Part 5

I clung desperately to my perch for about two hours, expecting every moment that my frail support would give way. By that time it was pitch-dark, and, feeling cold and stiff in my wet clothes, I shifted my position a little; I could see nothing of the boys in the darkness, and shouting brought me no answer. I moved about as carefully as possible, seeking a better position, and at length found a more comfortable place in a fork a little lower down. Here--cold, wet, and miserable--I could do nothing but wait for daylight. I had now lost everything I possessed, my wagon and oxen representing nearly the whole of my capital. I felt deeply for the loss of the poor boy Zuzi and my faithful old horse, and would willingly have sacrificed the wagon and oxen could I have saved these two. I blamed myself bitterly for having made the foolhardy attempt to cross, and with these and other equally bitter reflections the long hours of darkness dragged slowly through. When, after what had seemed ages, the first faint streaks of dawn appeared, I uttered a prayer of thankfulness; and as the daylight became clearer and surrounding objects visible, I looked anxiously round to see how my boys were faring.

I first caught sight of the three boys who had escaped when the crocodiles pulled my horse down, and a little farther on I saw Pete, who had been helped up by Jim, but of Jim himself I could see no trace. Trembling with horror, I began to realize that he had gone. The flood had by now practically spent itself, and the top of the island was again visible. I called out to the three boys who were nearest the spot where Jim’s tree had been, and, in a voice which I could scarcely recognise as my own, asked them where Jim was. Their answer only confirmed my worst fears.

“Jim hambili, baas, blakla futi” (“Jim gone, master, tree and all”).

This was the worst blow of all, for Jim, though only a raw native when I had first got him, had been with me for over five years and was deeply attached to me. Bitterly I cursed my folly in not taking his advice, trying to console myself with the reflection that he might somehow have managed to reach the opposite bank, though in my inmost soul I knew this to be almost an impossibility, as the river was full of crocodiles, who lurked on the lower side of all the small islands, awaiting their opportunity to rush out and seize anybody or anything that might be carried past them by the water. The water was now going down slowly but surely; and, as it sank, our little island grew larger and larger. It must have been about nine o’clock when I climbed down out of the tree and stretched my stiffened limbs once again. I called the boys down, and they came gladly, but all the time casting anxious glances around them, fearful of a visit from the crocodiles again. I did not apprehend much danger from these brutes now, however, as those in the immediate vicinity would probably have gone farther down the river after the cattle.

The morning passed slowly away and I began to feel hungry, but there was nothing to eat. About eleven o’clock some natives came down to the river-bank from the “staad” on the opposite side, and shouted to us to remain where we were until the afternoon; the river, they thought, would have gone down sufficiently by that time to enable us to make an attempt to reach the mainland. The sun had dried the greater part of the island by this time, and, telling one of the boys to keep a look-out, I lay down under a tree and was soon fast asleep. I slept on until about four o’clock, when a boy awakened me, and, glancing round, I saw that the water had gone down enough to warrant our making an attempt to get across. The natives who had been on the bank in the morning had meanwhile returned, and were gesticulating and shouting to us to come away. The boys, whilst I had been asleep, had made a long strip of “n’tambo” (rope) from the bark of the trees, and, fastening this around my waist, I secured the others to it, each boy being as far from the next as the length of the rope would permit. Then, with myself leading, we started off. The current was still very strong, and, had we not been roped together, would undoubtedly have carried us off our feet. We could stand all right in the shallower places, but when I came to a strip of deep water the boys let out the rope until I had got over, then I in turn would pull them over. In this manner we finally reached the bank and were helped out by the natives from the “staad.” After resting a little I accompanied them to their kraal, where my boys were fed and rested.

Learning from the headman that he had already sent a number of men down the river-bank in search of anything that might have been washed up, I partook of a little mealie meal, which was the best he could offer, and, having washed it down with copious draughts of new milk, lay down on a bundle of skins and once more fell asleep, being utterly exhausted by the previous night’s hardship and the struggle we had made to get out of the river.

