A Long March
Lake Mazingo--Tom’s Talisman--Scenes on the March--In Sight--Tom
Surprises the Doctor--Imubinga
Tom woke with the dawn, feeling anything but well. His head was aching
violently; he was reluctant to move; and when at last he threw off his
rug and raised himself on his elbow, his head swam and he shivered. A
clammy mist lay thick upon the surface of the lake, completely hiding
everything beyond a radius of a dozen yards. The water smelt
abominably, reminding Tom so strongly of the Clyde at its worst that he
said to himself: "I declare I am homesick!" and laughed at the new
application of the word.
"It looks very much," he thought, "as though I’m in for a spell of
fever. But I simply can’t afford time to be ill. Wish this wretched
mist would clear away, so that I could see whereabouts we are."
At this moment Mbutu came up from the other end of the canoe. He held
out a small paper packet to his master, who took it and opened it before
his dazed recollection was fully awake.
"Ah! cinchona, that blessed bark!" he exclaimed, when he saw the white
powder. "I remember the padre gave us some to put among our baggage.
Thanks, Mbutu! you’re a clever fellow to guess so readily what is wrong
with me. Well, here goes; out of the bitter" (he swallowed the drug)
"shall come forth the sweet, and let’s hope I’ll soon be as strong as
Samson himself. And look! there’s the sun struggling through this
detestable wet blanket. The mist will soon be gone, and then we must
make a start."
"Berrah well, sah," said Mbutu. "Me sleepy too much, sah."
"Sleepy, are you? How’s that? I slept as sound as that fellow--what
was his name?--who snored for a hundred years. What!" (as an idea struck
him) "you don’t mean to say you’ve been watching all night?"
"Oh yes, sah! Sah berrah sleepy; dem black man no good; me tink about
croc’dile. Uncle, sah, go by-by in canoe all same too much; leg trickle
ober side, sah; croc’dile berrah hungry; come ’long, ’long; no nize,
sah; him--"
Mbutu’s only story was interrupted at this point by a howl from one of
the crew. Expecting to see at least a leg or an arm less among them,
Tom started up. What he actually saw was the howling native lying face
upwards at full length along the bottom of the canoe, and his three
mates walking solemnly over him, kneading him with their feet, a look of
solemn determination imprinted on their features. What most astonished
Tom was that, though the prostrate man still yelled, he appeared to like
the performance, and rolled his eyes gratefully at his perambulating
friends.
"What--what on earth are they doing?" laughed Tom.
"Him sick too much in tummick, sah," said Mbutu gravely. "Too much
cheese, sah. Better next time soon."
"Is that their cure for dyspepsia, then? I must tell Dr. Corney about
this. What a fine poster it would make for advertising somebody’s
pills! As the howls have stopped, I suppose the poor fellow is better?"
"Berrah well now, sah. Him no eat cheese not much no more. Cheese too
much nice."
Tom laughed. The sun was rapidly dispersing the mist, which rolled back
like a circular curtain. The surface of the lake was clear for half a
mile round, though clear was after all not the word for it, papyrus
sticking up thickly in all directions. Tom felt again rather depressed
as he scanned the dismal prospect, but did his best to shake off the
weight. Unable to eat anything himself, he ordered his men to have their
breakfast and prepare to start.
The whole of that day was occupied in paddling down the lake. Tom could
hardly endure the slowness of their progress. The crew would paddle for
half a mile, then find the canoe entangled in a maze of subaqueous
creepers, and have to try back for twenty yards or so and look for
another passage. Once, going at a fair pace, it embedded itself in a
submerged bank of black mud, and all its occupants had to jump
overboard, and partly by heaving, partly by loosening the mud with the
axes, free the craft from the obstruction. Then, as the afternoon wore
on, mosquitoes and ticks innumerable buzzed about their heads. The
natives paid little heed to these importunate visitors, but Tom’s face,
neck, and arms were stung in scores of places, and he suffered almost
intolerable torture. He found some mental relief in opening on his
knees the writing-case given him by Mr. Barkworth, and penning an
account of his adventures, intending to send the letter by one of the
crew on their return journey. In course of time they came opposite a
small native village on the lake-side, and Mbutu, with Tom’s permission,
leapt overboard and waded to the shore. He returned in about half an
hour carrying a closely-woven straw basket, which he handed to Tom.
