Blood-Brotherhood
Fortifying the Village--The Enemy at the Gate--An Attack at
Dawn--Bridging the Trench--Fireballs--Invested
Tom’s decisive victory over the medicine-man not only restored him to
his former place in the estimation of the people, but raised him to a
pitch of renown which he found somewhat embarrassing. Presents of all
kinds were thrust upon him by the admiring villagers, and even the
chief, who, though always affable, had nevertheless stood a little upon
his dignity, now opened his heart to him without reserve. He showed him
one day, hidden carefully under the floor of his hut, a magnificent
collection of elephants’ tusks, some being family heirlooms handed down
from generation to generation, others the spoils of his own chase. And
then he ventured to make a proposal which he said would once for all fix
the confidence of his people in the white man. Would Tom become his
blood-brother?
"Most happy, I’m sure," said Tom, who, however, looked a little blue
when the details of the ceremony were told him by Mbutu. "I don’t mind
having my arm lanced, but I’m hanged if I’ll lick his blood; no, I draw
the line at that."
Barega assured him that a trifle like that need not stand in the way,
and the ceremony was forthwith arranged. The people were again called
together by tuck of drum. In the centre of the circle two mats of
wild-cat skin were placed opposite to each other, and on these Tom and
the chief sat cross-legged. The household officers stood around,
holding shields and spears and swords over Barega’s head. Then the
katikiro made a small incision in the forearm of each, half-way between
the hand and elbow, from which a little blood oozed. If the rite had
been strictly observed, each would then have licked the blood of the
other, but in deference to Tom’s scruple, the chief was satisfied with
their rubbing the cuts together, so that their blood was commingled.
When this was done the katikiro began to knock two pieces of metal
together, keeping up a monotonous tink, tink, tink, and talking all the
time. He recited a sort of litany as the chief’s representative: "If
you want shelter, my hut is yours; if you are in trouble, my warriors
are yours; if you are hungry, the food of my land is yours; if you ever
make war upon me, if you ever steal from me, if you ever wound me",--and
so on, the if-clauses continuing for half an hour, "may you die!" Then
Mbutu got up and followed in a similar strain on Tom’s behalf, after
which the chief presented Tom with a small cube of ivory, and Tom in
return gave him the only thing he had of his own, a trouser-button. The
blood-brothers then heartily shook hands, and the assembled multitude
shouted the name by which the new brother was to be known among
them--Okubokokuru, which, being interpreted, means "Strong in the Arm".
Tom expressed his gratification at this mark of respect, but pleaded
that his new name might be shortened; and the chief announced that his
brother was to be officially known as Kuboko.
No further news had yet been received of the approaching enemy. Tom was
longing to see a white face again, but he reflected that all his friends
must now have given him up, and that a few days more would make little
difference. Besides, he felt the military instinct alive in him. He
was keen to set his wits once more against the Arab cunning, and when he
seriously thought over it he did not regret his impulsive promise to
stand by his new friends.
"Barega," he said, with a familiarity justified by his new relationship,
on the day after the ceremony, "if we are to defeat these Arabs we must
set about preparations in earnest. Your scout said they were twelve
marches away; twelve has now become ten. We have ten days. How many
fighting-men have you?"
The chief replied that he had one hundred and fifty Bahima spearmen, and
four hundred and fifty Bairo, some of whom had spears, the rest bows and
arrows. They all had small oval shields, made of light basket-work,
with a large central boss of wood. Tom had already seen and examined
their weapons in the course of his walks about the village. The Bahima
spear had a long wooden shaft and an iron head with two blood-courses,
one on each side of the central rib. The Bairo spear was of ruder
construction, the head containing a depression on one side answering to
a ridge on the other. The bow was about four feet long, with a string of
sheep-gut, and the arrows, eighteen inches in length, had barbed heads.
"Not poisoned, I hope?" said Tom, as Barega called up a Muiro to show
his weapon. He was answered in the negative. The quiver was a long
tube of hard white-wood, with a wooden cap at each end, and was worn
slung by a string across the shoulder. Striking designs had been burnt
out in a kind of poker-work on the wood, and Tom was delighted with the
artistic taste they displayed. Inside the quiver, besides some dozen
arrows, a fire-stick was kept.