I must have been asleep several hours when I was awakened by a light touch, and, sitting up, saw the headman, who explained that his boys had returned, having found several cases of provisions, etc., and asked me if I would not like some food. I made a good meal and once more retired to rest, sleeping soundly until sunrise the following morning. Rising early, I sent a number of men to search the river-banks whilst I was having my breakfast, telling them that I would follow later. They had been gone about an hour, and I was preparing to follow them, when one of my own boys came running towards me from the direction of the river, breathlessly informing me that they had found Jim, and that he was alive, but had been badly mauled about by a crocodile. I immediately started off at a run, the boy leading the way through the bush to a spot where the river turned off to the left, about a mile farther down. There, under a tree, surrounded by half-a-dozen natives, lay Jim. He was in a fearful plight, one arm being almost eaten away and the whole side of his body mangled in an awful manner; he was still conscious, however, and recognised me immediately. I at once set to work to construct a kind of litter with branches and boughs, and, laying him carefully on it, ordered the boys to carry him back to the kraal. As they were moving off I asked one of the natives where they had found him. Pointing to what at first sight looked like a large hole in the ground, the boy answered, “Lapa, baas, hya ka lo ingwania” (“Here, mas’er, in the crocodile’s house”). I approached the place and, looking down the hole, was astonished to see a large chamber beneath and a small tunnel which seemed to lead down to the water. The ground forming the roof of the chamber had been worn away a good deal, and the crocodile, in turning round in the hole with his victim, had evidently broken the crust above, thus exposing his hiding-place.

I followed the boys back to the kraal, and pulling poor Jim in a hut carefully washed his wounds, doing all I could for him. He remained conscious the whole morning and told me that during the night, whilst he was on the island, his tree, which was not a very strong one, had been struck several times by floating driftwood. Towards midnight, as near as he could remember, a heavier log than usual had crashed into it, carrying it away completely. He had clung desperately to the branches in the hope of reaching the bank when he got to the curve in the river, and had managed to keep himself above water until he found himself floating in a place where the water was smoother and running less rapidly. Divining that he must be near one of the banks, he tried to reach it by swimming, but had only made a few strokes when he suddenly felt himself seized by one arm, and was immediately dragged under the water. He had just had time to realize that it was a crocodile which had got him when he lost consciousness. When he recovered his senses again he found himself in a hole, lying on dry ground, with the sunlight streaming in through a small opening above. There was no sign of the crocodile, and suffering agonies from his wounds he managed to drag himself up to the orifice, where he at last gut out his hunting-knife, which still hung on to his belt, and, digging at the edges of the cavity, tried to enlarge it so that he could crawl through. Weakness overcame him, however, and he fainted again. At last, hearing voices above him, he once more tried to get out, and, managing to put his uninjured arm up through the hole, had attracted the attention of the boys, who were searching near.

I could plainly see that the poor fellow was past all hope, but I did all I could to ease his last moments for him. In the afternoon he became unconscious again, and at about five o’clock passed quietly away. I buried him under a large tree, near the entrance to the circle of small kopjes by which the “staad” was surrounded, and, cutting a small wooden cross, nailed it to the tree, with the simple inscription, “JIM. 21-10-’02.”

Next day, sad at heart, I started off to Pietersburg, having to walk the whole way. Here I reported the matter to the police, who sent out a patrol to investigate the affair, and there the matter ended so far as I was concerned. I never recovered any of the oxen, and the wagon, or the remains of it, so far as I am aware, still lies in the river-bed. I have never done any trading in that district since.

A Belgian Smoking Competition.

BY A. PITCAIRN-KNOWLES.

There is more tobacco per head consumed in Belgium than in any other country in the world. It is therefore fitting, perhaps, that one of the favourite pastimes of the menfolk should be smoking competitions, at which valuable prizes are awarded to the man who can make his pipeful of tobacco last the longest. Our representative was recently the guest of honour at a competition held by the premier smokers’ club of Belgium, and here describes and illustrates what he saw.

BRUGSCHE ROOKERSCLUB.

HONOURED SIR AND MEMBER,--Once more an honour is being bestowed upon us. Mr. A. Pitcairn-Knowles, the representative of three journals of world-wide reputation, will be present at our general meeting on Friday next, and will give an account of this gathering in one or perhaps in all of those papers. We have, therefore, decided to commence the meeting at an earlier hour. We shall assemble at 8.30 p.m., and open the entertainment with a grand prize competition, and we urgently beg you to put in an appearance, as the reputation of our club depends to a great extent upon the success of the fête. As true smokers you should look upon it as your duty to join us at 8.30 p.m. sharp, on Friday, the 11th inst. Accept, honoured Sir and Member, the greetings of your devoted committee.--(For the President) The Second Secretary, L. MONBALLIU.

Such were the contents of a printed notice in Flemish sent out to all members of the Bruges Smoking Club, as a result of my expressing a desire to the indefatigable secretary of this most famous of all Belgian “Rookersclubs” to witness one of their quaint smokers’ competitions.

