“FORWARD!”
“Let’s get out of this!” cried Mr. Piper. “He’ll crush this boat with
one bite!”
“I guess you’re right,” agreed Joe. “Let’s row to shore, Blake. I’ve
heard they can’t go very fast on land!”
“Maybe we can scare him off!” suggested the other. Blake was not
foolhardy, but he really did not understand the danger of the hippo as
the actor-hunter did. Besides, he wanted to get some fine films, and
this was a rare chance. He had been in many dangerous places before,
but never such as this. He totally underestimated the terrible power
and the unreasoning anger of the huge beast they had come upon.
“There!” cried Blake; “he’s dived! I told you it would be all right!
He’s afraid of us!”
“Don’t you believe it!” shouted C. C., as he laid aside the gun he had
caught up, and began to labor with the oars, forcing the boat toward
the papyrus-lined shore of the sluggish stream. “He’s going to come up
under the boat if he can, upset us, and take us all in at one bite! I
know hippos!”
But Joe, imbued with something of the reckless courage displayed by
his chum, held his place at the moving picture machine, as did Blake.
Together they revolved the handle, making views of the swirling waters
where the hippo had disappeared--bubbles, foam and little swirling
eddys showing where the big river-horse had sunk.
“What do you think, Joe?” asked Blake. “Shall we chance it any longer?”
“I think so. He doesn’t seem as bad as C. C. thinks he is. Anyhow, he
went down without attacking us, and he may pass us up altogether. If he
does, we’ll get him running away, and that will make another good part
of the film. Let’s stick!”
“That’s what I say. It isn’t every day we get a chance like this. If we
had----”
Once more Blake was interrupted in what he started to say by the action
of the clumsy beast, yet which could move with considerable speed in
the water in spite of its vast bulk.
There was a sinuous motion to the lily pads, stems and flowers. They
parted and something arose amid them.
“Here he is again!” cried Blake.
“Yes, and he means business, too!” yelled Joe. “C. C., it’s up to you
to do something! We haven’t time to row ashore.”
This was very evident, for the hippo had, this time, risen so close
to the boat that the boys thought they could feel his hot breath. The
monstrous mouth was wide open, and the red throat, looking like some
immense flannel bag, seemed yawning for them. The hippo could easily
have crushed the boat amidships, and there was no time to back water.
“Shoot! Shoot!” yelled Joe.
“I guess I’ll have to!” cried C. C. Piper; “but it’s a last hope. I
can’t stop him at such short range!”
He dropped the oars and caught up the heavy elephant gun. Even in this
excitement Blake continued to grind away at the camera, getting some
views at close range. Then, thinking that the boat would be crushed,
and wishing to save the machine and the rare films if possible, he
caught up the apparatus and fled to the stern, leaving the actor-hunter
a clear view.
With coughs, grunts and groans of protest that his river home had thus
been invaded, the hippo swam on. Now and then he closed the enormous
jaws with a crunching sound, and at such times the lower jaws went
under water, and when it was closed the water splashed out on both
sides in miniature fountains.
“Shoot, if you’re going to, C. C.!” yelled Joe.
“Here goes for a slim chance!” cried Mr. Piper.
At that moment the big beast again opened wide his jaws. He was but
a few feet from the boat now, and the wave of his advance caused the
craft to rock dangerously.
Aiming directly down the big red throat, C. C. fired. The report of
the heavy gun at such close quarters almost deafened the boys, and
the recoil nearly tossed the hunter overboard. But he maintained his
balance.
Joe and Blake eagerly looked where the hippo had been. There was no
need of waiting for the smoke to clear away, as the actor-hunter was
using nitro cartridges, which were smokeless.
“He’s gone!” shouted Joe.
“He sank at the shot!” cried Blake.
“I guess I did tickle his throat some,” remarked Mr. Piper, grimly.
“That was a heavy bullet, and it must have gone clear through him.”
“I wonder if you killed him?” spoke Joe. “Jove! if you did--at one
shot. Let’s see if he’s a goner.”
“No use to wait,” said Mr. Piper. “A hippo, when shot, whether
mortally or not, sinks immediately. If it is dead it won’t float for
nearly a day, and we can’t stay here that long. If he’s only wounded
he’ll swim off under water and come up, the land knows where. No, we’re
lucky to be rid of him so easily. I never thought I could stop him at
such short range, but the bullet must have gone in a tender spot.”
“Well, we got some dandy pictures,” spoke Blake, fervently.
“That’s what,” agreed Joe.
A distant whistle was heard, echoing faintly over the sluggish river.
“That’s the steamer calling us, I guess,” said Mr. Piper. “Let’s get
back.”
Slowly they rowed out into the main lake, well satisfied with their
adventure, and, now that the danger was over, almost forgetting it.
