"There's wan other thing that throubles me," added Barney. "Our food is getting low, sorr. We had such a powerful lot that wan would have thought 'twould last for iver. But in a fortnight we shall be on very short commons; we've been on half rations this week or more."
"That's bad news indeed. But we shall know our fate in a fortnight. The State troops are coming at last, Barney."
Barney pulled a long face when Jack told him about the flotilla he had seen coming up the river. But the next moment he smiled broadly.
"Sure 'twill be our salvation, sorr. There'll be a power uv food on those canoes, and 'twill come in the nick uv time to save us from famine."
"But we've got to capture it first!"
"And won't it be aisy, sorr? It won't drop into our mouths, to be sure, but there's niver a doubt we'll get it by this or that."
Jack smiled at Barney's confidence, which he could hardly share. He estimated that he had about a week's grace before the State troops could arrive, unless they made a forced march ahead of their stores, which was not very likely. He could not look forward without misgiving. Elbel's troops, strongly reinforced and commanded by an experienced military officer, would prove a very different enemy. He doubted whether it would be wise to wait the issue of a fight. Apart from the risk of being utterly crushed, there was a strong political reason against it, as Mr. Arlington did not fail to point out. Hitherto Jack had been dealing with an officer of the Société Cosmopolite, and he could argue reasonably that he was only opposing unwarranted interference. But if he resisted an armed force of the State, it became at once open rebellion.
"You render yourself liable to the punishment of a rebel, Mr. Challoner," said Mr. Arlington, "and your British nationality will not help you. You might be shot or hanged. What I suggest to you is this. When the State forces appear, let me open negotiations with them. They will probably know my name; I have a certain influence in high quarters; I could probably make terms for you."
"But the people, Mr. Arlington! You could not make terms for them. What would happen to them? They would fall into the power of their oppressors, and the old tale would be continued—illegal demands and exactions, floggings, maimings, murders. It was a solemn charge from my uncle to stand by the defenceless negroes; it is no less the dictate of humanity: we, they and I, are in the same boat, sir, and we must sink or swim together."
As it was of supreme importance to Jack to know at what rate the hostile column was moving, he sent out that night Samba, Makoko, and Lingombela with orders to report the progress of the expedition from day to day. By taking the road through the forest they should get into touch with the enemy by the time they reached the place where Mr. Martindale had left his canoes. If the scouts should find themselves unable to return to the fort they were to light a large fire on the spot whence Samba had seen Barney's flag flying, as a signal that the expedition had passed the place in question. If a small column should be coming on in advance they were to light two fires a little apart from one another. Samba was even more light-hearted than usual when he left the fort with his comrades. He seemed to feel that this was a mission of special importance, the prelude to a final victory for Lokolobolo; for the possibility of defeat for Lokolobolo never suggested itself to any man in Ilombekabasi. Mboyo and Lukela were at the wall to bid their son goodbye. He laughed as he slipped down into the darkness.
"Ekeke e'afeka!"[2] he whispered gleefully, and hastened to overtake Makoko and Lingombela, who were already some distance up the gully.
Shortly after dawn next day the sentries reported a sound as of a large body of men moving up the hill. Jack instantly called the garrison to arms. There was a good deal of noise in the darkness above the fort. Here and there a dim light showed for a few moments, and was promptly fired at. When day broke Jack saw that the enemy had built a rough wall of stones loosely piled up, some fifty yards long and about four feet high, parallel with the north wall of the fort, one end resting on the edge of the gully. From a convenient spot in the gully, about two hundred yards above the fort, the enemy could creep to the extremity of the wall without coming under the fire of the garrison. It had evidently been erected to screen some operations going on behind it. To guard against a sortie from the fort a covering force had been placed on the hill a quarter of a mile farther up; and between the ill-fitting stones there were small gaps which would serve as loopholes for the riflemen.
During the day the enemy were hard at work digging a trench under cover of the wall. Jack wondered at first whether Elbel was going to make approaches to the fort by sap and mine, in the manner he had read of in histories of the great sieges. But another and still more disturbing thought occurred to him. Would the trench cut across the line of his conduit? Had Elbel at last fathomed the secret of his water supply? He anxiously examined the landmarks, which had been disturbed somewhat by the construction of the wall. As nearly as he could judge, the spring was a few yards south of the wall, and neither it nor the conduit would be discovered by the men digging the trench. Yet he could not but feel that Elbel's latest move was not so much an attempt to undermine the defences of the fort as to discover the source of its water supply. If he should have hit upon the fact that the water was derived, not from a well inside the walls, but from a spring outside, he would not be long in coming to the conclusion that it must be from a spot opposite the northern face; and by cutting a trench or a series of trenches across the ground in that direction he must sooner or later come upon the conduit.
The work proceeded without intermission during the whole of the day, and apparently without success, for the level of the water in the fort tank did not fall. But Elbel's activity was not stopped by the darkness. When morning dawned Jack saw that during the night an opening about five feet wide had been made in the wall, giving access to a passage-way of about the same height leading towards the fort and roughly covered with logs, no doubt as a protection against rifle fire. Only about twenty yards of this passage-way had been completed. The end towards the fort was closed by a light screen of timber resting on rollers, and sufficiently thick to be impervious to rifle fire, as Jack soon found by experiment. Evidently another trench was to be dug near the fort. To avoid the labour of building a second covering wall, Elbel had hit on the idea of a passage-way through which his men might reach the spot where he desired the new trench to be begun. Protected by the screen, they could dig a hole several feet deep, and then, too low to be hit by shots from the fort, could proceed with the trench in safety.
Jack wondered whether Elbel had not yet heard of the approach of the State forces. Such feverish activity was surely unnecessary when reinforcements were only a few days' march distant. It was Barney who suggested that Elbel had made such a mess of things hitherto that he was eager to do something, to gain a success of some kind, before the regular forces should arrive.