"Drink, sah, fust; berrah well. Next time, rub hands and face, so;
berrah well. Berrah nice, sah; hurt all go too soon."
Tom saw that the basket was half-full of delicious new milk. He drank
more gratefully than ever in his life before, then washed his face and
arms in what was left.
About five o’clock they reached a point which the natives declared was
the southern extremity of the lake, and beyond which they had been
forbidden by their chief to go. Tom heaved a sigh of relief.
"There is an hour before sundown," he said. "We ought to be able to
find a native hut or two by that time--eh, Mbutu?"
"Sure nuff, sah."
"The first thing is to get ashore. The water is not deep enough for us
to pull in, and the bottom seems nothing but mud."
"All same, sah; me know all ’bout it, sah."
Fixing his keen eyes on the water around, Mbutu picked out the direction
in which the depth of water was greatest and the reeds thinnest, and
under his guidance the Baganda gently paddled the canoe to within thirty
yards of the shore.
"Stop dis place," he said at last. "Sah say by-by to black man; black
man go home now; home to pickin."
Tom got out his rolls of calico and packets of beads, and gravely cut
off from the one and counted out from the other the stipulated
quantities, which he handed to the crew, adding a present to each, and
an extra douceur to the head-man and the poor fellow injured the day
before. He then made them a speech, thanking them in the King’s name
for the service they had done the British Empire in general and Major
John Burnaby in particular, Mbutu translating very freely, and at
considerable length, into the vernacular. Finally he handed his letter
to the head-man, telling him that Mr. Barkworth would give him a
handsome present when he delivered it. Then he went over the side, Mbutu
following with the baggage.
It was past six o’clock, and almost without warning the sun sank down
upon their right, and everything was dark. Mbutu led the way over the
swampy soil, his master following gingerly at the distance of about a
yard, just able to discern his black form. After ten minutes’ walking
they felt the ground gradually becoming drier, and half an hour later
they found themselves treading a turf that reminded Tom of the Berkshire
downs. He asked Mbutu what plan he had formed. The boy replied that he
had none, except to find a village where they might rest in safety for
the night. He added that he was beginning to be afraid of snakes, and
hinted that a lion or two might happen to be prowling abroad.
"Me want see light, sah," he said.
At length, after they had been walking for an hour and a half, he
gleefully exclaimed that he saw a twinkle ahead. Fifteen minutes later
the pedestrians came to a sort of guard-house gateway, built of mud and
wattles, across a narrow path. They passed through it, and found
themselves in the single street of a village lined with grass huts on
each side, one of these, somewhat larger than the rest, having a fire in
it, the glow of which Mbutu had seen through the door-hole. The
inhabitants appeared to be asleep; there was no sound save the faint baa
of a goat in the compound beyond, and the melancholy night moo of a cow.
Signing to his master to stop, Mbutu put down his little load, found a
strip of calico and a bracelet of beads, and uttered a curious cry,
between the call of a hyena and the howl of a wolf. In an instant, as
it seemed, the two strangers were surrounded by a ring of natives, who
in their haste had snatched up as weapons whatever came first to hand.
Torches were soon on the scene, and by their light the amazed natives
saw the disturbers of their repose: a tall white man, nearly six feet
high, young, broad-shouldered, with thin, hairless face--thinned even by
the anxieties of the last few days,--keen blue eyes, and firm lips; and
a Muhima, some eight inches shorter than his master, his thick lips and
woolly hair proclaiming his negro blood, but his eyes and brow and
arched nose bespeaking a strain derived from a far-distant Egyptian
ancestry. Englishman and Muhima, each with race marked in every line of
his figure, stood facing the wondering villagers unflinchingly.
