Chapter 1 On the Orange River On February 27, 1854, two men were lying under a tall weeping willow on the banks of the Orange River, chatting and gazing intently at the water.The Orange River, which was called the Groot River by the Dutch colonists and the Gallep by the native Holdendus, can be compared with the three major arteries of the African continent: the Nile, the Niger and the Zambezi.Like the three major rivers, it has its own high water, rapids and waterfalls.Several well-known travelers in part of the Orange River: Thompson, Alexander, and Bocher all praised the clear water and the beautiful scenery on both sides of the river.

The Orange River borders the Duke of York Range in this section, presenting a magnificent landscape.Those rocks that cannot be climbed, huge stone piles, thick tree trunks that have been ruthlessly mineralized by the years, and inaccessible old forests that have not been dug by the axes of the colonizers, surrounded by the Galiban Mountains, form an unparalleled spectacular views.Here the river water is held hostage by the narrowness of the river bed, and the river bed cannot bear it, and suddenly collapses, and the current flows from four hundred feet [Note: One foot ∥ three hundred and twenty-five millimeters. 】Flying currents flowed down from the heights.The water flow of the waterfall is a simple curtain of tumbling water, cut by heads protruding from a few rocks with green branches hanging out.Below the waterfall, the naked eye can only see a pool of turbulent and gloomy water eddies, and a group of thick and humid water mist, striped by the sun's seven-color beams, is shrouded in it.The irritating sound of rushing water came from the deep pool, and was amplified by the valley into a huge echo.

Perhaps an accident in an expedition led the two men to this land in southern Africa, but one of them was indifferent to the natural beauty in front of him.This absent-minded traveler was a Bushmen hunter, the handsome man of that brave people who lived a nomadic life in the woods: with eyes and quick movements.The name Bushmen is the result of the Anglicization of the Dutch word Bushmen, meaning bush people, referring to those nomadic nomadic tribes in the northwest of the British Cape Colony.None of the Bushman families were settled.They lived a nomadic life between the Orange River and the Eastern Hills, robbing the farms and ruining the harvests of the outrageous colonists who drove them into the arid lands where there were only stones and no vegetation.

This Bushman was about forty years old, tall, and obviously possessed great strength.Even when he was resting, his body was still ready to move.Clean and free in his movements, he appeared to be a vigorous man, cast in the famous Badguile mould, a Canadian prairie hero, and yet seemed to be less of a hit than the coulang hunter. A little calmer, which can be seen from the flush that flashes across his cheeks as his heart beats faster. The Bushman was no longer a savage like his countrymen, the ancient Yingua.As the mixed-race son of a Holden-Doc mother and an English father, he had frequent dealings with foreigners, gained more than he lost, and spoke his father's language fluently.His attire was half Holden Dodd, half European: red flannel shirt, tunic with large cuffs, chamois-skin shorts, and leggings of wildcat skin.From his neck hangs a small pouch containing a knife and a pipe, a round sheepskin cap on his head, and a thick leather belt around his waist.Around his bare wrists were ivory hoops of exceptionally fine workmanship, and on his shoulders was a knee-length Cruise coat with pleats cut from tiger skin.A native dog was sleeping beside him.The Bushman puffed on a bone pipe in a manner that left no doubt of his impatience.

Come, let us be quiet, Morcum.His interlocutor told him that you are the most impatient man when you are not hunting!But do you understand, my esteemed partner, that there is nothing we can do about the present situation, and sooner or later the person we are waiting for will come, if not today, then tomorrow. The Bushmen's companion, a young man of twenty-five or sixteen, was in contrast to the former.His calm demeanor is revealed in every move.As to his parentage, no one doubted that he was English.His suit of overly bourgeois clothes showed that he was not used to traveling far.He looked like a city employee strayed into the wilderness, and one might involuntarily look to see if he had a pen stuck over one of his ears.Like a cashier, a clerk, an accountant, or any other occupational status in the vast clerk class.

