrows had come the
moment the young novice's head appeared out of the hole.
Dick Sand, in a word, had told all to his companions. Seizing his gun,
followed by Hercules, Acteon, and Bat, he reappeared at the summit of
the cone, and all fired on one of the boats.
Several natives fell, and yells, accompanied by shots, replied to the
detonation of the fire-arms.
But what could Dick Sand and his companions do against a hundred
Africans, who surrounded them on all sides?
The ant-hill was assailed. Mrs. Weldon, her child, and Cousin
Benedict, all were brutally snatched from it, and without having had
time to speak to each other or to shake hands for the last time, they
saw themselves separated from each other, doubtless in virtue of
orders previously given.
A last boat took away Mrs. Weldon, little Jack and Cousin Benedict.
Dick Sand saw them disappear in the middle of the camp.
As to him, accompanied by Nan, Old Tom, Hercules, Bat, Acteon and
Austin, he was thrown into a second boat, which went toward another
point of the hill.
Twenty natives entered this boat.
It was followed by five others.
Resistance was not possible, and nevertheless, Dick Sand and his
companions attempted it. Some soldiers of the caravan were wounded
by them, and certainly they would have paid for this resistance with
their lives, if there had not been a formal order to spare them.
In a few minutes, the passage was made. But just as the boat landed,
Hercules, with an irresistible bound, sprang on the ground. Two
natives having sprung on him, the giant turned his gun like a club,
and the natives fell, with their skulls broken.
A moment after, Hercules disappeared under the cover of the trees,
in the midst of a shower of balls, as Dick Sand and his companions,
having been put on land, were chained like slaves.
CHAPTER VII.
IN CAMP ON THE BANKS OF THE COANZA.
The aspect of the country was entirely changed since the inundation.
It had made a lake of the plain where the termite village stood. The
cones of twenty ant-hills emerged, and formed the only projecting
points on this large basin.
The Coanza had overflowed during the night, with the waters of its
tributaries swelled by the storm.
This Coanza, one of the rivers of Angola, flows into the Atlantic, a
hundred miles from the cape where the "Pilgrim" was wrecked. It was
this river that Lieutenant Cameron had to cross some years later,
before reaching Benguela. The Coanza is intended to become the vehicle
for the interior transit of this portion of the Portuguese colony.
Already steamers ascend its lower course, and before ten years elapse,
they will ply over its upper bed. Dick Sand had then acted wisely in
seeking some navigable river toward the north. The rivulet he had
followed had just been emptied into the Coanza. Only for this sudden
attack, of which he had had no intimation to put him on his guard, he
would have found the Coanza a mile farther on. His companions and he
would have embarked on a raft, easily constructed, and they would have
had a good chance to descend the stream to the Portuguese villages,
where the steamers come into port. There, their safety would be
secured.
It would not be so.
The camp, perceived by Dick Sand, was established on an elevation near
the ant-hill, into which fate had thrown him, as in a trap. At the
summit of that elevation rose an enormous sycamore fig-tree, which
would easily shelter five hundred men under its immense branches.
Those who have not seen those giant trees of Central Africa, can form
no idea of them. Their branches form a forest, and one could be lost
in it. Farther on, great banyans, of the kind whose seeds do not
change into fruits, completed the outline of this vast landscape.
It was under the sycamore's shelter, hidden, as in a mysterious
asylum, that a whole caravan--the one whose arrival Harris had
announced to Negoro--had just halted. This numerous procession of
natives, snatched from their villages by the trader Alvez's agents,
were going to the Kazounde market. Thence the slaves, as needed, would
be sent either to the barracks of the west coast, or to N'yangwe,
toward the great lake region, to be distributed either in upper Egypt,
or in the factories of Zanzibar.
As soon as they arrived at the camp, Dick Sand and his companions had
been treated as slaves. Old Tom, his son Austin, Acteon, poor Nan,
negroes by birth, though they did not belong to the African race, were
treated like captive natives. After they were disarmed, in spite of
the strongest resistance, they were held by the throat, two by two, by
means of a pole six or seven feet long, forked at each end, and closed
by an iron rod. By this means they were forced to march in line, one
behind the other, unable to get away either to the right or to the
left. As an over precaution, a heavy chain was attached to their
waists. They had their arms free, to carry burdens, their feet free to
march, but they could not use them to flee. Thus they were going to
travel hundreds of miles under an overseer's lash. Placed apart,
overcome by the reaction which followed the first moments of their
struggle against the negroes, they no longer made a movement. Why had
they not been able to follow Hercules in his flight? And, meanwhile,
what could they hope for the fugitive? Strong as he was, what would
become of him in that inhospitable country, where hunger, solitude,
savage beasts, natives, all were against him? Would he not soon regret
his companion's fate? They, however, had no pity to expect from the
chiefs of the caravan, Arabs or Portuguese, speaking a language they
could not understand. These chiefs only entered into communication
with their prisoners by menacing looks and gestures.
Dick Sand himself was not coupled with any other slave. He was a white
man, and probably they had not dared to inflict the common treatment
on him. Unarmed, he had his feet and hands free, but a driver watched
him especially. He observed the camp, expecting each moment to see
Negoro or Harris appear. His expectation was in vain. He had no doubt,
however, that those two miserable men had directed the attack against
the ant-hill.
Thus the thought came to him that Mrs. Weldon, little Jack, and Cousin
Benedict had been led away separately by orders from the American or
from the Portuguese. Seeing neither one nor the other, he said to
himself that perhaps the two accomplices even accompanied their
victims. Where were they leading them? What would they do with them?
It was his most cruel care. Dick Sand forgot his own situation to
think only of Mrs. Weldon and hers.
The caravan, camped under the gigantic sycamore, did not count less
than eight hundred persons, say five hundred slaves of both sexes,
two hundred soldiers, porters, marauders, guards, drivers, agents, or
chiefs.
These chiefs were of Arab and Portugese origin. It would be difficult
to imagine the cruelties that these inhuman beings inflicted on their
captives. They struck them without relaxation, and those who fell
exhausted, not fit to be sold, were finished with gunshots or the
knife. Thus they hold them by terror. But the result of this system
is, that on the arrival of the caravan, fifty out of a hundred slaves
are missing from the trader's list. A few may have escaped, but the
bones of those who died from torture mark out the long routes from the
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