Then Mbutu began to explain, and Tom stood patiently for an hour while
his follower lauded him to the skies, claimed for him qualities and
connections of the most exalted nobility, and demanded hospitality from
the villagers in the name of the Great White King. They were visibly
impressed, and talked away energetically among themselves. Then the
chief came forward and said that he knew the servants of the Great White
King were good brothers of his; he had seen some of them only the day
before; but how was he to be sure that his white visitor was not one of
the Wa-daki, whom he hated as he hated snakes and leopards? Tom was at
first at a loss how to convince the chief of his British nationality.
Suddenly bethinking himself, he took out his pocket-book, in which he
had a few postage-stamps. He tore off one, and showed it to the negro.
When Mbutu explained that the head on the stamp was the head of the
Great White King, the chief was delighted; still more when Tom, wetting
it, solemnly affixed it to his black arm. After that the enraptured
chief announced that his own hut was freely at the disposition of the
white man.
Tom’s host was a villainous-looking savage, but he proved most
hospitable. His hut contained nothing but a hard plank raised on short
pegs from the earthen floor, a broken box, a small fire, and a general
supply of insects. Mbutu explained that his master, whom he called his
great chief, was tired and wished to sleep, but that first he must have
a meal, and would purchase a young fowl. That was instantly
forthcoming, and in a few minutes Mbutu had prepared an excellent supper
of grilled chicken, unleavened millet-cakes, and tea unsweetened, but
qualified with cow’s milk.
On the following morning Tom sent Mbutu to summon the chief to a
palaver. That solemn function lasted for two hours, and Tom was on
thorns till it was over. The talking was mainly between Mbutu and the
chief, and Tom was amazed that so much eloquence had to be expended in
giving and receiving so little information. All that he learnt was that
the expedition had passed within a couple of miles of the village soon
after sunrise on the previous day, and that it was proceeding due west,
to punish the Arabs and the Manyema. The chief was very emphatic on this
point; he declared that the Arabs and their allies deserved all they
would get, for they had made themselves a terror for miles round,
treating the natives with frightful cruelty, lopping off hands and feet,
slitting noses, killing outright, sometimes in wanton devilry, sometimes
as punishment for trivial offences. The expedition had bought a few
sheep and goats, and paid for them, but "not nuff", as Mbutu interpreted
to his master, adding, however, that no native chief would ever admit
himself satisfied: "black chief all same for one".
Tom was delighted to hear that his uncle was only a day’s march in front
of him. Discovering that the route lay for miles over grass country,
gradually rising until it entered a mountainous region, he inferred that
the British force would now be moving at a slow rate, which increased
his chances of overtaking it soon. With a march overland before him, he
felt the advisability of having a weapon of some sort in case of
emergency, and asked the chief through Mbutu if he had a rifle to sell.
The chief produced a very old and rusty weapon, with some cartridges,
and Tom grimaced when, on trying a shot, he found himself thrown
backward by the unexpected force of its kick. He accepted it in default
of a better, and left Mbutu to settle the price.
It was past ten o’clock when the two travellers, amid the friendly
farewells of the whole village, set off on their march. Tom guessed that
the expedition, being rather more than twenty-four hours ahead of them,
was at this time some twenty-five miles away, and he hoped with good
luck to decrease that lead very considerably before nightfall. Mbutu’s
load, diminished by the quantities of calico and beads already parted
with, was now much lighter than when he started, so that, though
shorter, he found himself quite able to keep up with Tom, who set off
with an easy stride.
After about half an hour’s walking, they struck into the track of the
expedition. It was a path not more than a foot wide, which in some
parts evidently followed a previous native track, in other parts had
been trodden for the first time by the advancing force. Tom was
surprised to find it so narrow, until informed by Mbutu that in Africa
native troops almost invariably kept single file while on the march.
