AN AFRICAN CAMP
“Here he comes!” cried Joe.
“And he doesn’t quite know whether he’s going to be captured, or
whether we’re friends,” remarked Blake. “Joe, do you s’pose it’s
possible that he can be from--from your sister and her friends?”
“I don’t know. It sounds too good to be true. Don’t let Dad hear you
say that, or he may be terribly disappointed if it turns out wrong.”
The lone messenger was paddling his clumsy boat toward the raft.
“We’ll soon know what’s up,” remarked Mr. Piper. “That is, if he can
speak any ordinary language.”
“Oh, I guess between our natives and the sergeant we can make out,”
spoke Blake.
The messenger came on more slowly, as though the nearer he approached
the more timid he became. They could see him plainly now--a big, tall
native with rather more clothes than his kind usually wore. He carried
in the boat with him a keen-edged spear and a big club that seemed to
have been often used.
A little way from the shore he halted his boat by sticking his paddle
down in the muddy bottom and then he called out something. Happy One
answered and the two carried on quite a conversation, with Sergeant
Hotchkiss occasionally putting in a word.
“What’s it all about?” called Mr. Duncan, impatiently. “Has he any news
for us--good news?”
“The very best we could expect!” exclaimed the sergeant. “It appears
he is a messenger--one of those captured from the mission station and
carried off by the raiders along with the whites.”
“My daughter!” cried Mr. Duncan. “Is she alive--was she one of those
carried off? Oh, tell me quickly!”
“I’d better tell you the whole story as I heard it,” said the former
soldier. “Happy One, tell him to come to the camp and eat. He must be
half starved.”
And from the manner in which the messenger ate it would seem that this
was so.
“He was one of the natives living in the mission settlement,” explained
the sergeant to those gathered about him in that portion of the camp
set aside for the use of the whites. “He was one of the Christian
natives and everything was going well, when this party of Africans, who
belong to one of the worst tribes of the whole continent, came along
and made the raid, burning the place and carrying off all whom they did
not kill.”
“And--and my daughter--Jessie?” exclaimed Mr. Duncan.
“She and Mr. and Mrs. Brown were carried off, together with some men,
women and children of the natives,” said Mr. Hotchkiss. “They were
intended for slaves. After many hardships the captives were brought
into the village where their captors lived. There they were treated
meanly, but none of them was killed.
“Finally the whites managed to get word to this young man, urging him
to try to escape and take word of their plight to friendly natives,
asking to be rescued.
“Chako, for that is his name, watched his chance and did succeed in
getting away. He got a spear and a club and managed to sneak off in
this boat. A week ago he started to paddle up stream. He was afraid to
move, except at night, and his progress was slow. Once he was thrown
overboard by a hippo ramming his craft, and again a crocodile nearly
got him. But he kept on, and when he saw us he had just started out on
his night trip. He did not know whether or not to trust us, but when he
heard the friendly words of Happy One he decided to appeal to us.”
“And he comes from Jessie?” asked Joe.
“Yes, she is one of the white captives, though Mr. and Mrs. Brown were
the ones who directly sent the message.”
“How--how is she?” faltered Mr. Duncan. “How is Jessie?”
“Unhappy and much frightened, as you may suppose,” said the sergeant;
“but she was in no immediate danger when Chako left.”
“How far is it to their camp?” demanded C. C. Piper, as he looked at
his elephant gun.
“About two full days’ journey down the river, and then one day into the
jungle.”
“Then let’s start at once!” cried Jessie’s father. “I must get to my
daughter.”
“It will be better to wait until morning,” suggested the former
soldier. “It isn’t altogether safe to travel at night; and then, too,
we can make better time by daylight.”
“Oh, and to think that this native has lately seen my little girl,
whom I have not beheld in so long!” exclaimed the father. “Ask him how
she was--tell me all about her!”
“He doesn’t know much,” replied the sergeant. “The whites were
separated from the black captives, so he had little chance to speak
to her. But we ought to--oh, well, we’ll start at once, as soon as it
is daylight,” said the sergeant, suddenly interrupting himself. “I’ll
tell Happy One to have the natives in readiness for a quick start.
And--well, I guess that’s all,” he concluded as he walked over to where
the messenger was being entertained by the porters.
Blake followed. There was something in the manner of Mr. Hotchkiss that
worried him. When he got a chance to speak alone to the former soldier
the lad asked:
“Is there anything wrong, Mr. Hotchkiss? Is there more need for haste
than you told?”
The man looked around and, seeing neither Joe nor his father near, said:
“There is, Blake, grave need of haste, but I didn’t dare speak before
them. It seems that within a week these kidnapping natives are to
celebrate one of their most cruel feasts. Many sacrifices are to be
made and it may be that in their frenzy they may injure the whites.
Though up to this time they have been rather in awe of them, for they
know the far-reaching power of the British government.
“But when they are mad with their religious rites there is no telling
what they may do. Yes, there is need of haste. I am going to tell Mr.
Piper what I know, and with his help and yours, while keeping Joe and
his father in ignorance of the imminent danger, we will make as much
speed as we can without seeming to do so.”
“A week off; eh?” mused Blake. “That ought to give us plenty of time.”
“Yes, but we don’t know what delays we may meet in the jungle,” said
the sergeant. “Then, too, this Chako may not have correctly estimated
the time it takes. We shall have to prepare for the unexpected. They
may proceed with their rites before the week is out. We must hasten.”
“That’s right,” agreed Blake.
They made an early start next morning, the curious boat Chako had
paddled in being put on board one of the rafts.
Fortune favored them, for they soon came to a part of the river where
the current was swift, and they made good time. The members of the
expedition had caught the fever and were anxious to hasten on to try
conclusions with their black enemies.
Spears and shields were looked to. Some of the natives improvised bows
and arrows and a few had blow guns. Our white friends overhauled their
weapons and ammunition.
“I hope it doesn’t come to a fight,” said Blake. “But if it does----”
“We want to be prepared,” finished Mr. Hotchkiss.
The boys had no chance now to take moving pictures, even had they been
in the mood. All their thoughts were centered on the rescue.
Finally the day came when Chako, the lone messenger, indicated that
they were to leave the river and strike inland. The rafts were moored
to the bank, though it was doubtful if they would be used again, for it
would be almost impossible to pole them up stream.
Into the jungle they struck, with Chako in the lead as a guide. This
part of the journey he had correctly estimated and at dusk one day he
signaled for a halt.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Duncan.
“The African camp, or village, that he escaped from,” said the
sergeant. “We are here at last!”