Treachery
Fording a Stream--Preparing a Trap--Ensnared--A Panic--Mystery--Prompt
Measures--Scouting--The Arab Camp--A Burly Pikeman--Preparing to
Spring--De Castro Escapes
The force made a brave show as it marched out next morning amid the
cheers of the thousands of men, women, and children left behind. The
katikiro stood at the north gate, proud of his office, and yet envious
of the men who were advancing to meet the enemy. At one side of him
stood Mwonga, at the other Mabruki the medicine-man, who had recovered
something of his old authority with the influx into the village of a
vast horde who had not witnessed his discomfiture by Kuboko. Some,
indeed, of the Bahima had pleaded that Mabruki might be allowed to
accompany them, so that they might benefit by what magical power was
still left to him; but Tom had resolutely refused their request, asking
them bluntly whether they had not more confidence in his strong arm than
in Mabruki’s basket and bell. And therefore the only face that scowled
on the departing army was Mabruki’s.
The van was led by the two hundred and fifty pikemen, their pike-heads
polished to a silvery brilliance and flashing in the sunlight. They
were followed by the musketeers, with Tom and Mbutu at their head. Then
came a select band of fifty, who were to be entrusted with the throwing
of the hand-grenades, and with them were a number of Bairo, laden with
ammunition. Behind these came the remainder of the force--spearmen and
archers, all eager, confident, burning to meet the foe; and carriers
with food and cooking-utensils.
A vast rumour filled the air as the force passed on, the men chattering
and laughing, some of them chanting the war-songs of their tribes,
others inventing songs on the spur of the moment and repeating the words
to the thousandth time to the same weird music. These songs for the
most part sounded the praises of Kuboko. "Kuboko is stronger than many
lions," sang the men of the plains, who knew what the strength of lions
was. "Kuboko is mightier than the horn of a bull," sang the Bahima,
prizing their cattle above all things. "Kuboko, the maker of fire, who
poureth out the water-spout!" sang the Bairo, whose imagination had been
seized by Tom’s deeds during the siege. Tom was not puffed up by their
ingenuous laudation. He was, rather, touched by their simple
confidence, and more than ever resolute to use what power he had,
whatever opportunity Providence threw in his way, for their ultimate
advantage.
Between the village and the edge of the forest lay a stretch of about
fifteen miles of fairly open country, dotted here and there with clumps
of bush and with shade trees.
On the way the force overtook a party of pioneers, sent out by Tom in
advance, armed with spades, mattocks, knives, and similar implements for
cutting away the brushwood, erecting stockades, and performing the other
operations necessary in the forest. At every third mile Tom ordered his
men to erect a rough redoubt or block-house of earth and wood, by means
of which communication might be maintained with the village if it should
be invested. At each of these he left a small garrison with arms and
provisions. The last redoubt before entering the forest was of larger
size than the rest, and in it he left a larger garrison and a more
plentiful store of food and ammunition. There was, he judged, ample
time for this work of construction, for the African native is extremely
quick; and, besides, the Arabs could scarcely reach the outskirts of the
forest within four days at their best speed, and that period might be
almost indefinitely extended if the warriors already despatched to
harass them carried out their instructions thoroughly. Tom saw that,
having to deal with an army no doubt immensely superior in point of
numbers as well as of armament to his own, he could only impede their
march; he could not hope to stop it. A general engagement could hardly
be risked. It might easily result in the total destruction of his force
and the subsequent storming of the village. It was his object,
therefore, to fight a series of small engagements while the enemy were
still in the forest, and he hoped, by carefully choosing the moment, to
win such success as should give his men new confidence in themselves,
each other, and him.
Entering the forest at length, he was soon met by messengers sent back
by the leaders of his skirmishers, with the information that the Arabs
were advancing in great force behind a screen of native levies, who were
thoroughly skilled in forest-fighting. All that the chiefs had been
able to do was to maintain a running fight, laying simple ambushes,
darting in spears and arrows whenever they saw an opportunity, and
retiring as soon as the head of the main force appeared.
From the description given by the native couriers, who reached him
almost every hour from the front, Tom, making due allowance for
exaggeration, concluded that the hostile force numbered in all some five
thousand men, with an almost equal number of carriers. They were
marching in a column nearly five miles in length, the narrowness of the
forest track rendering it almost impossible to proceed except in single
file.
On the second day, Tom, marching now at the head of his troops, came to
a broad stream, which, as he had learnt already from his scouts, was in
full flood from the recent rains. He was hardly prepared to find it so
broad and deep as it was, and though it could easily be swum, it was
necessary to find a ford if the food and ammunition were to be got
across in safety. The bank was steep, and covered with rank bush
growing as high as a man. "Better try myself; it will be quickest in
the long run," he said to himself, and, sliding down the slippery bank,
he waded into the water. It was icy cold, and as he walked towards the
middle of the stream, and the water rose as high as his chest, he gasped
for breath. The current was fairly strong; he could scarcely keep his
feet; and at last he found it impossible to do so. But only a few yards
to the right he noticed that the water was swirling and foaming, and,
swimming to that point, his feet, as he expected, touched bottom on some
rocks. There he waded across, clambered up the bank, and ordered his
men on the other side to cut a new path down the shelving bank opposite
the ford he had so opportunely discovered. There the whole force
crossed, the water reaching a little above their knees, and Tom, having
seen the passage safely completed, and now shivering with cold, was glad
to swallow a dose of the quinine included with a few indispensables in
Mbutu’s bundle.
Tom had a certain advantage in the mobility of his force. Never more
than a day’s march from a food-supply, he was able to dispense with the
greater part of his carriers; for his troops were able to take with them
sufficient for their immediate needs. Retaining only one thousand
carriers to bring up supplies from the large redoubt, he employed the
rest in assisting the troops to fell trees and build abattis at various
defensible points along the route.