"Your arms are pretty serviceable so far as they go," said Tom. "You
haven’t any guns, I suppose?"
The chief produced a few old rusty flint-locks, along with the three
muskets taken from the Arabs, but as he had no ammunition they were in
any case useless.
"Well now, how is the village prepared to stand an assault? It is
impregnable on the north-east and east, I should say, owing to the
precipice. The path up to the north gate is steep, and therefore an
attack in that direction might be easily beaten off; but on the west and
south, as well as on the south-east, your stockade, I am afraid, is
easily scaleable. I would suggest that you dig a trench, Barega,
outside the stockade, and fill it with water from the stream. And look
here, don’t you think you could make your men work? You’ll never get
things done if you leave them entirely to the women, and in my country,
you know, we’d think precious little of a man who made his women do
everything."
Stimulated by Tom’s energy, the chief set the whole of his people to
work. Unluckily, the Bahima not being an agricultural people, they had
only their broad knife-blades to use, though the Bairo were well
supplied with crude implements. Making the best of things, and
impressing even the children into the task, Tom had the satisfaction,
after eight days’ strenuous labour, of seeing the vulnerable part of the
stockade defended by a trench six feet deep and fifteen across. It was
not carried right up to the stockade for fear of loosening the fencing,
but the interval was planted with sharp stakes, forming a
_chevaux-de-frise_. Under Tom’s supervision a drawbridge of wattles was
rapidly constructed and thrown over the trench at the southern gate.
The huts outside the stockade, which would afford good cover for an
enemy, were cleared away, the owners being accommodated with new huts
within.
There were now only two days left before the Arabs, at the earliest,
could arrive, and Tom, thinking over the probabilities and
possibilities, and as yet ignorant of the size and composition of the
Arab force, wondered whether the attack might resolve itself into a
siege. It might of course be beaten back once for all; still, it was
well to be prepared. He advised the chief, therefore, to lay in a large
stock of provisions, both animal and vegetable. A good many cattle
could at a pinch be herded inside the stockade, and the flesh of
slaughtered animals could be kept sweet under running water, in little
streamlets diverted from the brook, or preserved in pans of salt. Great
quantities of bananas, potatoes, maize, and other crops were got in and
stored in the village, until Tom was assured that there was enough food
collected to feed the whole population for at least a month on full
rations.
On the eleventh day, walking round once more with Barega, to see that
nothing had been left undone, Tom observed that one precaution had been
neglected. Three hundred yards to the south-east of the village there
was a somewhat extensive banana plantation, bounded on the west by the
brook. This would afford excellent cover to an attacking force armed
with rifles, and it seemed to Tom that it ought to be cut down, a course
he at once suggested to the chief. But Barega did not appreciate the
tactical point involved, and refused to allow the plantation to be
touched. Besides, as he said with some truth, there was barely time to
cut it down if the Arabs were to show themselves next day. Accordingly
Tom had to remain satisfied with what he had achieved. He was indeed
rather surprised at finding so many of his suggestions adopted without
demur, and was inclined to ascribe it to Mbutu, who, as he discovered,
was constantly singing his master’s praises and dwelling on his
brilliant fighting qualities. But he really owed much more to his own
tact, and to the care with which he thought out his proposals before he
placed them before Barega. No man is quicker than the African native to
appreciate real force of character.
Scouts had been sent out to the north and east, the directions from
which the Arabs were presumed likely to come--men familiar with the
forest, who could be trusted to find food for themselves and remain
invisible. No tidings had yet arrived of the enemy’s near approach, but
Tom did not allow the grass to grow under his feet. There were several
smithies in the village, fenced off from the inhabited part, and here
Tom kept the smiths constantly employed in sharpening spears and tipping
new-made arrows. He found means also of still further improving his
defences. Barega told him, as they were talking over their plans, that
the Arab attack was almost certain to be made in a half-light, just
before dawn. The question at once occurred to Tom: Could not the trench
be disguised so that the enemy might flounder into it unawares? No
sooner was the question put than the chief slapped his thigh, and cried:
"Yes". In his hunting he frequently covered over his elephant-pits in
such a way that the animals trod unsuspiciously upon what seemed to be
solid earth, and fell helplessly into the hole. The same plan could be
pursued now. No time was lost; bushels of light branches and twigs were
speedily obtained from the woods and laid across the ditch, then covered
with earth and rubbish until the surface, except to a most critical eye,
could not be distinguished from the surrounding soil. Just before
sunset, Tom walked all round the village, along the edge of the trench,
and, from his inspection, he felt confident that a rapidly-moving enemy
would never discover the trap.
