Among the native troops was a man who was not dressed in uniform, who
was tattooed from head to foot, and who wore upon his head an abundance
of coloured feathers. They learned afterwards that he was a medicine or
"fetish" man—and "fetish worship" is the curse of the Dark Continent,
from Ashanti to the Zambesi. The medicine-men, who profess to practise
witchcraft, are far more powerful than the majority of the native kings.
At their bidding innocent people are often put to death, which enables
them to use their powers for bribery and corruption.
In the centre of the ravine, immediately below the place where the two
boys were hiding, the officer in command called a halt. When the men
had fallen out and released their packs from their shoulders, the
witch-doctor addressed them in an excited, high-pitched voice. Neither
Harry nor Braid could understand a word of what he said, but his
grimaces and gesticulations were so expressive that they could have no
doubt that he was performing some kind of religious ceremony.
It was evident that the party intended to pitch their camp in the
ravine, for several men under the command of one of the non-commissioned
officers set about collecting wood with which to make a fire.
The boys knew not what course to take. Their first inclination was to
take to their heels, seeking refuge in the forest. Then they remembered
that if they did this there would be small chance of their being found
by Cortes, who had promised to return to the ravine. As silently as
possible they crawled on hands and knees to the hollow tree, and hid
themselves in the trunk.
There they remained for hour after hour. From that position they were
just able to see into the gorge. The party had split up into three
groups: the German officers sat alone; the European noncommissioned
officers formed a ring around a smaller fire; whereas the natives were
congregated around the fetish-man.
Peter Klein sat like a figure of stone, a sentry with bayonet fixed
standing over him. His lips were bloodless, his eyes staring, his face
like that of a ghost. From time to time the Germans looked at him and
laughed. For all that, they repeatedly offered him food; but he refused
to eat, though now his hands had been unbound.
After a while many of the men disposed themselves for sleep, lying down
upon the bare rocks about the embers of the fire. The officer in
command—a stout major with a bristling moustache—gave orders that the
prisoner’s hands should again be bound. Whereupon a sergeant propped
the prisoner up, with his back to the side of the ravine, making it
perfectly plain—even to the boys who could not understand the German
language—that, if he endeavoured to escape, they would not hesitate to
kill him.
The sentry was not posted for the night on the side of the ravine on
which were the two boys, but on the other side, overlooking the valley
to the east. It was apparently from this direction that the Germans
seemed to fear for their safety.
Harry thought the matter out. If the two brothers were alive, he could
not think why they had not returned. It was now past one o’clock, and
Cortes had said he would be back certainly before twelve.
The night passed in the bush in solemn tranquillity, save for the
droning of myriads of insects from the mangrove swamp and the gurgling
sound of the river. Hour by hour the moon mounted in the skies above
the hill-tops, which were capped by mist. The two boys were squashed
together in the tree-trunk. Braid, it seemed, had gone to sleep in a
standing position. He was breathing heavily.
Stealthily Harry left his hiding-place and dropped down upon hands and
knees. Cautiously he crept to the edge of the ravine and looked over.
To the boy’s surprise, he observed that not only the Germans and the
native soldiers, but also the sentry, were sound asleep. They lay in
huddled attitudes around the dying fires.
With his back against the rock was Peter Klein. As Harry watched him
the man moved and heaved a sigh. Presently he groaned.
Harry Urquhart was one who was quick to think. This man, Klein, was a
spy, one fit to be despised, and moreover a German, an enemy of his
country. And yet, for some reason or other, Klein was a prisoner in the
hands of his own countrymen. Von Hardenberg, perhaps, was not so far
away. These were questions that could possibly be answered by Peter
Klein himself, who might be disposed to speak in gratitude for his
deliverance.
There was only one way in which the prisoner could be rescued. It was
not possible for Harry to descend the sides of the ravine, neither was
it possible for Klein, even had his hands and legs not been bound, to
climb up the cliffs.
As stealthily as before, Urquhart crawled back into the wood, until he
came to a place where there was a long, rope-like creeper—one of those
vegetable parasites which are so common in the forests of the tropics.
To cut this near the roots and tear it from the tree to which it clung
so tenaciously was the work of not many minutes, and Harry was in
possession of what to all intents and purposes was a very useful rope.
With this he repaired in haste to the edge of the ravine, where he tied
the end of it to the trunk of a tree. That done, hand over hand he let
himself down to the bottom.
Stepping over the forms of the sleeping soldiers he approached the
captive, and with his jack-knife cut the bonds that bound Klein’s feet
and hands.
"Now," he whispered in the man’s ear, "climb, and you are safe!"
The spy was still so terrified and so weakened from exhaustion that it
was all he could do to walk. With faltering steps he stumbled towards
the dangling rope, and Harry feared that he would fall and wake the
sleeping Germans.
Peter Klein took hold of the swinging creeper and did his best to climb.
Presently he looked round at Harry with an expression of despair upon
his face.
"I can’t do it!" he groaned in broken English.
"You must," said the boy. "Your life depends upon it. Once you get to
the top you are safe. They cannot follow you. They have no rope, and
will be obliged to go a long way round."
These words had the desired effect upon the spy. Fear, on occasion, is
a great stimulant; it sometimes leads a man to perform prodigies of
strength that he could never accomplish in calmer moments. Hand over
hand the man scrambled to the top of the ravine, and there lay down,
panting and exhausted.
Harry followed quickly. At the top he hauled up the creeper, and then
looked down again.
The soldiers were still asleep. The commanding officer himself was
snoring like a pig.
Shaking in all his limbs, Peter Klein rose to his feet and seized Harry
by the hand.
"Heaven reward you!" he exclaimed. "You have saved my life, for I
verily believe those villains would have shot me."