AN ATTACK.
The canoe inclined to the west readily enough; the fall in the
river-bed was so sudden that the current remained quite unaffected by
the cataract at a distance of three hundred yards.
On the bank were woods so dense that sunlight could not penetrate the
shade. Dick was conscious of a sad misgiving when he looked at the
character of the territory through which they must necessarily pass. It
did not seem practicable by any means to convey the canoe below the
falls.
As they neared the shore, Dingo became intensely agitated. At first
Dick suspected that a wild beast or a native might be lurking in the
papyrus, but it soon became obvious that the dog was excited by grief
rather than by rage.
"Dingo is crying," said Jack; "poor Dingo!" and the child laid his arms
over the creature's neck.
The dog, however, was too impatient to be caressed; bounding away, he
sprang into the water, swam across the twenty feet that intervened
between the shore, and disappeared in the grass.
In a few moments the boat had glided on to a carpet of confervas and
other aquatic plants, starting a few kingfishers and some snow-white
herons. Hercules moored it to the stump of a tree, and the travellers
went ashore.
There was no pathway through the forest, only the trampled moss showed
that the place had been recently visited either by animals or men.
[Illustration: Upon the smooth wood were two great letters in dingy
red.]
Dick took his gun and Hercules his hatchet, and they set out to search
for Dingo. They had not far to go before they saw him with his nose
close to the ground, manifestly following a scent; the animal raised
his head for a moment, as if beckoning them to follow, and kept on till
he reached an old sycamore-stump. Having called out to the rest of the
party to join them, Dick made his way farther into the wood till he got
up to Dingo, who was whining piteously at the entrance of a dilapidated
hut.
The rest were not long in following, and they all entered the hut
together. The floor was strewn with bones whitened by exposure.
"Some one has died here," said Mrs. Weldon.
"Perhaps," added Dick, as if struck by a sudden thought, "it was
Dingo's old master. Look at him! he is pointing with his paw."
The portion of the sycamore-trunk which formed the farther side of the
hut had been stripped of its bark, and upon the smooth wood were two
great letters in dingy red almost effaced by time, but yet plain enough
to be distinguished.
"S. V.," cried Dick, as he looked where the dog's paw rested; "the same
initials that Dingo has upon his collar. There can be no mistake. S. V."
A small copper box, green with verdigris, caught his eye, and he picked
it up. It was open, but contained a scrap of discoloured paper. The
writing upon this consisted of a few sentences, of which only detached
words could be made out, but they revealed the sad truth only too
plainly.
"Robbed by Negoro--murdered--Dingo--help--Negoro guide--120 miles from
coast--December 3rd, 1871--write no more.
"S. VERNON."
Here was the clue to a melancholy story. Samuel Vernon, under the
guidance of Negoro, and taking with him his dog Dingo, had set out on
an exploration of a district of Central Africa; he had taken a
considerable quantity of money to procure the necessary supplies on the
way, and this had excited the cupidity of his guide, who seized the
opportunity, whilst they were encamping on the banks of the Congo, to
assassinate his employer, and get possession of his property. Negoro,
however, had not escaped; he had fallen into the hands of the
Portuguese, by whom he was recognized as an agent of the slave-dealer
Alvez, and condemned to spend the rest of his days in prison. He
contrived after a while to make his escape, and, as has been already
mentioned, found his way to New Zealand, whence he had returned by
securing an engagement on board the "Pilgrim." Between the time when he
was attacked by Negoro and the moment of his death, Vernon had managed
to write the few brief lines of which the fragments still survived, and
to deposit the document in the box from which the money had been
stolen, and by a last effort had traced out his initials in blood upon
the naked wood which formed the wall of the hut. For many days Dingo
watched beside his master, and throughout that time his eyes were
resting so perpetually upon the two crimson letters in front of him,
that mere instinct seemed to fasten them indelibly on his memory.
