THE FIGHT AT DAWN
Royce knew the Tubus by repute as a fierce and bloodthirsty tribe,
living in French territory beyond the River Yo, whose raids across
the border were notorious. It was certainly to be hoped that the
peaceful objects of his expedition would not be hindered by
encounters with those turbulent savages.
The first consideration, however, was the welfare of his boys. They
depended for their food on the willingness of the natives to sell.
Hitherto there had been no difficulty in this respect; but they
carried only enough for a few days' supply, and at present their
provisions were exhausted. The crops of this village were not yet
ripe; the village itself was absolutely bare; it was of the first
importance that food should be obtained at once.
As a result of a consultation with Challis and the headman, Royce
decided to push on with John to the next village and buy food there.
"What if that has been raided too?" suggested Challis, as they talked
it over.
"We must hope for the best," Royce answered.
"And it's pretty risky, you two going alone through a country
recently raided."
"How long ago were the Tubus here, do you think?" Royce asked John.
"Two free days, sah."
"Well, then, it's likely that they've gone back to their own ground.
For us it's a choice of two evils, and we must chance it. With good
luck, we shall get to the next village before dark. I'll engage
carriers there, and we ought to be back here with plenty of grub by
to-morrow night."
They set off. Both were in good condition, and they made rapid
progress. But the country was trackless, and Royce could only direct
his course roughly by Drysdale's map.
The short dusk was falling without their having come on any signs of
human dwellings. In another half-hour it would be quite dark, and
Royce reluctantly but prudently decided that they must take shelter
for the night, for fear of becoming hopelessly lost, and go on in the
morning.
The country was bare, consisting of rocky ground sparsely covered
with scrub. It offered nothing that gave promise of a comfortable
defence against the night cold, and Royce had almost reconciled
himself to spending the hours in the open when suddenly he caught
sight, on the crest of a low hill about a mile to the left, of what
appeared to be the ruins of a small building. Such ruins are to be
met with here and there in the remotest depths of the great
continent, the relics of ancient civilisations long vanished. There
were no signs of life about this building, and Royce resolved to take
shelter there.
They struck off to the left, climbed the hill, and, after a careful
survey of the neighbourhood, approached the ruin. It turned out to
be a dismantled stone fort, overgrown in parts with vegetation, but
in a fair state of preservation. The outer wall was complete;
inside, the principal chamber, which had once, no doubt, been the
headquarters of a garrison, was roofless, and such timber-work as
there had been was either burnt or had been carried away. Some
smaller rooms were still covered from the sky, and it was in one of
these that Royce determined to repose during the night.
They had brought with them a few biscuits and a small tin of
preserved mutton, and they made a meagre supper. John having
noticed, as they approached the fort, the runs of ground game among
the bushes, set a few snares, in the hope of providing next day's
breakfast. He returned with a huge armful of leaves and grasses to
spread on the stone floor of the room chosen for their night's
lodging.
"It's the first time I've been littered down like a horse," said
Royce to himself, with faint amusement. "There's no telling what one
may come to!"
"No berry comfy, sah," said John, when he had laid these rough beds
in opposite corners. "All can do."
"It will do very well, John," returned Royce. "I suppose we shan't
be disturbed by lions or any other unpleasant visitors?"
"No fink so, sah."
"Should we light a fire, do you think?"
"No, sah; no good. Fire make lions 'fraid; oh yes! but no make bad
mans 'fraid."
"I see--it might drive off beasts, but attract men? Very well. I
don't suppose I shall sleep much, anyway."
Royce had often admired the negro's ability to sleep anywhere and at
any time, and to awake to full alertness and activity in a moment.
Like a dog, he seems to have no need of the preliminary yawnings and
stretchings to which a civilised man has accustomed himself. John
fell asleep as soon as he had curled himself up on his grass bed.
His master lay awake for a long time, listening to the rustle of the
wind in the foliage that clothed the ruins, fancying that he heard
the grunt of a lion and the bark of a jackal far away, thinking of
Challis in his camp, and of the terrible scene of desolation in the
ruined village.
A more experienced traveller would have taken that matter
philosophically; Royce was greatly perturbed. He pictured in his
mind the barbarians swooping upon the village, the massacre and
pillage, the driving of women and children into slavery; and he
shuddered at the misery which had fallen upon simple and inoffensive
people.
He felt anxiety, too, about the future of his own little company.
The region of which he was in search was apparently situated near the
lands of the Tubus, the raiding tribe whose name was dreaded by his
boys; and the prospect of coming into conflict with them made him
uneasy. Not that he was a coward, or shrank from the possible
necessity of fighting; but his object was peaceable, and he wished
with all his heart that it might be attained without offence to the
native peoples, without the shedding of blood. Yet his indignation
burnt so fiercely within him, that he knew he would not be able to
refrain from striking a blow for any hapless villagers who might be
threatened with disaster at the hands of a savage enemy.