Under cover of the wooden screen the enemy, as Jack had expected, started to dig another trench parallel with the wall. They had no lack of labourers; as soon as one gang was tired another was ready to take its place; and the work was carried on very rapidly. With growing anxiety Jack watched the progress of the trench towards the gully. His conduit was only three feet from the surface of the ground. Judging by the fact that his marksmen never got an opportunity of taking aim at the diggers, the trench must be at least five feet deep; and if an opening were made into the gully the conduit was sure to be exposed. There was just one hope that they would fail. Jack remembered the outcrop of rock which had necessitated the laying of the pipes, for a length of some yards, several feet lower than the general level. If the enemy should happen to have struck this point there was a fair chance of the conduit escaping their search; for, coming upon the layer of rock, they would probably not guess that pipes were carried beneath it. To reassure himself, Jack called up Imbono and Mboyo and asked them if they could locate the spot where the rock occurred. Their impression agreed with his, that it must at any rate be very near the place where the enemy's trench would issue into the gully.
But Jack's anxiety was not relieved at the close of the day, for again the work was carried on all night. He thought of a sortie, but reflected that this would be taken by Elbel as an indication that he was hot on the scent. And while a sortie might inflict loss on the enemy, it would not prevent Elbel from resuming his excavations as soon as the garrison had retired again within their defences.
With great relief Jack at last heard the sound of pick-axes striking on rock. It seemed too good to be true that the enemy had come upon the exact dozen yards of rock where alone the conduit was in little danger of being laid bare. Yet this proved to be the case. In the morning Elbel drew off his workmen, apparently satisfied, before the trench had been actually completed to the gully, that he was on the wrong track. A great load was lifted from Jack's mind. If the secret of the water supply had been discovered, he knew that the end could only be a matter of a few days.
As soon as the enemy drew off, Jack's men issued forth, demolished the wall, and filled up the trench.
Three days passed in comparative inactivity. During these days Jack had much of his time taken up by Mr. Arlington, who required of him a history of all that had happened since the first meeting with Elbel. The traveller made copious jottings in his note-book. He asked the most minute questions about the rubber traffic and the methods of the State and the Concessions; he had long interviews with Imbono and Mboyo, and endured very patiently Lepoko's expanded versions of statements already garrulous; he took many photographs with his kodak of the people who had been maimed by the forest guards, and asked Jack to present him with a chicotte—one of those captured along with the Askari. He said very little, probably thinking the more. Certainly he let nothing escape his observation.
Meanwhile Mr. Dathan was making friends of all the children. Unable to endure the stuffiness of the hut, he had himself carried on a sheltered litter into the open, where, propped up on pillows, his burly form might be seen in the midst of a large circle of little black figures, who looked at him earnestly with their bright intelligent eyes and drank in the wonderful stories he told them. Many of their elders hovered on the fringe of the crowd; and when the lesson was finished, they went away and talked among themselves of Nzakomba[3] the great Spirit Father who, as the bont' ok'ota-a-a-li[4] said, had put it into the heart of Lokolobolo to defend and help them.
Before the dawn one morning Lingombela came into the fort. He reported that the new enemy had only just finished the portage of their canoes and stores. The steamer had been left below the rapids, and the white men were embarking on canoes. There were not enough to convey the whole expedition at one time, although some had been sent down the river to meet them. Two or three had been lost through attempting to save time by dragging them up the rapids. Lingombela had himself seen this, with Samba. Samba had no doubt already told what he had seen, but he did not know about the big gun which could fire as many shots as a hundred men, for the white men had not begun to practise at a mark in their camp above the rapids until Samba had left.
"But we have seen nothing of Samba; where is he?"
"He started to return to Ilombekabasi a day before I did."
"And Makoko?"
"Makoko is still watching."
Lingombela's statement about Samba alarmed Jack. What had become of the boy? Had he fallen into the enemy's hands? It was too much to be feared. What else could have delayed him? In threading the forest none of the scouts could travel so fast as he. If he had started a day before Lingombela he should have gained at least five or six hours.
The news soon flew through the settlement that Samba was missing. Mboyo and his wife came to Jack to ask whether Lingombela had told the truth. Their troubled looks touched Jack, and he tried to cheer them.
"Samba has not arrived yet, certainly," he said, "but he may not have come direct. Something may have taken him out of his course; he would go a long way round if he thought it would be of use to us. Don't be worried. He has gone in and out safely so often that surely he will come by and by."
The negroes went away somewhat comforted. But Jack felt very anxious, and his feeling was fully shared by Barney.
"'Tis meself that fears Elbel has got him," he said. "Pat has been most uncommon restless for two days. He looks up in the face uv me and barks, whin he's not wanting anything at all. 'Tis only Samba can rightly understand all Pat says, and seems to me Pat has got an idea that something has happened to Samba."
An hour later Pat also had disappeared. He had broken his strap and run away.
[1] The highest salutation, given to a person of great dignity.
[2] The last time.
[3] God.
[4] Very tall man.
A small palm, spared for the sake of its welcome shade when the rest of the ground was cleared, sheltered Monsieur Elbel's tent from the fiercest rays of the tropical sun, In the tent Monsieur Elbel, smoking a bad Belgian cigar, his camp chair tilted back to a perilous angle, his feet on a small rickety table, read and re-read with a smile of satisfaction a short official communication that had just reached him from Brussels. Owing to the retirement of the Company's principal agent, and in recognition of Monsieur Elbel's energy in doubling the consignment of rubber from his district during the past year, the Comité had been pleased to appoint Monsieur Elbel to be administrative chief of the Maranga Concession. At the same time the Comité hoped that Monsieur Elbel would see his way to deal promptly and effectively with the reported outbreak at Ilola, without incurring undue expense, and that the American who had been giving trouble, and whose patent was now revoked (with the concurrence of the State) would be persuaded of the necessity of leaving the country.
Monsieur Elbel was gratified by the news of his promotion; although it was his due by all the standards of conduct set up for the guidance of officials, whether State or Trust, charged with the exploitation of Congoland. Under no officer had the development of King Leopold's African dominions gone more blithely forward than under Monsieur Elbel. Where he and his men went they left a wilderness behind them; but the amount of rubber they collected was most gratifying; and if Maranga stock stood high it was largely through their exertions. True, in twenty years there would be no people left in Maranga, even if there were rubber to collect. But after all that was not Monsieur Elbel's concern: in twenty years he would not be on the Congo; those who came after him must find their own collectors. He and the King took short views: sufficient unto the day—they were both men of business. Yes, as a man of affairs Guillaume Elbel was hard to beat. It was no wonder that the Comité had promoted him to the vacant post; if he had been passed by, where would be the inducement to zeal, to loyal faithful service? Where indeed?