He found, however, that after deducting the troops left behind in the
village, and the garrisons of the redoubts, he had scarcely more than
two thousand five hundred men to meet the Arab advance. The question
was, how to dispose of this force to the best advantage. Learning from
the couriers at the end of the third day’s march that he had come within
ten miles of the head of the Arab army, he halted at a particularly
dense part of the forest, and proceeded, at a distance of some fifty
yards from the track, to cut a path a mile and a half long parallel to
it. Darkness was falling, the Arabs would certainly halt for the night,
and by employing all his men he hoped to complete the clearing of the
new road by the morning. At the same time he built a stockade of trees
masked with shrubs at the southern end of the main track. His plan was
to arrest the enemy by the stockade, which was so artfully located at a
slight bend in the path that it could not be seen until they were within
a yard of it, and then to attack them in flank from the bush. By
cutting the parallel road he had made it possible for his men to move up
and down at will over a length of a mile and a half, and to choose the
best positions for pouring in their fire upon the surprised and
congested enemy. The task was completed long before dawn, and there was
time for the whole force to snatch a little much-needed sleep before the
hard work that might be expected on the following day.
A year before, Tom would have found it difficult, almost impossible, to
realize what forest fighting meant. Here he was in an immense forest,
stocked with trees from one hundred to two hundred feet high, their
dense foliage interlocked overhead, the gaps between them filled with an
undergrowth of matted bush, rubber shrubs, creepers, and dwarf-palms, so
thick that the eye could never penetrate more than twenty yards at the
farthest. The path was a mere foot-track, along which it was only
possible to march in single file. At some points, where the soil was
soft, the path had in the course of generations been worn down to a
lower level, and seemed like a railway cutting between high banks of
dead leaves and debris. At other points it wound round a fallen tree,
no one having taken the trouble to remove the obstruction. Here and
there, too, great festoons of monkey-ropes, mingled with orchid
blossoms, hung from tree to tree across the track, so thick that
progress was impossible until they had been lopped down with knives and
axes.
Tom, as he lay on the bank to rest, felt the oppression of the confined
space even more than he had felt it during his previous wandering
through the forest. The recent rains had caused a rank smell to rise
from the decaying vegetable matter all around him, and he would not
allow himself to think of the ever-present dangers of malaria. The
night was cold. Not wishing the enemy to discover his position or the
positions of his men, he had given orders that no fires were to be
lighted, and, but for the cloth which Mbutu had brought by his
instructions, he would have shivered all night long, and in all
probability been prostrated with racking pains in the limbs. As it was,
he rose from his brief sleep cold and hungry, but feeling ready for
anything, and indeed anxious to meet the long-looked-for enemy at last.
After a breakfast of bananas and potato-bread, he sent messengers
forward to instruct the skirmishers and scouts to fall back. He thought
that if the harassing attacks ceased for a whole day, the Arabs might
conclude that their enemy had become disheartened, and might thereby be
tempted to relax their vigilance.
At the farther end of the newly-made parallel track there was a large
tree, which, dominating the intervening space and overlooking the main
path, provided a convenient refuge from which it was possible to obtain
a good idea of the strength and composition of the enemy’s force as it
came in sight. Tom found that he could easily climb the tree to such a
height that, while secure from observation himself, he could act as his
own intelligence officer and not have to trust to the magnifying eyes of
his men. If the Arabs were ten miles away the day before, he concluded
that it would probably take them the whole day to reach this point, the
forest being dense, and the path obstructed in many places by the
encroaching bush. He knew that his men would not be very willing to
fight during the night, and there seemed every likelihood that the
action would not begin until the next day. It turned out according to
his expectation. The Arabs, after the harassing movements of their
enemy on the previous days, had evidently resolved to take advantage of
the lull to enjoy a thorough rest, for the whole day went by without a
sign of them. Tom again camped with his men for the night, placing
sentries for several hundred yards along the path to prevent anything in
the nature of a surprise.
He was up with the dawn again, and sent forward a few scouts to
reconnoitre. These returned by and by, and reported that the enemy had
marched forward only three miles the previous day, and were now about
seven miles away. Being anxious that they should be surprised as
completely as possible, Tom refrained from sending forward many scouts,
lest some incautious action should give the Arabs warning. In the
afternoon, judging that the force must be drawing near, he placed some
seventeen hundred men along the parallel road, and eight hundred behind
the stockade, ordering the musketeers among the latter not to fire until
they were actually attacked, or until they heard firing in their front.
About three o’clock he sent forward two Bairo to ascertain the distance
of the enemy, and climbed into his crow’s-nest in the tree. Suddenly,
in the silence of the forest, a shot rang out. "One of my scouts hit,
I’m afraid," said Tom to himself. The waiting warriors stood in an
attitude of tense expectancy, every man gripping his weapon, and leaning
forward in readiness to move in whatever direction he was ordered. Half
an hour passed, and then one of the scouts came swiftly down the path,
emerging as it were from a curtain of green. Tom, looking at him, saw
fear in his face. His eyes were standing out of his head, his features
twitching as though pulled by some unseen string; he was shaking like an
aspen. "This won’t do," thought Tom; "that fellow will scare the rest."
He slipped down the tree, and met the man before he had been seen by any
of his comrades. Laying a firm hand on his shoulder, he bade him tell
his news. The man collapsed in a limp knot on the ground, and with many
a spluttering stumble explained that as he and his mate were creeping
along in the bush beside the path, a shot had come from who knows where,
and his companion had fallen dead beside him.
"How far ahead was this?"
