As before, it was Cæsar who led the way; and the stone wall warned him
that danger was ahead. He guessed the truth in a flash. He knew well
enough that the natives themselves would never have dared to offer him
resistance.
He stopped dead upon the path, and pointed out the wall to the Arab who
accompanied him. The man shaded his eyes with the palm of his hand, for
the mists of evening were rising from the valley, and the light was bad.
After a while the Arab disappeared from view, and then returned with his
comrades. They came up the path as men stalk game, creeping from
boulder to boulder. It was impossible to see them from the village.
Flat upon the ground, they glided from place to place like snakes. And
every minute the light was getting worse.
One man, more daring than his comrades, had gained the cover of a large
rock about two hundred yards from the village.
His eyes were sharp as those of a vulture. He was descended from the
sons of the desert. Peering round the angle of the rock behind which he
was hiding, he caught sight of Edward Harden’s helmet, moving behind the
wall.
In a second, the butt of his rifle was at his shoulder, and his left eye
was closed. He took in a deep breath, and aimed. At that moment, there
was a sharp crack from the wall, whence nothing of the Arab was visible
but the upper part of his head. And Edward Harden’s bullet drilled a
hole in the centre of the man’s forehead; so that his head just dropped
like a broken toy, and he lay still and lifeless, with his loaded rifle
in his hand. Son of a warlike race, that for centuries had oppressed
the ignorant and the weak, he had gone to make his peace with God, the
Giver of Life and Death.
Cæsar, from some distance behind, with a pair of field-glasses to his
eyes, had watched this tragedy of seconds; and he knew at once with whom
he had to reckon. He drew a whistle from his pocket, and blew a long,
shrill note, which was the signal to retreat. His three remaining Arabs
came back to him, retiring even more cautiously than they had advanced.
Night fell, as a curtain is rung down upon a stage. The natives of the
village, the old men and women and children, who had sat huddled and
shivering under cover of the wall, came forth and marvelled that a
Fire-god had been turned back by a single shot. Crouch’s authority
increased by leaps and bounds. The villagers, like children, desired to
celebrate the occasion with inconsequent rejoicing. They set about
beating large, wooden drums, but Grouch cast these away. They lit
fires, but Crouch stamped them out.
Only the babies were allowed to rest that night; the little sea-captain
kept the others working until long after midnight, when a new moon
arose. He improved the defences. He had all the provisions and the
water-jars carried to the hut which he had made his own headquarters,
whilst the two Hardens stood as sentries on either side of the village.
At about two o’clock in the morning, Max, on the eastern side of the
village, heard the noise of a loosened stone rolling down the
mountain-side. That put him on his guard. And a moment after, another
stone bounded into the valley.
At that, he sent back M’Wané to tell Crouch that some one was
approaching, and remained at his post alone.
There is nothing more majestic in the whole range of Nature than
moonlight in the mountains. The white mists drift in the valleys; and,
here and there, the great, ragged peaks blot out the stars. Midnight is
ever silent in the higher altitudes. The slightest sound--the hoot of
an owl or the bubbling of a spring--is magnified by echo, and carried
far upon the breeze.
Max, with his rifle at the ready, waited with his heart thumping against
his ribs. He heard a noise, quite near to him, but so faint that he
could never have heard it had not every sense been on the alert. He saw
something white, moving like a ghost in the moonlight. Then, a loud
shout was uplifted in the stillness. "Allah Akbar! Strike for God and
the Prophet!"
Three white figures rushed in upon him from the darkness. He fired, and
one went down. And then, reversing his rifle, he used it as a club,
swinging the butt around him in a kind of mad delight.
The two men who remained pressed him close. He saw knives flash in
their hands. And then a third figure appeared, and a revolver spat like
a cat. Cæsar himself was there.
The Portuguese called back the two Arabs, spoke a few words which Max
was not able to hear; and then all three abreast endeavoured to rush the
wall. Max fired, but missed. He was attacked from three sides at once,
and must have been overpowered had not Crouch hastened to his rescue.