The twelve days were past, and still there was no sign or news of the
Arabs. Sentries were posted every night at short intervals inside the
stockade, and more than once Tom himself went the rounds in the middle
of the night to see that all was well. Late on the thirteenth day a
scout came in, tired and famished, with the news that the Arabs were
within two days’ march. They had been harassed and delayed by pigmies,
who had dogged them almost all the way, and had given cruel proofs of
the sureness of their aim and the virulence of their poisons. Soon
afterwards other scouts returned, confirming this information. Tom’s
eyes gleamed at the prospect of a stiff fight. He got the chief to call
a council of his principal men, and to them he suggested a plan of
operations.
"Brothers," he said, "it is agreed that you trust me. I am young, as
you see; I have not fought so many fights as Barega here; my friend
Msala is as brave as a lion--either might well lead you to victory. But
the white men--your cousins--have handed down from father to son many
stories of great fights, and these are in my mind. Have I done well up
to this time?"
"You have," was the ready and unanimous answer.
"Then hear me when I tell what, with your approval, I think we should
do. The enemy will come up to our trench on the south and west; they
will stumble into it and be thrown into confusion. I will lead a picked
band of men out of the south gate, and my brother Barega another out of
the north gate. We shall thus have the Arabs between us, and we will
advance to meet each other, pressing them all the way. At the same time
Msala will direct the warriors in the village to assail the enemy with a
thick shower of spears and arrows, taking care to hit the Arabs, and not
their own friends. Is it understood?"
The assembly grunted approval.
"Then, Barega, do you at once select a hundred of your steadiest men for
yourself, and a hundred also for me, so that all things may be ready
when the enemy appears."
The arrangements were rapidly made. Every warrior in the village had
his appointed place; a number of the cattle were brought in and tethered
within the stockades, the rest were driven away to the south under the
charge of armed herdsmen, who were instructed to elude the enemy to the
best of their ability.
On the next day the force in the village was swelled by the accession of
two separate bands of Ruanda, whose hamlets had been destroyed by the
Arabs, and who had flocked to the protection of Barega. The same
evening the last of the scouts came in, with the news that the enemy had
been hastening their march and were bound to arrive next day. He put
their numbers at five thousand, but Tom knew enough of the African
character to be assured that this estimate was far in excess of the
actual number, and he took the information very quietly.
Now that an attack was imminent, he advised Barega to call a
mass-meeting of the inhabitants. Standing in the midst of the circle of
negroes, whose kind treatment of him forbade their being called savages,
he felt a deep sense of his responsibility, and spoke with special
seriousness.
"Bahima and Bairo," he said, "you are all my brothers and sisters. I
believe that I am doing right in helping you to defeat the enemy who has
caused so much misery to you and to all your race. Please God, we shall
defeat them. We must all do our best--some to give orders, others to
obey. My sisters, you will stay with your children in the middle of the
village. The Arabs will have fire-sticks, and there is no need for any
of you to run into danger. Your husbands will defend you, and strike
hard for their homes."
Speeches at greater length were delivered by the chief and the katikiro.
The people were deeply impressed; never had they gone to war in any such
way before; and Tom on his side was struck with their intelligence, and
the eagerness they showed to follow instructions so novel to them. He
was a little uncertain of the steadiness of the Bairo, who were more
impetuous and less docile than the Bahima; but they had been divided
into companies under Bahima officers, and Tom himself had put them
through a little drill in the brief intervals left by their task of
fortifying the village. All that he feared was that they might break
out in wild rushes, after the undisciplined negro’s manner, and leave
the stockade insufficiently defended.