In the circumstances Monsieur Elbel was in good humour, a relaxation he rarely allowed himself. He drank the remains of his absinthe, tilted his chair back to the critical angle, and blowing a cloud of smoke skywards saw in the curling eddies visions of snug directorates in Brussels. Why not? He flattered himself there were none who knew more about the Congo than he; he could estimate to a few francs the possibilities of any district as expressed in rubber; and, what is more, he knew how to get it. With him the people always lasted as long as the rubber. There was no waste; he plumed himself on the point.Hehad never burnt a village before the rubber was exhausted, whatever might be said of other agents. For after all, his business was to promote commerce—that is, collect rubber—not mere destruction. And if he did not know his business there was nobody who could teach him. Yes—his Majesty had an eye to men of his stamp. A directorate—a few directorates—a snug place at Court—who knows? ...
Monsieur Elbel again glanced at the official letter; and again smiled and blew a ring artistically true. Then his eye caught the word "expense," and his expression changed. This Ilola difficulty would not only reduce his rubber consignments; it would mean a considerable outlay—how much he did not like to think. And then there was the column of State troops now on its way. No doubt the Concession would have to pay for that, too. Peste! if only he could finish this business before Van Vorst came up! He did not desire the presence of Van Vorst or any other State officer, if it could be avoided. For there was gold in the stream, without a doubt; and those State officials were greedy rascals; they were capable of edging him out—they had no scruples—his moral claim would go for nothing, absolutely. Yes, the fort must be captured at once before Van Vorst came up. If only he could tap the water supply it would be easy enough. It could be done; the little fool had let out so much; but how?—that was what he had to find out, and his name was not Elbel if he couldn't do it.
He rose and went to the door of the tent. A few yards away, securely tied to the trunk of the slender palm, was a negro boy. Monsieur Elbel looked at him critically as if measuring his strength. Last night, although threatened with the chicotte, the boy had refused to speak. Only once, when Elbel had offered him freedom and rewards if he would point out the source of the water in the camp above, did he open his lips, saying fiercely: "I will never tell you!"—betraying to the questioner that he had some knowledge of the secret. Now he had had twelve hours of hunger and thirst to help him to a more reasonable frame of mind. All night the cords had been eating into his wrists and ankles; he was weak from want of food, and consumed with an intolerable thirst. He stood there in the blazing sun, a listless, pitiable figure, held upright only by the thongs that bound his wrists; and Monsieur Elbel as he looked at him, felt not a little irritated. It was absurd that he should be inconvenienced; nay, more, that the development of the Concession should be delayed, and expense incurred—avoidable, unnecessary expense—expense without any return in rubber—all because this slip of a boy refused to tell what he knew.
Elbel beckoned to his servant and interpreter, standing close by, attentive and expectant.
"Tell him," he said, "that I will give him one more chance. If he will not speak he shall be thrashed with the chicotte until he does."
The man roughly grasped the boy by the shoulders and translated his master's words. The captive slowly shook his head.
"Fetch the chicotte," said Elbel sharply. "We'll see what that will do."
The man entered the tent, where the chicotte invariably lay ready to hand; and when he emerged the space in front of Elbel's quarters was filling with Askari and their followers flocking like vultures to the feast. Samba, the son of Mboyo, chief of Banonga, was to be whipped. Boloko had caught him last night: he was a clever man, Boloko. And Samba knew where the Inglesa got the water for his camp, the secret was to be cut from him by the chicotte. That was good; it would be a sight to see.
No time was lost. Elbel signed to the man as he approached, and stepping back left him a clear space to swing the whip. The negro prided himself upon his skill; as Elbel's servant, indeed, he had more opportunities of perfecting himself with this typical instrument of Congo government than falls to most. He could deliver a stroke with great delicacy, raising only a long red weal upon the skin, or if the case called for real severity could cut the offender's flesh from his body almost as neatly as with a knife.
In this case his master desired information; it was not a mere question of punishing a sullen defaulter. He would begin gently lest the prisoner should lose the power of speech and shame the executioner before his master and the crowd.
A slight convulsive shiver shook the boy's frame as the whip fell, but he clenched his teeth and no sound escaped him. The man waited for a moment.
"Will you tell?"
There was no answer.
Again the whip rose and fell, this time with a more vicious sound; it was answered by a low groan; but still to the same question there was no reply.
By slow degrees the executioner increased the vigour of his stroke. The Askari applauded, and surely he was meriting praise from his master, for after many strokes the prisoner was quite conscious, as his pallid face and staring eyes and clenched teeth clearly showed. And besides, did he not writhe and groan with every blow?
But there is no reckoning with the vagaries of the white man. The culprit's obstinate silence irritated Monsieur Elbel more and more as the punishment went on. It was intolerable that he should be defied in this way. It was a bad example to the natives. Where would the white man's authority be if this kind of thing were permitted? They would lose all respect: the collection of rubber would become a farce. Suddenly he blazed out in anger, snatched the whip from the hands of his servant, and, whirling it round his head, brought it down with all his force on the bruised and bleeding form. It cut a deep purple gash in the boy's back; but Monsieur Elbel's wrath had come too late; before the lash fell Samba had fainted.
Elbel hesitated for a moment; then, seeing that further punishment would be a mere waste of time, he gave a curt order. They cut Samba's cords and carried him away. He was to be whipped again to-morrow.
That afternoon Lepoko came to Jack with a broad grin on his face.
"Mbota come back, sah."
"That's the scout of Massa Barney's who was captured, isn't it?"
"Yussah! He come back, sah. Oh! it make me laugh plenty much. Elobela send Mbota back; he say, 'You go back, cut off Lokolobolo him head. Me gib you twenty, fousand, plenty, plenty brass rods!' Mbota say, 'All same, massa. Anyfing what massa like. Me get plenty men what help.' Den Mbota come back; he laugh, sah; Elobela plenty big fool fink him lib for hurt Lokolobolo."
