THE FUGITIVE
On the evening of the capture of M'ganga a white man, fatigued and
desperately hungry, stood irresolute upon the banks of the Kiwa River,
roughly forty miles from the scene of the Waffs' successful operations.
It would have been a difficult matter to recognise in the jaded man the
once well-set-up individual known in certain quarters as Robert
MacGregor; nor was there much resemblance between the fugitive and the
German secret service agent, Ulrich von Gobendorff--yet the man was
none other than he whom the officers of the Haussa regiment
particularly wished to lay by the heels.
By a series of hair-breadth escapes von Gobendorff had succeeded in
making his way past the Pathan infantry picquets. For twenty minutes
he had crouched up to his neck in the miasmatic waters of a forest
pool, with thousands of mosquitoes buzzing round his unprotected head,
while a patrol of the Rhodesian Light Horse halted within twenty yards
of his place of concealment.
And now, with a strip of linen tied round his head, a ragged cotton
shirt, a pair of "shorts" that were hardly any protection from the
thorny cacti, and a pair of badly-worn "veldt schoen" as the sum total
of his clothing and footgear von Gobendorff awaited the fall of night
in the depths of a tropical forest.
His limbs were covered with scratches that were causing him intense
pain and irritation; his face was swollen under the attacks of
mosquitoes, until his bloodshot eyes were hardly visible above his
puffed up cheeks. Unarmed with the exception of an automatic pistol,
he was about to brave the dangers of a night 'midst malarial mists and
wild beasts of an African forest.
As the sun sank von Gobendorff collected a heap of wood and leaves and
kindled a fire. For the present he judged that he was practically free
from pursuit. In any case he would take the risk of lighting a fire.
It was not likely that British patrols would be wandering through the
dense tropical vegetation during the hours of darkness.
Under the wide-spreading branches of a baobab the Hun was able to make
one fire serve his purpose. Ordinarily he would have lighted three or
four at a distance of five or six yards from each other, and thus found
comparative immunity from the attacks of lions and hippos, but the
baobab--it reminded him of a certain incident when he was "attached" to
the Haussas--was able to protect both rear and flank from the voracious
assaults of any four-footed creatures.
As the fire blazed brightly von Gobendorff consumed his last ration--a
small cube of highly-concentrated food, which he had in his possession
on the development of the attack on M'ganga. Throughout his flight,
although tormented with the pangs of hunger, he had resolutely refused
to draw upon his scanty commissariat. And now it was eaten: for the
rest of his journey he would have to depend upon his wits to obtain
food. Rather grimly he reflected that an automatic .302, although an
efficient "man-stopper" in a _melee_, was not to be compared with a
rifle as a means of procuring food.
Although inured to exposure in a tropical country von Gobendorff was
feeling severely the effect of the sun upon his insufficiently
protected limbs. In the rapidly cooling air his blistered skin was
stretched so tightly that every movement of his neck, arms and legs
gave him intense pain. The mosquitoes, owing to the glare of the
burning wood, had ceased their attacks, but the effect of their
previous onslaughts was greatly in evidence.
Slowly and carefully lying down on a pile of broad leaves the Hun tried
to fall asleep, but in vain. Racked in every limb, his head throbbing
as if it harboured a rapidly working piston, he endured--waiting for
the dawn that would give him no respite from his torments.
Presently the denizens of the forest began their nocturnal activities.
In the sluggishly-flowing river hippopotami floundered noisily.
Elephants crashed through the brushwood making their way to the water,
while at intervals rhinoceri and bush-cows charged blindly past the
fiercely burning fire. Von Gobendorff was in a big game hunter's
paradise, but he failed utterly to show enthusiasm at the prospect.
At intervals he crawled to his reserve stock of fuel to replenish the
fire, knowing that if he allowed the comforting and protecting flame to
die out he stood an almost certain chance of falling a victim to a
four-footed foe. Once a large bush-cow thundered almost through the
blazing logs, bellowing frantically as a panther with its claws deeply
dug into the huge brute's hide was remorselessly tearing at the throat
of its prey.