"Master, how should I know when fear came rustling behind me? I ran,
master; my feet carried me as on the wind."
"Where are the enemy?"
"In the bush, master, tens upon tens of them. But I saw none of them;
no, I saw nothing but the smoke of the fire-stick in the forest. I am
very sick, master, and my old father lies sick at home. Will the master
let me go and nurse him?"
Tom sternly bade the man climb the tree before him and hide in the
foliage. "Good heavens!" he thought, "if they all turn out like this
coward!" But he refused to harbour such a thought, remembering their
conduct during the siege. He climbed the tree after the man, waited some
twenty minutes, and then saw, fifty yards away among the trees, the head
of the Arab column coming slowly along the path. The way was led by
half a dozen stalwart Arabs armed with rifles, walking warily, looking
right and left for signs of the enemy. They passed, and were followed by
fifty Manyema armed with rifles and axes; beyond these he could not see.
They came cautiously along; they passed down the main path, silently,
watchfully, but without throwing out skirmishers. There was a gap of two
hundred yards, and then came the main column of Manyema, armed for the
most part with spears. They were marching close behind one another, and
Tom’s plan was to allow them to occupy the mile and a half on the main
track between his tree and the stockade, and then to fall upon them
while crowded into this narrow tunnel through the forest. He counted
fourteen hundred of the Manyema; there was another gap; then, just as
the head of the force of turbaned Arabs was emerging into view, armed
with rifles and pistols of various make, a shot from the direction of
the stockade announced that the obstacle had been discovered. Dropping
from his perch, Tom gave the long-awaited signal to his men waiting in
ambush, and an irregular fire broke out down the line of men scattered
under cover along the parallel track. The musketeers numbered only
about two hundred in all, but Tom reckoned on the surprise counting for
a good deal, and the puffs of smoke leaping out from the brushwood at
various points, with the clash of explosions, and the demoralizing
effect of the hand-grenades, impressed the startled Arabs with the idea
that a much larger force than their own was opposed to them.
The surprise was complete. Met by a musket-fire and a discharge of
spears and arrows from behind the stockade, the Manyema could not
advance; on their left flank there was evidently a well-armed force in
ambush; on their right was thick forest, in which they could only find
shelter by cutting a way. They halted irresolutely, seeking cover
wherever they could. Slugs whizzed through the air and slapped against
the trees; the firing of bullets was heard as the rifle-armed Manyema
fired erratically at their invisible enemy. But after the first shock
they pulled themselves together, and soon realized that they possessed
better weapons than their adversaries. They began to move forward again
towards the stockade, and Tom, passing down the line, saw that it was
time to strike home. Ordering his men on the path to stand firm, he
hurried to the stockade, upon which the Manyema had not as yet ventured
to make a serious attack. He instructed a party of the musketeers to
keep up a steady fire so long as there was no danger of hitting their
friends; then, placing himself at the head of the remainder, he led them
round the left of the position, and, forcing his way through the
thinnest part of the scrub, with a cheer charged down upon the Arab
column. The Bahima followed him, raising their sonorous battle-cry. This
was too much for the already demoralized enemy. Finding themselves
attacked both in their front and on their flanks, the Manyema lost
heart, and, turning their backs, began to push along the path in full
retreat.
This was a signal to the force on the parallel path to re-double their
fire; slugs, grenades, spears, and arrows, fell thick and fast; the
Manyema quickened their pace, and, with no thought now of attempting to
defend themselves, crowded and jostled one another in their eagerness to
flee. Back they ran, higgledy-piggledy, into the Arabs, who were
hastening in the other direction to join in the fray, ignorant of what
had been going on. The two columns thus meeting brought each other to a
halt; but the Manyema behind, goaded now to frenzy, pushed on regardless
of their comrades, until soon there was a struggling heap obstructing
the narrow path. The panic was communicated to the Arabs, who, after
firing a few wild shots, some of which found billets in their own men,
turned about and led the flight. Now the Bahima, with savage yells,
came pouring out of the forest on to the main path. Every yell had a
note of triumph, a tone almost of reckless gaiety, as the men pierced
and hacked among the panic-stricken foe. The enemy had by this time
fairly taken to their heels, bolting along the narrow track like scared
rabbits, impeding each other’s movements, trampling dead and wounded
ruthlessly underfoot. On and on pressed the Bahima, springing across
fallen bodies, heedless of their own wounds, carrying the pursuit for
miles, until they found themselves checked by a reserve of Arabs
strongly posted in a clearing which had been chosen as the camping-place
for their baggage and carriers. Tom, who was foremost among his men,
now ordered the recall. Some of his more headstrong warriors did not
hear or neglected to obey the signal, and fell victims to their own
recklessness.
Hurrying back to the stockade, Tom left five hundred men there to
dispute the Arab advance, with orders to hold the position as long as
possible, but to retire if they were hard pressed. It was now dusk. No
further attack was likely until the dawn, and Tom decided to retire five
miles along the path to a position he had previously noted as offering
great advantages for defence. It was the river he had crossed during
his second day’s march. Apparently this was fordable only at the one
spot, and the steep shelving bank, itself strongly in favour of
defenders posted at the top, could be made doubly formidable by means of
a stockade. After fording the river on the rocks, the enemy would have
to clamber diagonally up the bank by the path Tom’s men had cut, as the
undergrowth was too thick to allow of an easier path being made under a
determined fire. The bank, muddy and slippery at any time of flood, had
been rendered doubly difficult by the recent passage of so many men. A
few feet beyond its top, therefore, on the level ground, Tom set his men
to build a strong stockade across the path, with a total length of some
thirty feet, and curved inwards at each end in order to permit of a
flanking fire. The large number of active men employed soon felled
enough trees for the purpose; they were split into lengths of about six
feet, and planted in the ground close to one another, with transverse
logs lashed to them with rough rope, and every interstice filled up with
earth and rubbish. It was so placed that a defending force could
dominate the whole width of the river, and Tom felt pretty sure that one
man within the stockade was fully equal to half a dozen without. The
advantage of the position was still further increased by the fact that
it was out of sight from the opposite bank, for Tom was careful to leave
the intervening scrub untouched, so that it formed an opaque screen.
