Chatterbox, 1906 Part 38

Georgie listened to Estelle's reading till the low murmur, blending with the drowsy hum of the insects, the occasional twitter of a bird, and the warm fragrance of the pines, lulled him to sleep. Estelle read on till the story was finished; then sat gazing up into the green foliage above her. She was thinking that she was not unlike the girl in the story; her father was away, her mother was dead, and though she lived among those who loved her, would any such terrible things befall her as had happened to the heroine of the tale? Her thoughts wandered to the father in that far-off land, and the mother who had died when she was too young to remember her, but whose sweet face and sweeter memory would always be sacred to the little girl she had left behind her. She could almost hear herself say, as once in the days long, long ago--

'Do you like the name of Estelle, father? It sounds very French, but it was mother's.'

'It is the sweetest name on earth to me, my darling. Be what your mother was, as sweet, as loving, as unselfish, and you will be worthy of her name.'

Had there really been a voice speaking to her? Estelle sat up, listening. Her heart beat, though she smiled that the fancy should have come. Her father was so far away. She longed to be with him again; but she had plenty to do to learn all he desired, before he came back, and after that the happy days at Lynwood could begin again. Suddenly, the grating of the door into the ruin startled her. Bootles sat up and snuffed the air, moved uneasily, and got up to stretch himself. Then he lazily stalked away to the steps, flopping down them as if too weary to walk properly. At the bottom, however, he suddenly roused himself. A cat was creeping stealthily across the open glade. Estelle saw it too, and sprang up in her nervous dislike to seeing creatures hunted. But Bootles had at once given chase. He could be heard yelping as he bounded after the animal, till both disappeared in the deep undergrowth. For a time the sound of the pursuit grew more and more distant, then it came doubling back, and Estelle, with dismay, saw the cat rush across the glade, and into the summer-house. In another moment Bootles had followed. Terrified lest the dog should be shut in, and heedless of her own danger, she ran down the steps and into the forbidden room, in the vain hope of catching the dog, and rescuing him before the door closed.

No one was near to see what happened. In her fear she ran on without looking where she was going. Round and round, dodging from this corner to that, flew the cat, the dog after it; presently they both plunged into the black cavernous place Georgie had seen. Feeling her way with both hands, Estelle ran after them, calling to Bootles. The light behind was growing fainter, the way before her was shrouded in the darkness of night. Frightened at last, she stopped, and at that moment there was a crash which shook the whole building. With a terror, which made her cold and sick, she realised that the terrible door had shut. She was imprisoned, and no one knew it!

Meantime, Alan and Marjorie had set off with the intention of going straight to the Smuggler's Hole, and on into the cave pa.s.sage. But, pa.s.sing through the wilderness, close to the rear of the rampart, which here jutted out to some distance beyond the ruined summer-house, they both fancied they heard sounds in the brushwood. It turned out to be only a stray cat, but it had the effect of diverting them from their purpose for a time, since the animal seemed scared. Alan decided it was running away from something, and as a bird also flew past at the moment, he determined to make investigations.

Followed by Marjorie, he clambered down into a sort of dry ditch, the remains of the old moat. Though overgrown with ivy and brambles, it would be easier walking than forcing his way through the dense underwood, and they would make far less noise. Without even a whispered word, the brother and sister crept cautiously along, coming at length to an open, but small glen. Up to this point they had had no difficulty; but here the ditch was closed by a stout hedge, made still stronger by f.a.ggots and barbed wire. This was unexpected, for there appeared to be no reason for such a protection, and Alan and Marjorie sat on the bank to consider what that hedge was intended to conceal. The mossy glen was behind them, and all around was the deep silence of the woods. In front towered the grey, crumbling walls of the ancient rampart. Their low voices scarcely broke the stillness; they were afraid of something, they knew not what. A stir was in the air, and yet they could not be said to hear anything distinctly. It was more a feeling than a sound.

'You stay here,' whispered Alan at last, rising as he spoke. 'I will just go and have a look round. If I can, I will let you know what is behind that hedge, but if anything turns up, and I am not back immediately, you will be safe here. No, don't come with me. It would make too much noise.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Round and round flew the cat, the dog after it."]

