An hour later a singular procession marched southward through the
forest. At the head went a number of Msetu's scouts, with an advanced
guard of strapping Rhodesian planters, young and middle-aged. Behind
these, a detachment of Rhodesian native police, their broad black faces
shining. Then, a happy throng of women and children, each bearing a
bundle. These were followed by a number of white men and black, all
wearing bandages about an arm or a leg or the head. Then, twenty or
more couples of native soldiers with the Red Cross upon their sleeves,
carrying field ambulances on which lay still, bandaged figures, white
and black. Next, four Germans, among whom the stiff bulky form of Major
von Rudenheim was conspicuous, and thirty odd askaris--prisoners guarded
by Rhodesian police. Then Major Burnaby, with Tom Willoughby, Mwesa in
close attendance behind. Then a large body of native porters, stepping
lightly under the heavy burdens on their heads. Following these marched
the whole body of the Wahehe fighting men, led by Mirambo; six of them
drew a mountain gun; and finally, at an interval, the rearguard of
British planters, volunteers in the service of the Empire.
There is no need to relate the details of their uneventful journey.
Next day, in a pelting rainstorm, they crossed the Neu Langenburg road,
where their numbers were increased by two small detachments of Rhodesian
police under British officers, whose watch upon the road had not been
molested. Late on the third day the procession, weary, drenched, but at
the top of high spirits, filed up the hill into the little town of
Abercorn.
It is perhaps worth while, however, to record two conversations.
When the arrangements for the evacuation of the nullah had been made,
Major Burnaby had leisure for a little talk with Tom Willoughby, over a
bottle of excellent hock from the case Tom had captured on the Neu
Langenburg road.
"Oh, that's all right," said the major, in response to Tom's warm
expression of thanks. "You owe it to my old father-in-law, you know--Mr.
Barkworth."
"Indeed!"
"Yes: he took a fancy to you on the boat. Dear old man! His heart's as
young as it was when I first met him in Uganda twenty years ago--when I
was about your age. He was mightily perturbed about you when we got
word that the mad dog had broken loose. Wrote off at once to Reinecke,
whom he knew long ago, asking him to pass you across the border with a
safe-conduct, and became quite ill when Reinecke replied that you had
been accidentally killed. He gave a very circumstantial account of your
accident, by the way."
"He was a good liar," said Tom.
"Was?"
"Yes, he's dead--horribly. He came to attack me, and I collared him and
put him on the island in the lake. I suppose he grew impatient when he
heard the firing, couldn't wait for the end, and got his
fellow-prisoners to make a sort of a raft. Our sentry deserted his post,
with the most praiseworthy intentions, and Reinecke took advantage of
his absence to launch the raft. He was attacked by crocodiles; Reinecke
lunged at one, and toppled over. I saw the whole thing: the
recollection makes me sick."
"Poor devil! He was a tricky sort of fellow, according to Mr.
Barkworth."
Tom related the incidents that had led to his occupation of the nullah.
"He deserved no better fate," remarked Major Burnaby at the close of the
story. "Fellows like him make one unjust, perhaps--I mean, one would
rather not regard him as a typical German. Unhappily his countrymen are
doing their best to make the name of Germany odious."
"What are they doing, sir? What's the war about? Of course I've heard
nothing."
Major Burnaby gave an outline of the public events that led to the
war--events which all the world knows.
"But the real origin of the war is Germany's tigerish greed," he said.
"One can understand that a great nation, flushed with unexampled
success, conscious of power and the possession of many good qualities
which only an ass would deny, should look with a certain envy and
jealousy on our little islands as the owners of a world-wide empire.
There are wrong-headed and sentimental people at home who make excuses
for her, ask how we could expect her to be content with the present
position of things, say we deny her means of expansion, and so on. But
they shut their eyes to the fundamental contrast between Germany and
ourselves. Our Empire is a gradual, almost an accidental, growth: much
of it has been so to speak thrust upon us: you've only to read history
to know that. We have taken up the burden of rule in barbarous
countries, or countries like India and Egypt, where civilisation had
decayed, and which but for us would be either bear's gardens or hotbeds
of slavery and oppression. I don't say that our motives have always
been of the purest or our methods always the best; but I do say that we
have never, as a state, set before us the deliberate aim of grabbing
what doesn't belong to us, forcing all civilisations into our particular
mould, and subjugating all other nations by sheer brutal terrorism.
That is what Germany is doing. She hasn't a notion of honour. She was
bound to respect the neutrality of Belgium; a few days before she threw
her troops across the frontier she assured the Belgian Government that
she had no intention of doing so. She forced on the war when Austria
was hesitating, simply because she thought she saw a unique opportunity
of gaining a quick and easy victory, smashing Russia, smashing France,
grabbing valuable territory, filling her coffers with millions of
foreign gold, and reaching a position in which every country in Europe,
and ultimately in the whole world, would be her very humble tributary.
She will allow nothing to stand in her way: no treaties, no scruples of
honour, no considerations of humanity. She is simply Brute Force
personified; the whole nation has gone mad in the worship of militarism;
and she will never come to a better mind, there will be no security in
this unhappy world, until her idols are broken by the application of the
same force in overwhelming measure. That's our job, my dear fellow, and
we must go through with it, whatever the cost."
The other conversation took place in a planter's house at Abercorn. Mr.
Barkworth had just heard from Tom's lips the full story of all that had
happened to him since their parting on the landing stage at
Bismarckburg.
