A VICTORY
Waiting in the darkness, looking down on the camp of the kidnapping
Africans, Joe, Blake and the sergeant, and the blacks with them,
listened for the echoes of the shots that would tell of the beginning
of the attack. C. C. Piper and Mr. Duncan, with about half of the
porters and Chako, were in the second party.
“I wonder what will happen,” asked Blake, “when the firing begins?”
“There’ll be one grand rush,” said Joe, “and it will be up to us to
make it a worse one. The more we can demoralize them the better it will
be for us.”
“That’s right,” agreed the sergeant. “Get ’em wild, so they don’t know
what’s happening, and we can rush in there and make our rescues. I hope
we shall be able to save some of the missionaries’ friends as well as
your sister and Mr. and Mrs. Brown, Joe.”
“I hope so, too. Lucky we got here before they began their so-called
religious ceremonies--these kidnappers.”
“That’s right. Chako said they might start to-morrow, though. We’re
only just in time.”
“And it will soon be to-morrow,” spoke Blake, softly. “It will be
daylight in a short time.”
They looked down on the camp. Here and there a sentinel fire could be
seen burning dimly, but even the guards had gone to sleep, it seemed,
for none could be observed pacing about. It was as the messenger had
said--they all slept heavily toward morning.
“They ought to be there by this time,” said the sergeant after a long
pause. “I wonder if anything could have happened to----”
He was interrupted by several shots that echoed through the night. The
darkness, over on the far side of the camp, was cut by several jagged
splinters of flame.
“There they go!” cried Blake.
“Now for the fireworks!” sang out his chum.
Once more came a burst of rifle fire from the other attacking party.
“Let ’em go!” shouted the sergeant.
The scene was now one of confusion. The blacks in their camp, suddenly
awakened by the volleys, were rushing about, yelling at the top of
their voices. They could not imagine what was going on. A few shots
came in return--shots from old-fashioned muskets that did no harm.
Then, with a mighty roar, a big skyrocket shot over the African camp,
scattering fire and sparks and colored balls in its train. It was
followed by several others; Roman candles, and then several other forms
of pyrotechnics, set off by Blake and Joe, shot through the darkness.
The effect was startling. The blacks who had started to run away from
the rifle fire, harmless as it was, for the shots were directed into
the air, were met by the rain of sparks from the aerial bombs and other
pieces of Fourth of July ordnance the moving picture boys touched off.
There was considerable noise, too, for some of the pieces burst with
loud reports.
“How are you making out, Joe?” called Blake from the place where he had
stationed himself--a sort of clearing behind a clump of mimosa trees.
“Fine and dandy. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m all right. I’ve set off a lot of those big skyrockets. Say,
they’re peaches! Did you see how they burst?”
“I should say yes! One nearly went off before I was ready for it--too
short a fuse. I got ready to run.”
“That’s right. Here goes for one of those bombs! I’m glad we had these
things with us.”
“So am I!”
For a time the chums could not speak to each other, though but a short
distance apart, for the noise of the fireworks was almost deafening.
The jungle was lighted up with the hues of many-colored fires, and the
wild beasts were thrown into a panic by the unusual demonstration.
There sounded the deep-voiced defiance of distant lions, which died
away to be replaced by the shrill laughing-like sound of hyenas that
were always hanging about, slinking around to see if they could not
make a meal off what some stronger or more brave beast had killed.
Then would come the chatter of monkeys disturbed at their slumbers, or
the scolding of parrots or other birds of the dense forest. It was as
though the morning sun had unexpectedly risen and called into life all
the inhabitants of the jungle.
Mr. Duncan came running up to where Joe and Blake were stationed, and,
in the glare of a bursting rocket, they saw that his face was blackened
with powder.
“Have you seen her, Joe?” he gasped. “Did you get a sight of her?”
“No, Dad,” replied the brother of the girl they had come so far to
rescue.
“Did you, Blake?”
“No, Mr. Duncan. But it’s so dark, and we aren’t quite near enough to
the camp yet. We’ll get her all right, never fear.”
“Oh, boys, I can’t help being worried. It means so much to me. Think
how I would feel if those natives--those Africans--should turn against
her at this last minute and----”
Mr. Duncan was so affected that he could not go on.
