By Airship to Ophir E-Book

Fenton Ash

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Dated 1928. „By Airship to Ophir”, written by Fenton Ash, tells the story of an airship and two aircraft meander round central Africa picking up an assortment of natives in a search for the fabled land of Ophir, which is eventually reached and found to be inhabited by a race of people of Arab/Hebrew mien. This fantasy adventure would suit anyone interested in old fantasy novels for children and young people. Fenton Ash is the first and main pseudonym of UK civil engineer and author Francis Henry Atkins (1847-1927) who was a writer of „pulp fiction”, in particular science fiction aimed at younger readers. He wrote under the pseudonyms Frank Aubrey and Fenton Ash.

Leseprobe

Contents

PREFACE

I. THE MESSAGE

II. MORE MYSTERY

III. AT THE LION ROCK

IV. HOW DR. CAMDRAY ARRIVED

V. THE SECRET OF THE ROCK

VI. TRUANTS ON AN AEROPLANE

VII. THE END OF THE RACE

VIII. SALONDAH

IX. A TREACHEROUS ATTACK

X. A STRANGE DISCOVERY

XI. IN DIRE PERIL

XII. "WELCOME TO CAMBRAY TOWN!"

XIII. OVER THE MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON

XIV. AMONG THE PIGMIES

XV. IN GORILLA LAND

XVI. A TERRIBLE FIVE MINUTES

XVII. "FURA!"

XVIII. THE STRANGE CAMP

XIX. AN EVENTFUL NIGHT

XX. ROUSING A HORNETS' NEST

XXI. A TIGHT CORNER

XXII. HOW THE FIGHT ENDED

XXIII. THE STRANGER'S STORY

XXIV. THE STRANGER "GOES FOR A SPIN."

XXV. THE SEARCH FOR THE CASTAWAYS

XXVI. AT THE LAST GASP

XXVII. "A FEW WORDS OF ENGLISH."

XXVIII. GRAHAM'S "SECRET."

XXIX. LESLIE'S PERIL

XXX. A CHASE IN A HURRICANE

XXXI. LOST ON AN AEROPLANE

XXXII. MOBBED BY EAGLES

XXXIII. MUTINY AT THE CAMP

XXXIV. A TIMELY RESCUE

XXXV. A "WILD MAN OF THE WOODS."

XXXVI. LESLIE RISES A STEP

XXXVII. IN THE "WILD MAN'S" GRASP

XXXVIII. A STRANGE CAPTURE

XXXIX. THE "WILD MAN" SPEAKS

XL. A SURPRISING TRANSFORMATION

XLI. THE START FOR FURA

XLII. PRINCE AKOLAH'S RETURN

XLIII. SALONDAH AGAIN

XLIV. MYSTERIOUS PREPARATIONS

XLV. HOW THE DOCTOR SET HIS TRAP

XLVI. "BOTTLED UP!"

XLVII. JOYFUL NEWS FOR ROLAND

XLVIII. A GOLD MINE OF ANCIENT OPHIR

XLIX. CONCLUSION

PREFACE

THE world to-day is watching with wonder and almost breathless interest, the amazing rapidity of the progress that is being made towards that “conquest of the air” which, but a few years ago even, seemed only the vainest of vain dreams.

And while we look on, many of us are, consciously or unconsciously, drawing mental pictures of what life on our globe will be like when success shall have been finally achieved.

Among such speculations, the assistance that will be afforded to the exploration of hitherto unknown, or little-known regions, is one which appeals so strongly to the imagination, and holds out such fascinating possibilities that apology is scarcely needed for drawing attention to it under the guise of fiction.

The day is not vary distant when the “dirigible” and the aeroplane, self-contained as to renewal of gas, petrol, electricity, or whatever the motive force may be, relatively safe, and free from frequent, irritating breakdowns, will be able to float above the impenetrable forest, the steaming, malarial swamp, or the densest jungle; and to sail serenely over mountains which have previously defied the efforts of the most daring mountaineers to scale them. In that day, the work of the explorer and the geographer will be made comparatively easy; and the naturalist, and the big game hunter, will be able to seek for specimens and trophies in places to which access is at present denied to them. No corner of the earth will then remain unvisited; and Nature will be made to yield up many secrets which have as yet been successfully hidden from us.

But whatever our gains in this direction, they will be small compared with the benefits likely to be reaped by humanity generally in other ways. Not only will the dark places of our globe be laid open to our view, but the yet darker deeds by which they are now befouled will, we may be permitted to hope, be put an end to for ever.