"Bring Mbota to me at once."
When the man came, Jack got out of him a more lucid story than Lepoko had given. Elbel had promised freedom and large rewards if he would stir up a revolt against Jack, or assassinate him. The negro had readily promised, with no intention but to reveal the whole scheme to his beloved Lokolobolo.
Jack was still talking to the man when he heard loud cries. Running out of his hut, he found Barney clutching by the arm a strange negro, thronged about by a shouting crowd of the men of Ilombekabasi.
"Who is he?"
"'Tis wan uv Elbel's men, sorr. Lianza caught him in the forest, and brought him in. The men are simply mad to get at him, sorr, especially since they've heard uv what Elbel said to Mbota."
"Leave him to me. I will deal with him."
The men slowly dispersed. Jack took the trembling negro to his hut and questioned him.
"Do you know anything of Samba, the son of Mboyo and nephew of Boloko, one of your master's men?"
Yes, he knew.—Was there a man in Elobela's camp who did not know?—who had not exulted when the news spread that Samba, the best of Lokolobolo's scouts, had been captured and was to pay the penalty? Surely not a man was absent when Samba suffered the torture. Had not many of them tried in vain to discover the secret which Samba would be forced to betray?
The scout described to Jack the whole pitiful scene, in the glowing language, with the telling dramatic gestures, which the negro has at command when he feels that his audience is interested. And while the man told his story Jack went hot and cold by turns—cold with sheer horror of the scene conjured up by the man's vivid words, hot with a great wrath, a burning passionate desire to seek instant vengeance upon the evildoer.
Bidding Barney keep the negro carefully under guard, he went back to his hut, at the entrance to which Mr. Arlington had been anxiously watching the scene.
"It is devilish, sir," he burst out. "Elbel not only offers rewards for assassinating me, but he uses his brutal whip on a boy, to force him to reveal the secret of our water supply. Samba is probably half-dead—he fainted under the lash but would not betray us—brave little fellow! Think of the agony he must have suffered! And he is only one; thousands have suffered in the same way before him, and are suffering to-day in one part or another of this State. Do you blame me now, sir?"
"No, I don't blame you. I am deeply sorry for the poor boy. The whole thing is an outrage upon human nature, so revolting that any action that can be taken against it is fully justified. I have been thinking over what we said the other day. It is not for me to advise; indeed, my friends at home would open their eyes at the idea of my abetting resistance to authority; but I will give you my opinion. You must hold your fort. While the banner of revolt is kept flying there is always a prospect of forcing the hand of the officials in the direction of effective reform. They have an enormous area to control—a disaffected area seething with indignation against bitter wrong. A successful revolt will encourage outbreaks elsewhere. If you can only hold out; if you can make yourself strong enough here in this remote corner to defy the authorities, it will be an opportunity of forcing the government to terms—to the granting of elementary rights of justice and liberty to its own subjects, and the throwing open of this sorely-afflicted country to free intercourse with the outside world."
"Ah! If only I can do it, sir! But I can only hold the fort now by striking a blow at Elbel before his reinforcements join him. If the forces unite, they will be strong enough to carry on a strict siege. Our food is giving out; the people have been for some time on half rations; they don't grumble, but it will have to be quarter rations soon, and then the end is not far off. We must either surrender or trek."
"If you have to trek, it would be better to do so at once, while you have food to take your party on your way."
"Yes, we must either do that or thoroughly beat Elbel. That would ease the pressure; the others would think twice before attacking us; they might even draw off until an overwhelming force could be brought against us. That would give time for us to grow more crops, and for you to go back to England, sir, and raise your voice against this atrocious government."
"I shall certainly do that. But you talk of fighting Elbel; have you thought of the risk?"
"Till my head aches with thinking. I know that failure will mean ruin. It must be a smashing blow; pin-pricks are no good; and I can't smash him without taking a large force out of the fort. If we were obliged to retreat we should be followed up; they might rush the fort, and there would be an end of everything."
"It is a difficult position. I can't help you; I am not a soldier—it seems to me you ought to be one, Mr. Challoner. I could take no active part; I should in any case be little good. I feel that you have landed me in a very awkward position," he added with a smile. "But it can't be helped now; I can only wait and see you go through with it."
At the back of Jack's mind there was another consideration which he did not mention. He could not have said how far he allowed it to count. It was the bare chance of rescuing Samba—if Samba was still alive. If it had been put to him, he would probably not have admitted it. The good of the community could not be jeopardized by any action on behalf of an individual, whatever his claim; the circumstances were too critical. But that the fate of Samba was an additional argument in favour of the course he was on other grounds inclined to adopt there can be no doubt.
Next day the urgency of the situation was brought home to him. Two fires were seen at the appointed spot; Makoko had done his work. Five or six hours later, just after nightfall, Makoko himself came in. He reported that one white man with twenty soldiers in two canoes, with many paddlers, had started up river in advance of the bulk of the force, which had now reached camp at the head of the rapids. Jack guessed that the white man was the officer in command, probably the Captain Van Vorst of whom Elbel had spoken, coming ahead to view the position and select an encampment for his followers.
About noon on the next day there was a great sound of jubilation from the camp below. Van Vorst, if it was he, had arrived. He must have travelled night and day, the river route being so much longer than the forest one that otherwise he could hardly have reached the camp in another twelve hours. But his paddlers were no doubt pressed men from the riverine villages, costing nothing and having no rights, and a Congo State commandant in a hurry would not hesitate to drive them.
In the afternoon a negro bearing a white flag was seen approaching the fort from the south. He evidently expected to be admitted by the hole in the wall. But at Jack's bidding Lianza of the brazen throat called to him to come round to the gate on the north; it was well to observe due order and ceremony.
The man brought a note signed "Van Vorst," demanding the instant surrender of the fort. In reply Jack wrote asking for the assurance that his people, having acted throughout in self defence against the illegalities of the Société Cosmopolite, should be guaranteed liberty to depart, and immunity except against the regular legal process of the courts. In half an hour the messenger returned with a curt summons to unconditional surrender. Jack sent back a polite refusal, feeling that he had now burnt his boats.