Monkeys, too, huge simians looking human-like in the dull red glare,
came shuffling from the shadow of the neighbouring trees to gaze
fixedly at the unusual sight of a fire. Muttering, chattering and
gesticulating they watched the Hun's bivouac for several minutes until
the sudden spring of a large cat-like animal claimed one victim and
sent the rest of the monkeys flying for their lives.
With the first streak of dawn the nocturnal Bacchanalia ceased. Von
Gobendorff, who had longed for the break of day in order to resume his
flight to a supposedly safe refuge in the Karewenda Hills, found
himself unable to resist the sleep of utter exhaustion, and as the last
faint wreath of pale grey smoke rose from the dying embers he dropped
into a deep slumber.
He awoke to find the glade bathed in brilliant sunshine. The sun was
almost overhead, while he himself was lying in the dense shadow cast by
the overspreading branches of the baobab. Through an opening in the
otherwise dense foliage he could see the river rippling in the dazzling
light, while partly hauled up the bank and partly resting between the
reeds was a canoe--a dug-out of about twenty-five feet in length.
"Himmel!" muttered the German. "This is indeed good fortune."
The means of crossing the broad Kiwa River was at his command. He had
made up his mind on the previous evening to risk a horrible death by
attempting to swim the stream. He had seen what appeared to be logs
drifting silently with the eddying current--logs that on the approach
of danger would reveal themselves in their true characters, for the
river swarmed with hippopotami.
Von Gobendorff was on the point of issuing from his retreat when the
sound of voices and the rustling of the brushwood warned him that the
owners of the canoe were returning.
Listening intently he recognised the dialect as that of the Birwas--a
native tribe occupying a considerable tract of the hinterland. He knew
the language well--he had the Hun's typical capability of acquiring a
knowledge of foreign tongues.
Presently the blacks came in sight--two lithe and stalwart natives
armed with primitive bow and spear. One man carried the hindquarters
of a gnu, the other had a brace of birds dangling from the haft of his
spear.
With an effort von Gobendorff pulled himself together and strode boldly
into the open.
Halting, he signed imperiously to the Birwas to approach.
The blacks obeyed promptly. Experience had taught them to carry out
the behests of their German masters with the utmost celerity. With
every indication of abasement they approached and awaited the white
man's orders.
Von Gobendorff pointed to the still warm embers of the fire.
"I am hungry," he said. "Get me something to eat and drink, and be
sharp."
While one of the Birwas cut strips of flesh from the gnu and spitted
them on skewers, the other placed more wood on the fire and coaxed it
into a blaze. The grilling operation in progress the fire-tender ran
to the canoe to return with a couple of small gourds of water, some
dried berries somewhat resembling coffee beans and a flat cake of
mealie bread.
Von Gobendorff soon discovered that the natives had been serving in the
German outpost at G'henge, a position overrun and captured by a Sikh
battalion about three months previously. They had, they declared, been
very well treated by their new masters.
The fugitive smiled grimly, immediately wincing as the movement of the
facial muscles gave him a thrill of pain. It was evident, he reasoned,
that the Birwas had mistaken him for an officer of the British forces.
Hardly able to wait until the meal was prepared von Gobendorff turned
to and ate with avidity, washing down the food with copious draughts of
hot and far from palatable beverage. Having refreshed he ordered the
blacks to hide all traces of his bivouac and made them carry him to the
canoe. He realised how imperative it was that he should cover his
tracks, and by no means the least important measure was to prevent any
prints of his veldt schoen being discovered on the moist marshland on
the river bank.
"Take me to Kossa," ordered von Gobendorff, naming a small military
post on the Kiwa about thirty miles down the river, and at a point
where the stream made a semi-circular bend before running in a
south-westerly direction to join the Rovuma.