To-day, the slave hunter still carries on his infamous traffic in many parts of “Darkest Africa,” as free from interference as in the days when Sir Samuel Baker wrote “Ismalia.” His ferocious raids, with their accompaniments of butcheries, torturings, and all kinds of unspeakable horrors, continue practically unchecked. And they will so continue, for many and many a year yet, if we have to wait for the slow opening up of the vast interior of the continent by means of the construction of roads and railways.

In the following pages an attempt has been made to illustrate what the advent of “chariots of the air” may do to bring about the final extinction of these slaver gangs.

The picture may or may not be deemed a fanciful one. Yet I do not think I am venturing upon any extravagant prediction if I say I believe that many of my youthful readers will live to see it justified by actual events.

I may venture yet farther, and say that quite possibly some of them may themselves one day take part in somewhat similar adventures. And amongst these there may even be one or two embryo Cambrays, who may be stimulated by what they read here to emulate the worthy doctor’s efforts in the cause of humanity. If this should indeed ever be the case, then my present story will have done something more then merely serve to while away an idle hour.

The Author.

I. THE MESSAGE

“HOW the lions are roaring round us to-night, Dan! There must be more of them than usual about.”

“Yes, sir; ye see it be a extra dark, bad night, an’ that makes ‘em bolder. It sounds to me as if theer be a party on. Our reg’lar lion friends, what comes other nights, ‘as sent out invertation cards, belike, to a lions’ supper party.”

“H’m! Well, we don’t want them to make their suppers off us–or off the professor’s oxen, either. Better tell the boys to see to the fires.”

“Ay, ay, sir! I’ll make ‘em stir their selves. Ginger! What a clatter!”

It was something more than a “clatter” that was going on just then around the lonely camp in the African wilderness. There had come an outburst of booming, reverberating roars which fairly seemed to shake the earth.

Of the two who had been speaking, the first one was a good-looking, muscular young fellow, Roland Woodham by name, a ward of Professor Kelmar, the leader of the party. The other was an old hunter, a grizzled, weather-beaten veteran of the forest and plain, called Dan Beach.

They were seated near the middle of a circle of considerable extent formed by a ring of fires, which again were placed inside a skilfully-constructed fence of thornbush. Within the enclosure thus guarded were tents, wagons, and other items of a traveller’s outfit. In and out amongst these could be seen a promiscuous assortment of native “boys,” hunters, headmen, and carriers, some standing or sitting about in groups, chattering and laughing, some sprawling on the ground as though courting sleep.

Near at hand were oxen, many of them tugging desperately at the stakes to which they were tethered, and adding to the din by bellowing with fright; while others of the poor creatures, too frightened to move or utter a sound, simply stood still and trembled in a cold sweat.

The largest tent of all had a “porch” or awning in front of it, where, seated beside a table with a lamp, was a tall, bearded man with a tanned complexion and strong, wiry-looking figure, dressed in a hunter’s white costume and helmet. This was Professor Kelmar, an experienced explorer and naturalist. He was reading a book, and was studying it so deeply as to appear utterly indifferent to the uproar around him.

As to the locality of the encampment, the professor himself would have been puzzled to say positively, more than that he was not very far from the boundary line of the British-African state of Uganda. He was conducting an exploration into unknown territory, in the somewhat vague hope of discovering what had become of a friend of his, another explorer–one of world-wide repute–named Dr. Cambray.

Dr. Brinton Cambray had led a large and well-equipped party some years before into the unexplored interior of Africa, and then, so far as the civilised world was concerned, seemed to have completely disappeared.

What had become of him none could say. Rumours had floated down to the coast, but they were so many and so various, so hopelessly contradictory one of another–and some, at least, were of so wild and extraordinary a character–that nothing could be made out of them.

So at last the professor had determined to go himself in search of his friend, taking with him only a small party, consisting of his ward, Roland Woodham, his faithful henchman, Beach–who had accompanied him in more than one previous trip of the kind–and a few natives on whose fidelity he knew he could implicitly rely.

Roland and Beach had been seated beside the fire which had cooked their evening meal, and were now engaged in cleaning their rifles by the light of the flames.

“I shouldn’t care to be a lonely traveller out on the plain on a night like this,” said Roland with a slight shudder, as there came a short interval of comparative silence. “I wonder if there’s any belated native abroad to-night?”

“No fear, sir; or if there be, he’s passing the night up a tree,” Beach declared. “Nobody in his senses goes about alone in the dark here. They keeps to their villages–an’ they beant too safe even theer; or else, if so be there’s a party of ‘em, they camps fur the night, and makes up plenty o’ fires same as we be doin’.”

The hunter had laid his rifle carefully aside and risen to his feet, and having delivered himself of this last observation, was turning to cross over to the natives’ quarters, when he suddenly stopped and stared about him.