Shortly afterwards he saw a party of three white men and about twenty State soldiers, all armed with rifles, making a tour round the position, keeping carefully under cover. Through his field-glass Jack recognized Elbel, one of his subordinates, and one of the officers he had seen on the steamer. Elbel pointed this way and that with outstretched hand, and appeared to be talking with some excitement. Occasionally they came within easy range of the fort, and Barney begged Jack to let the men fire upon them; but Jack resolutely stuck to his determination to refrain from provocation.
The party by and by reached a position above the fort, near the spot whence the abortive barrel-rolling had been started. From this place a small area of the fort enclosure was open to the view of the enemy. All at once Jack saw the strange officer take a rifle from one of the soldiers and raise it to his shoulder. Jack instantly ordered his men, who were crowding the wall, to drop down out of sight. The officer fired: there was a moment's silence; then Jack heard a great yell of rage from the men behind him. Turning, he saw an old woman lying huddled in the centre of the enclosure. Two calabashes lay near; she had been crossing the exposed portion of the area to fetch water from the tank when Van Vorst's bullet struck her. A shout of delight from the negro soldiers up the hill acclaimed the successful shot of their officer; the old woman was quite dead.
Jack went hot with rage. And Mr. Arlington, who had witnessed the officer's action, was stirred out of his usual philosophic calm.
"That is not an act of warfare, Mr. Challoner, but of sheer savagery—the act of a callous marksman showing off. It invites reprisal."
"You see how the State treats its subjects, Mr. Arlington. They have taken cover; it's too late to fire now. But it settles the matter for me. The State has fired the first shot and killed a non-combatant. I shall do my best this very night to deal the enemy a staggering blow."
During the inaction of the past two days Jack had been carefully thinking out his plan. Stout-hearted as he was, he felt oppressed by the difficulties of his position. He had now four hundred men in all; scarcely a hundred of them were armed with rifles, and not more than fifty were practised shots. How could he hope to dislodge from a stockaded camp more than seven hundred, of whom some two hundred and fifty, including Van Vorst's advance guard, were riflemen? It seemed at the best a desperate hazard, but the alternative was worse, and having resolved upon his course he rejected all half measures. Some few of his own men must be left in the fort, if only to prevent a panic; but those must be the minimum—he would need every man he could muster. He was staking all on the cast of a die; it would never do to risk failure by timorousness in using all his effective combatant strength. He would throw his whole available force against the enemy in one supreme effort to break and scatter him.
The offensive, he knew, counted for much, especially with men who had not known defeat. Where he and Barney led he felt sure they would follow. But a check might be fatal. A single well-directed volley from the enemy might sweep his little company of riflemen away, and his spearmen would then never get to close quarters.
He gave full weight to all these considerations. But having decided that the attempt must be made he devoted long hours of anxious thought to the devising of a plan that would give best promise of success. He had to do his thinking alone. Barney was a fighter, not a strategist. He could be trusted to strike hard and carry out orders to the minutest detail; he could not plan or organize. Mr. Arlington and the missionary of course must not be consulted. So that when Barney was called into Jack's hut that afternoon, it was to learn particulars of a scheme worked out by Jack alone. When he left it an hour or two later, his eyes were glowing with a new light.
"Sure 'tis me chance that has come at last!" he said to himself.
It was two o'clock in the morning. Ilombekabasi was astir. Men and boys were moving this way and that. The night was dark, but by the light of the small lamps kept burning before a few of the principal huts it could be seen that every face was tense with excitement and a subdued energy. In one spot congregated the maimed people, armed with such weapons as they could wield, for the news that a great movement was intended had spread in the camp, and every man and many of the girls and women had begged to be allowed to bear arms. Near the south-eastern blockhouse the bulk of the able-bodied men and boys were squatting, rifles and spears lying beside them. At the gate in the north wall stood twenty-five men, the picked men of the corps, the men whom Lokolobolo had twice led out to victory. There was Lepoko, all smiles and consequence. There was Makoko, hugging his rifle as though he loved it. There was Lianza of the brazen throat, and Lingombela the man of hard bargains, and Imbono, the prudent chief of Ilola, and Mboyo, solemn and silent, thinking of Samba. On the ground lay a number of bundles and bales, large and small.
A group approached the gate from Lokolobolo's hut. Lokolobolo himself, and Barnio, as the natives called him, came first, walking slowly side by side. Behind came Mr. Arlington, his strong features fixed impassively. At his side was the litter of Mr. Dathan, borne by four negroes.
"Is it quite clear?" said Jack to Barney. "You have twenty good men here, besides another twenty of the maimed who may be of use in an emergency. Batukuno will be left in command. All the rest will go with you; yes, let the boys go; they can use their knives even if they cannot throw a spear. Get them all paraded an hour before dark, ladder men first. Keep them as quiet as you can. Wait till you hear shots in the enemy's camp; that will be the signal. Then send your men out, over the stockade by the south-eastern blockhouse; they can scramble down the slope there. You had better take half of them first and form them up at the bottom. The rest can follow as soon as they see you move off. Lead them at the double straight down the hill and fling them at the stockade. The second party will be just in time to support you if the first rush is checked. But there must be no check; we daren't admit the possibility. This is your job, Barney."
"Amen, sorr. For the honour uv ould Ireland and the sake uv these poor niggers I'll do me very best."
"I know you will, old fellow."
They grip hands, looking into each other's eyes. This may be their last good-bye. One long hand-clasp, one moment of tense emotion, then, clearing his throat, Jack gives an order to his men. They stoop to their bundles, then file quietly out of the gate. Each man has a package to carry, such a package as forms part of every white man's baggage in Africa: one a trunk, another a gun-case, a third a canvas bag, others bales of various kinds. Two strong negroes at the end of the line bear, slung on ropes, a package, strangely shapeless, and to all appearance particularly heavy.
The last has gone out into the darkness. Then Jack turns once more.
"Good-bye, Mr. Arlington."
"Good-bye! Success to you."
"Good-bye, Mr. Dathan."
"God help you, my dear lad," says the missionary.
Then Jack too leaves Ilombekabasi, and the darkness swallows him up.