The stockade having been completed in a thoroughly workmanlike manner by
the afternoon of the next day, Tom sent orders to the men he had left
farther in the forest to retire as rapidly as possible upon this new
defensive position, where he intended to make a serious stand. There
was always the chance that the Arabs, finding the direct road blocked,
would attempt to get through by cutting another path, but Tom hoped that
any such move would not escape observation, and that the time consumed
in cutting the new path would enable him to fall back and prepare for
meeting the attack elsewhere.
His calculations were rudely disturbed. A few hours after his
messengers left he received astonishing news from his base. He was
sitting by the stockade, enjoying a well-earned rest and a meal, when a
Muhima came panting up from the direction of the village, and threw
himself on the ground with respectful greeting. Rising at Tom’s order,
he reported that he had a message from the katikiro; that he had run
until his heart was jumping in his throat and his legs were like running
water. What was the message? Oh! it was that the katikiro was sending
eight hundred men to the burning mountain, as Kuboko had ordered, to
remain there until Kuboko came to them. He would do anything that
Kuboko bade him, especially as he had Kuboko’s mark; but he entreated
Kuboko to remember that his force, bereft of eight hundred men, was now
so weak that he could not keep an enemy out of the village. The eight
hundred would start in three cookings after the messenger left, and the
katikiro hoped that Kuboko would be pleased with him.
Tom was thunderstruck. Eight hundred men to the burning mountain, to
start in three hours! What could it mean? There was a terrible mistake
somewhere, but how could Msala have made such a mistake after the clear
instructions given him? He was not to move a man from the village
unless he received a direct order, accompanied by a leaf from the
notebook, with a pencilled diagram that was to be the indispensable
guarantee of the genuineness of the message. No such order had been
sent. Tom cudgelled his brains vainly for an explanation. The message
could not have originated with his own force, for if any of his
lieutenants had taken fright he would have asked for reinforcements and
not sent the eight hundred to the volcano, twenty miles on the other
side of the village. Could an enemy be approaching in that direction?
But the katikiro’s messenger had distinctly said that the order had been
received from Kuboko. Tom puzzled and puzzled, canvassing every
possible solution of the mystery. The thought suddenly flashed into his
mind: Could there be foul play somewhere? Was it no mistake of the
katikiro’s, but a deliberate plot to denude the village of its garrison,
and hand it over to the enemy? Surely a flanking movement could not
already have been effected without his knowing it? Good heavens! was the
smiling Msala a villain? It was difficult to think so, for he had been
Tom’s strongest and most faithful helper. The suspicion was dismissed
at once. Then he must be the victim of a ruse. That was just as
difficult to understand. The man had spoken of Kuboko’s mark. The
katikiro must, then, have received a paper with the diagram drawn upon
it. No one else, so far as Tom knew, had seen the mark. Had Msala lost
the paper given him? Had someone discovered the meaning of it and used
it for a treacherous end? There could hardly be a second leaf, for the
only paper among them all was contained in Tom’s pocket-book. Stay! He
took out his pocket-book and turned over the leaves. It struck him that
someone might have tampered with it. It was to all appearance intact.
He ran over the leaves rapidly in the opposite direction. There should
be a loose leaf corresponding to that which had been torn out to give
Msala. Where was that? He searched for it with growing uneasiness;
held the book by its back and shook it violently. No loose leaf fell;
it was gone! The book shut with a clasp, so that it was impossible that
the odd leaf had fallen out of itself. It must have been abstracted.
Someone had played him false!
With Tom thought and action went together.
"Who brought the message to the katikiro before you started?" he asked.
"Mkinga," said the man. "Mkinga came first. He came to the village and
spoke to the katikiro; he talked a long time, and gave the katikiro a
piece of white rag. I was by, for I am the katikiro’s servant, and I
saw, and I know that I speak the truth. Yes, he talked to the katikiro,
and the katikiro held out the white rag and frowned, and asked Mkinga
where Kuboko was, and all that had happened, and Mkinga told him, and
the katikiro said: ’It is well,’ and bade Mkinga go back to Kuboko and
say that his servant the katikiro would obey his lord’s bidding, and
knew his lord’s mark on the white rag."
"Mkinga!" exclaimed Tom. "Was there a man named Mkinga among our
troops, Mbutu?"
"Yes, sah. Mkinga lazy man, sah; no work, no do nuffin; grumble,
grumble all time, sah."
"Where is he now then?"
"Said him sick, sah; him no fight; no, no; him go home and nurse
pickin."
"Ah! And what was he in the village? I don’t remember the man."
"Him fink him medicine-man, sah; go pick grass for Mabruki; make Mabruki
him medicine; oh yes! I know dat."
"Was the medicine-man near when Mkinga arrived in the village?" asked
Tom of the messenger.
"Oh yes! The katikiro talked to the medicine-man, and showed him
another bit of white rag like the bit Mkinga brought, and after they
talked Mkinga was sent back."
"You say the man disappeared, Mbutu. Has he been seen since?"
"No, sah."