Quitting his watch one day, perhaps to pacify his hunger, the dog
wandered to the coast, where he was picked up by the captain of the
"Waldeck," afterwards to be transferred to the very ship on which his
owner's murderer had been engaged as cook.
All throughout this time poor Vernon's bones had been bleaching in the
African forest, and the first resolution of Dick and Mrs. Weldon was to
give the residue of his remains some semblance of a decent burial. They
were just proceeding to their task when Dingo gave a furious growl, and
dashed out of the hut; another moment, and a terrible shriek made it
evident that he was in conflict with some dread antagonist.
Hercules was quickly in pursuit, and the whole party followed in time
to witness the giant hurl himself upon a man with whom already Dingo
was in mortal combat.
[Illustration: The dog was griping the man by the throat]
The dog was griping the man by the throat, the man was lifting his
cutlass high above the head of the dog.
That man was Negoro. The rascal, on getting his letter at Kazonndé,
instead of embarking at once for America, had left his native escort
for a while, and returned to the scene of his crime to secure the
treasure which he had left buried at a little distance in a spot that
he had marked. At this very moment he was in the act of digging up the
gold he had concealed; some glistening coins scattered here and there
betrayed his purpose; but in the midst of his labours he had been
startled by the dashing forward of a dog; another instant, and the dog
had fixed itself upon his throat, whilst he, in an agony of
desperation, had drawn his cutlass and plunged it deep into the
creature's side.
Hercules came up at the very climax of the death-struggle.
"You villain! you accursed villain! I have you now!" he cried, about to
seize hold of his victim.
But vengeance was already accomplished. Negoro gave no sign of life;
death had overtaken him on the very scene of his guilt. Dingo, too, had
received a mortal wound; he dragged himself back to the hut, lay down
beside the remains of his master, and expired.
The sad task of burying Vernon's bones, and laying his faithful dog
beside them having been accomplished, the whole party was obliged to
turn their thoughts to their own safety. Although Negoro was dead, it
as very likely that the natives that he had taken with him were at no
great distance, and would come to search for him.
A hurried conference was held as to what steps had best be taken. The
few words traceable on the paper made them aware that they were on the
banks of the Congo, and that they were still 120 miles from the coast.
The fall just ahead was probably the cataract of Memo, but whatever it
was, no doubt it effectually barred their farther progress by water.
There seemed no alternative but that they should make their way by one
bank or the other a mile or two below the waterfall, and there
construct a raft on which once again they could drift down the stream.
The question that pressed for immediate settlement was which bank it
should be. Here, on the left bank, would be the greater risk of
encountering the negro escort of Negoro, while as to the farther shore
they could not tell what obstacles it might present.
Altogether Mrs. Weldon advocated trying the other side, but Dick
insisted upon crossing first by himself to ascertain whether an advance
by that route were really practicable.
"The river is only about 100 yards wide," he urged; "I can soon get
across. I shall leave Hercules to look after you all."
Mrs. Weldon demurred for a while, but Dick seemed resolute, and as he
promised to take his gun and not to attempt to land if he saw the least
symptom of danger, she at last consented, but with so much reluctance
that even after he had entered the canoe she said,--
"I think, Dick, it would be really better for us all to go together."
"No, Mrs. Weldon, indeed, no; I am sure it is best for me to go alone;
I shall be back in an hour."
"If it must be so, it must," said the lady.
"Keep a sharp look-out, Hercules!" cried the youth cheerily, as he
pushed off from the land.
The strength of the current was by no means violent, but quite enough
to make the direction of Dick's course somewhat oblique. The roar of
the cataract reverberated in his ears, and the spray, wafted by the
westerly wind, brushed lightly past his face, and he shuddered as he
felt how near they must have been to destruction if he had relaxed his
watch throughout the night.
It took him hardly a quarter of an hour to reach the opposite bank, and
he was just preparing to land when there arose a tremendous shout from
about a dozen natives, who, rushing forward, began to tear away the
canopy of grass with which the canoe was covered.