Towards dusk on the following evening, a party of twenty-five carriers were marching through the forest in the direction of Elbel's stockaded camp. In the midst were four men carrying a litter. They followed the path leading from the river—the path along which Captain Van Vorst had come a few days earlier. For some time they had been shadowed by a negro bearing the arms of a forest guard. They paused for a few moments to rest, and the negro, apparently satisfied by his observations, came up and accosted them.
"You are the servants of Mutela?"
"Yes, that is so. Has Mutela arrived?"
Mutela was the native name for Van Vorst.
"Oh yes! He came two or three days ago."
"Are we on the right road?"
"Certainly. The camp is but a little way beyond us. I will lead you to it. You have heavy loads."
"Ah! Mutela is a man of riches. He has many pots, and many bottles, and very many coats for his back. And guns too; see, here is his elephant rifle. Mutela is a great hunter; a great man of war."
"True, he is a great man of war. Yesterday he killed a woman in the fort of the Inglesa. I saw it. I laughed; we all laughed; it was so funny! But who is in the litter?"
"A white officer. Oh yes! He is as great a man of war as Mutela. But he is sick; white men so easily turn sick! And he sleeps, although it is a rough road."
"Aha! It is a pity he is sick. Mutela will be sorry. Mutela is going to kill all the men in the Inglesa's fort. Lokolobolo they call him. Aha! we shall see how strong he is! See, there is the camp yonder through the trees."
When the party were still within some yards of the gate, the scout gave a hail. It was answered by a negro whose face appeared just above the stockade. By the time the leading men reached the gate it had been thrown open by one of Elbel's European subordinates, and a crowd of negro soldiers and hangers-on was collected to witness the entrance of the white officer and Mutela's baggage.
Lepoko, who had led the file, deposited his bundle just inside the gate and burst into a roar of laughter, holding his sides and bending his body in uncontrollable mirth. He was soon surrounded by a crowd of negroes, to whom he began to relate a very funny story; how Ekokoli, the daring Ekokoli, had mounted a crocodile's back just below the rapids, and had a splendid ride. The comical story set the throng laughing in chorus, and they begged to hear it again. Meanwhile, the rest of the carriers had filed in with their burdens, the litter had been set down, and the white officer, though so sick, stepped out quite briskly to greet the Belgian, whose attention was divided between the laughing negroes and his guest. At the same time the four bearers drew out from the litter a rifle apiece—for a sick man rifles surely made an uncomfortable couch!—and also half a dozen objects which to a man of Ilombekabasi would have looked suspiciously like fire-balls. From the packages which lay near the gate each of the other carriers with a single pull abstracted a Mauser or an Albini; while the two men who had staggered along at the end of the line under the weight of a clumsy heavy bundle dropped it in the gateway with a thud that suggested the fall of a rock rather than a carrier's ordinary load. It lay against the gate, preventing it from being closed.
Lepoko was already telling his story for the second time. Elbel's officer, about to speak to the sick white man, who had just stepped out of the litter, suddenly hesitated, wheeled round, and with a loud cry of alarm rushed toward the centre of the camp, where, in a large tent, Elbel was at that moment regaling Captain Van Vorst with a dinner that did much credit to his native cook. His cry passed unnoticed by the delighted negroes whom Lepoko was so humorously entertaining. But next moment they choked their guffaws, and, without waiting for the end of the story, scampered with more speed than grace after their white officer towards Elobela's tent. What had startled them? The sick man from the litter, after one hasty glance round, had suddenly fired into the air the rifle he bore. And the carriers who seemed so tired and so glad to lay down their burdens had all at once sprung into feverish activity. Dividing into two parties they had disappeared behind the huts nearest to the stockade on each side of the gateway, and if the hubbub had not been so great, an attentive listener might have heard sundry scratches that ensued upon their disappearance. But there was no one to hear. The garrison of the camp were rushing still towards the centre with loud cries; the carriers and the sick officer were no longer to be seen; and what was this? Clouds of smoke, thick, acrid, suffocating, were floating on the south wind from the huts towards Elobela's tent.
And now the camp was in an uproar. Mingled with the yells of alarm were distinct cries, "Mutela!" "Elobela!" "Lokolobolo!" And amid all the din came ever and anon the sharp piercing bark of a dog.
Monsieur Guillaume Elbel, of the Société Cosmopolite du Commerce du Congo, had just opened a second bottle of Madeira for the delectation of his guest Captain Van Vorst, of the Congo State Forces. The dinner had been a good one; the Captain had praised his cook, the best cook on the Congo; and Monsieur Elbel was in better humour than he had been since the arrival of the State troops. He was even pleasantly boasting of the coming triumph at Ilombekabasi, and discussing what they should do with the Englishman after they had caught him, when sounds from outside so startled him that he poured the wine on to the tablecloth instead of into the glass, and interrupted himself with the sudden exclamation—
"What's that?"
He snatched up a rifle and hurried out, followed more slowly by his companion, who had seen too many camp quarrels to be greatly alarmed by this sudden outbreak. Elbel at first could distinguish nothing in the confusion. The short dusk of a tropical evening was already becoming darkness, but he could see that crowds of men were pouring out of the huts, rushing, hustling, in a state that was very like panic. And a pungent smoke saluted his nostrils; it was drifting in great whorls northwards over the camp, and surely behind it he saw here and there little red flashes of flame.
Who had fired that shot which had so shaken Monsieur Elbel's hand? He did not know; it had been a single shot; surely the camp could not be attacked, for other shots would have followed long before this. But the moment he appeared outside the tent a volley rang out, and Elbel saw that it was fired by his own men into the midst of the smoke. He was hurrying across the camp to inquire into the meaning of all this when a volley flashed from the other direction—from the very heart of the smoke. Shrieks proclaimed that some of the shots had told. "Fools!" cried Elbel, "don't you see they're screened by the smoke, whoever they are? What's the good of firing when you can't take aim? Curse that dog! I can't hear myself speak!"