The path led over rolling grassy downs, clumps of bracken and bramble
here and there giving them a very home-like appearance. In one place,
indeed, Tom was delighted to see a few daisies growing; he stooped and
picked one, smiling, as he stuck it in his coat, to think of the
thousands of daisies he had trampled under foot at home without even a
passing thought. Large trees were few and far between on the savannah,
but one, which he had never seen before, seemed to Tom extraordinarily
graceful--a long, straight, even stem, with a cluster of strange fronds
spreading fan-like from its top.
The path led across streams of clear sparkling water, in which, as the
sun grew hotter, Tom was glad to bathe his face and feet, and
occasionally to drink. The banks of every stream of considerable size
were clothed with luxuriant vegetation, palms, acacias, lianas growing
thickly together, with tall grass, wild bananas, and flowering creepers
which made a dazzling and beautiful picture. Crimson butterflies darted
hither and thither among the foliage. "How Jenks would revel in this on
a Saturday afternoon!" thought Tom, and was reminded that he had lost
count of the days. He opened his pocket-diary, and by tracing back his
recent adventures found that it was Saturday, the 8th of June. "And
to-morrow’s Uncle Jack’s birthday!" he remembered. "Well, I’ve no
present for him--except myself, and I don’t suppose" (the thought was
accompanied by a rueful smile) "he’ll be overglad to see me--at least at
first."
He was at this moment entering a patch of forest on the edge of a
stream, and Mbutu pointed out some deep scratches on the grayish boles.
"What are they?" asked Tom. "They remind me of the scratches on the
legs of the table in my father’s study, and our old cat--heavens, how
long it seems since I saw them!"
"Leopards did ’em, sah! When dey catch us dey eat us."
"Really! Then they mustn’t catch us, that’s all."
Just as the words were out of his mouth, a terrific crash to the left
made him jump and stand watchfully bent forward with his loaded rifle.
He peered into the dense mass of foliage, but saw nothing.
"No leopard, sah; leopard no make nize."
"What is it, then?"
"Dere he are, sah! Dat him! Big amalua, sah!"
They had just reached the water’s edge. Away to the left, sousing
himself in the running stream, they saw a splendid elephant, with
gleaming tusks that would have brought joy to a hunter’s soul. Tom
would have tried a shot, if he had not already proved that his rifle was
hopelessly antiquated and short-ranged, and with his present
responsibility he did not feel justified in running any avoidable risks.
He sighed, and passed on, over a bridge of tree-trunks cleverly bound
together by ropes made of papyrus and creepers. It had evidently been
slightly repaired for the passage of the British force, some of the
plant-ropes looking fresh and new.
On the other side of the stream came another stretch of fairly level
country, with short, straw-coloured grass, interrupted here and there by
a swamp. By half-past five Tom calculated that they had covered no more
than twenty miles, and he was uncomfortably conscious of his want of
training. He had a drawn, burning sensation at the ball of his left
foot, and felt pretty sure that he would find there the making of a
blister. Luckily, just before sundown they came to a banana plantation,
amid which, on a knoll, stood a very neat and tidy-looking hut. It
happened to be empty, and Tom thought it no wrong to the absent owner to
make it his quarters for the night. There were a few rough clay
utensils in it, and Mbutu, fetching water from the brook which ran round
the base of the knoll, soon made some tea, which, with bananas cut
fresh, millet cakes, and oatmeal biscuits, furnished a satisfactory
supper. Tom bathed his feet, and at Mbutu’s suggestion covered them
with a compress of bananas. In the morning he found, rather to his
surprise, that this novel application had been most beneficial. It was
only one of the hundred uses to which, as he learnt by degrees
afterwards, the natives put the plant: its pulp made flour and beer,
spirits and soap; its rind made plates and dishes and napkins; while its
stalks provided pipes, and even material for footbridges.