It was no more than a scuffle at the best. Crouch emptied his revolver;
but it was too dark to shoot straight. Max used his fist, and sent one
of the men rolling backwards; whilst Crouch flew like a leopard at
Cæsar’s throat. It was all over in an instant. Cæsar and his men drew
off as suddenly and quickly as they came, taking with them the Arab whom
Max had wounded or killed.
Crouch took out his pipe and filled it.
"I wish I had had the luck to hit that rascal," said Max, "instead of
one of the Arabs."
Crouch grunted as he lit his pipe.
"When I shoot that man," said he, "I don’t want it to be due to luck.
Nothing’s too bad for a slave-dealer, if that’s what he is--which I
doubt."
It was then that they were joined by the Fan whom they had left with
Edward. He presented a note to Crouch, written in pencil on a leaf torn
from a note-book.
"_How goes it?_" was all it said.
Crouch scribbled a reply: "_He’s gone to bed. But remain at your post
till daybreak._"
Sunrise brought their vigil to an end. No sign of the Portuguese was to
be seen; and presently news was brought to the village by a man who had
been setting traps in the forest, and who had known nothing of the
alarm. This man stated that he had seen Cæsar returning to Makanda,
followed by two Arabs, who carried the body of a third.
The delight of the natives exceeded anything that Max Harden had ever
seen in his life. They beat their wooden drums, and sang and danced in
jubilation. They realized that, at last, after two years of oppression,
the yoke of the Fire-gods had been lifted from their shoulders. They
regarded Crouch and his companions as angels who had dropped from the
skies to deliver them from bondage.
That evening the three Englishmen held a council of war. They regretted
that Cæsar had learnt of their return to the valley. But that was
inevitable; they had been in duty bound to help the natives. Though the
mystery of Makanda was by no means solved, they had, at least, an
inkling of the truth. The explosion they had heard in the valley was
undoubtedly the blasting of rock; and there was no question that it was
for this purpose that Cæsar required the services of slaves. That
explained why he had been unwilling for either the Europeans or the Fans
to leave the stockade. The kraal, fenced around by high palisades, and
guarded by Arab slave-drivers, contained the slave gangs; and who can
say what cruelty was perpetrated therein? The slave trade had been
abolished; but at that time, in the heart of Africa, it still flourished
in all its blackest colours, with utter disregard for the equality of
all men, who--whatever the colour of their skin may be--are equal in the
sight of God. Edward Harden was a man in whose big heart a sense of
justice burned like a living flame. When he considered the innate
cruelty of the Portuguese, who was willing to enslave even women and
little children, his wrath rose within him and the blood flew to his
face. He felt that he could not rest until the fortress of Makanda had
been taken, the slaves set free, and Cæsar brought to his account.
Still, Edward was no fool. He knew well enough that it would be madness
for three of them to endeavour to attack a defensive position held by a
determined man and, at least, half a dozen Arabs. It was then that they
decided to arm M’Wané and his Fans. They had with them six rifles and a
shot-gun; a great quantity of reserve ammunition had been left at the
camp on Observation Creek. Crouch and Max undertook to teach the Fans
to shoot; whilst Edward, with a party of villagers, made his way back to
the camp in the jungle, to bring up all their supplies.
The following morning Edward Harden set out upon his journey, and it was
a strange crowd that followed him into the forest. The majority of them
were women; but the African woman is accustomed to manual labour. At
Zanzibar, sea-going ships are coaled by great buxom wenches, who can
lift a hundredweight as though it were a trifle. With many inland
tribes, between Mombasa and the West Coast, the work in the fields is
conducted almost exclusively by women. The men pride themselves upon
being warriors, hunters of big game and setters of traps. They consider
it beneath their dignity to dig and delve and hoe the ground, since such
employment entails no personal danger. Edward, therefore, was well
contented to have women as his servants; and before he started he
bargained to pay them in beads, cloth and cowrie shells.