“Did ye hear that, sir?” he exclaimed.

“Hear what, Dan?”

“Why–I doan’t rightly know, Mr. Roland,” Beach answered hesitatingly. “But I thought, somehow, as I ‘eard voices overhead like.”

This amused Roland, who laughed; and as though the lions thought he was laughing at them, his reply was drowned in a fresh outburst of roars from outside the camp.

It was in the midst of this deep-toned chorus that something came hurtling through the air–something which fell just between Dan and the young fellow still seated beside the fire–something which flashed white as it came into the light of the lamp in the tent on the one side and the firelight on the other.

“Great Scott!” cried Dan. “What be that?”

He had again started off to speak to the native “boys,” and he once more turned back, in order to see what it was that had fallen. But Roland, leaning over and crawling a foot or two, reached it first.

In an instant he had jumped to his feet, and was holding the something up in his hand, and examining it by the aid of the flickering firelight.

“Jupiter! Why–it’s a letter!” he gasped.

“A what, sir?” asked Dan, amazed.

“A letter–and it’s addressed to the professor!”

Beach stared helplessly up into the sky. Nothing to be seen there save inky blackness. Then he stared again at Roland.

“A letter!” he muttered to himself. “Great Scott! He says it’s a letter!”

The roars had died down into hoarse, muttering growls and grunts; and it so happened that just then Professor Kelmar looked up from the book he was reading, and saw his ward coming towards him with something white in his hand.

“What have you there?” he asked.

“A letter, sir–just arrived,” was the surprising answer.

“A letter? What do you mean, Roland?” The professor frowned. He did not like silly, boyish jokes such as this seemed to be.

“It’s true, sir,” Roland declared. “Look at it!”

He held out a pebble some few inches in length, and weighing perhaps four or five ounces. To it a letter was securely tied by a piece of native fibre in place of string.

Professor Kelmar took it and looked at it curiously. Then he slipped the fastening off, and turned the missive over and over. It was a thick envelope, carefully sealed with wax, and bearing his name.

So astonished did he feel that he continued to stare at the envelope for what seemed quite a long time. Finally he broke the seal, opened it, and took out and read the enclosure.

The contents seemed only to add to his mystification.

“Roland!” he cried. “How did this come here?”

“That’s more than I can say, Mr. Kelmar,” the youngster returned. “I’m trying to think the puzzle out. It seemed to drop from the clouds, just now.”

“Do you mean that some messenger has arrived with it on a night like this?”

Roland shook his head.

“No, sir; no messenger has come into camp. It dropped almost at my feet.”

“Do you mean, then, that someone flung it from the outside over the hedge and the fires?”

“That’s what I’m trying to think out, sir. It fell just when that last little tune-up of our four-footed camp-followers was at its loudest. But I can scarcely think it was one of them who–”

“Don’t talk rubbish!” interrupted the professor angrily.

“Indeed, sir, I don’t mean it that way. But I can hardly think that any person could be outside and threw it in. So where on earth it came from I can’t imagine.”

The professor meantime was reading the epistle itself, and as he read the expression of his face altered and became excited and eager.

“Extraordinary!” he exclaimed. “However it came, it’s a wonderful letter–short as it is, it’s a marvellous letter, Roland! What it says is as astonishing as the way it came. It tells me most welcome news–that Dr. Cambray is alive, and he wants me–but, Roland we must find that messenger! He must be a brave fellow and a faithful one–to venture here on such a night. If he is still outside we must have him in. Dan, go and find him, and bring him here to us! We can’t leave him out there!”

Dan had drawn near, and had listened to the talk between his leader and Roland.

“Of course not–of course not,” said the hunter, in a dazed sort of way. “Only, sir, if I bring him in I’ll have t’ bring in the hull menagerie as is outside, I’m thinking. If he were ever theer, he’s bin eat up long ago.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I means as there weren’t no messenger. Couldn’t a bin. Nobody could a come through them roaring ‘ungry creetures wi’out bein’ eat up! Ye knows that yesself, sir. No; he can’t be outside the hedge–even if he could have thrown that theer stone as fur–which, beggin’ yer pardin, sir, I takes the liberty to misdoubt. ‘Sides, it didn’t come from the outside like.”

“That’s just it,” Roland put in. “I agree with Dan. I doubt if anyone could have thrown the stone from outside–especially the way this was thrown.”

“How else could it have come, then?” Professor Kelmar demanded.

Roland was silent. It was a question he could not answer. But Beach had quite made up his mind.

“It’s witchcraft, sir; that’s what it be,” he said.