"Ah! That will do, my man; go and get food. Mabruki is at some
mischief, Mbutu," he added. "There’s a plot to betray the village. Get
together a hundred and fifty of the best pikemen and a hundred and fifty
musketeers, also two hundred spearmen; all strong active men, men who
have had a good meal and can be trusted. Tell them that in the time it
takes to cook a pot they will start for the village with me. You
understand?"
"Yes, sah;" and Mbutu went away to fulfil his errand.
Tom’s mind had been made up instantly. The village was evidently to be
betrayed from within, and in all probability there was an enemy now
outside the gates. The only chance of saving it was to return himself
with all speed, and take the enemy unawares. He could not stop to
consider who he could be, or how he could have so strangely outflanked
him; the only question was whether in any case it was possible to reach
the village in time. It was thirty miles away, and fifteen of these
were in the forest, where marching must necessarily be slow. But the
attempt must be made; he must reach the village at all costs as early
next day as possible, and could only hope that the enemy would not have
actually entered the place, or that the katikiro, discovering the
treachery, would be able, in spite of his diminished force, to hold his
own until reinforcements arrived.
Within an hour Mbutu had the force of five hundred picked men in
readiness to set out. Their success against the Arabs had so inspirited
them that they were exulting in the prospect of another victory under
the leadership of the great Kuboko. Mbutu, using his own judgment, had
told them nothing of the long night’s march before them, so that they
might start in the same spirit of confidence and enthusiasm. It was
dark, but the moon was rising, and by its light filtering through the
tree-tops Tom quickly scanned the force, and was pleased to see how
eager and how fit they were. Then he sent for the principal chief among
the men who were to be left behind.
"My brother," he said, "I am going to leave you for a time. There is
nothing to fear; a small force of Arabs is showing itself insolently
outside the gates of Mwonga, and I go to scatter it to the winds. Now I
leave you here in command. I trust you. You are to hold this stockade.
If the enemy appear, you know what to do. Let them get to the very edge
of the river, yes, even into the river itself, and then fire at them,
launch your spears at them, and prevent them from reaching this bank.
Keep well behind the stockade and they will not see you, so that you
will be able to do much damage among them, while they are powerless to
hurt you. The post is a strong one; you must hold it at all costs. You
must have confidence in me, as I have in you. You have seen what we
have been able to do already; though I am not here, fight as though you
saw my face and heard my voice, and all will be well. If you find that
the enemy is too strong to be withstood, defend the stockade as long as
possible, and then retire, but slowly, and fighting all the way."
The chief replied that he would obey his lord Kuboko in all things, and
fight like an elephant at bay. Tom then impressed on the minor chiefs
that they must give willing support to the head. Their loyalty to
himself had already enabled them to strike a severe blow at the enemy,
and from this they should learn the value of union against the invader.
He reminded them how one spear was easily broken, while a bundle
resisted all efforts; and with a final exhortation to act as became
brave and loyal men he started with Mbutu and his troops. He looked at
his watch; it was just midnight.
That march lived long in Tom’s memory. Around him was the vast
darkness, occasionally broken by the wan moonlight piercing the roof of
foliage. The air was damp and chill, permeated by the sickly odour of
decay. Tom walked at the head of his men with one of the best of his
scouts, pressing on until he felt as though he were in a dream, his
movements mechanical, requiring no effort, his feet seeming to find
their way over obstacles without any volition of his, his mind busy all
the time with other things. The pace was slow, for the path could
rarely be seen, hemmed in by giant trees, underwood, and thorn. On and
on the men tramped in silence, their bare feet making a curious swishing
sound on the sodden mould. There were narrow streams to be forded,
switchback hills to mount and descend; in some parts the path was
slippery, and every step forward seemed to be followed by a longer slip
back. Still he tramped on doggedly, his heart beating like a hammer
against his ribs, the men panting aloud, uttering a sharp exclamation
sometimes when they struck their bare feet against the knotted roots of
a tree, or dodged a thorn too late to prevent their faces from being
scratched and torn. On and on, with never a pause, till at nine in the
morning the band reached the edge of the forest, and saw the wide
scrub-dotted plain stretching in front of them.
For just five minutes Tom allowed the men to lie flat on the ground to
rest; then up again. They were terribly fagged; the fighting and
marching of the previous days, followed by the building of the stockade,
had told on them all. But there was no time to spare for a protracted
rest. Only half of the journey was yet accomplished, and the remainder
of it must be done at a quicker pace. Walking was easier now that the
forest was left behind, but the easiness of the path only incited Tom to
quicken the pace, so that a still greater demand was made on the tired
negroes. They plodded on doggedly, several falling out dead-beat, the
rest following their leader with starting eyes and every muscle of their
legs racked with cramp. At each of the block-houses, as the column
passed, the Bahima in charge came out to meet Tom and received his
instructions for signalling news. There was no halt at any of these
places; Tom gave his orders on the march. On and on went the column
till at mid-day it arrived at a clump of wood three miles from the
village, and there Tom bade them lie down in concealment and rest, while
he sent forward Mboda, Mbutu’s brother, with a scout to find out what
was going on. They were not to go into the village; indeed, they were
to keep out of sight from its stockade, for the enemy might even now be
in possession of it, and in that case must know nothing of the presence
of a relieving force.
At four o’clock Mboda returned with the news that an hour before they
had seen a large Arab force halt at a spot about a mile to the west of
the village, and make preparations for camping. It had but just
arrived, coming from the setting sun. Tired as he was, Tom saw that his
best course now was to make a reconnaissance in person and discover for
himself what was in the wind.