"H'm!" ejaculated the old man. "Tom," he said, turning to his
son-in-law, "he's your namesake. Eh? Tom's a good name--better than
riches! Young Tom must have a commission, eh? Want to fight, young
Tom?"
"Not particularly, sir. I mean, I don't want to fight; but there's only
one thing to be done with a bully--hit him hard. That seems to be the
position; and I'll do my best."
"Sound doctrine, my lad. I'm a man of peace; but I read of a Man of
Peace who once flogged a pack of rascals out of the Temple of Jerusalem.
No soft words; but stinging whips. Please God, we'll whip Germany into
good behaviour. But now, the practical point. Infantry? Cavalry?
Artillery? What's it to be?"
"He seems rather good at organising scouts," Major Burnaby put in.
"H'm! Scouts very useful when we get seriously to work in those wilds.
Willoughby's Scouts, why not? What do you say, young Tom?"
"I couldn't wish for anything better, sir. The Wahehe will be a
nucleus: they're very keen."
"They'll follow you like faithful dogs. I know them! Well, old Tom,
you'll arrange it. Smuts is coming: fine fellow, Smuts: I know him.
Willoughby's Scouts must be ready--
'TOM WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTS.'"
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E. 1,
AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
----
A FEW STIRRING ROMANCES
By HERBERT STRANG
The Air Patrol
A story of the North-West Frontier.
Illustrated in colour by CYRUS CUNEO.
In this hook Mr. Strang looks ahead--and other books have already proved
him a prophet of surprising skill--to a time when there is a great
Mongolian Empire whose army sweeps down on the North-West Frontier of
India. His two heroes luckily have an aeroplane, and with the help of a
few Pathan miners they hold a pass in the Hindu Kush against a swarm of
Mongols, long enough to prevent the cutting of the communications of the
Indian army operating in Afghanistan. The qualities which marked Mr.
Strang's story, "The Air Scout," and won extraordinarily high
commendation from Lord Roberts, Lord Curzon, and others, as well as from
the _Spectator_ and other great journals, are again strikingly
displayed; and the combination of thrilling adventure with an Imperial
problem and excellent writing, adds one more to this author's long list
of successes.
"An exceptionally good book, written moreover in excellent
style."--_Times_.
"'The Air Patrol' is really a masterpiece."--_Morning Post_.
The Air Scout
A Story of National Defence.
Illustrated in Colour by W. R. S. STOTT.
The problems of National Defence are being discussed with more and more
care and attention, not only in Great Britain, but also in all parts of
the Empire. In this story Mr. Strang imagines a Chinese descent upon
Australia, and carries his hero through a series of exciting adventures,
in which the value of national spirit, organisation, and discipline is
exemplified. The important part which the aeroplane will play in
warfare is recognised, and the thousands of readers who have delighted
in the author's previous stories of aviation will find this new book
after their own heart.
LORD ROBERTS wrote:--"It is capital reading, and should interest more
than boys. Your forecast is so good that I can only hope the future may
not bring to Australia such a struggle as the one you so graphically
describe."
LORD CURZON writes:--"I have read with great pleasure your book, 'The
Air Scout.' It seems to me to be a capital story, full of life and
movement: and further, it preaches the best of all secular gospels,
patriotism and co-operation."
"We congratulate Mr. Strang on this fine book--one of the best fighting
stories we have read."--_Morning Post_.
ROMANCES BY HERBERT STRANG
Palm Tree Island
Illustrated in Colour by ARCHIBALD WEBB.
In this story two boys are left on a volcanic island in the South Seas,
destitute of everything but their clothes. The story relates how they
provided themselves with food and shelter, with tools and weapons; how
they fought with wild dogs and sea monsters; and how, when they have
settled down to a comfortable life under the shadow of the volcano,
their peace is disturbed by the advent of savages and a crew of mutinous
Englishmen. The savages are driven away; the mutineers are subdued
through the boys' ingenuity; and they ultimately sail away in a vessel
of their own construction. In no other book has the author more
admirably blended amusement with instruction.
"Written so well that there is not a dull page in the book."--_The
World_.
Rob the Ranger
A Story of the Fight for Canada.
With Illustrations in Colour and Maps.
Rob Somers, son of an English settler in New York State, sets out with
Lone Pete, a trapper, in pursuit of an Indian raiding party which has
destroyed his home and carried off his younger brother. He is captured
and taken to Quebec, where he finds his brother in strange
circumstances, and escapes with him in the dead of the winter, in
company with a little band of stout-hearted New Englanders.
General Baden-Powell, in recommending books to the Boy Scouts, places
"Rob the Ranger" first among the great scouting stories.
One of Clive's Heroes
A Story of the Fight for India.
With Illustrations in Colour and Maps.
Desmond Burke goes out to India to seek his fortune, and is sold by a
false friend of his, one Marmaduke Diggle, to the famous Pirate of
Gheria. But he escapes, runs away with one of the Pirate's own vessels,
and meets Colonel Clive, whom he assists to capture the Pirate's
stronghold. His subsequent adventures on the other side of India--how
he saves a valuable cargo for his friend Mr. Merriman, and assists Clive
in his fights against Sirajuddaula--are told with great spirit and
humour.
"An absorbing story.... The narrative not only thrills, but also weaves
skilfully out of fact and fiction a clear impression of our fierce
struggle for India."--_Athenaeum_.