Next day they started at sunrise. Walking was more arduous than it had
been on the previous day, for the ground rose gradually, becoming more
and more rocky, cut at intervals by ravines, and showing here and there
fragments of what Tom believed must be lava. The soil was in truth
volcanic; not very many miles to the south of their path stood two
volcanoes still moderately active, and but a few miles north there were
mountain lakes lying hidden in the craters of volcanoes long extinct.
Tom knew nothing of these, however; he was only concerned with the hard
fact that walking was unpleasant, and that over the rocky ground the
track of the expedition was sometimes difficult to discover. The one
consolation was that, slow as their own progress was, the progress of
the expedition, as the Zanzibari porters carried their loads over ravine
and boulder, must necessarily be slower. Foot-sore, aching in every
limb, he nevertheless pressed on indomitably, hoping against hope that
he might overtake his uncle before night. But though he anxiously
looked ahead through his field-glass, he saw nothing but broken, rocky
country, and at five miles’ distance his view was interrupted altogether
by a rugged line of hills.
The sun went down in crimson splendour. There was no hut on this
occasion to afford sleeping room to the weary travellers. Building a
fire with some wood from a scanty copse on the bank of a ravine, they
found a shelter hard by among the rocks, and slept in their rugs. Up
again at day-break, they pushed on, and were pleased to find, on
reaching the range of hills before mentioned, that the ground there
sloped gradually downwards, and the path led once more into a grassy
plain. Just before noon, after crossing a bridge, evidently new, thrown
over a wider stream than any they had yet encountered, and walking up a
steep grassy acclivity, Tom raised his glass to his eyes, and uttered an
exclamation of thankfulness and joy.
"There they are, Mbutu!" he cried. "I see them! It must be the
expedition. It’s just like a long snake winding through a broad defile
over there. Look! Now isn’t it?"
Mbutu peered long and earnestly into the distance.
"Right, sah! I see dem big black man. Dey plenty big, plenty strong.
Soon be dar, sah; see sah him uncle."
Tom stopped short.
"Look here, Mbutu," he said, "an idea has just struck me. You mustn’t be
seen at first. If that scamp of a guide sees you, he will suspect
something, and our long journey may be thrown away. I must go on first.
He doesn’t know me."
"Berrah well, sah; all same for one."
"You’re not afraid, are you? I shouldn’t like a wild animal to run off
with my katikiro."
Mbutu grinned.
"No ’fraid dis time, sah. Sah him uncle drive all wild beast away; all
dat nize, sah; wild beast no like nize; make him tummick bad too much,
sah."
"Well, I needn’t leave you yet. They’re still about five miles ahead, I
should think, and they’re almost over the hill-top now. When we get
within sight of the rear-guard again, I’ll go on, and you must keep in
touch till you’re sent for."
Tom’s feet by this time were giving him torture. He felt horribly
fagged, and, realizing how hungry he was, he sighed, above all things in
the world, for a juicy steak and a jug of shandy-gaff, such as used to
await the school fifteen after a hard house match. "But I’m not going
to give in at the death," he said to himself doggedly. "And I should
think another couple of hours would do it."
He crossed the hill, and saw the tail-end of the force not more than two
miles ahead, just passing into a clump of trees, on the near side of
which were two or three native huts.
"That’s where you must stay, Mbutu. It’s about four o’clock now, so the
force will be camping very soon, and we shan’t be far ahead of you.
Now, I’m going on. Good-bye for the present; I fancy you’ll see me
again after dark."
"All right, sah; so long!" The slang sounded strange in the mouth of a
Muhima, and Tom’s lips twitched with amusement as he turned his back.
Forty minutes later, as he was walking as fast as his sore feet allowed
through a stretch of thin forest, he was halted by the bayonet of a
Soudanese sergeant, who looked at him with amazement.
"All right, sergeant; I’m Major Burnaby’s nephew. You can let me
through."
The Soudanese happened to be one of the draft picked up at Entebbe, and
thus had not seen Tom before. He seemed too much surprised to think.
The stranger was unmistakeably an Englishman, however, and he could not
be going very far wrong if he sent him under guard to the major.