The professor turned away impatiently, and, bidding the two attend him, went off to the native side. There he ordered the boys to get torches and follow, and, in spite of the danger attending his proceedings, he made the circuit of the whole camp, close to the hedge, calling loudly to anyone who might be waiting on the other side, and bidding him reveal his whereabouts.

Bit it was all in vain. There was an ominous absence of anything like a human reply to their calls. Only the lions roared again, in defiant answer to what they thought was a sort of challenge meant for them.

“He must have rushed up to the hedge, thrown the letter over and rushed away again,” the professor finally decided.

“If he did he’s lion’s meat by this time–that’s sartin,” growled Dan to himself. “But theer warn’t no one theer. It be witchcraft!”

The professor returned thoughtfully to his tent, where, spreading the paper out on his table, he read it out aloud for the benefit of his two white companions. And this is all there was to read.

“Meet me at the Lion Rock three days from now, S. by E. ½ S.–Brinton Cambray.”

“The Lion Rock!” repeated the professor. “Meet me at the Lion Rock! What an extraordinary message! And–more extraordinary still–he evidently knows exactly where we are, though we have heard no rumour of his being in the neighbourhood.”

“And he says nothing as to where he is?” Roland asked.

“Nothing. It’s a most mysterious, puzzling affair. And why meet at the Lion Rock? Why not come here? Or why can’t we go direct to him, wherever he is? And finally, where on earth–or where in Africa–is the Lion Rock? Dan, tell Madali and his boys that I want to speak to them.”

Madali, one of the headmen, a native chief, and his boys were called and questioned, but they could give no information.

“It’s such a remarkable message,” pondered the professor, after he had dismissed them in despair, “that if we had been anywhere else than in this wilderness I should have declared it to be a hoax.”

“But–I suppose you know whether it’s the doctor’s writing, Mr. Kelmar?” said Roland. “Do you think it is really his?”

“Yes, my lad, I do, though it’s a bit shaky.”

He became silent and thoughtful as he recalled some of the wild rumours which had come down to the coast. And with them there came into his mind a haunting doubt. What if his friend were not in his right mind? It would not be the first time that the African sun had turned a white man’s brain.

“Well,” he decided at last, “there is nothing for it but to follow his directions, for I suppose these letters S. by E., ½ S., mean that we are to travel in that direction in order to find the place. So to-morrow we will break up our camp and start upon a fresh search–a search for this Lion Rock!”

II. MORE MYSTERY

AT dawn next morning a search was made round the outside of the camp; but nothing was discovered which explained how the mysterious message of the previous night had been delivered.

There were no tracks visible save those made by the lions, who had by that time drawn off. No traces were there of any stranger having been near the place; no signs of any struggle, such as might have been expected if a messenger had fallen a victim to the hungry marauders.

The professor gave up the problem in despair. Then he inspanned and set out upon his march, following as well as he could the directions contained in the message.

Towards afternoon the travellers reached a native village, where inquiries were made, but with unsatisfactory results. The villagers were friendly, and at first readily answered all questions put to them by the professor’s headman, Madali, who understood their language. But no sooner was the Lion Rock mentioned than they became silent and stolid. It waa clear that they knew something about the rock–something, however, which they declined to talk about.

Overtures were made to induce of them to act as guides to the place; but this they obstinately refused to do at any price. Neither coaxing, persuasion, nor bribes would tempt a single villager to accompany the white men and show them the way to the mysterious Lion Rock.

In the end the travellers had to resume their journey without a guide; and they started again, following as well as they could the line of country that had been marked out.

The region they had now to traverse was a vast undulating plain. It consisted for the most part of alternations of dense forest and grassy veldt; but in many places there were muddy streams and swamps, and in others ridges and stretches of almost bare rock.

In the far distance could be seen the blue summits of a chain of lofty mountains which appeared to rise almost to the clouds.

To these the travellers often longingly turned their gaze as they plodded onwards, in the burning rays of the tropical sun, through the steaming swamps or over the sun-baked rock. Their soaring summits suggested delicious, cooling, mountain breezes; whereas the plain they were in was little better than a scorching wilderness.

The natural obstacles which they continually met with, too, forced them to make many tedious detours. Their actual progress, therefore, was slow; and it was difficult to know whether they were really following the right course.

There was not even the excitement of a hunt for game to vary the monotony; for nothing in that way was seen during the whole day.

At sundown they halted for the night upon a rocky eminence; and here another strange thing befell.

They had cut their thorn fence and placed it in position, built and lighted their ring of fires, and were making preparations for the evening meal. The night was again extremely dark, no stars even peeped down through the cloud overhead.

The lions–their usual nocturnal attendants–had not yet put in an appearance. A distant sound, however that was like a deep, long-drawn, hoarse moaning, rather than a roar, indicated that the creatures were astir and were already setting out upon their nightly prowl.

