Chapter 34 - A Narrative of Hunting Adventures in Southern Africa by Mayne Reid
The Approach to the Lone Mountain
Although from a distance the mountain had appeared of smooth outlines, now, that they gazed upward from its base, it presented quite a different aspect. Loose boulders of rock, strewed thickly upon the slope, covered its sides up to the very summit, giving it the appearance of a gigantic “cairn,” such as may be seen upon the tops of some of our own mountains. These, however, are the work of men, while that upon which our yägers gazed looked as though giants had erected it.
Among the loose stones there was yet a trace of vegetable life. Plants of the cactus kind, and rare euphorbias, grow in the spaces between the rocks; and here and there stood a small tree, with spreading top and myrtle-like foliage, casting its shadow over the side of the mountain. The arborescent aloe was also seen, its coral-red spike appearing above the sharp edge of some huge boulder, and strongly contrasting with the dull grey of the rock.
After contemplating the singular eminence for some minutes, it was proposed that they should all ascend to its summit. It appeared but a very short way. The path was not very steep. A ten minutes’ climb would suffice. What a splendid view they should have from its top! It commanded a prospect of the country they were about to traverse for the next three days’ journey at least. They might lay out their course from it, and by noting landmarks, avoid the détours of mountain-spurs and other obstacles. Should they ascend it?
Yes. All of them desired to do so—some to enjoy the view; some for the fun of climbing; and Klaas and Jan because they had seen a large bird wheeling around the summit, which might be the king of birds—an eagle; and they wished to make a nearer acquaintance with his majesty.
Hans also had an interest in going up. He wanted to examine the vegetation of the mountain—that appeared to differ essentially from that of the surrounding plain—and particularly the myrtle-leaved tree already mentioned.
So the voice for making the ascent was unanimous—nemine dissentiente.
Without further ado, they all dismounted—for it would have been impossible to have ridden up such a rock-strewed path—and secured their horses by tying their bridles together. This was their usual way when there was no tree to which they could make them fast. The mode answered well enough. The animals were well acquainted, and on friendly terms, so that they did not bite or kick one another; and with their noses all turned inward, no one of them could stray off without the consent of the other five, and this unanimity could never be obtained. Even had five of them agreed to wander a bit, there was one that would have opposed such a conspiracy, and pulled against it with all his might—one that would have remained loyal to his master; and that was Hans’s steady, sober-sided cob, that had been trained to wait wherever his rider left him. Upon many a botanical excursion had he carried his master, and often had stood with no other fastening than the bridle thrown over his withers, while the botanist climbed the rocky steep, or dived into the thick bush, to pluck some rare plant or flower.
Leaving their horses, the party commenced the ascent. Now their path lay between large masses of granite, and now passed over the tops of the rocks. It required them to use all their strength and agility; and although from below they fancied they would reach the summit in about five minutes time, they were sadly disappointed.
There are few things more deceptive than the ascent of a mountain. It is usually more difficult than it appears, and a large allowance should be made in the calculation, both for time and labour. The philosopher Hans knew this very well, and told the others that it would take them a full half-hour to get to the top. Some of them were inclined to ridicule his assertion; but they remembered their late humiliating defeat, and remained silent—although they thought five minutes would bring them to the very summit.
At the end of five minutes they began to change their opinion; and when three times five had passed over, they found they were still but half-way up the slope!
Here they halted, and five minutes were spent in “puffing and blowing.”
Hans had now an opportunity of examining the tree that so interested him, for they had stopped under the shade of one.
It was not a large tree, nor could it be called a very handsome one; but for all that it proved to be of a most interesting character. It was much branched with small leaves, of a pale green colour, and in their general effect having a resemblance to the myrtles. Its flowers, too, were small and inconspicuous. It chanced to be in flower at the time, and this enabled the botanist to determine its character. It belonged to the order Santalaceae, or “sandal-woods;” and was a species of Santalum, closely allied to the Santalum album of India, which yields the sandal-wood of commerce.
They all knew what sandal-wood was, as they had seen various “knick-knacks” manufactured out of this famous wood; but they knew not whence it came, or what sort of tree produced it. Hans, however, taking advantage of the halt, gave them this information:—
“The sandal-wood,” he said, “is produced from a tree of the same genus as the one now above us. It grows in the mountainous parts of the Malabar country, and also in the islands of the Indian Archipelago. It is a small tree, rarely growing to a foot in diameter. Its wood, as you know, is highly prized on account of its agreeable fragrant smell; and because this fragrance not only keeps it from decaying, but also preserves any material, such as clothes, silk, and other articles that may be in contact with it, from insects or rust. In consequence of this quality of the sandal-wood, it is in great demand for making boxes, cabinets, and such articles of furniture; and, on account of its agreeable odour, it is also manufactured into fans and necklaces which command high prices.
“The Brahmins use it in their sacrifices to the god Vishnu, to scent the oil employed in the ceremony.”
“Are there not two kinds of sandal-wood?” inquired Klaas. “Sister Wilhelmina has a box of it and a necklace, too. They were brought from India by Uncle, but they are very different. The box is white, and the beads of the necklace are of a beautiful yellow colour—maybe they are dyed.”
“No,” answered Hans, “they are not dyed. There are two kinds, white sandal-wood and the yellow sort, and it has been said that they were the produce of different trees. This is not the case, however. Although there is more than one species of Santalum that produces the sandal-wood of commerce, the white and yellow kinds are taken from the same tree. The reason of the difference is, that towards the heart of the tree where the wood is older, and especially down near the root, the colour is of a deep yellow; whereas the young wood that lies outwardly is nearly white. The yellow part is harder, more fragrant, and, of course, more valuable.
“When these trees are felled for their wood, the bark is at once stripped off and the trunk buried for nearly two months—which strengthens its odour, and renders it more agreeable.”
While Hans was giving these interesting details, the others took out their knives; and each cutting a branch from the sandal-tree, applied it to his nose, and then tasted it.
But, though they could perceive its fragrant smell, they found it perfectly insipid to the taste. Hans said it was so with the Santalum album or true sandal-wood of India—that, notwithstanding its sweet perfume, it is quite tasteless.
He further informed them that the name “sandal-wood” is not derived from the use to which the wood is sometimes put—that of making sandals. On the contrary, these derive their name from the wood itself. The true derivation of the word is from the Persian “sandul,” which signifies useful, in relation to the valuable qualities of the timber. The sandal-wood of the Sandwich Islands, added Hans, is procured from two species different from Santalum album.
The yägers, having now rested a sufficient time, again faced up the mountain, and in fifteen minutes after stood upon its top.