With that he crawled away, leaving Marjorie to wait and listen anxiously. For a long time, or so it seemed to her, she could only hear the faint movement made by Alan as he parted the bushes, and crept away. Even that soon died away, and the same deep silence settled on everything. It was very hot; the air was so still that it seemed hotter in the ditch than in the open, but she dared not stir. Alan must be able to find her, if he required her. She sat and listened with ears strained to catch every sound. How long she had waited she did not know, when a sound of snapping twigs and running feet came from the near neighbourhood of the hedge. Springing to her feet, she caught a glimpse of two men forcing their way with all their strength through the entanglement of st.u.r.dy brushwood and trees, which surrounded that portion of the ruin. One of these men was a stranger; the other, to her amazement, was Thomas.

She did not know what to do. Should she follow, or was it better to wait till Alan shouted to her? Time went on. The sounds died away in the distance, and all was quiet again. Alan had not called, and there were no signs of where he was.

(_Continued on page 134._)

THE YAK.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Yaks.]

The Yak, or grunting Ox, as it is sometimes called from the peculiar grunt which it makes, is a native of the high table-lands of the interior of Asia, to the north of India--'the roof of the world,' as the country is often called. It is a large animal of the ox kind, with a ma.s.sive head and front, and it is covered entirely with long hair which reaches almost down to its hoofs. It has large, wide-spreading horns, ending in sharp points, and its shoulders are high and almost humped.

Its long tail, unlike the tail of the ox, the buffalo, and the bison, is covered with long, silky hair, reaching to the ground. When the animal is killed, this tail is often mounted in an ivory or metal handle, and used by Indian princes as a fly-whisk. The yak's colour is usually black or a very dark brown, but sometimes it is white, and the hair on its shoulders hangs thick and long, like the mane of a lion.

In Thibet the yak is, perhaps, the most useful animal to be found in the country. It is hardy and strong, and thrives upon the short gra.s.s growing in the sheltered valleys of the lofty Himalaya and Kuen Luen mountains, at a height where the air is too cold and the ground too rugged and bare for most animals, especially domesticated ones. Though horses and sheep are domesticated by the Thibetans, the yak in many respects replaces them both, besides serving the uses of oxen or cows in other places. Large herds of yaks are driven from place to place by the wandering Thibetans, who pitch their black tents where there is pasturage for their flocks. These people live very largely upon the milk of their yaks, and upon the b.u.t.ter which they make from it. They have a great liking for tea, which comes from China in the form of blocks or bricks, which they break up as they require them. When the tea is boiling in the kettle, they put in large quant.i.ties of milk and b.u.t.ter, and even salt, and though the mixture is one which would be very disagreeable to a European, it is enjoyed by the Thibetans, and is no doubt made much more nouris.h.i.+ng by the addition of the nutritious milk and b.u.t.ter. The flesh of the yak is considered to be excellent food, and is eaten by those Thibetans who can afford to do so. But a small wandering tribe cannot often kill a yak or a sheep for food, because they cannot eat the whole of the flesh while it is fresh, and thus a portion is wasted.

The long hair of the yak, like the wool of goats and sheep, is suitable for spinning into thread and weaving into cloth. The Thibetans spin large quant.i.ties of yak's wool, and some of it they weave, but much of the weaving is done by the Chinese, who sell the cloth back to the Thibetans. Of this cloth the Thibetans make not only their clothes, but also the large tents under which so many of them live. As the wool is not washed, bleached, or prepared in any way before it is spun and woven, the cloth retains the natural greasiness of the wool, which renders it quite water-proof, and thus makes it an excellent material for tents. Even the ropes which sustain the tents are made of yak's wool. The skin, too, of the yak, when prepared in the native way, makes a very good soft leather.