“What is there for supper to-night, Dan?” asked Roland of the hunter.

“Precious little, sir; nuthin’ as you’ll care about,” grunted Beach. “We’ve only got the bully-beef an’ the dried deer’s meat. The luck wur against us t’ day. No game t’ be seen–and even them village chaps had little to sell ‘cept some goats’ milk.”

“Ay, I know; and I’m tired of that dried-up meat. Why, it’s three or four days now since we had any fresh meat.”

“Happen we’ll get some to-morrer,” said Dan hopefully. “We’d better turn out early an’ see what’s about. I wur goin’ this mornin’, only the perfessor kep’ us so long a-huntin’ round fur the chap as he thought ‘ad brought that letter. But I knew it ‘ud be no good–‘cause why? ‘Twur witchcraft.”

Ronald smiled indulgently.

“Still harping on that, Dan?” he commented. “Well, I’ll go out with you as early as you please in the morning, and we’ll see if we can’t get a bird or two by way of a change for breakfast, anyway.”

And then it was that the second strange thing happened. There was again a swishing sound, as of something hurtling through the air; but this time it was followed by a dull, heavy thud. Looking round, the two saw a big, dark lump lying on the ground a short distance away.

There was a white patch on it which showed up conspicuously in the firelight.

“Zooks! Another letter?” exclaimed Roland, staring about to see where it could have come from.

“Somethin’ bigger’n a letter to-night,” Dan declared. “Must a come by parcel post this time, I’m thinkin’!”

The hunter stepped forward and picked the thing up. It was a large joint of fresh meat.

“Ginger! Here’s the supper ye was a-wishin’ fur! As fine a haunch o’ venison as ever I seed. Well, if this don’t beat everything! More witchcraft!”

Roland wonderingly looked at this welcome arrival, touched it, smelt it, and found that it was, truly enough, what Dan had pronounced it to be. Then he cut free the piece of paper attached to it. On it were written a few words only:

“For Professor Kelmar. With Dr. Cambray’s compliments.”

The young fellow stared at the paper in amazement.

“Jupiter! I must tell Mr. Kelmar of this!” he cried; and ran off to where his leader was inspecting some of the arrangements for the night.

A minute or so later the professor was staring first at the slip of paper and then at the unexpected gift.

“It is extraordinary–certainly most extraordinary!” he commented. “Now, Roland–Dan–how did this come here?”

But, of course, neither could explain. The three gazed this way and that, but no solution of the problem offered itself.

“This couldn’t have been thrown in by someone from the outside, at any rate!” Roland remarked.

“N-no. That, at least, seems certain,” his leader admitted. “But then, it couldn’t have come from the sky, you know.”

As to Dan, he stuck to his original opinion:

“It be witchcraft,” he pronounced once more.

“Well, the fresh meat is acceptable, sir, anyway,” said Roland. “Only just now I was wishing we had some.”

Kelmar laughed.

“There’s that to be said, certainly. Dan, you’d better take it in hand and cook it for supper.”

Dan set to work and prepared what proved to be a tasty dish, and the travellers had quite an enjoyable meal; all the more pleasing, perhaps, for being seasoned with so much wondering speculation.

Nothing further of note occurred that night, and at dawn the march was resumed. In the course of the day they passed two more villages, with much the same experience as that which they had met with the previous day. Directly the Lion Rock was mentioned the natives became silent and refused to talk about it. Here, indeed, even more than before, there was noticeable in their demeanour an air of mystery which seemed to be founded on fear. To the keen observer it was obvious that they knew the place and held it in awe–in such awe that they were afraid to so much as speak about it.

“Anyone would think there’s something uncanny about the place,” commented the professor. “I wonder what it all means? They have the air of people under the influence of some superstitious terror.”

“An’ small wonder, sir,” quoth honest Dan. “Seein’ as they seems t’ live in a country wheer things most onexpected do come droppin’ down from the sky. If that sort o’ thing’s bin a-goin’ on heer for long, I wonder it ain’t turned their hair white–an’ their skins, too, fur that matter. I tell ye, Mr. Roland, theer must be witches a-flyin’ about ‘ere nights.”

“Of the real, old-fashioned kind, d’you think, Dan–on broomsticks?” laughed Roland.

At their next camping-place that night there came yet another missive–only a slip this time, tied to a stone, with the laconic message:

“Too far to the E. Travel to-morrow S.W. by W.”

“No witch would watch over us like this, Dan,” said Roland to the wondering hunter. “These people, whoever they are, are acting more like guardian angels than witches.”