I am glad to be able to state that the invitation issued to the Bruges devotees of the fragrant weed had the desired effect, and when I reached the cosy Graenenburg Estaminet of the Grande Place I found the obliging secretary and the genial president of the Smokers’ Club preparing for a record attendance, which, judging from the number already present, seemed assured. My introduction to the assembly was looked upon as needless, since everyone present was acquainted with the reason for my admission within the precincts of the club, and the most strenuous efforts were made to render my visit to the Graenenburg an agreeable one.

In response to the invitation of the secretary, I ascended a steep staircase leading from the café to a room reserved for the club. It was there that the solemn function of admitting new members took place, and general regrets were expressed that my visit had not been made upon a day which would have presented an opportunity for witnessing such a ceremony. As it was, I had to content myself with an inspection of the paten, to which, on such an occasion, the would-be member had to press his lips after taking an oath in the following words: “I pledge myself solemnly to be a faithful and honest member of the club, and to conform strictly to the rules.” Previously to installation, he had to furnish proof of his suitability for election by smoking a pipe in the presence of the committee.

Although I had not the good fortune to be present at such an inauguration, time did not hang heavily on my hands while waiting for the smokers to prepare for the contest.

Glancing around the room I noticed with interest a large shield adorning the wall, upon which was arranged an assortment of most curious pipes, representing all corners of the globe. In fact, the place was a veritable museum of pipes, giving silent testimony of the character and degree of culture attained, as well as of the individual taste of smokers of almost every nation of the world. The lordly meerschaum, elaborately carved; the Turkish chibouque; the “hubble-bubble,” in which the fumes pass through water; the long German pipe, with its china bowl adorned with a gay picture; the Indian’s pipe of peace--all, their functions finished, now hang side by side in idle repose. A huge pipe carved from the stump of a tree and a pipe with a sea-shell for a bowl were conspicuous among the curiosities of the collection.

After my inspection of the museum the labour of deciphering the rules of the club, in Flemish, came as a less welcome task, but the secretary, always ready to be of service, aided my efforts, and I was able to discover the real objects of the association.

A casual observer might be somewhat surprised to find that a society of this kind should require numerous laws and regulations, but a glimpse at the workings behind the scenes of a Belgian “Rookersclub” furnishes convincing proof that the number of rules is in no way excessive, considering the importance of the institution, for the strictest discipline is a _sine quâ non_ in a well-conducted “Rookersclub.”

Many are the duties of the members and the regulations for competitions. No applicant can be elected unless he has reached the age of eighteen. Cigars and cigarettes are tabooed, the pipe being looked upon as the only justifiable means of satisfying that craving which makes us slaves to the weed. The chief object of the club being to teach, through its disciples, the world at large the use of tobacco and to guard against its abuse, it wisely refrains from over-indulgence, and asks no more from its members than that they should “smoke at least one pipe at every club meeting.”

The picture the words “smoking competition” call up to the mind’s eye of the uninitiated, of competitors sitting in a room made almost unbearable by the dense volumes of smoke they are vigorously puffing from their pipes, is as far from the reality as it is possible to imagine. When I stepped into the spick and span Café Graenenburg I was certainly under the impression that I was conversant with the science of smoking, though I must own I had up to that time been willing to accept with blind faith its dictionary definition as “a continuous drawing in and puffing out of the fumes of burning tobacco,” which is, I assume, what nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand of my fellow-smokers look upon as the desideratum of their enjoyment.

Now, however, after half the term usually allotted for mankind’s existence upon this earth had run out, the truth dawned upon me that I had hitherto been chasing shadows, and would have to learn all over again. Smoking was, I began to realize, not the simple, easy pastime I had considered it to be, but an art which one might only expect to master after careful study, silent pondering, and steady practice. In this humble frame of mind I lost no time in repairing to an expert for instruction in the management of a pipe, so that all fatal mistakes should be avoided at the outset of my second schooling; and now that I am on the high road towards experiencing hitherto dimly-conceived moments of unalloyed bliss, let me impart my experience as a valuable secret to those who lie under the same mistaken impression which I once fostered. In the words of my preceptor: “The true art of smoking consists in reducing the combustion to a minimum, and yet never allowing the pipe to go out while a particle of tobacco remains in the bowl. The object is not to smoke quickly or much--we are not locomotives bent upon producing force, but men on the quest of solace and enjoyment.”