He had had nearly three hours’ rest during the absence of the scouts,
but no food except a few bananas, for he would not allow the men to
light fires for cooking. Feeling stiff and sore and hungry, he started
alone, and made a long circuit round the eastern and southern sides of
the village, being careful not to approach too close to it, and ever on
the alert to avoid any natives who might be in the neighbourhood. He
walked as quickly as he could, so as to come within sight of the Arab
encampment before dark. After a tramp of nearly six miles, the last two
of which had been a gradual ascent, he found himself, on emerging from a
clump of bush, within a mile of the camp, which had been placed very
conveniently in a slight hollow. Even at this distance he could see
that it was a regular encampment and not a mere halting-place, and he
threw himself down behind a bush, and with his head propped on his arms
surveyed the scene.
"There’s a plot, that’s pretty certain," his thoughts ran. "The question
is, are these men outside the village concerned in the plot which sent
eight hundred of the garrison on a wild-goose chase to the volcano? If
so, their only aim must surely be the capture of the village. Then why
don’t they attack? It’s a big camp; there must be a big crowd of Arabs
there, and Msala has only about two hundred fighting-men to defend that
enormous circumference. They must know that, if they’re in the plot.
And there’s always the chance that the eight hundred will come back.
Perhaps the Arabs are tired out with their day’s march, and want time to
recuperate. Or are they going to make a night attack? Last time they
attacked at dawn, their usual custom. I wonder if they’ve taken a leaf
out of my book, and think that as I routed them at night, they’ll turn
the tables and storm the village under cover of darkness? One thing is
clear: they expect to have to fight, or they’d have marched straight in,
and that they haven’t is a proof that I was right in believing the
katikiro to be loyal. Now, what’s my next move? I should dearly like
to see a little more closely into their camp; how can I manage it?"
He looked about him. The bush dotting the ground was quite insufficient
to hide him continuously from the eyes of a sharp sentry. On the other
hand, if he waited until dark he would probably fail to see much, and in
any case that course would delay his return to his men, and perhaps make
it too late to do anything to frustrate a night attack on the village.
Wondering what was to be done, as he moved to the left his eye caught a
narrow watercourse zig-zagging down the sloping ground in the direction
of the camp. He remembered it well now, though for the moment it had
slipped from his memory. The banks were steep, and the water shallow,
so that he felt sure he could creep down to within a few hundred yards
of the camp without being seen, provided no one came to the brook for
water and that no sentries were posted outside. He decided to risk it,
trusting to hide, if necessary, at one of the many windings made by the
stream. Creeping along, with every care that no splash or rolling stone
should betray him, he arrived safely within three hundred yards of the
camp, and then, cautiously raising his head, he peered over the bank.
There were only two sentries on this side of the camp. The nearest,
some two hundred yards away on the right, was leaning, as if
half-asleep, on the stock of his musket; the other, half as far again to
the left, had made himself comfortable in the fork of a fallen tree. It
was evident that the Arab leader was either extraordinarily
self-confident or convinced that he had no opposition to fear.
The whole camp was enclosed by a palisade, which Tom judged, from the
portion he saw, to be about a thousand yards in circumference. The
palisade consisted of saplings, and was not defended by a trench; but it
was at least five feet high, and from his position in the watercourse
Tom could see absolutely nothing inside the fence. There was nothing
for it, then, but either to wait till darkness had fallen and then try
to creep closer and look over or through the palisade, or to give up the
attempt to obtain information and return to his men. He was very
reluctant to adopt the second alternative, and decided at any rate to
remain where he was until it was dark.
He had not long to wait. It was past four before he left his own camp,
and it was now nearly six. After remaining for twenty minutes in his
place of concealment, until he began to feel numbed by the cold, he
ventured to lift his head above the bank. There was nothing between him
and the palisade; a red glow from the camp-fires within was lighting,
the sky, and over the fence came the noise of hundreds of gabbling
tongues. He crept over the bank, waited an instant, and then ran
noiselessly across to the palisade, where a few bushes would afford him
some cover if anyone happened to look over. Resting a moment, he heard
the guttural sounds of talking and laughing on the other side; the
negroes were evidently preoccupied with their own concerns.
When a little time had elapsed he got up and peeped over the palisade,
and saw crowds of Manyema eating, drinking, gambling about the
camp-fires. Beyond them was another palisade defended by a trench, and
within this he guessed that the Arabs of the force were camped. Finding
that he could obtain no further information except by venturing among
the enemy, which was out of the question, he stole back to the
watercourse, made his way up it, then under cover of the darkness cut
across the country, passing within a few hundred yards of the village.
For a moment he thought of going in at the southern gate and arranging
for the co-operation of the katikiro and his force in the movements he
contemplated, but on consideration saw that to do so might arouse a
commotion in the village and awaken suspicion among the Arabs.
Proceeding, therefore, on his way, he saved more than two miles of his
former journey, and reached his men about half-past seven. He was then
dead-beat, but he had made up his mind what his course of action was to
be. Mbutu, he was glad to observe, had not allowed the men to light
fires. Giving orders that the men were to continue to rest until
half-past eleven, and that unbroken silence must be maintained, he ate
ravenously the food provided for him, wrapped himself in the rug Mbutu
had carried, and threw himself on the ground to snatch a brief sleep.
Long usage enabled him to wake at any moment. At half-past eleven he
rose, and ordered Mbutu to go quietly about among the sleeping men and
rouse them. In a few minutes they were all on foot, and, looking at
them as they stood, bright-eyed, eager, confident, Tom adopted a
well-known saying and declared inwardly that they "were ready to go
anywhere and do anything".
"Men," said Tom in their own tongue, "the Arabs are encamped beyond the
village there. I am going to lead you to attack them. We shall
surprise them if you walk silently. There must be no talking, no noise
of any kind. The musketeers will leave all their ammunition behind;
this will be a job for bayonets, spears, and pikes alone."