In fact, the young man was not a traveler at all, but a distinguished scholar: William.Amory, is an astronomer stationed at the Cape Town Observatory, a long-running and effective institution that has really served science. The academic, perhaps a little out of sorts in the uninhabited part of southern Africa hundreds of miles from Cape Town, could only bear with difficulty his companion's impatience. Mr. Amory, the hunter answered him in fine English, We have been eight days at this place of engagement at the foot of the Molkata Falls on the Orange River, and yet no member of my family has seen anything like it for a long time. Things stay in one location for eight days.You forget that we are nomads and our feet get hot when we stay like this.

My Morcombe friend, the astronomer, added that the people we were waiting for were from England, and that eight days' grace might well be given to them.Knowing that their steamboat had to cross a long ocean, and up the Orange River would cause delays, in short, a thousand difficulties were bound to be encountered in such a business.We have been reminded to make all mental preparations for this expedition in South Africa before we come to the Molkata Falls to wait for my colleague, Colonel Everett of the Cambridge Observatory. This is the Molkata Falls. The location is waiting.What else do you want?My respected Bushmen.

Perhaps the hunter really wanted to do something else, for his hand was restlessly caressing the trigger of his rifle.It was an excellent Manley with conical bullets and good accuracy, and it would hit a wild cat or antelope at a distance of nine hundred yards.It can be seen that the Bushmen have lost the reed quiver and poison arrows of their compatriots and switched to European weapons. But, Mr. Amory, are you really not mistaken at all?Morcum said, did they really agree with you to meet at the end of this January at the Molkata Falls? Yes, my friend.William.Amory calmly replied, This is a letter from Mr. Alley, Director of the Greenwich Observatory, and it will prove that I am not mistaken.

The Bushman took the letter handed over by his companion, and as a person who hardly knew the secrets of writing, read it over and over again, and then returned it to William.Amory. Please say again what this blacked-out piece of paper says. The young scholar, with his natural patience for everything, resumed the narrative he had already repeated twenty times to his hunter friend.At the end of last year, William.Amory received a letter informing him that Colonel Everett and an international scientific committee would be arriving in South Africa.Amory could not have said anything about the plans of the Commission or why it had come to the southern tip of the continent, for Mr. Alley said nothing in his letter.In accordance with the instructions he received, he was busy preparing some four-wheeled wagons, food, etc., in short, all the supplies necessary for a Bushjesman caravan .Then, he got acquainted with the aboriginal hunter Mocum, and knew that he had accompanied Anderson on hunting in West Africa, and had also been with the brave David.Livingston was given command of the expedition when he jointly made the first expedition to Lake Ngami and the waterfalls of the Zambezi River.

Then it was settled, and the Bushmen who knew the local area well led William.Amory came to the appointed place by the Orange River under the Molkata Falls.The Scientific Committee should join them here.This committee was supposed to take the Augusta of the British Navy to the mouth of the Orange River near Cape Walpass on the west coast of Africa, and then up the river to Molcutta Falls.William.Amory and Morcombe came with a four-wheeled carriage and set it down the valley, for the falls of Molcutta made some miles of the river impassable, and if after that the guests would not take the Orange River and the On its tributaries, the carriage would take them and their luggage directly to La Taku.