Next morning, just as light was breaking, the sentries gave word that
the enemy was advancing. Tom, waked by Mbutu out of a long quiet sleep,
hastened to his post at the southern gate. For days he had been
hammering it home into the negroes’ heads that silence was a strong
weapon on their side, but the negro cannot change his nature in a week,
and as soon as the news had run through the camp, the eager warriors
came clamorously out of their huts to the stockade. Tom bade them keep
out of sight, and the enemy, advancing rapidly in crescent-shaped
formation stretching from south-east to north-west, must have believed
that the noise was merely the usual morning bustle in a large village.
On they came, Arabs mingled with Manyema, in perfect silence and fair
order, confident of finding easy access to their expected prize. The
horns of the crescent reached the trench; twenty men at each extremity
stepped heedlessly on to it, and instantly they were in the water,
floundering beyond their depth. Loud cries of dismay filled the air;
the rest of the force halted in amazement, scarcely able in the faint
light to perceive what had happened. Then the deep boom of a drum
rolled from the village, over the precipice, into the wooded plain.
Instantly a thick cloud of missiles flew from the stockade, arrows
whizzed, spears hurtled through the air. At the same moment, Tom, with
his hundred, sallied out from the southern gate, the men raising a
fierce whoop of exultation. From the northern gate, after a barely
perceptible interval, came an answering cry; and within the stockade the
warriors, hurling their weapons at the centre of the Arab line, added
their shouts to the din. The confusion of the Arabs was too great to
permit of their firing a volley; a few separate slugs fell among the
Bahima, and ill-aimed spears struck down a few. But the troops of Tom
and Barega were pressing hard upon the extremities of their line; they
were driven in towards the centre. An attempt was made by their leaders
to rank them in some sort of order, but the necessity of facing two ways
at once baffled their efforts; the Bahima were upon them in a wild
charge, and with cries of mingled fright and disappointment they broke
and ran.
With yells of triumph the Bahima dashed in pursuit. But the sun was now
peeping, large and red, over a distant ridge, and by its light Tom saw a
fresh and well-ordered body of men advancing to the support of the
fugitives. Divining that this was the Arab reserve, he ordered his
drummer to beat the recall, at the very instant when the enemy, even at
the risk of killing their own men, opened fire. The command was timely,
for the Bahima, unaccustomed to the fire of muskets, already showed
signs of trepidation. His drum was answered by the chief’s, and the two
bands retreated to their several gates, followed by the hostile force,
their return being covered by a hot discharge of missiles from the
stockade. After some hesitation, the enemy drew off to reconsider their
plan of attack, pursued by a loud chorus of derisive yells.
Tom had not the heart to check the self congratulation of the people,
who celebrated their victory with song and dance. Victorious, certainly,
had they been, but Tom, cool in the midst of the excitement, had
carefully scanned the opposing forces to estimate their strength, and he
saw that Barega’s warriors were greatly outnumbered. They were no more
than six hundred fighting men all told, while the enemy, as nearly as he
could tell, consisted of at least three times that number, some ninety
of them being Arabs, and the rest Manyema. The success of the Bahima
was evidently due solely to the surprise and confusion of the enemy,
for, even with the advantage of the stockade, they could scarcely hope
to outmatch a force so much larger, armed, moreover, as two hundred and
fifty of them were, with muskets and rifles. The Bahima losses so far
had been few; two men had been killed and five wounded, of whom two died
later. Of the enemy, six Arabs and about thirty Manyema had been left
upon the field, and others, doubtless, lay drowned at the bottom of the
ditch. It was with some anxiety that Tom awaited the dawn of the next
day. He passed a sleepless night, framing many conjectures as to the
enemy’s further operations, and thinking out plans for their
discomfiture. But morning broke in silence; Tom wondered whether spear
and shield were to remain idle. Looking over the stockade about ten
o’clock, he saw a movement amid a clump of trees about half a mile up
the slope to the south-west, and, carrying his eye downwards to the
north-west, he observed similar evidences of activity in the thicker
woods in that direction also. Before he had quite realized what this
might portend, a large body of the enemy emerged from each clump, many
of the men carrying what appeared to be a kind of trellis-work. Their
object flashed instantly into Tom’s mind; they were going to bridge the
trench. Drums beat, and Bahima and Bairo rushed to the points
threatened; but the enemy halted just out of range of their arrows, and,
under cover of a phalanx of native shields, prepared to rush their
extemporized bridge across the ditch.