His plan was to make a wide detour and come upon the enemy from the
north-west, the absence of sentries on that side having convinced him
that if they were keeping watch at all it was directed towards the
village. It was natural that they should take precautions against a
direct sortie without looking for an attack from the quarter in which
they had themselves come. Leaving fifty carriers, picked up at the
block-houses, to take charge of the food and ammunition, Tom started
with his men at a quarter to twelve.
It was pitch dark; the sky was evidently clouded, and the air had a
nipping rawness that seemed to forebode rain. Tom was rather anxious
about the possibility of keeping the proper direction; but his men were
all natives of the district, and the man he had appointed as guide
marched on with confidence, finding the way apparently rather by
instinct than by the sense of sight. Soon a dull glow on their right,
the reflection of the village watch-fires, served as a landmark, and in
half an hour they were abreast of it, sufficiently near to hear the
occasional howl of one of the village curs, or the lowing of one of the
cattle. They marched in dead silence. Now and then a pike would catch
in some obstruction, such as a bush, a creeper, a branch of a low tree;
once or twice the butt of a musket carelessly held struck against an
ant-hill or a rock, or a man would trip over a stone and cause a
momentary break in the even progress of the column; but not an
ejaculation came from the mouths of the men. Tom was proud of the
splendid results of the discipline they had undergone, and ready to
avouch that under proper training anything could be made of the Bantu
negro. On and on they went, the narrow column crawling like a black
snake over grass-land, swamp, and almost bare rock. They passed the
village, began the ascent to the south of it, skirting the spot where
the flourishing banana plantation had once stood, crossed the stream a
mile and a half above the village, and then arrived at a point whence
they could see the glow from the fires in the Arab camp.
Here Tom halted the men, and quietly told them his plans. The attack was
to be made at two points, the north-west and south-west corners of the
encampment. Tom himself would lead one body of his men; the other he
entrusted to a gigantic negro named Mwonda, who had distinguished
himself on many occasions during the siege of the village and in the
forest fight. He stood six feet two in height, with extraordinary
muscular development and great physical strength. He was absolutely
fearless. His besetting sin was a habit of boasting, which, however,
was so naïve and inoffensive that his mates were more amused by it than
irritated. He was accustomed to assert loudly that he was a pure
Muhima, though his features and his whole physical organization proved
him to be incontestably one of the Bairo. But his valour was so
pre-eminent that no one was hurt when Tom appointed him captain of the
pikemen, and his skill with the weapon was unmatched. His pike was
several inches longer, and proportionately thicker, than those of the
rank and file, and on this night he also carried, slung round his waist,
a scimitar taken from an Arab whom he had killed in single fight in the
forest. His men had unlimited confidence in him, and Tom had marked him
from the first as the ideal leader when any deed of desperate courage
not demanding tactical skill was in question.
Half the force, then, was put under Mwonda’s command, and he was to lead
the assault from the north-west. It was essential to the thorough
success of the plan that the two attacks should be simultaneous, and Tom
was for a time greatly exercised as to how the necessary signal could be
given when the two bodies were separated by the whole length of the Arab
camp. It was important that nothing should be done to give the alarm
there, and Tom, to avoid risks, had even left his revolver behind, and
carried only a musket. Suddenly he remembered Mbutu’s faculty for
imitating the cries of animals. Why not make use of that now?
"You can mock the jackal’s cry?" he said.
"Oh yes, sah! berrah good jackal."
"Very well."
The cry of the jackal, he thought, would carry farthest, and from its
very frequency in those parts would not be likely to arouse special
attention. There was just a chance of a real jackal interposing at an
unfortunate moment, and thus precipitating matters; but the risk, after
all, was slight, and Mwonda would not be likely to make a mistake,
knowing from what direction the expected signal should come. This was
therefore arranged; Mwonda was ordered to creep as near to the camp as
possible, and lead the assault the instant he heard the jackal’s cry.
In case either of the parties were discovered before the signal was
given, the resulting commotion in the Arab camp was itself to be the
signal for a charge.
Then the march was resumed. Rain had been for some time falling in a
steady drizzle, which increased to a downpour as they crept down the
slope. Uncomfortable as it was, Tom welcomed the rain, for it
completely drowned the dull sound of tramping feet. The scrub grew a
little thicker as the ground descended, and the patter of the rain on
the leaves, the soughing of the wind through the branches of the trees
dotted here and there, produced a sense of uncanniness. Down they went,
the bare feet of the men sometimes slipping on a rock, and Tom himself
once narrowly escaping a headlong fall into the watercourse he had
descended in the afternoon.
Half a mile from the camp he called a halt. The downpour was as steady
as ever. There was no sign of sentries. If any had been posted outside
the palisade the probability was that they had taken refuge in a small
clump of trees some three hundred yards to the south. It all favoured
the enterprise, for surely no attack would be expected on such a night.
The very watch-fires inside the camp were well-nigh extinguished, and
the absolute silence indicated that the Arabs and their negroes were
sleeping beneath their tents, rude huts, and mats. "Now, Mwonda," said
Tom in a low whisper, "that is your way. Lead your men as close to the
camp as you can, and wait for the jackal’s cry. Then you know what to
do."
Mwonda grunted assent. His column filed off, and in the darkness the
individual figures could only be dimly recognized at a foot distance by
the wisps of light-coloured straw which Tom had ordered them to bind
about their left arms to distinguish them from the enemy. Tom hoped
that, faint as it was, the glow from the dying camp-fires would make
these distinguishing marks of value.