“Don’t tell Dad all about it,” suggested Joe to his chum. “He may
think it was worse than it really was, and not let us go out again.
He doesn’t know that we’ve been used to taking chances; Blake, and he
still thinks, in a way, that I’m only a little chap. Do you see?”
“Yes,” agreed his chum. “We won’t make him worry any.”
But if Mr. Duncan did not understand the danger of filming a hippo
at the charge, Sergeant Hotchkiss did, and he warned the boys, in
private, to be very careful.
The landing of the freight was accomplished, and once more the trip
across the lake was begun. Ordinarily this voyage, from Port Florence
to Entebbe, takes but twenty-four hours, but the steamer carrying
our friends was a slow one, and in addition had to make many stops.
Then, too, something happened to the engine once or twice, and there
were long delays for repairs. So that they were three days making the
passage.
Eventually, however, Entebbe was reached. This was quite a large town,
where many English and other white residents lived. Many marks of
civilization were observed, there being even a private auto garage,
while a number of bicyclists were seen on the streets.
“Think of that--in Africa!” cried Joe.
“I’ll be looking for a sign of Broadway and Forty-second street soon,”
said Blake.
“Oh, Africa isn’t half so uncivilized as it was,” said Sergeant
Hotchkiss; “and yet don’t go away with the notion that this town is
far removed from the jungle. It isn’t. Why, on the outskirts the wild
animals come in. Herds of zebras often spoil the fruit trees, and
flower and vegetable beds. And there is danger from other beasts, too.
Often people are attacked going from one house to another at night,
and I have heard it said that on going out to spend the evening the men
always take guns. They might have to use it on a rhino or something
coming home.”
“Really?” asked Mr. Duncan.
“That’s a fact,” the sergeant assured him, and, to my readers, I might
add that all the essential facts given in this book, both as regards
the wild animal life of Africa, as well as the making of moving
pictures, are true, and can be verified by those who care to do so.
In the native part of Entebbe dwelt the young King of Uganda, and the
boys had a chance to take some moving pictures of him and his court,
some of the attendants at which had adopted European dress, while the
others wore nothing but a blanket. Even the king was still enough of
a barbarian to delight in the beating of many drums, though he had an
English tutor.
“This is too civilized for us,” remarked Blake one day, when they had
been in Entebbe about a week making further arrangements to go into the
interior. “Look at ’em playing tennis, Joe,” and he pointed to a court
where some of the English residents were enjoying a game.
“That’s right, Blake. We ought to be in the jungle. But I guess we’re
almost ready to trek. Dad is getting impatient.”
“We leave to-morrow, boys,” announced Sergeant Hotchkiss that night. “I
have all the supplies we need now. I have engaged a few more porters,
gotten some more ammunition, and we can now head for Kargos. What we’ll
find there, of course, I don’t know,” and he looked serious.
“The best I hope for,” said Mr. Duncan, “is to get some trace of my
daughter. If the missionary station is wholly destroyed there may still
be some clue that will help us get on the right trail. Or some of the
natives, some who had begun to learn Christianity, may still be about
and can aid us.”
“I hope so,” murmured Blake, and Joe sighed as he nodded his head in
agreement.
They had made inquiries, and learned that Kargos was a native
settlement about five days’ march from Entebbe, in a dense part of
the jungle. It was some distance back from the lake, and inhabited
by several fierce and warlike tribes. But aside from the news that
the mission station had been destroyed by a raiding party of blacks,
no particulars could be learned. The whites--Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and
their assistant, Jessie Duncan--seemed to have completely disappeared.
Whether they had been killed, or were taken captive, no one knew,
though all hoped for the latter alternative.
The last arrangements were made. The porters’ burdens were packed anew,
the last supplies were bought, guns and ammunition looked to, and, one
sunny morning, the word to start was given.
Horses had been provided for the whites, and one or two mules carried
the heavier burdens; but all would have to accommodate their pace
to the march of the porters. However, these men of iron frame and
constitution could cover many miles in a day.
Quite a number of the residents of Entebbe came to see the expedition
start, as word of its object had leaked out. There was much sympathy
expressed for Joe and his father, and all hoped they would find Jessie.
“All ready?” cried Sergeant Hotchkiss, as he looked over the line of
porters with their loads on their heads.
“Ready!” cried Happy One, the leader, as he danced about, his fantastic
headdress of a hyena’s skull bobbing up and down. He had removed it
from his crown, as it did not fit in with the plan of carrying a
burden, and it was suspended about his neck by a thong.
“Ready!” cried Mr. Duncan.
“Forward, then!” exclaimed the sergeant, and to the weird cries of the
Africans, accompanied by the beating of the tom-toms some carried, the
party started into the jungle.