III. AT THE LION ROCK

THE following morning the travellers were astir before dawn. This was the beginning of the third day–the day on which all doubts were to be resolved, and the promised meeting was to take place with their mysterious–or eccentric–correspondent.

In accordance with the latest instructions, so oddly given the night before, the route followed was more to the west. This alteration presently brought them in sight of a gap or pass in a high rocky ridge which crossed their line of march, and obscured their view of the country on the other side.

“H’m!” observed the leader to Roland. “The directions which were ‘thrown’ at us last night were not sent without cause. But for them we should not have seen yonder pass, and should have been compelled to make a most toilsome journey right over the top of that ridge. I can see that this will be a much easier route.”

“Which,” returned Roland, as he wiped his perspiring face with his handkerchief, “is something to be thankful for on a baking morning like this.”

The pass was a narrow defile between precipitous rocks. At first the track mounted upwards, but very soon it began to descend. Presently it opened out, offering to the tired travellers a magnificent view of the plain beyond.

And then, at last, they saw the Lion Rock.

There was no mistaking it when it came in sight. They needed no guide-book or finger-post to confirm their first impression. There was no room for doubt or hesitation. They knew that they must be looking at the Lion Rock, and no other.

There it stood, the most striking object in the midst of a vast plain extending to the foot of the mountains, of which, during the previous days, they had only seen the peaks. Dreamy, inviting-looking peaks they had been, suggesting, as has already been said, cool, soft, refreshing zephyrs. Now, glistening, silver threads could be distinguished here and there, which further suggested the existence of limpid mountain-streams and foaming waterfalls.

But the great rock for which they were bound claimed their first attention.

It stood out clearly, placed on an eminence, which raised it high above the surrounding country, while it was of itself far larger than any other rocky outcrop save the distant mountains.

It formed, therefore, a conspicuous and striking landmark.

Its likeness to a colossal statue of a lion couchant was obvious at the very first view of its general outline. This resemblance was heightened by the fact that the highest part, forming what may be termed the head and neck, was covered with dark foliage, which, when viewed by the naked eye from a distance, was not unlike a dense, shaggy, black mane.

Looked at through the travellers’ glasses, however, this mane resolved itself into a plantation of cedars of Lebanon of immense size, their sombre foliage showing up in striking contrast to the marble-like whiteness of the sides of the rock itself.

Bold, rugged, and massive stood this Lion Rock, suggesting in its outlines a sense of stubborn solidity and unfathomable strength.

Nor was this without reason. As Professor Kelmar decided, after a careful scrutiny, it must have stood thus for hundreds–more probably for thousands–of years, defying all the powers of Nature that had been brought to bear against it–the lightnings of the tropical thunderstorms, the beatings of the wild whirlwinds, the shock of the tornadoes.

It must have endured, too, the daily scorching of the sun’s rays, and the even fiercer breath of the forest fires which had doubtless from time to time raged round its base. But evidently, the professor decided, these could never have reached its tree-covered heights–at any rate, during the last thousand years. The immense size of the cedars themselves told him that much.

From a contemplation of this rock, the hot, dusty, toil-worn adventurers turned their gaze again to the distant rampart of mountains. And then a feeling of disappointment and dismay swept over them. High up in the air, literally amongst the clouds, was a seductive-looking tableland; but it appeared to be unapproachable, absolutely inaccessible! The mountains rose from the plain in one stupendous unbroken precipice, the upper part of which no one might hope to reach except by the aid of balloons.

An involuntary sigh escaped from Roland.

“See, Mr. Kelmar!” he exclaimed, as he gazed fixedly through his glasses. “It looks like a veritable fairyland up there! It is just as though there was a fairy town amongst the clouds. I fancy I can almost make out buildings and white tents!”

“I can see something of the kind,” the professor agreed. “But I expect, Roland, that is an illusion–perhaps some kind of mirage! However, it will not do to linger here. Our immediate business is to get to yonder great rock. I can see we have yet some miles of difficult travelling to get through before we reach it.”

“And what shall we find–who shall we find–when we get there?” Roland queried. “Will Dr. Cambray be there? Is he there now? Will he see us before we get there, and come to meet us?”

These were questions no one could answer. All they could do, seemingly, would be to trudge on through the increasing heat–the sun was getting high overhead–with such patience and hopefulness as they could muster up.

“However,” decided the leader, “I see no use in dragging our oxen and heavy baggage further till we know what is going to happen. I shall leave them here with some of the boys in charge. Then, if we find we wish to stay at the rock, we can send for them; or, if we decide to return, we can pick them up on our way back.”

Near at hand there happened to be a small thicket with a muddy pool; and here, in the shade, the wagons were halted, and a few natives left to look after them. The remainder of the party descended into the plain and continued their tedious journey, making their way at one time through patches of dense forest, at others over arid wastes of open stony ground or dried-up grass.