Dick's horror was great. It would have been greater still if he had
known that they were cannibals. They were the natives settled at the
lacustrine village higher up the river. When the piece of thatch had
been knocked off in passing the piles a glimpse had been caught of the
passengers below, and aware that the cataract ahead must ultimately
bring them to a standstill, the eager barbarians had followed them
persistently day by day for the last eight days.
Now they thought they had secured their prize, but loud was their yell
of disappointment when on stripping off the thatch they found only one
person, and that a mere boy, standing beneath it.
Dick stood as calmly as he could at the bow, and pointed his gun
towards the savages, who were sufficiently acquainted with the nature
of fire-arms to make them afraid to attack him.
Mrs. Weldon with the others, in their eagerness to watch Dick's
movements, had remained standing upon the shore of the river, and at
this instant were caught sight of by one of the natives, who pointed
them out to his companions. A sudden impulse seized the whole of them,
and they sprang into the canoe; there seemed to be a practised hand
amongst them, which caught hold of the rudder-oar, and the little craft
was quickly on its way back.
Although he gave up all as now well-nigh lost, Dick neither moved nor
spoke. He had one lingering hope yet left. Was it not possible even now
that by sacrificing his own life he could save the lives of those that
were entrusted to him?
When the canoe had come near enough to the shore for his voice to be
heard, he shouted with all his might,--
"Fly, Mrs. Weldon; fly, all of you; fly for your lives!"
But neither Mrs. Weldon nor Hercules stirred; they seemed rooted to the
ground.
"Fly, fly, fly!" he continued shouting.
But though he knew they must hear him, yet he saw them make no effort
to escape. He understood their meaning; of what avail was flight when
the savages would be upon their track in a few minutes after?
A sudden thought crossed his mind. He raised his gun and fired at the
man who was steering; the bullet shattered the rudder-scull into
fragments.
The cannibals uttered a yell of terror. Deprived of guidance, the canoe
was at the mercy of the current, and, borne along with increasing
speed, was soon within a hundred feet of the cataract.
The anxious watchers on the bank instantly discerned Dick's purpose,
and understood that in order to save them he had formed the resolution
of precipitating himself with the savages into the seething waters.
Nothing could avail to arrest the swift descent. Mrs Weldon in an agony
of despair waved her hands in a last sad farewell, Jack and Benedict
seemed paralyzed, whilst Hercules involuntarily extended his great
strong arm that was powerless to aid.
Suddenly the natives, impelled by a last frantic effort to reach the
shore, plunged into the water, but then movement capsized the boat.
Face to face with death, Dick lost nothing of his indomitable presence
of mind. Might not that light canoe, floating bottom upwards, be made
the means for yet another grasp at life? The danger that threatened him
was twofold, there was the risk of suffocation as well as the peril of
being drowned; could not the inverted canoe be used for a kind of float
at once to keep his head above water and to serve as a screen from the
rushing air? He had some faint recollection of how it had been proved
possible under some such conditions to descend in safety the falls of
Niagara.
Quick as lightning he seized hold of the cross-bench of the canoe, and
with his head out of water beneath the upturned keel, he was dashed
down the furious and well-nigh perpendicular fall.
The craft sank deep into the abyss, but rose quickly again to the
surface. Here was Dick's chance, he was a good swimmer, and his life
depended now upon his strength of arm.
It was a hard struggle, but he succeeded. In a quarter of an hour he
had landed on the left hand bank, where he was greeted with the joyful
congratulations of his friends, who had hurried to the foot of the fall
to assure themselves of his fate.
[Illustration: The bullet shattered the rudder scull into fragments]
The cannibals had all disappeared in the surging waters. Unprotected in
their fall, they had doubtless ceased to breathe before reaching the
lowest depths of the cataract where their lifeless bodies would soon be
dashed to pieces against the sharp rocks that were scattered along the
lower course of the stream.