Calling two of his men, he instructed them to lead Tom between them to
the commanding officer, who was superintending the formation of a camp
about a mile ahead.
Tom limped along, feeling now too much excited, as well as exhausted, to
attempt any conversation with his escort. Two minutes after leaving the
sergeant, he heard a familiar voice before him.
"There now, more comfortable now, aren’t ye? Just take care you don’t
go putting your foot on a thorn again. Bedad, it’s you scoundhrels of
porters that get more out of the R.A.M.C. than the soldiers at all, at
all. Now just be after minding your toes, ye spalpeen."
Dr. Corney O’Brien had just extracted a thorn from a Zanzibari’s foot,
when he looked up and caught sight of Tom.
"By all the holy powers!" he exclaimed. "It’s you!"
"Yes--it’s myself, doctor," said Tom, with a feeble attempt to smile.
"’Pon my soul, I thought it was your ghost!" gasped the doctor. "Ah,
faith, won’t the major be pleased! I wouldn’t be in your shoes for--
But, save us, the lad’s dead-beat."
Excitement even more than fatigue had overcome Tom’s nerve at last; but
for the support of the two Soudanese he would have fallen. Quick as
thought the little doctor whipped out a flask and poured a few drops of
brandy between his lips.
"Now you fellows," he called to the Soudanese, "just rig up a litter.
Come, look alive! Half a minute by my watch, no more!"
The stalwart soldiers, in less than the time specified, had improvised a
litter out of their rifles and a couple of coats.
"Now, my dear bhoy, we will hear Ould Blazes’ remarks in ten minutes.
Gently, now."
"But, Doctor, really I can’t go into camp in a litter," said Tom, whose
fainting fit had lasted but a few seconds.
"Can’t ye, bedad? You can’t go any other way, nor you shan’t if you
can. Sure an’ you’re as thin’s a lath; no wonder the leopards and lions
and all the other wild cratures let ye through! No, ye’re not to talk
at all; I’ll do the talking; just lie quiet and ride into camp in state.
Ah, but the major’s face’ll be a sight to see--bedad it will! I
wouldn’t miss it for wurrulds."
He had assisted Tom gently into the litter slung between the two stolid
Soudanese; and thus, with a sense of peace and comfort for all his
weariness, the wanderer was ushered into the presence of his uncle.
"Hullo, Corney!" shouted the major, as he caught sight of the litter,
his jolly voice sounding the very keynote of cheerfulness, and sending a
thrill through Tom’s soul. "Hullo, Corney! another of your pet
malingerers, eh?"
"Not this time. This fellow--would ye believe it?--won’t admit there’s
anything wrong with ’m. Better prepare for a shock, old man. I’ve not
asked ’m yet what ’tis that’s brought ’m here, but--
"Good heavens, it’s Tom!" cried the major in amazement, which speedily
blazed into wrath. "Well, of all the confounded, impudent, disob--"
"Hould yer whisht!" interrupted the doctor. "Do ye not see the lad’s
dead-beat entirely! The blazes ’ll keep. Really, Major, there’s
something at the bottom of this, or he would not be here. He needs some
food first thing; you’ve got your tent up, I see. Well then, I’ll get
Saladin to make some Liebig, and when I’ve had my innings with the
bhoy--well, blaze away if you must."
The major said no more. His tent was pitched in the centre of a thorn
zariba a hundred and twenty yards square, and the men were busily
engaged in running up grass huts and entrenching the camp. Tom was
carried to the tent, where in a very short time the energetic little
doctor had a steaming bowl of beef-tea, some substantial biscuits, and a
bottle of burgundy ready for him. He ought, after his meal, said the
doctor, to go to sleep, but Tom declared he could not rest until he had
explained his presence, and the doctor gave way, being indeed not a
little curious to hear Tom’s story. He therefore fetched the major, who
was indefatigable in his personal superintendence of the camping
arrangements, and, with a private hint to him not to be peppery, brought
him into the tent.