The yak is also used as a beast of burden. In Ladakh it is harnessed to carts, and made to draw ploughs, but in other places it is usually loaded with packs. In Thibet a clumsy wooden pack-saddle is laid upon the yak's back, and the packs are fastened upon each side of it. Though at times restless, the yak is very sure-footed and plodding, and does a fair amount of work considering the nature of the country. An English traveller, who once drove a pair of loaded yaks in Thibet, noticed that they showed a great reluctance to go any way but their own. By-and-by he found that they were selecting the way, which, although it was considered to be a high road, was only marked here and there by a few footprints. So long as he allowed the yaks to go their own way, they went on willingly, and the traveller soon discovered that it was best to leave them alone and simply follow them. Once or twice when he had lost the track, the yaks led him back to it.

Not only are yaks used for draught and for carrying loads, but they are also ridden, a special saddle being then used. Along the roads between Pekin and Lha.s.sa, a yak will carry its rider twenty miles a day, it is said, or it will carry a load ten miles. Much quicker journeys may be made, however, by taking fresh yaks at certain posts or stages. In this way the traveller already referred to was able to ride one hundred and seventy-five miles in five days, the two longest days' journeys being forty-five and forty-two miles respectively.

GOING TO BED.

As up the stairs to bed I go, A tiger chases me; He's somewhere in the dark, I know, Although I cannot see.

From step to step I quickly jump, But oh, how slow I seem!

And I can feel my heart go 'Thump!

It nearly makes me scream.

The tiger can go faster, much, He gains at every stride; He's sure to get me in his clutch-- He's almost at my side!

I dare not give a look behind, I fear his savage glare; His cruel teeth I hear him grind, A-tingle goes my hair!

At last I reach the landing wide-- I'm at the nursery door; I shut it tight, and, safe inside, I pant upon the floor.

But Mother often laughs at me For getting such a scare; And, somehow, when she goes to see, The tiger's never there!

MARVELS OF MAN'S MAKING.

IV.--THE BRIDGE AT VICTORIA FALLS.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

If a railway train could travel over a rainbow, it would hardly have been necessary to build a bridge over the Zambesi River at the Victoria Falls, for during seven months of the year a rainbow can always be seen there; but about the end of August the fairy architects take it down, and do not come to build it again until the beginning of February. The rainbow is made by the sunlight s.h.i.+ning on the dancing drops of spray that leap from the waterfall while the river is in flood. But when, after the end of August, the flood subsides, the spray subsides too, and the lovely rainbow fades from sight until the rainy season has returned.

This mighty river collects its waters over a s.p.a.ce of a million square miles, but on its way to the sea is met by many difficulties. The greatest of these occurs near Kazungula, on the borders of Rhodesia, and is known by the natives as the 'place of the sounding smoke.' David Livingstone, who, fifty years ago, was the first white man to see it, called it the Victoria Falls, and has told the world how he crept to the edge of the awful abyss and peered over in the vain effort to see the bottom through that roaring, blinding cloud of 'sounding smoke.' Long, long ages ago a terrible earthquake occurred at this spot, and from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e of the Zambesi (which is here more than a mile wide) a huge crack, one hundred yards across, suddenly opened. Into this the river disappears with a mighty thunder, as though to lose itself in the centre of the earth. Four hundred feet down the bottom of the chasm is reached, and, beating themselves against the opposite wall, the waters struggle to find an outlet, throwing up in their fury white clouds of spray, which rise to a height of one thousand two hundred feet, and can be seen for a distance of ten miles.

Near the eastern end of the mile-long crack, there is an opening in the form of a narrow gorge one hundred yards wide, twisting and twining in the most erratic manner for more than twenty miles to the southward. And through this, imprisoned by rocky cliffs four hundred feet high, the boiling Zambesi struggles on its way to the sea. On the lip of the cataract, as though carried to the edge by the flowing waters, hang green wooded isles, glittering with the ever-falling spray and waving light fronds of fern and palm, in the cool airs that are constantly being driven by the falls from the depths below them. It is a spot of great beauty, and it is no wonder that many people expressed regret when they learned that the railway was fast approaching, and would leap across the gorge through which the waters escape. But after all, in a scene of such magnitude, we may hope that the railway will show no more than a scratch in the wide sea-sands.