Behind the stockade the defenders were keenly alert; Barega had command
of the north-western section, and the katikiro, who, genial time-server
as he was in peace, was a very paladin in war, commanded on the
south-west. Seeing that all along the western boundary the defence was
in good hands, Tom hastened to the south-east to assure himself that no
danger need be feared in that direction. Barely half a minute after he
reached a smithy in the south-eastern corner, from the yard of which he
could scan the whole country to the horizon, he saw a strong body of men
spring out of the banana plantation he had vainly urged Barega to cut
down. They, like their fellows on the other side, had with them a long
piece of trellis-work. Evidently there was not a moment to lose. Tom
despatched Mbutu to inform Barega of the danger; but so quickly did the
enemy move, that in less than two minutes they had arrived at the edge
of the ditch, flung the trellis bridge across, and begun to swarm over
to the other side, nimbly evading the planted stakes.
Tom looked around. Only some ten men were within call. Summoning these
to his assistance, he turned to defend the stockade. He had no weapon
but the musket got in the forest, and that, in default of ammunition, he
could only use as a club. By the side of the smith’s rude anvil he saw
a recently-sharpened sickle, with a handle eighteen inches long. This he
seized, and sprang to his post again. Some twenty of the enemy, he saw,
bore light scaling-ladders, hastily constructed since the previous
fight. These they placed against the stockade and began to clamber up.
There was a fierce hand-to-hand fight. Tom caught hold of the top of
one of the ladders, on which two Arabs were ascending, and putting forth
his utmost strength, flung it back so that it fell on the climbers.
Some of the Bahima were thrusting their spears through interstices in
the stockade, and cries of agony bore witness to their success. But for
every man that fell another sprang up to take his place. Already
several of the enemy had reached the tops of their ladders, and were
firing, fortunately with erratic aim, at the panting defenders. Three,
indeed, had clambered down on the inner side, and still there was no
sign of the expected reinforcements. Tom had been slashing with his
sickle in his right hand, and warding off with the musket in his left
the blows of Arab swords and Manyema spears. Seeing three of the enemy
within his lines, he was down in a moment at the foot of the stockade.
One of the three he clubbed with his musket, and then, while Mbutu, who
returned at this moment, fiercely engaged the second, he pressed hotly
upon the third. Two of the Bahima were prostrate; the remaining eight
were vainly attempting to stem the torrent now pouring over the
palisade, and Tom was in the thick of the mêlée, laying about him
doughtily. It was a tense moment; Tom and his little band were
outnumbered ten to one; and the fate of the village hung in the balance.
The enemy were creeping up behind for a final rush, when the katikiro
charged down at the head of two hundred yelling Bairo. The stockade was
cleared in a few seconds and the baffled enemy driven back over the
ditch.
"Whew!" blew Tom, and then for the first time became aware that he had
received a slight spear-wound in the right arm. "Blood-brother indeed!"
he said with a smile to the katikiro. "But Msala, my friend, you were
only just in time. In a minute or two it would have been another case of
what-d’ye-call-him against the world. Why were you so long bringing up
reinforcements?"
The katikiro was exceedingly sorry, but just before Mbutu had reached
him a similar request had been made by the chief, and he had felt bound,
of course, to obey his chief first. But it turned out after all to be a
mere waste of time, for the enemy in the north-west quarter, while
making an extremely blusterous demonstration, had never come within
striking distance, and Msala had soon recognized that their show of
activity was a mere feint to draw off attention from the real attack at
the other end. Tom saw that the delay had been unavoidable, and could
only be thankful that the much-needed support had come after all in the
very nick of time.