Giving Mwonda’s column a few minutes’ grace to make the extra circuit
towards the north-west, Toms force began to creep silently towards the
camp. Slowly, cautiously, nearer and nearer they drew; so cautiously
that Tom, leading the way, stumbled over a man huddled half-asleep in a
blanket on the lee side of a bush. With a half-cry the man sprang to
his feet, but as quick as thought Tom flung out his right fist, and
stretched him on the sodden ground. Before he could rise again, or Tom
could interfere, two Bahima flung themselves on the body, and only a
faint gurgle told that their fatal knives had done their work. Tom felt
a pang as he realized that one poor creature had gone to his account; he
was not yet case-hardened to the terrible realities of war. But he did
not falter; a life taken meant perhaps hundreds of lives saved, and
never was war waged in a more righteous cause.
The column was now only four hundred yards from the camp. Yard by yard
it crawled along, the squelching of the men’s feet on the ground being
smothered now by the heavy patter of rain on the palisade and the huts.
Suddenly a stifled cry in the distance, far on his left, followed inside
the palisade by a sentry’s call, told Tom that Mwonda’s column had not
been so fortunate as his own.
"Now!" said Tom to Mbutu, who had kept close at his side all the way.
Instantly the blood-curdling jackal’s howl undulated through the
drenched air. The men sprang forward, with never a yell or cheer, a
quick grunt alone proclaiming their excitement. With a rush they gained
the stockade, scrambled up and over, Tom never knew how, and while the
startled enemy were still pouring half-dazed out of their shelters, and
hurrying up by twos and threes towards the palisade, Tom’s men were
among them. The Arabs in their long burnouses were distinguishable even
in the murk; their dependants formed only a blacker patch. Between the
outer and inner stockades there was no real attempt at resistance, the
men rushing hither and thither in wild confusion, not knowing which way
to turn, many being without arms, others endeavouring in vain to fire
muskets with damp powder. The Bahima, now yelling and whooping, ran
among them, cutting them down by scores, and the cries of the wounded
were mingled with the exultant shouts of the attackers.
Rushing towards the inner stockade, Tom met with a more determined
resistance. The Arabs within that had had time to recover from the
first shock, and to seize their arms. They made for the side on which,
judging by the clamour, the assault was being made. A few shots were
fired, at random, for no aim could be taken; but still the
storming-party surged on. The foremost of them fell back from the
higher palisade, and Tom himself narrowly escaped a blow from a scimitar
which, if it had fallen, would have concluded his career there and then.
But Mboda fortunately interposed his pike, which was cut clean in two
just above the head. Before the Arab could recover himself a second
pikeman had run him through. This gave Tom enough time to secure a
foothold on the top of the stockade; the next moment he was over on the
inside, laying about him doughtily with his clubbed musket. He was
speedily joined by several of his men, who lunged and smote at the mass
of Arabs before them. There was the remnant of a large fire still
smouldering in the centre of the space. Driven back on to this, the
combatants sent a shower of sparks into the air, and a flame shot up
from the still unconsumed wood, throwing its light full in the face of
Tom’s immediate opponent, a pike’s distance from him. In the features,
distorted with rage, Tom recognized those of his old enemy De Castro.
The recognition was mutual. With a snarl of hate the Portuguese flung
his heavy pistol full at Tom’s head, and, changing his sword from his
left to his right hand, followed up the throw with a desperate cut. Tom
ducked his head; the pistol struck with a dull crack on the skull of the
man behind; with the stock of his musket he parried the cut and sprang
forward at his enemy. Other warriors were crowding round, and in the
press there was no room to swing the weapon; all that Tom could do was
to prod heavily with the barrel. De Castro started back, but he failed
to escape the force of the blow altogether; it took him in the midriff
and doubled him up like a hinge. The surging movement of the throng
carried Tom past and out of reach, and though he wrestled his way
through and hunted high and low for the Portuguese, he saw him no more.
Their attention having been taken up by Tom’s force, which was the first
to reach the stockade, the Arabs had not noticed, until it was too late,
that they were also threatened from another quarter. Mwonda and his
men, clambering over the palisade at the north-west side, found
themselves almost unopposed, and, sweeping away the few Manyema in the
interval between the two stockades, fell upon the rear of the Arabs in
the inner circle. Mwonda himself, by sheer weight and impetus, bore
down everyone who tried to make head against him. Nothing could
withstand the impetuosity of the charge. Taken thus between two yelling
hordes, the Arabs made no further resistance. They fled for their
lives, assisted in their escape by the rain and darkness which had so
much contributed to their downfall. Scrambling pell-mell over the
stockade on the eastern side, they rushed madly away, and became aware
that the village a mile before them was astir; shouts were coming
faintly on the air. Fearing that still another force was approaching to
fall upon them, they swung round to the north in twos and threes, a
hopelessly broken force; and falling, stumbling, crashing through mud
and bush, over the streams, into the swamps, they ran headlong, fear
pressing hard at their heels.
"Measure for measure!" said Tom to himself grimly. Many and many a
time, he made no doubt, had panic-stricken negroes fled from their
oppressors in the same way. It was a turning of the tables. The
measure the Arabs had meted was being indeed measured to them again, and
Tom rejoiced in the thought that just retribution was at last falling on
men by whom human life had been held so cheap.
Within the captured camp the victors were panting, laughing, shouting in
their glee. The rain had no power to damp their spirits. Cries of
"Kuboko!" rang through the air, and a new war-song was composed on the
spot. It was past two o’clock in the morning; the rain was beating down
more heavily than ever; and Tom ordered the men to see to the few
wounded of his force and to do what they could for their wounded enemies
before seeking shelter for themselves. He despatched a messenger at
once to the village to give the katikiro information of what had
happened, and fifteen minutes after the man had started, the shouts of
thousands of voices were distinctly heard, as they raised their song of
rejoicing.