The spot chosen for the bridge is some four hundred yards below the falls, and, owing to the sudden bends in the channel, the merest glimpse only can be caught of the falling water.

Sir Charles Metcalf, engineer of the Rhodesian Railway Company, having surveyed the place, made a design for the bridge, and a firm of engineers in Darlington, England, undertook to build it. In the meantime, the railway at Buluwayo, three hundred miles away, had been continued to the edge of the gorge in readiness to convey the material.

It was decided that the bridge should be in the form of an arch made of steel girders, the central span being five hundred feet. The work was begun in October, 1904. First a pair of 'shear legs' was erected on the southern side opposite the place where the railway from Buluwayo ended.

This is a mechanical contrivance of the nature of a crane, capable of being raised and lowered, and is formed of two or more poles standing some yards apart at their feet, but joined together at their heads, to support a revolving pulley. To save the loss of time and great inconvenience of crossing the river above the falls, it became necessary to find some means of spanning this narrow gorge before beginning to build the bridge. This was accomplished by firing a sky-rocket from the northern cliff-top with a length of light string attached. To the end of the string a slightly stouter cord was tied; then a strong rope, and finally a wire cable two inches thick. Thus, that which could not be done all at once, was done by degrees. The wire cable, being pa.s.sed over the pulley on the shear legs, was fastened on the other side of the gorge to the top of a steel tower, thirty-six feet high.

From this thin aerial railway hung the 'cage' in which the workmen would cross and recross, and do a great deal of the bridge-building work, being raised and lowered to the required position by the shear legs.

Some feet above the two-inch rope ran an electric wire with a motor engine which propelled the car backwards and forwards. Thus we may almost say that the first conveyance across the Zambesi was an electric tram. And the pa.s.sengers (particularly on the first journey) were not pleased with the trip. They shrank with pardonable terror when they found themselves suspended over that awful gulf by a slender cord that swayed against the sky. But use soon changed all this.

The bridge was begun from both sides at once. In the rocky sides of the cliffs excavations were made to receive the four upright columns from which the arch would spring. On beds of concrete poured into these excavations was bolted an iron plate upon which the foot of the 'post'

would hinge, so as to allow movement when the iron girders expanded or contracted with the change of temperature. The 'posts' are one hundred and five feet tall, and the arch which springs from their feet rises to a height of ninety feet at the centre. As the two ends grew towards each other across the abyss, it was found that the weight would require support before the girders met in the middle. To build a scaffolding would of course have been impossible; so the following means were adopted. Into the rocky ground on both sides of the river, two holes were bored, each thirty feet deep and thirty feet apart, their bottom ends being connected by another boring. A strong wire rope was then threaded down one hole and up through the other, to be carried over the cliff-top and pa.s.sed under the bridge-end as it hung in mid-air. As the weight increased the ropes were added to, while, as a further precaution, the ground between the two holes was loaded with five thousand tons of railway irons. The wire ropes successfully played their parts until April 1st, 1905, but when the central girder was ready to take its place, it was found to be an inch and a quarter too long. It had expanded in the heat; but after a night's cooling it contracted to the right size, and was successfully inserted.

One of the princ.i.p.al difficulties in the erection of this bridge has been the trouble of getting the material to the spot. From Darlington to the Victoria Falls is eight thousand miles of ocean, bush, and desert, and sometimes long delay was caused by the railway being washed away by floods. But once there was interruption from another cause. Many of the English workmen were unable to stop on account of the climate, and they were constantly drenched by the spray, until in many cases natives had to be employed in their stead. These natives were housed in a little settlement of nicely built huts, lighted by electricity. One day, however, the electric wires caused a fire which destroyed the entire 'town' with astonis.h.i.+ng rapidity.

The bridge was opened in August, 1905, on the occasion of the visit of the British a.s.sociation. The roadway over it is thirty feet wide, affording room for a double set of rails, and the panting trains have already begun to cross its web-like span, gliding into sight from the cliff-top on one side, only to disappear the next moment on the other in a green wilderness of ferns and tropic flowers.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A native lay at the foot of a tree."]