The brief rest was a boon; but the enemy were not routed, nor even
definitively driven off. They were still clinging to their position
outside the stockade, and the Bahima could not get at them without
exposing themselves, nor even assail them effectively with their spears,
for the Arabs had rifles, and were indeed dropping shots over into the
village. It was clearly necessary to put a stop to these offensive
tactics, and Tom was perplexed as to what measure to adopt. Suddenly
the idea occurred to him: could he try a few fireballs? Vague
recollections came to him of something he had read about fireballs in
defence of towns during the wars in the Netherlands. He had noticed
plenty of coarse wool of sheep and goats in the village; there were
heaps of shavings where the artificers had been making spear-shafts; and
the place was reeking with fat of various kinds. He knew also that
there was a large store of the native spirituous liquors, museru and
marwa, in a shed near the hut of the chief’s cook and purveyor, the
muchumbi wanyama, and he thought it would be rather a good than an evil
if some of the spirits were consumed externally. He therefore left the
katikiro in command while he himself went to consult the chief.
Barega was charmed with the simplicity and ingenuity of the notion of
worrying the enemy with fireballs, but somewhat downcast when he learnt
the use to which his wine-cellar was to be put. Thereupon Tom, with the
tact that had marked all his dealing with the natives, did not insist,
but quietly pointed out that if the Arabs got in, they would set fire to
the village, and the spirits would be destroyed with all the rest. It
was surely better to use half of it in doing some mischief among the
enemy, and perhaps by this means decisively turn the scale.
The chief thought over the matter, consulted the kasegara, and finally,
with an obvious wrench, gave his consent to the course Kuboko proposed.
No more time was lost; twenty natives were immediately set to roll up
balls about six inches in diameter, made of wool and shavings and fat,
and anything else combustible that came to hand, and finally steeped in
the heady spirit. When some hundred balls were ready, Tom had them
carried to his old post, where the Arabs were once more attempting to
scale the stockade. They were lighted and thrown in rapid succession
over the stockade on to the trellis-bridge. The Arabs at first tried to
quench the fallen balls, but others came flaming through the air still
more rapidly, and after some score had been thrown, fearing that their
retreat over the ditch was likely to be cut off by the burning of their
bridge, the enemy threw up the sponge and beat a hasty retreat. As they
retired, the Bahima gave a tremendous whoop, and sent a cloud of arrows
and spears after them, causing many a gap in their ranks. They fled on
in rage and confusion, and vanished behind the plantation.
"Ah! I think they’ve had enough," said Tom. "Barega, my brother, what
do you think of our morning’s work?"
Barega confessed himself "pleased too much", as Mbutu interpreted him.
"Say one fing, sah; say no want no more museru wasted!"
"Good heavens!" was Tom’s thought, "it’s all got to be argued again.
Wasted! As Mr. Barkworth would say, ’There’s no gratitude in these
natives!’" But all he said was: "Tell the chief that I hope we shall
need no more of his excellent stuff, and that I consider he has shown a
fine spirit of self-denial for the common good. The scamp!" he added
under his breath; "he ought to be as pleased as Punch!"
Tom was in the highest spirits. He felt confident now that the
resources at his command were sufficient to defend the village against
all attacks in force, and he hoped that the enemy would appreciate the
situation and relinquish their enterprise.
The rest of that day passed uneventfully. At night sentries were posted
as usual, and none of the precautions were relaxed; but there was no
attack. The day slipped by with the same tranquillity. Parties of the
enemy were seen at times, but they were always out of range, and, so far
as could be ascertained from the village, were not making any
preparations for renewing the assault. That night Tom, walking round by
the stockade the last thing before turning in, noticed that at short
intervals from the north gate round the western and southern sides to
the extreme south-east corner, where the ground shelved down rapidly to
the foot of the precipice, large watch-fires were burning, which had not
previously been the case.
"What does that mean?" he thought. "Are they going to make a regular
siege of it? I hope not, for to be cooped up here for another week
would be awful. I’d give something for a newspaper, or Ranjy’s cricket
book, or even Euclid--yes, by Jove, even old _quod erat
demonstrandum_--to help pass the time away. By the by, I’ll be
forgetting all my maths out here, and if I’m to stick to engineering
that’ll never do. Well, if it turns out a siege, I’ll set myself a few
stiff problems and correct the solutions experimentally, eh?--besides
teaching these beggars something of infantry drill. Heigh-ho! ’the
heathen in his blindness’--who’d have thought I should ever be living
among ’em, and a blood-brother too!"
And as he walked back to his hut, in a fit of abstraction he began to
whistle the tune of "From Greenland’s icy mountains," to the great
contentment of the katikiro lying awake.