Whilst he was absent, Crouch and Max became drill-sergeants for the
nonce. The Fans were first taught the mechanism of the rifle, and how
to clean it. They were then instructed in aiming drill. Though Crouch
had now a fair working knowledge of their language, for the most part he
taught them by demonstration; and they proved most promising recruits.
At last a target was set up in the valley; and rifle practice took place
daily both in the morning and the evening.
By the time Edward returned, though the Fans were not yet marksmen, it
seemed probable that they would be ready to take the field in another
day or so. Still, both Crouch and Edward desired to run no risks. They
did not intend to operate against Makanda, until they could do so with
every chance of success. It was Edward’s suggestion that they should
reconnoitre the settlement before they advanced. They desired to
discover the quickest route to the granite hills, and some position
thereon--within striking distance of Makanda--where they could establish
their headquarters. It was also necessary to find out the strength of
Cæsar’s garrison. At the time of their visit, they had not been able to
ascertain how many Arabs were secreted in the kraal. De Costa, they
knew, need not be taken into account; the man was an arrant coward. But
the Arab is a foe who can never be despised; he is a good rifle-shot, an
intelligent soldier, and his religion teaches him to be brave.
The next question was to decide who should be sent forward as a scout;
and it was Max who was selected for the task. Edward had just returned
from the jungle; and besides, the big man was by no means so quick and
agile as his nephew. Crouch was out of the question; he had burnt so
much of his cork foot that he could only hobble and would take too long
over the journey. It was finally decided that Max should start a day in
advance of the others, taking with him provisions for three days, as
well as his rifle and revolver.
That evening, Edward and Max climbed to the top of Solitude Peak. During
the day the crest of the mountain was invariably wrapped in clouds, but
towards evening these usually disappeared. On this occasion, a most
magnificent panorama of the surrounding country was presented to their
view. They looked down upon the whole valley of the Hidden River, from
Makanda to the mangrove swamp; and it was then that Edward filled in the
final details of his map.
They saw that it was possible to reach Cæsar’s stockade without entering
the jungle. If one followed the valley above which lay the Pambala
village, one would come, in course of time, to the granite hills to the
east of Makanda. They calculated that, if Max started at daybreak, he
would reach his destination towards the evening.
Accordingly, soon after sunrise, Max set out, bearing with him the good
wishes of his friends. A native footpath led some distance down the
valley, but there turned into the jungle. Max struck across country,
holding his course south-west by the compass.
He halted at midday to enjoy a meal of biscuits and sardines, washed
down by the clear water from a neighbouring brook. As he sat in
solitude, in the midst of that illimitable wilderness, he could not but
reflect upon the strangeness of his situation. Here was he, who all his
life had been accustomed to the roll of London ’buses and the cries of
newsboys in the streets, seated on a boulder, in the blazing heat of the
tropics, thousands of miles beyond the pale of civilization.
It was whilst he was there that he beheld, for the first time in his
life--if we make exception of the animals he had seen in the Zoo--a
great rock-python which lay, coiled in the grass, not twenty paces from
him. The sight of the thing caused him to shudder. He sprang instantly
to his feet. As he did so the snake heard him, and glided away among
the rocks. In the thickest part of its body the great reptile was about
the size of a man’s thigh; and it must have been over twenty feet in
length.
Max, having no desire for such a companion, moved on in haste, keeping
the mountain to his left. For the most part, he passed through a kind
of neutral territory, where the dominion of the jungle gave way to the
barren, rock-bound slopes of Solitude Peak. The afternoon was well
advanced by the time he arrived at the granite hills.
Here, he exercised the greatest caution. It was possible that a
sentinel had been posted on the crest-line. He accordingly advanced by
way of a donga, which led to the hill-top, and in which he could not be
seen. When he cleared the donga, a few yards from the crest, he went
down on hands and knees, and crawled from boulder to boulder.