At last they found themselves close to the object of their journey. Emerging from some thick wood they saw it towering up before them in the midst of a clearing, and were able to see that it was easy of ascent by reason of the fact that its sides were formed of a series of ledges. The hill on which it stood was higher than they had supposed. Even where they now were, outside the wood, they could see across the plain to the distant mountains.

For a while they paused and looked about and listened, hoping to detect some sign of the presence of friends. But the whole place was grimly silent. As it was now about noon, even the animals and birds were quiet; and from the woods around no sound came save the droning of insects on the wing. It was the hour of Nature’s siesta, and even the monkeys in the tree branches seemed too drowsy to resent the presence of the intruders.

The grand old cedars on the rock above were arranged–it could now be seen–in orderly rows, as though planted by hand. They reminded the professor irresistibly of the “sacred groves” he had seen further north in Palestine and Egypt.

Suddenly the weird, impressive silence was broken by an indescribable clamour–shrieks, yells, moans, curses, hoarse shouts of threats and warning, came from somewhere in the wood around. Then succeeded the sound of rifle and pistol shots, which, again, was followed by an even louder outcry.

Quickly Professor Kelmar and those with him who were armed unslung their rifles and, stepping back into the shadow of the edge of the forest, waited in watchful expectancy for what was to come next.

Then, from the other side, a number of dark, flying figures rushed into the clearing as though running for the rock. Instead, however, they halted half-way, and falling on their knees, lifted up their hands–in many cases bound together with leather thongs–as though in supplication. And to the professor’s wondering ears came the sound of wild, frantic prayers for deliverance, offered up to “the Good Spirits of the Lion Rock!”

Then the white man understood. These poor creatures had been ruthlessly taken from their homes in far-away African villages by some party of cruel slave-raiders, and had broken loose here on the journey down to the coast.

Why they should have attempted to escape at that particular spot, or why they should be praying to “the Good Spirits of the Lion Rock,” he could not guess–nor did he pause to speculate. It was sufficient for him that these helpless fellow-mortals were in momentary dread of being re-taken; and he felt it was his duty, as a humane Englishman, to at least make an attempt to save them.

“Quick, boys!” he cried to Madali and his men. “We must rescue these people! Cut their bonds, and hurry them up the rock till you get them under the trees! We will come after and keep the slavers at bay!”

Now some of Kelmar’s blacks had themselves been rescued by white men from slave-raiding gangs, and they needed no urging when told to assist in similarly saving others.

It was not an easy task, however. The poor creatures themselves made it more difficult by their extravagant demonstrations of gratitude.

As the three white men, in their white dresses and helmets, made their appearance, the fugitives seemed to think they were the actual “Good Spirits” of the rock come down to deliver them in answer to their prayers; and some threw themselves on the ground in the most abject expressions of gratitude. Others, in their joy, jumped and danced about so delightedly that they would not remain still enough to enable their deliverers to cut their bonds.

Had the slaver gang–exasperated as they no doubt were at what had occurred–come on the scene just then, the lives of the would-be rescuers would in all probability have been forfeited for what they were trying to do. As it was, the retreat to the top of the “back,” as it may be called, of the “lion,” was effected before the rascally slave-raiders themselves made their appearance.

Even then the situation of the rescuers was anything but an enviable one. Standing on the ridge, just outside the great cedars which formed the beginning of the “mane,” they looked down upon a crowd of desperadoes three times as many as themselves, and for the most part better–because more experienced–fighters.

They were all sorts–Arabs, half-breeds, “bad” blacks; desperadoes and cut-throats every one of them; all now infuriated to the last degree at the thought of their prey escaping them.

They did not wait to “reason why,” or to waste time in a parley, but began at once to scatter round the base of the rock in order to swarm up to the attack on three sides at once.

Kelmar glanced towards what may be termed the “neck” and “head” of the rock, which rose behind him. Nothing to be seen there but the dark, frowning mass towering above.

Then, as shots began to whistle about his ears, his gaze involuntarily wandered to the distant mountains.

And now he started, and uttered an exclamation as something there caught his eye.

Roland and Dan both looked–and so did their assailants–and, all suddenly, the shouting and cursing and shooting died down, and there came a significant interval of silence.

The white men’s companions began to stare towards the mountains, too; then all the natives, rescued and rescuers alike, fell on their knees in affright.

For there, in the distance, coming, as it seemed, from that mountain tableland which had looked so inviting yet so unattainable, an awful apparition–a gigantic flying monster–could be seen high in the air, winging its way across the plain towards them!