Another volley flashed from the smoke. Men were dropping on every side; there were wild rushes for cover. Soon the central space was deserted, and the panic-stricken garrison fled for shelter behind the huts on the north side of the camp. While Elbel and Van Vorst were shouting themselves hoarse in a vain attempt to stem this tide of flight, the sergeant who had opened the gate had rushed to the north side, where Van Vorst's contingent were quartered, and hastily got them into some sort of order, together with those of Elbel's men who, having their huts on that side, has been less affected by the sudden alarm. Dividing the company of about a hundred men into two parties, he sent them skirmishing forward in the spaces between the huts towards the enemy he supposed to be approaching on the east and west.
That enemy, however, was not approaching. Jack had fired the huts and thrown the camp into confusion; his little party was not strong enough to turn the confusion to utter rout. Its smallness would be perceived if he led it into the open; his was a waiting game. The wisdom of his policy was soon proved. A sharp volley came from the men whom the Belgian sergeant had got together. Jack heard the man beside him groan heavily and fall to the ground; then he himself felt a stinging burning pain below the left knee. He called to his men to keep within cover, and hastily bound a handkerchief about the wound. And now the wind dropped, and the smoke which had hitherto screened his movements floated upwards. A scattering volley from the enemy reduced his band by two more men. The State troops were working round on each side of him; and the red glare from the burning huts was lighting up the whole camp. It would soon be seen how small his little company was; then one determined rush would annihilate it.
Less than four minutes had passed since he entered the gate; it seemed an age. Would Barney never come? Why was he delaying? Surely he had heard the signal shot; surely by this time he must have seen the ruddy glare! The enemy were regaining confidence; their cries of alarm were changed to yells of defiance. Elbel and Van Vorst had taken command, one on each side; each was steadily moving down from the northern stockade towards the gate. Barney, Barney, will you never come?
Hark! What is that? The cries of the enemy are suddenly drowned in a babel of yells behind them. They halt, amazed; Van Vorst shouts an order; the men wheel round and dash northwards, leaving only a few to watch the rear. The Belgian sees now the meaning of this daring scheme. What has he to gain by routing the little band behind? Before him is pandemonium; a whole host must be upon him; here is the danger to be met.
But he is too late! "Lokolobolo! Lokolobolo!" Two hundred voices roar the name. And Lokolobolo himself sees a portion of the northern stockade black with moving figures, and rifle barrels, spear heads, gleaming red in the light of the flaming huts. Towards him rushes the greater part of the garrison, their first fright trebled. These guards of the forest can fight unarmed despairing rubber collectors, but their hearts are as water when the villagers prove to be men. Let the men in uniform, the clad soldiers of Bula Matadi, fight if they will; this is no place for forest guards; the gate! the gate!
Van Vorst's handful of more disciplined men present a bolder front to the enemy. But it would need many times the number he can muster to break the wave of exultant warriors now swarming over the stockade. There is Barney! Jack sees him drop to the ground, brandishing in one hand a rifle, an ancient cutlass in the other. "Hurroo! hurroo!" he shouts. A second, no more, and then the crest of the wave breaks over the stockade into the camp.
"Barnio! Lokolobolo!" With a great roar the men of Ilombekabasi follow their leader. They are already sweeping the garrison like sea-wrack before them, when another wave comes tumbling behind, the shrill cries of boys mingling with the deeper shouts of the men. See, they come, furiously, irresistibly! And who is this? A tall white-clad figure springs over with the movement of a hurdle-racer. It is Mr. Arlington himself, stirred for the nonce out of his habitual calmness, caught up and carried away in this roaring current.
The enemy fire once, then, though Van Vorst may rave and storm, they turn their backs and flee helter-skelter for the gate. "Lokobololo! Barnio!" The tempestuous war-cries pursue them. Struggling, yelling, they converge to the narrow gateway. It is jammed, wedged tight with human forms, squeezed by the presence of the frantic crowd behind into a solid mass of feebly struggling wretches lost to all consciousness but that of a great fear. The weaker men fall and are trampled to death; the stronger push and pull, and scramble over the fallen, mad with fright. Some win through or over, and rush with blind haste into the forest. Others, despairing of escape by that one constricted outlet, climb the palisade. Some impale themselves on the sharp-pointed stakes, and, hapless benefactors! serve as gangways for their comrades who follow.
Seeing the utter rout of the enemy, Jack had already ordered his men to cease fire. His end was gained; he had no lust for useless slaughter. But although Makoko and Lingombela and the rest with him loyally obeyed, nothing could check the storming party. They heard nothing, saw nothing, but the enemy in front. Not one of them but had a father, or mother, a wife or child, to avenge—a ruined home, a blasted life. As well attempt to bridle the whirlwind as this infuriate flood. On and on they pressed, past the spot where Jack held his men in leash; and as they ran they shot and stabbed, yelling "Barnio! Lokolobolo!" And as they were accustomed to receive no mercy, so now, in this hour of retribution, they gave none.
As Jack made his way towards the gateway, hoping to do something to ensure quarter for the fleeing wretches, he caught sight of a figure crawling painfully forth from a burning hut. At one moment he recognized the man and the man him.
"Nando!" he cried.
"Sabe me, massa!"
"Getaway to the other end. Wait for me there. Any other men in the hut?"
"No, massa, no! only me!"
But as he turned to run Jack heard the bark which ever and anon had struck his ears during these full minutes, and felt a tug at his coat. The cloth, already tattered, gave way; but Pat caught his trousers, then ran a little way ahead, then back again, then once more towards the burning hut. Tearing off his coat, Jack wrapped it round his head and dashed in. The smoke was so dense that nothing could be seen save here and there spurts of flame. Scarcely able to breathe he flung himself on the ground and began to grope round the right of the hut. By and by his hands touched a human body, and then the shaggy coat of the terrier. Lifting the body in both arms he staggered with it to the entrance, guided by the dog's barks. He gasped and drew long breaths when once again he came into the open air; but as he laid his burden upon the ground he stumbled and fell beside it, sick and dizzy.
Samba rescued from the burning hutSamba rescued from the burning hut
He was unconscious but for a few moments. When he came to himself and sat up, he saw that Samba lay in his father's arms. Mboyo was sobbing, rocking his body to and fro, murmuring endearing words. Pat was stretched beside him, his eyes fixed on Samba, his ears pricked forward.
"He dies, O Lokolobolo!" said Mboyo piteously, seeing Jack rise.