They listened attentively as Tom told how Mbutu had come to him on the
night of the starting of the expedition, and, on learning that Tom was
the major’s nephew, had reported the conversation he had overheard; and
how he had come with the boy on the padre’s launch to the mouth of the
Ruezi, and thence by canoe and overland. The major was at first
inclined to pooh-pooh the story altogether, but when the doctor pointed
out that unless there was some truth in it, the Portuguese would have
had no object in pursuing Tom so hotly, he looked grave, and tugged at
the ends of his moustache.
"But he had other grounds for annoyance. Nobody likes to be knocked
down--and certainly not a Portuguese. But where’s that boy of yours, by
the by? I will see him myself."
"I told him to wait a couple of miles out, so as not to be seen by your
guide," replied Tom.
"Quite right; but it’s dark now. I’ll send a couple of men to bring him
in. We must see how this remarkable story squares with present
circumstances."
The major returned rather more than an hour later. "Hasn’t that black
boy turned up yet?" he asked.
"Give’m time," answered the doctor. "’Tis two miles out and two miles
in, remember."
"Well, he won’t be long now. By the way, Tom, what race does he belong
to?--Banyoro, Baganda, or what?"
"He’s a Bahima," replied Tom.
"Muhima," corrected the major, "Muhima for the individual. His people
the Bahima are the aristocrats of the country! They’ve degenerated
through mixing with the negroes, but I’ve no doubt they really are
far-away descendants of the ancient Egyptians. Here he is!" added the
major, as Mbutu was pushed into the tent by the orderly. "Well, my boy,
don’t be afraid of me; I’m your master’s uncle. Just come and tell me
all about it."
Mbutu told the story in his long-winded stumbling way, the major
listening attentively, and helping him when he stuck for a word.
"Well now, did you hear those two men mention any place in the course of
their talk?"
Mbutu thought for a moment.
"Imubinga, sah!" he said at last. "I know dat. Imubinga! Oh yes!"
"Imubinga! Corney, that’s the place, you remember, where the guide said
we should camp to-morrow; the inhabitants are likely to have a good
supply of food, he said, and that’s a blessing in such a
sparsely-populated district. This begins to look more serious. I’ll
send scouts forward first thing in the morning to see if the guide’s
information is correct so far as it goes. Imubinga, you remember he
told us, is in a plain on the far side of a range of hills, got at
through a long defile of six miles or so. If that turns out correct,
depend upon it this precious ambush will be laid somewhere about the end
of the defile. Ambush, indeed! What do they take me for! Still, you
never know; we’ll be on the safe side."
"Hungry, boy?" asked the doctor, turning to Mbutu.
"No, sah," replied Mbutu promptly. "Berrah nice chicken in pot, sah.
Big black soldier gib some. Oh yes!"
"Well," said the major with a smile, "you’ll stay in my tent to-night,
and understand you are not to go out without leave. The guide must not
see you. Why, Corney, Tom’s asleep. Did you doctor his wine, eh?"
"Just the least touch in his second glass. ’Twill do the boy good.
Sure ’tis sleep he wants."
"D’you know, Corney, I’m proud of this nephew of mine."
"An’ ye ought to be, ye ould martinet."
"You wouldn’t have me tell him so to his face, would you? Well now, I’ll
go and see Lister about the scouts; may as well send Mumford in charge,
don’t you think? And then I must stop the men’s jabber; they’ll cackle
till two in the morning if I don’t."
"Faith, ’tis time I turned in myself. Good-night, Major!"
Major Burnaby arranged with Captain Lister for the despatch of a
scouting-party at daybreak under Lieutenant Mumford. Then he made a
round of the camp to see that the watch-fires were alight and the
sentries properly posted. Finding that the men had finished their
supper, he sternly bade them stop talking and go to sleep. Soon the
clacking of nine hundred tongues ceased, and the camp lay all peaceful
beneath the rising moon.