A few minutes later, he found himself looking down upon the settlement
of Makanda. He was immediately above the kraal, and from that altitude
he was able to see inside the enclosure. The kraal consisted of four
rows of huts. In one of these was a white figure which, even without
the aid of his glasses, he had no difficulty in recognizing as one of
the Arabs. This man, rifle in hand, entered a hut, and presently came
out with a party of six slaves, all of whom wore iron collars around
their necks, which were fastened together by a single chain. Followed
by the Arab, this party left the kraal, and turned to the left, towards
the southern extremity of the lake.
Max directed his field-glasses upon the stockade. He could see no one
therein but Cæsar’s Arab cook, who was walking leisurely from the
direction of the river with a bucket of water in either hand.
By now the slave-driver and his party were out of sight to the south.
Max, anxious to observe whatsoever was in progress, descended from the
sky-line and ran in all haste along the ridge. He soon came to a place
whence he was able to see the course of the river, which had taken a
sudden bend to the west above the lake, where it was spanned by a rope
suspension bridge, such as is often met with in the heart of Africa.
Beyond the bridge, the sight that he witnessed held him rooted to the
spot.
He beheld a large quarry, where about fifty natives were at work. In
charge of these were four Arabs, and Max had no difficulty in
distinguishing Cæsar and the half-caste de Costa.
The work which was in progress was singular, by reason of the fact that
this was Equatorial Africa where, at that time, commerce, industry and
enterprise were quite unknown. A group of slaves in charge of the
Portuguese himself, was gathered together beneath the walls of the
quarry. A little distance from them was a great heap of rubbish.
Suddenly, the whole party was seen to set off running in the direction
of the river. Cæsar was the last to retire.
There followed a tremendous explosion. A great column of dust and smoke
was thrown up into the air. And even before this had descended, or had
been carried away upon the wind, both Cæsar and the natives had hastened
back to the place, where there was now a great rent in the living rock.
There they set to work carrying baskets of débris to de Costa, who
supervised a party engaged in sifting. Now and then, something was
taken from the siftings and handed to de Costa, who examined it, and
cast it into a wheelbarrow. At intervals, this wheelbarrow was taken to
a third party at the water’s edge that was engaged in washing something
in pans.
Max was, at first, too interested and surprised at all this to take
notice of an occurrence in the nature of a tragedy which was taking
place farther up the stream. There, about a dozen natives lay stretched
at full length upon the sand at the water’s edge. Some of these lay
still and motionless, as if in death; others were writhing in agony;
from time to time one would endeavour to raise himself, but invariably
fell back, drawing up his knees as if in fearful pain.
Even at that distance, Max could not fail to recognize the symptoms of
cholera--the most severe and fatal of all diseases. At various
intervals in the history of the world, cholera has raged in Asia and
throughout the eastern parts of Europe. In the early part of the
nineteenth century a violent outbreak occurred in Bengal, which in a
short time spread throughout the length and breadth of India. Thence,
it raged eastward into China, and westward through Persia and Turkey to
Russia and Central Europe. North Africa was also afflicted, and the
valley of the Nile, whence the pestilence had evidently now crossed to
the basin of the Congo.
No disease in the world is more deadly and virulent. It strikes down
its victims swiftly and without warning. Even as the men worked at the
quarry, Max observed one who took himself a little distance from his
fellows, and sat down upon a rock as though he were in pain.
Cæsar followed him, and ordered the man to return. The poor fellow was
too weak to obey; and thereupon the slave-master raised his whip and
three times brought down his lash upon the naked back of the sufferer.
The man’s cries for mercy carried even to the hills, and it was all Max
could do to restrain the burning indignation which kindled in his soul.
Presently the order was given for the slaves to return to the kraal; and
the whole party set out across the bridge, driven forward by the whip.
If any man, in all God’s Kingdom, had merited death by dint of his
misdeeds, it was surely this relentless Portuguese.