The narrative was over, and this time the Bushmen took it to heart.He went straight on to the edge of the abyss into which the foaming water was roaring.Astronomers followed him.It was a jutting point overlooking the Orange River for miles below the falls. For a few minutes, Morcombe and his companions watched intently the river a quarter of a mile away, where it began to calm down again.Still nothing, not a single ship or canoe stirred the current.It is three o'clock in the afternoon, and January is like July in the northern hemisphere, and the sun hits the land at 29 degrees south latitude almost vertically, heating the air in the shadows to 105 degrees Fahrenheit (quite at 40.55°C).None but the Bushmans could bear the heat without a little relief from the slight westerly wind.However, the young scholar didn't feel very uncomfortable by virtue of his calm demeanor that went down to his bones and nerves.Thick foliage jutting out to the top of the deep pool shields the young from direct sunlight.Not a bird came to break the stillness of the hottest hour of the day, and not a single animal ventured out from under the shady undergrowth into the glade.In this deserted place, not a sound is heard, not even the roar of the waterfall can fully fill the tranquility. After observing for ten minutes, Morcum turned to William.Amory, one big foot restlessly stamped on the ground.His piercing eyes saw nothing. What if the person you were waiting for doesn't come?he asked the scientist. They will come, my brave hunter.These are people who keep their word, and they are as accurate as the astronomers.And, what is there to blame them for?The letter stated that they would arrive at the end of this month, and today is the 27th. They still had four days before reaching the Molkata Waterfall. But what if they still don't show up after four days? OK!My good hunters, this will be a unique opportunity to exercise our patience, as we will wait until the moment when it is confirmed that they will not arrive. Oh My God!cried the Bushman in his loud voice, you'll be the one who expects the Gallipe to stop crashing into this deep pool. No, hunter, no, William.Amory replied, with his customary calm, that reason should govern all our actions.But what we mean by rationality is this: if Colonel Everett and his companions, exhausted by the arduous journey and perhaps lack of food and clothing, were lost in this remote area, they would not be at the rendezvous See us, we are to blame anyway.If something unfortunate happens, the responsibility again falls to us.We shall stand where we are as long as our responsibilities require.Moreover, here we have nothing to lack, and the four-wheeled carriage is waiting at the bottom of the valley to provide us with overnight accommodation.Food is also very adequate.The magnificent natural landscape here is worth seeing.It was an unprecedented blessing for me to be able to spend a few days in this beautiful jungle beside this incomparable river.As for you, Morcum, what do you like to do?The woods are rich in game fowl, and your rifle is always providing us with our daily game.Go hunting, my brave hunter, and while away the time, hunt a few daikon or buffalo.Go, my brave Bushmen.During this time, I will watch over those who are late, at least, your feet will not be in danger of rooting on the ground. The hunter felt that he should take the advice of the astronomer, and decided to kill a few hours in the nearby thorn bushes and undergrowth.Lions, hyenas, leopards will not make a Nemro who is familiar with the African jungle like him [Note: the hunter in the biblical story. ] feel embarrassed.He whistled to his hound, Tomp, the Kalahari Sayer, a dog the Barabas had previously trained as runners.The clever animal, which seemed as restless as its master, jumped to its feet, and with a cry of joy, expressed its approval of its master's plan.In a short while the hunter and the dog disappeared into the dense jungle that surrounded the waterfall. William.Amory lay down alone under the weeping willow tree. Before the drowsiness caused by the high temperature hit him, he suddenly considered his current situation.He was on the still little-known Orange River, far from the people.He was waiting for some Europeans, some countrymen who had left their country and ventured out.However, what was the purpose of this expedition?What scientific puzzle is it trying to solve in the deserts of South Africa?What kind of observational experiments will it carry out at thirty degrees south latitude?This is precisely what the respected Mr. Erie, Director of the Greenwich Observatory, did not explain in his letter.He, Amory, was asked for assistance as a scholar familiar with the climate of the southern hemisphere, and since some scientific work was involved, his assistance was recognized by his colleagues in the United Kingdom. The young astronomer thought about these things and asked a thousand questions that he could not answer, but sleepiness made his eyelids heavy, and he fell into a deep sleep.When he awoke, the sun had set, carving the picturesque outlines of the mountains to the west on a burning horizon.A pang of hunger reminded him that it was time for supper, it was already six in the evening, and it was time to return to the wagon in the valley. Just at this moment, a gunshot echoed through a patch of heath.It was a patch of heath growing in the form of arbors twelve to fifteen feet high, spreading down the left slope of the ridge.Almost at the same time, the Bushmen and Thomp appeared at the edge of the woods.Morcum drags a freshly killed animal. Come come come!Supply Master!William.cried Amory to him, what have you brought for our supper? A duiker, Mr William.The hunter replied as he threw an animal with its horns bent inwards into a harp to the ground. This is a species of antelope, more commonly known by its name gazelle, which is frequently encountered in all parts of southern Africa.This is only a ram that was hunted. The hair on the back is cinnamon-colored, the hair covering the back is as smooth as silk, crystal clear and bright, and the hair on the belly is mixed with chestnut eye spots.Its meat is delicious and it is a good material for dinner. Hunters and astronomers carried the duiker on their shoulders on a stick away from the falls.Half an hour later they reached their camp in the canyon, where two Bushman drivers watched over the wagon.