John had every reason to be satisfied when he took stock of the results
of the action. The enemy had been thoroughly routed, with considerable
loss: he had no men killed, and only a few with superficial flesh
wounds. But he looked grave enough when, at dinner-time, Ferrier
confessed that he had already had to put the men on half rations.
"Our only hope is that the enemy have had enough of it and will clear
off," he said. "The 'bad men,' at any rate, won't think much of their
job."
"And Juma himself has had a reminder that won't leave him for a few
days. But if they _don't_ clear off----"
"We must wait and see. There ought to be plenty of fish in this pool;
couldn't we try a little angling?"
"What about hooks?"
"Well, there are some empty condensed milk-tins; we can make some sort
of hooks out of them. And as for bait--I say, look there!"
Two vultures were swooping down upon the western end of the island.
"Sickening!" said Ferrier, with a shudder. "I'll go and pot them and
get the men to attend to things there. The birds will give us bait, and
the men may like to eat them--I couldn't."
Several large hooks were made out of milk-tins. A piece of rope was
unravelled to form lines, and several of the men were soon sitting on
the causeway, angling with portions of the vultures which Ferrier shot.
In the course of an hour or two they caught several fish, large and
small; but the total quantity was insignificant in comparison with what
was needed to give all a full meal. They were all rather hungry when
they settled down for the night, and the white men devoutly hoped that
when morning dawned they would see that the enemy's force had broken up.
In this they were disappointed. Daylight showed them parties of negroes
hovering on the outskirts of the wood. That their intention was to
resume their old tactics of watching the fort was proved before the day
was over. A long line of women was observed coming from the north,
bending under heavy loads.
"Grub for them," said Ferrier. "They're short, like us: but they can
draw on the village while we starve."
"I wonder if we could intercept a convoy," suggested John.
"Very risky: practically impossible. We couldn't tell when it's coming.
We might have to wait a day or two, and miss it after all. Besides, we
might be cut off; they're strong enough to keep us out if they get
between us and the fort; and the garrison would be so much weakened that
they couldn't hold out against a general attack. No: we mustn't think
of it."
"Well, it looks as if we must either break out or starve. We may starve
in any case. We didn't pass a single cultivated field on the way up,
and if we made a dash for home we should have to depend on game and what
wild fruits we could pick up. I don't know what on earth we can do,
that's a fact."
Next day saw them no nearer a solution of the problem. The enemy were
still in force, and the punishment they had received had not sufficed to
detach the "bad men," who were easily distinguishable from the other
negroes by their characteristic equipment. Juma had in fact persuaded
them that the surrender of the white men was only a matter of time: they
could not live without food, and while they remained in the fort to
obtain food was impossible.
"Look here, Charley," said John that afternoon, "we can't stand this any
longer. It's neck or nothing, and I'm for a bold course. That village
up yonder is crammed with food-stuff of all kinds. They've just been
harvesting. I vote we make a dash for it and seize enough to last us
best part of the way home. All the fighting men are away, or nearly
all. If we can only get there it'll be easy enough to capture the place
and hold it as long as we like: there's a good stockade. But I don't
want to hold it. We might stay there a day or two until our men are fed
up, and then make tracks. Perhaps we'd have the luck to escape them;
it's not likely, I admit. They would be between us and the farm: we
should have to be uncommonly clever to dodge them; and as we couldn't
move fast, with our men loaded, they're bound to come up with us some
time or other. That would mean a fight in the open; perhaps a running
fight for miles, with the odds of numbers against us. But I prefer
fighting to starving; and it's Hobson's choice."
"It means a night march."
"Yes, but the men won't mind that. We haven't failed in anything so
far, and success goes a long way with them."
"Your escape has bucked them more than anything. Bill has told them
some wonderful story about your voyage on the raft, and if you talked
about taking a trip to the moon I believe they'd think it feasible."
"Things couldn't be better, then. Suppose we start about eight
o'clock--the enemy will all be asleep by then--we should have ten hours'
grace before sunrise, more than long enough to get to the village,
barring accidents."
"That is, if they don't find out that we've gone."
"Of course. I don't see why they should do that. They've never shown
any inclination to attack us in the darkness, and if any of them keep a
watch on the causeway side, they certainly don't at the other end, or
Coja couldn't have got in. That's our way out. We shall have to keep
the men quiet, but we've done that before, and when we've explained to
them what's at stake they'll be on their mettle. We'll cross the pool
in the canoes, and the paddles won't make any sound that they can hear,
if we're careful."
"I've an idea. While we're ferrying our things over, and most of the
men, why not start the others on a sing-song? That would drown any
noise we might make."
"And wake the enemy! They'd wonder what was up. Why should we disturb
their rest? Better not make any difference in our usual ways, I think:
keep our fires burning, and give 'em no reason to think we're doing
anything out of the ordinary."
"You're right. There's a risk that in spite of all our care they'll
hear something, but it will take 'em some time to make sure that we've
gone, and it's ten to one they won't pursue us in the darkness."