For the first time the Birwas demurred.
"There are strong rapids a little distance down stream," declared one.
"We are not skilled in working a canoe. Can we not take you across to
our village, where there are plenty of men who will paddle you to
Kossa?"
"My word," said von Gobendorff, "is law."
To add greater emphasis to his words he produced his automatic pistol.
The argument was conclusive. With every indication of fear the two
natives pushed off, and seizing the paddles they propelled the unwieldy
craft down stream.
Compared with his previous mode of travelling the Hun found the journey
bordering almost upon the luxurious. He would have preferred a
cushion, a double helmet and a sun-umbrella with a canopy thrown in,
but reflecting that he was fortunate in being able to tackle the Kiwa
without having to resort to swimming, he endured the glare with
comparative equanimity.
Concerning the perils of the rapids he decided to take his chances. It
was just possible that the Birwas had lied, hoping to deter him from
his purpose. That they were fairly experienced in the art of canoeing
was evident by the way in which they skilfully avoided the numerous
hippopotami, their broad-bladed paddles entering the water without the
faintest suspicion of a splash.
Whenever, as frequently happened, the canoe passed a native village von
Gobendorff, no doubt with the loss of a certain amount of prestige,
took up a position at full length at the bottom of the canoe, strictly
warning his boatmen that they were to maintain absolute silence as far
as his presence was concerned.
The canoe had barely passed a small collection of huts when the two
Birwas began to jabber vociferously, pointing at an object a hundred
yards ahead.
"Why this noise?" demanded von Gobendorff, who understood the cause of
the conversation. "You have passed dozens of 'river-cows' before?"
"This one is awake and furious," replied one of the natives. "We
sought to keep to the bank, and the animal has seen us."
The Hun sat up and drew his pistol. A brief glance on either hand
showed that there were no signs of escape by running the canoe ashore.
The banks were here quite twenty feet in height, precipitous and topped
with dense vegetation. There was deep water close to land, while in
mid-stream a mud-bank just showed above the swirling current.
"Go on!" he ordered.
The men plied their paddles vigorously. Although the
heavily-constructed canoe was incapable of any great speed, and was
also undermanned, the commotion of the paddles and the frantic shouts
of the two blacks made up for the lack of manoeuvring powers. The
hippo dived. The canoe shot past.
Von Gobendorff breathed freely, but he was too premature. The
hippopotamus reappeared amidst a smother of foam. Its wide-open jaws
closed up on the gunwale of the dug-out.
The canoe listed dangerously. The Birwas still further endangered its
stability by standing upright and raining absolutely ineffectual blows
with their paddles upon the armour-plated head of the amphibian. The
air in the vicinity of the heeling craft was thick with spray and
flying fragments of woodwork.
Raising his pistol von Gobendorff placed the muzzle within an inch of
the hippo's right eye, and fired two shots in quick succession. Then,
without waiting to observe the effect, he put two bullets into the
animal's left eye.
With a stupendous jerk that dipped the badly shattered gunwale under
the water the hippo relaxed its grip and disappeared. Whether mortally
wounded or not there were no means of ascertaining, but the brute was
seen no more.
Throwing their paddles into the bottom of the canoe the two natives,
crouching on the uninjured side to keep the jagged hole above the
surface, plied their gourds frantically in order to get rid of the
quantity of water that had poured over the gunwale. This task having
been completed von Gobendorff noticed with a certain amount of
apprehension that the freeboards betwixt the edge of the gaping hole
and the water was less than four inches.
In the excitement of the encounter the Hun had overlooked the fact that
already the canoe was within the influence of the rapids. The Birwas
had spoken truly--there were cataracts; what was more there was now no
means of avoiding them.
The banks on either hand were still steep and precipitous, while,
undermanned, the heavy canoe could not be propelled against the stream,
the speed of which exceeded five miles per hour and was steadily
increasing as the rapids drew nearer and nearer.