Turning over these things in his mind, and envying John, whose loud
breathing proclaimed that no anxieties disturbed his repose, he lay
wakeful for several hours, until he, too, fell asleep. He slept very
heavily, as might have been expected of a man tired out by exhausting
marches under a hot sun. The night was cool, the atmosphere was
pure, and the young Englishman's rest was as peaceful as though there
were no wild beast or savage man in the world.
When he awoke, the ghostly light of dawn was glimmering in the open
doorway of the room. Like his countrymen everywhere, he turned over
on his back, stretched himself, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. Where
was John? The heap of grass in the opposite corner was vacant.
"He's gone to examine his snares, I suppose," he said to himself. "I
wonder if there's a stream where I can take a dip."
He rose, stretched himself again, feeling a little stiff, walked
through the doorway, and entered one of the passages that led to the
outside. He was just turning a corner when, with a suddenness that
took him all aback, he came face to face with a negro, a man of huge
stature, topping him by several inches.
The white man and the black were equally surprised. Both came to a
halt, and stood eyeing each other for a moment in silence.
The passage was open to the sky, but the light of morning was as yet
so faint that neither could see very clearly.
All at once the negro, with a roar like that of a wild beast, whipped
a curved sword out of a belt about his waist, and, springing forward,
delivered a furious sweeping cut which, if it had taken effect, must
have severed Royce's head from his shoulders.
Fortunately for him, however, he was quick of eye and wit, and nimble
in his movements. At school he had had no match in boxing and
fencing. Being absolutely unarmed, he had no means of parrying the
stroke; but he dropped on one knee, and the scimitar whistled within
an inch of his crown, striking with a crashing stroke the wall on his
right hand.
While the negro was still bent forward with the force of his blow,
Royce sprang low at his knees, and, tugging them towards him, brought
the man with a thud to the floor. The sword fell from his hand and
clashed on the stone flags, and Royce reached down to get hold of it.
But the negro sprang to his feet with agility amazing in so huge a
man, and hurled himself upon the Englishman.
Royce had just time to straighten himself and prevent himself from
being thrown down; the next moment the negro's arms were about him;
he felt hot breath upon his face, and saw the gleaming teeth and
infuriated eyes of a man from whom he knew he could expect no mercy.
He was well acquainted with the styles of wrestling in vogue in
England--the Cumberland, the Devon, the Lancashire; but he was
instantly aware that the negro's method was none of these. It was,
in fact, a form of wrestling like that which had been practised ages
ago in the Olympic games, and had no doubt been introduced into
Northern Africa by the Romans in the days of Cæsar and Pompey. It
resembled the catch-as-catch-can style of Lancashire more nearly than
the lighter styles with which Royce was familiar.
The negro's aim seemed to be to throttle his opponent, or to squeeze
the breath out of his body; and Royce, struggle as he might, felt the
thick, muscular arms gripping him more and more closely. Slighter in
build, he had no chance of employing the feints and tricks which
might have compensated for a less powerful physique in dealing with
an Englishman. In that straining grasp, there was no hope for the
lesser man; in a few seconds the struggle must end.
[Illustration: AT GRIPS WITH THE NEGRO]
The encounter, the coming to grips, had happened so swiftly that
Royce had had no time to think that there was help at hand in the
shape of John. But now, at this critical moment, when he felt that
the very life was being crushed out of him, he remembered the staunch
companion of his journey, who could not be far away.
Making a desperate effort to fill his lungs, he uttered a shout, or
rather a choking gurgle, which no one would have recognised as the
voice of an Englishman. The negro laughed, anticipating the moment
when the white man would lie limp and lifeless at his feet. Bub
John, climbing the hill with a rabbit dangling in his hand, heard the
two sounds--the gasping cry, the loud, mocking laugh. Hastening
forward at a run, he shouted aloud, giving a long, penetrating note
like the yodel of the Swiss mountain shepherd. The sound, growing
louder moment by moment, came to the ears of the negro. He realised
instantly that, unless he could dispose of the Englishman at once, he
would soon have two men to deal with.
The encouraging sound gave Royce new strength. He put forth his last
energies to resist the strangling grip.
"_Yoi-aloo! Yoi-aloo!_"
The newcomer was close at hand. The panting negro lowered his arms,
caught Royce about the hips, and tried to lift him, intending to dash
him upon the floor. Royce flung his legs about the giant's thighs,
stiffened his muscles, and dragged with all his force upon the
negro's shoulders.
"_Yoi-aloo! Yoi-aloo!_"
The game was up! The negro dared not wait longer. Loosening his
grip, he wrenched himself out of Royce's entwining arms, thrust him
away, and, turning about, rushed through the passage into the open.
There he saw John hurrying up within twenty paces of him, and
swerving to the left, in five seconds had disappeared among the
bushes.