IV. HOW DR. CAMDRAY ARRIVED

IT would be difficult to describe the astonishment with which Professor Kelmar and his two white companions gazed at this formidable-looking monster winging its aerial flight across the plain. There was not much wind, but what there was, was against it.

It was certainly a wonderful and impressive sight–a sight not only unexpected, but unlike anything they had ever seen before in their whole lives. It did not take the professor long to decide that it was an airship of some kind. In that respect he had the advantage over the superstitious natives around him. The fact relieved him of all immediate anxiety as to his critical situation; for where there was an airship there must be white men; and where there were white men, he surely had no cause for fear.

But these things did not assist him to solve the tantalising questions that followed: How on earth came the airship to be there in the midst of Africa? Who could the adventurous people be who had brought it there? And, finally, how, in the name of all that was wonderful, had they managed to do it?

For a space of some minutes–it really seemed much longer–there was deep silence, an interval during which no one spoke, no one moved. It was a dead, tense, awed silence, not of human beings only, but almost, as it seemed, of Nature itself. It was easy to imagine that all the wild creatures of the surrounding country–the birds and monkeys in the trees, the animals upon the ground–were crouching, and hiding, and watching this apparition in deadly fear.

Then upon the hushed air was heard a most awful uproar–a series, a chorus, of yells that rose into one long, wild, hoarse, wailing screech. It came from the native spectators. It signified that their load of terrible fear had become too great to be borne any longer, and they had been compelled to give vent to it at last.

Then silence again; and the white men, looking round, found that they were alone–absolutely alone. Every soul but themselves–their own people, the rescued slaves, the slavers and their mob of followers–had vanished. They had bolted into the depths of the surrounding woods, there to hide, like the birds and animals, in fear and trembling, leaving no trace behind to show which way they had gone.

Kelmar noted the stampede with an amused smile, and calmly resumed his scrutiny of the cause, which interested him far more than its effects upon the native mind.

The great aerocraft [sic] was shaped like a gigantic fish; but it was far larger even than any whale that ever lashed the sea into foam. A fish-like tail, and something that might have been either wings or fins, completed the resemblance.

As it drew nearer a low humming could be heard; and now there came a fresh surprise.

“Ginger!” cried Beach, in a low tone, “theer’s two on ‘em! There be a little ‘un buzzin’ round the big ‘un like a frisky calf round an old cow.”

“Dan, you’re right!” came from Roland. “Do you see it, Mr. Kelmar?”

“Yes; I caught sight of it a few moments ago. It seems to be an aeroplane, while the big affair must be what they call a dirigible.”

The humming grew louder, and soon it could be heard that it was, so to speak, in two keys–a deep-toned hum from the big airship, and a high-pitched, busy, insistent whir from the small one.

As the flying wonders came nearer the excitement of the three spectators grew in proportion. The professor himself made no attempt to conceal the eagerness he felt for a solution of the question of identity. Could it be possible, he kept asking himself, that it was his friend, Dr. Cambray, who was coming towards him on this marvellous structure? Was it possible that he had somehow had these machines made, and brought them to that place?

At this point the professor’s mental queries came to a dead stop. He felt he could not follow them out any further. His brain almost reeled. It all seemed too wonderful for belief. Yet a few minutes more must settle his doubts one way or the other, unless–unless–well, unless the whole affair were a waking hallucination!

But by this time the two aerocraft had come so near that they began to slow down. Then the large one stopped altogether, and floated, silent and listless, in the slight breeze. The aeroplane circled round, and ran alongside the deck which was suspended below the great gas-bag. And from this deck Kelmar, through his glasses, saw a man climb down the rope ladder onto the smaller craft.

“By all that is wonderful, it is Cambray–Dr. Cambray!” exclaimed the professor.

“Dr. Cambray!” echoed Roland, and “Dr. Cambray!” was repeated by Dan in a deep, bass growl.

“He’s come, then, at last!” breathed Roland, in a simmering state between admiration and amazement. “And this is the way of his coming!”

“Which it may account fur the things fallin’ onexpected from t’ sky belike,” muttered the hunter wisely.

“I expect you’re right, Dan. So you see it couldn’t have been witchcraft.”

There was no time for more words. The aeroplane had come circling down from above, and was now quite close to them. A few moments later it landed lightly and easily on the ridge on which they were standing, and but a few yards away.

From seats upon a platform two persons rose up and stepped off on to the rock. One was a man and the other a youth.

The former was a rather short, dapper-looking individual, a little inclined to stoutness. His hair was black, his face clean-shaven, his eyes roving and restless, yet sharp and instinct with intelligence. In manner he was quick, almost nervous, and he spoke in sharp, jerky accents.