But now let us see the outcome of his doctrine, as displayed by the members of the “Rookersclub” on the occasion of my visit to their meeting-place.

The preliminary arrangements for the battle of pipes having been completed, I was led back to the café, where the committee were busily engaged at a table putting the finishing touches to their work. Before them lay the empty pipes, all of equal length and size. Tobacco taken out of a jar was being apportioned into little heaps to be weighed on a small pair of scales. As each competitor’s share, consisting of exactly forty-five grains, left the scales to replenish the pipe awaiting it, the eyes of the judge roved anxiously from the balance to the hands of the colleague to whom the filling of the bowls had been entrusted. Unerring fairness characterized the operations of the committee. Around another table the competitors were seated indulging in “bocks” while waiting to take part in the struggle for supremacy in serious smoking.

At last a general wave of excitement showed that the proceedings were about to begin. The pipes were placed in the hands of their claimants, the matches put within easy reach, and the president, in his capacity of judge, called for attention.

“You have two minutes in which to light your pipes!” he announced, watch in hand; then, presently, “One minute!” “Half a minute!” “One quarter of a minute!” These successive announcements were followed by the ringing of a bell, and then, almost simultaneously, twenty hands holding burning matches were raised to set the pipes alight. All but one or two, whom anxiety to be in time had slightly flurried, delayed setting the match to the tobacco until the very last moment. One unfortunate competitor procrastinated too long, and was promptly disqualified before he could apply the light. No time had been wasted in removing the matches from the table, and as soon as the time-limit had been reached every one but the disappointed straggler was beginning very slowly to draw short puffs. At this critical moment, when all the rivals were applying themselves with slow caution to the initial whiffs, on which the final issue frequently depends, so complete a silence reigned that one might have heard the proverbial pin drop. It is said by many that the secret of success is found in the way of lighting, but as to which is the correct _modus operandi_ there exists a great diversity of opinion, for while one expert will attribute his success to the fact that he lights the tobacco nearest the side of the bowl, another equally practised smoker believes in applying the match to a central spot. Be that as it may, there is no denying the fact that to ensure obtaining a satisfactory start both experience and intelligence are essential factors.

But to return to our friends of the “Rookersclub.” Ten minutes had elapsed, and all were still in the running except the disappointed man who had been ejected at the outset. Some had become quite communicative, trusting to their pipes to look after themselves while they exchanged views on politics. Others, not losing for one moment their sense of the importance of the occasion, kept the stems between their teeth, without allowing their tense expressions to relax into the faintest suspicion of a smile. One competitor in particular looked as if he were made of wax, even the chaffing of his colleagues failing to upset his gravity. He had been pointed out to me as a winner of many prizes and the fortunate possessor of a temperament any smoker might envy.

“Ting-a-ling” went the bell, the announcement of the extinction of a pipe--the first defeat--and this early failure was received with general merriment.

But hark! The bell was heard again. This time the victim was a man who had been trying to give me some faint idea of the magnitude of the feats he intended to accomplish, his loquacity being undoubtedly the cause of his premature downfall. As he made his exit amid roars of laughter I attempted to assuage his mortification by promising to convince myself on a future occasion of the grounds for his self-praise. He was forced to the indignity of becoming a looker-on, and tried to find consolation by critically regarding the performance of each candidate. Each time the judge’s bell gave the signal for the departure of another competitor he had some infallible theory to expound in regard to the unsuccessful smoker’s faults and follies, and upon those who still possessed a winning chance he generously showered well-meant, but unsolicited, counsel.

Slowly but surely the tobacco of the remaining competitors burnt itself out, and every quarter of an hour, when the clock of the world-famed belfry on the opposite side of the square pealed forth one of its melodious airs, the number of the possible victors had diminished.

After the lapse of about three-quarters of an hour the judge’s bell set up a continuous tinkle. It was now time for those who acted as controllers to keep a sharp look-out, and every now and then the order “Smoke, please,” could be heard, as a committee-man pointed at the bowl of an apparently extinguished pipe, whereupon the faintest cloud of smoke would rise into the air from the clay of the cunning laggard, or the bell would announce another failure.

Presently the fiftieth minute arrived, and the number of smokers had dwindled down to six. Opinions differed as to which would “live” to bear the palm. Among the favourites was the amiable secretary himself, one of the most skilful of the Bruges “Rookers,” who, strange as it may seem, is practically a non-smoker when outside the precincts of the club. In the president of the club he possesses a most formidable rival, who enjoys the reputation of being able to win one of the first prizes whenever he chooses to do so.