"And when they do find out, in the daylight, they'll probably waste some
time in picking up the trail, unless they are good trackers, which we've
no evidence of. I fancy we shall get, as I said, a good ten hours'
start of them, and I defy 'em to catch us then--again barring
accidents."
"D'you think you can stand the march?"
"I'm going to chance it, anyway. Your rubbings have done me a deal of
good, and we can't go very fast at night, so I think I'll manage to keep
up. If I can't, you must just sling me on to a litter. I'm eleven
stone two--or was; I suspect I've lost a few pounds lately; but four men
could toddle along with me, and a dozen will have loads in any case.
There's the ammunition, and all that flummery I gave to them; they won't
want to leave that."
"Suppose we find that some of the war-party have gone back?"
"It's not likely. They're here with the idea of getting loot, and not a
man Jack of them will be willing to lose the chance of his share.
Anyway, we must risk it. If we have luck we shall get to the village
before it's light, and a sudden rush will have the effect it always has
on them."
"Well, it sounds rather promising, and, upon my word, I'm itching to be
off."
"All in good time, old man. I wish we could all have a good feed before
we start, but perhaps the men will march the better with the promise of
a meal before them."
The preparation of the men's loads was set about betimes. The absence
of large quantities of food was an advantage; the other goods could
easily be carried by twelve of the men, and the labour would be
lightened by transferring the loads to the others in turn.
There was much excitement among the negroes when John explained his plan
to them. The past successes had given them entire confidence in their
leaders; and the prospect of actually capturing the village of the
notorious "bad men" had a spice of daring about it which lent it a
certain charm.
At nightfall the canoes were let down over the wall and carried to the
shore. Then the men conveyed the stores to them, moving so silently
that only a very alert enemy could have detected the activity. The
canoes had to make several journeys across the pool before all the goods
and the men were ferried over. There was not a sound from the enemy's
encampment. When all were safely landed, John called the men about him,
and repeated his instructions to march quietly and above all to beware
of straggling; then he set off with Bill to lead the way. Behind him
came in order four askaris carrying rifles: then the twelve men with the
ammunition and the assortment of oddments found in the fort; then six
men bearing in litters three others whose wounds prevented them from
marching. After these came the rest of the negroes, among whom the
prisoner taken at the camp was enrolled, Ferrier and Coja bringing up
the rear to ensure that there was no straggling at the end of the line.
It was a dark night, but the sky was clear and the air cold. To make a
direct course was impossible. Bill knew the way in the daytime, but at
night he was completely at a loss. John, however, was aware of the
general direction, and by keeping within touch of the river, as he could
easily do by his sense of hearing, he knew that he could not go very far
wrong, though the journey would necessarily be longer than if he had
been able to avoid the windings. Fortunately in this hilly country the
ground was much less obstructed by tangles of thorn than it was in the
less elevated districts to the south, and the safari was not hindered by
the annoying necessity of having to cut a way through pathless jungle.
Nevertheless, the march was not devoid of trials and discomforts. The
ground was very irregular, and at one point, where the bank of the river
rose to a considerable height above the water-level, they found that
they had come to a stretch of hard gravel interspersed with large
fragments of a whitish rock, making progress very slow and difficult.
Looking back, John saw the glow of the fires left burning in the fort--a
little patch of red amid deep black. When they descended to grassy land
again he stumbled over an obstruction about three feet high, which Bill
told him was an ant-hill. A little further on he heard a strange
whistling that seemed to come from a line of trees on his left hand.
Hearing the men behind gulping, he halted, and got them to exchange
loads, listening meanwhile to the weird and mournful sound, which now
increased in volume, now died away in a doleful wail. He asked Bill if
he recognized the sound as that of an animal, but he replied that he had
never heard it before. After a few moments John observed that the sound
rose and fell with the gusts of wind, and concluded that it was caused
by the breeze sweeping through the trees. He reassured the men; but it
was not till long afterwards he discovered the origin of the sound. The
trees were a species of thorn about eight feet high, with leafless
branches on which hung a number of hollow seed-pods. In these an insect
bores a hole, and the wind, passing through the innumerable tiny
apertures, produces the musical notes which so much disturbed the
negroes.
After about two hours, John felt much fatigued. The continued exertion
had revived the dull aching pain in his back and limbs, and he thought
it prudent to rest awhile. The progress had been so good that he could
afford to waste an hour: there would still be time to reach the village
before the dawn. The whole party lay down on a grassy knoll, speaking
only in whispers. Occasionally the cry of some night-bird broke the
stillness, and once there came, from far away, the sharp bark of a
hyena. At the end of an hour the safari was again on foot. Twice more
John found himself compelled to halt, and after the second time Ferrier
persuaded him to let four of the men carry him, in a litter which they
quickly made by slinging one of the blankets between two rifles. Always
taking the river as guide, they pressed on again. At last, when the
sounds of re-awakening life in the trees proclaimed that dawn was at
hand, they came to the foot of a long grassy acclivity which John felt
sure led up to the village. After a consultation with Ferrier, he
decided to wait a little until there was light enough to show them the
way clearly. The air was misty, but the blackness of night was passing,
and at length they were able to see the goal of their long march--the
"bad men's" village, lying in perfect stillness on the hill-top.