“Now, Dad, you don’t want to think anything like that!” exclaimed
Blake, heartily. “We’ll scare these fellows so they won’t know where
they’re at. Come on here! Help Blake and me set off some of these
fireworks. We’ve got more than we can handle!” and he thrust into his
father’s hand a torch used to ignite the fuses.
“That’s the way to talk to him!” said Blake, in a low voice. “Keep him
occupied. Then he won’t think so much about your sister. I think she’s
safe--don’t you, Joe?”
“I hope so.”
“Oh, she must be. Why, it was all quiet when we stole up, and we’ve
been so busy ever since that they haven’t had time to rush off with
her to another part of the jungle. They must think this is a shower of
meteors, or something like that.”
“I hope they do,” murmured Joe, as he brought up another rocket from
the box where the supply was kept.
The shooting of the pyrotechnics was kept up for some time longer. Then
C. C. Piper, who had been industriously letting off bombs and Roman
candles, seemed to beat his own energetic record. For there was a great
burst of fire from where he had stationed himself, and then his voice
was heard to call:
“Help! Come here! I’m getting shot!”
“What is it?” yelled Joe.
“Come here and you’ll see! I guess I must have--” his voice was drowned
out in a burst of noise that sounded like the letting off of strings of
firecrackers.
Guided by the glare and brightness, Joe and Blake rushed through the
jungle to where their old friend had stationed himself. As they reached
him they saw him rushing about in the midst of a lot of sparks, while
all about him balls from Roman candles shot in various directions.
“What is it? What is it?” cried Blake.
“I dropped a match in a box of fireworks!” yelled Mr. Piper. “They’re
going off!”
“I should say so,” agreed Joe.
As he spoke a skyrocket that must have been lying on the ground, or
some flat surface, shot over his head with a whiz and a roar.
“Look out!” yelled Blake. But he need not have spoken, for Joe ducked
instinctively and the rocket, colliding with a tree, burst with a loud
report and a shower of fire.
Then came another, so close to C. C. that the actor’s clothes were set
ablaze.
“Gee whiz!” cried Joe. “This is the limit!”
“Help! Help!” cried Mr. Piper, vainly endeavoring to beat out the
flames.
Blake, seeing the danger, ran to a pool of water, and filling his hat,
dashed the liquid over the man. The spray served to put out the flames,
and Mr. Piper, beating out the last remaining sparks with his hands,
tossed some damp earth on the smouldering box of fireworks.
“That’s over, anyhow!” he remarked with a sigh of relief.
“Come on!” yelled Joe. “One last volley and I think we’ll have ’em on
the run!”
Then the native porters set up shouts of triumph. They were answered
with wild yells of fear from the kidnappers. The shooting redoubled in
its sound and glare.
“Give ’em all we have!” yelled Blake, as by the flare of the rockets
he saw the mass of natives huddled in the centre of the village, too
terrified to move.
“All we have--that’s right!” echoed Joe, as he sent another aerial bomb
aloft. “It’s now or never.”
The fusillade was greeted with a chorus of groans and yells. Then there
burst out a blaze from the centre of the village.
“One of the huts is on fire!” cried Blake. “The sparks have caught on
the thatched roof!”
“And it’s the king’s, too!” yelled Joe. “Come on, or the other huts may
catch--the ones where Jessie and the missionaries are. Come on!”
“Go ahead!” cried Sergeant Hotchkiss. “I guess we’ve got ’em on the
run!”
And so they had. Endeavoring to escape from the fire of the guns on the
south, the Africans had rushed to the north, there to be met with the
fusillade of skyrockets and Roman candles. It was too much for their
superstitious natures. They might stand a human assault, but the fire
from heaven was too much.
With howls of fear they rushed off to one side--off into the jungle,
deserting their village. Men, women and children fled, leaving their
captives to those who had come to rescue them. It was a complete
victory.
“Come on, Dad!” shouted Joe, as he and Blake rushed into the deserted
native village, several huts of which were now ablaze. “We’ll get
Jessie!”
“Jessie! Jessie! Where are you?” cried the anxious father. “We have
come to save you!”