The thunder of the foaming water could now be heard distinctly, as the
canoe, held in the inexorable grip of the swirling torrent, swayed
towards the danger. The two natives realised their peril. Their black
faces were suffused with an ashy grey hue; their eyes were wide open
with fear.
"Paddle backwards!" ordered von Gobendorff, knowing that to attempt to
turn the canoe would mean both loss of time and increased chances of
being immediately swamped.
With every muscle strained to its utmost capacity the Birwas strove
desperately to back up-stream. Anxiously von Gobendorff kept his eyes
fixed upon a mark in the bank. For a few minutes he watched--then he
muttered curses under his breath. The canoe was slowly yet surely
losing ground. He was fully aware that, apart from its damaged
condition, the cumbersome craft stood no possible chance of escape in
the maelstrom-like eddies of the rapids, unless by sheer good fortune
combined with the skill of the two natives the canoe could be made to
avoid the jagged rocks between which the waters of the Kiwa rushed.
Suddenly the German caught sight of a huge teak-tree that, having been
uprooted, was trailing over the banks. It was a faint chance, but von
Gobendorff decided to risk it.
Raising his hand he pointed towards the tree-trunk. Already the roar
of the water made it impossible for the Birwas to hear him speak. The
men nodded and again began to ply their paddles vigorously, keeping
close to the border between the main stream and a back-eddy by this
part of the right bank.
With a quick turn of his broad blade the bowman urged the canoe's bows
diagonally against the mass of timber. Caught by the full force of the
current the dug-out swung round, crashed against the tree and, listing,
was immediately swamped by the inrush of water.
Von Gobendorff leapt to safety. With cat-like agility he swarmed up
the inclined bank. Here he stood and waited, watching the efforts of
the two natives to save themselves.
The bowman had succeeded in getting astride the massive log and was
endeavouring to extricate his companion from the peril that threatened
him, for the other had been thrown out of the canoe and was pinned
between the tree and the side of the water-logged craft.
In spite of the Birwa's most strenuous efforts the trapped man was
unable to extricate himself from the vice-like grip, for edges of the
jagged hole in the canoe's side were pressing hard against his thigh,
while the canoe itself, forced against the tree-trunk by the
swiftly-running current, could not be moved in spite of the combined
efforts of the two blacks.
A third man would have made all the difference. The trapped Birwa
raised his eyes appealingly to the white man, but von Gobendorff
stirred not so much as a little finger.
The Hun, having no further use for the natives, was merely awaiting the
catastrophe that would effectually cover his tracks. Without the need
of further aid from the Birwas he was now within measurable distance of
the Karewenda Hills. Another six hours ought to find him in at least
the temporary shelter of the German fortified post of Twashi.
With a sardonic expression on his face von Gobendorff waited and
watched. For a full five minutes the grim struggle was maintained.
The trapped Birwa's strength was fast failing. Already greatly
exhausted by his strenuous work with the paddle he was rapidly
collapsing under the strain.
Suddenly he relaxed his grip. The water-logged canoe dipped, and was
swept under the tree, taking with it the doomed native, whose last
despairing cry was drowned in the roar of the rushing river. For a few
moments the surviving Birwa remained kneeling on the inclined mass of
timber, trembling in every limb, then, slowly and with every sign of
temerity he began to make his way up the trunk to dry land.
Raising his pistol the Hun fired straight at the man's head. The
Birwa's arms collapsed, he fell at full length upon the rounded mass of
timber, and, slipping sideways, toppled inertly into the foaming
torrent.
"Hamba gachle!" exclaimed von Gobendorff, using a Zulu expression that
he had picked up in his many and diverse wanderings through South and
Central Africa. "Dead men tell no tales, and you were in my way."
Then, recharging the magazine of his automatic pistol, the German
turned, and, setting his face towards the north-west, strode rapidly
towards the Karewenda Hills.