John led the men among some trees, and waited until he saw the gate
opened, and a number of women come out and wend their way into the
plantations to the left. When they were out of sight, he ordered the
men to leave their loads and follow him closely without a sound. Then,
regardless of his pain, he led the way at a steady run up the hill.
Ferrier came to his side.
"We do this together, old boy," he said.
On they went. They had almost reached the stockade when a woman in the
fields to the left saw them, and uttered a loud shriek. John quickened
his pace; the men, unable to restrain themselves any longer, raised
their voices in a tremendous shout. A few seconds later the whole
party, the white men still leading, dashed through the gate, and along
the single street, causing a wild stampede among the children playing
there, and the women who were moving about. The uproar drew several men
from their huts, where they were no doubt indulging themselves in a
final nap while their womenkind prepared breakfast. Almost all were old
men. At the sight of the invading horde they yelled and fled. John
hurried on towards the compound where he had seen the war-party
assemble. As the scared negroes left the street vacant, he was struck
with amazement at the sight that met his eyes. At the entrance of a hut
at one side of the central space stood a figure in white. He had risen
from bending over a cooking-pot. Next moment Said Mohammed came towards
his master, walking leisurely, his face beaming with smiles.
"Good morning, sir," he said blithely. "You have come in nick of time.
Banana fritters, new dish to savage with untutored mind, are done to a
turn. On point of tickling unappreciative palates, they now serve
nobler end, delectating connoisseur who knows what's what. With
respect, sir, I'm jolly glad to see you."
Thus the village of the "bad men" was carried without a blow.
John sent Coja back with a few men to bring in the loads and secure the
gate. Then he lost no time in hunting through the village, and learnt,
as he had hoped, that there were very few men left in it; and these for
the most part old and negligible as a fighting force. He had given
strict orders to his party not to injure any one wantonly. The women,
seeing that there was no burning or slaughtering, recovered from their
first fright. They recognized the prisoner in whom they had been so
much interested, and their curiosity overcoming every other feeling,
they drew slowly nearer to the strangers, uttering little shrieks of
excitement. John made them understand that the men were hungry, and
they ran with alacrity into their huts, not at all averse from preparing
a meal for such inoffensive visitors. Meanwhile Said Mohammed had
instantly seized his own cooking-pot and other utensils from the men who
carried them, and set to work to cook more banana fritters and other
dainties to which the white men had been strangers for many a day.
Before long the whole party were seated, enjoying a capital breakfast,
the men laughing and chattering like light-hearted children. In the
midst of the repast they broke into song, one of them chanting a line of
solo, the rest chiming in with a boisterous chorus.
(Solo) Where did the white men go in the night?
(Chorus) They went to the place of the bad men.
(Solo) Why did they go to the place of the bad men?
(Chorus) To get very much food
For themselves and the good men.
The white men must eat,
The black men must eat,
In the place of the bad men is very much food,
O, eat all the food of the bad men.
John smiled rather wistfully as he translated the song to Ferrier.
"Poor devils!" he said. "They don't think of what they may have to go
through before they get home. Just like children.... We thought we'd
never see you again, khansaman. What became of you?"
"Sir, I will round unvarnished tale deliver. Crossing stream, a
thousand horse-leeches take fancy to my nether extremities, and cling
like grim death. I make saltatory gyrations to shunt obnoxious
hangers-on, when lo! enter crocodile, without introduction, his room
better than his company. I was in blue funk, sir, and scooted, with
celerity and splash. In agitation of moment I forgot my pals, and when
I look round, behold! they are no more. I call: no answer; I call
again: silence that can be felt. You could hear a pin drop. In the
charming words of the handsome but afflicted Lord Byron--
'What next befell me then and there
I know not well--I never knew:'
but when I came to myself, to quote from same sublime poem--
'I had not strength to stir, nor strive,
But felt that I was still alive,'
for, below, leeches suck my vital fluid; above, black men have me in
grip as firm as metropolitan bobby. They propel me, sir, with indignity
to reverse of the medal, to this identical spot.
'First came the loss of light, and air,
And then of darkness too:'
in other words, I, Said Mohammed, failed B.A. of Calcutta University, am
consigned to ignominious horizontal extension on floor of beastly hovel.
I suffer in silence,
'Nor call the gods with vulgar spite
To vindicate my hapless right.'
--Allow me to offer you another fritter, sir."
"Thanks. What next? Fire away!"
"After horrid night, sir, over which I draw veil of decency, I am
transported into light of day. Hail, smiling morn! I purchase freedom
by generous offer to teach fair sex a thing or two. Casting pearls
before swine, sir; pains thrown away. But I earn my salt, and the rest
is blank page, clean slate, until I hear the tramp of armed men, and
behold, the grand finale!"
"I am glad things have ended so well," said John. "And I must say,
khansaman, it was very handsome and plucky of you to undertake a search
for me."