"No, no! Get water! Take him to the other end of the camp. I will come to you when I can."
Jack hurried off. Many of the huts were blazing; now that the fire had done its part it must be checked, or the stores and ammunition which would be invaluable in Ilombekabasi would be destroyed. Collecting such of the men as had not dashed out of the camp in pursuit of the enemy, Jack set them to beat out the flames where they could, and to demolish one or two of the still unburnt huts that were most in danger of catching fire. Luckily the wind had dropped; there was little risk of sparks or cinders flying through the air.
Then he set some of the boys to make torches, and by their light he surveyed the camp. He shuddered as he passed over the scene of the disastrous flight and pursuit. The forms of dead and wounded lay scattered over the ground. He ordered Nando and other of Mr. Martindale's carriers who had been left in the camp to attend the wounded as well as they were able, and sternly forbade the despatching of those of the enemy who were still alive but unable through injuries to escape. Then he went towards the gate. It was with a shock that he saw, amid the black bodies crushed to death in the gateway, the white-clad form of Van Vorst. In that terrible struggle for precedence the white man's skin had not saved him. But he was the only European left in the camp; Jack looked for Elbel and his subordinate; they were nowhere to be seen.
Complete darkness had settled over the country, and put a stop to the pursuit. Jack's men began to return, at first in ones and twos, by and by in groups that grew larger as the night drew on. They came laughing and singing; once more Elobela, even aided by Mutela, had been beaten by Lokolobolo. What a night it was for the men of Ilombekabasi! And Barnio!—was it not Barnio who had led them to the stockade with that wild war-cry of his? They must not forget Barnio! and Lianza made a song as he marched back to the camp:
Barnio! Barnio!Down from the fortyFrom Ilombekabasi,Dashed in the night,Sought Elobela,Cruel Mutela.Hurroo! Hurroo!Barnio leads,After him black men,Hundreds and thousands,Sweep like the wind,Rage like the torrent,Over the wall.Hurroo! Hurroo!Big clouds of smoke,Forests of flame,Into the midst,Barnio! Barnio!Over the wall,Into the camp,Straight for the gateBarnio rushes,After him black men.Hurroo! In the gateThousands of black men,Only one white man,Cruel Mutela!Ha! He will never,Never whip black men,Never kill women,Never kill children,Laugh again never!Dead is Mutela!Why do we sing?Why do we laugh?Whom do we praise?Barnio! Barnio!Lokolobolo!Friends of Imbono,Friends of the black menOf Ilombekabasi.Hurroo!Begorra!
Barney came back to the camp tired out. Following up the only party that seemed to have cohesion after leaving the fort—a party led by the Belgian sergeant—he had soon found himself left far behind in the race. But his men had done their work thoroughly; they had dispersed the band, few of whom escaped.
"'Twas for this I was born, sorr," said Barney as he gripped Jack's hand. "Sure I'll be a fighter for iver more."
"You did splendidly, old fellow. I knew all was well when I heard your hurroo! But there are five hundred men roaming the country and only a score of able-bodied men in our fort. We must look after that. Get fifty fellows together and send them back under Imbono, Barney."
"And what'll ye be afther doing yourself, sorr?"
"Oh! I'm going down to the river. The job's only half done while that flotilla is intact. I'm going to have a shot at it before the enemy get over their fright. I'll take a couple of hundred men with me. You'll keep a hundred and remove all the stores and ammunition here to the fort; get the women and children to help; you can light the way with flares. When the camp's empty burn it. And look after Samba, Barney; he's here, nearly dead, poor little chap! Mboyo's got him; we'll go and see how he is getting on."
Making their way to the north side of the camp they found Samba laid on the floor of a hut, his father on one side of him, Pat on the other. The dog leapt up excitedly when he saw his master, and invited him with a yelp to come and see Samba. By the light of a torch Barney tenderly examined the boy. He was conscious, and smiled, even though he winced under the gentlest of touches.
"Ochone! Ochone!" exclaimed Barney. "'Tis the divil's own work, sorr. His poor flesh is wan jelly. By all the holy powers, if I catch that murdering ruff'n uv a fellow, that Elbel—— And I've no ointment at all at all. Bedad! but now I remimber Mr. Arlington has a whole docthor's shop in wan uv his traps, and if he hasn't got boracic ointment among his stuff, sure I'll think a mighty deal less uv him. 'Twill take a month or more, sorr, to heal all the wounds on this poor body; but we'll do it, plase God! and make a man of him yet."
"He dies, O Lokolobolo?" said Mboyo, looking up yearningly into Jack's face.
"No, Barnio says no. He is very ill, but in a month he may be well, and Barnio says he is going to make a man of him."
"Bolotsi O! Bolotsi O!" cried the negro, slapping his thighs. "N'dok 'olo aiyoko!"[1]
He laughed and clapped his hands like a child.
"It was Pat that showed me where Samba was," said Jack to Barney. "Nando was tied up in a hut with him—he must have been captured with dear old Uncle—and the wretch saved himself by burning his ropes through and left Samba to perish in the flames. Pat dragged me to the spot."
"The darlint is worth his weight in gold," cried Barney delighted. "That's twice he has saved Samba, sorr. Black men and white men are brothers, or ought to be, and there's niver a doubt that dogs are cousins at the very least. And beggin' your pardon, sorr, I'll take a pleasure in kicking Nando whin I get a look uv him. 'Tis a little military discipline he needs, to be sure."
"You can give him that in the fort. And by the way, you'll find a lot of rifles here; the enemy either hadn't time to get hold of them or else threw them away. Arm some of our spearmen; they can tell the muzzle from the stock at any rate, and if any attempt is made to rush the fort they could do a good deal of damage at close quarters. And keep scouts out. We don't know the exact whereabouts of Van Vorst's main body, and it won't do to risk anything. But I hope you won't have any trouble."
Bidding Barney farewell, Jack called up Makoko and Lingombela, and sent them out with orders to discover the exact position of the flotilla, and to return at daybreak. An hour afterwards, with a hundred and fifty picked spearmen, sixty rifles, and a body of carriers with food for three days, he began a night march to the river. He himself was unable to walk. His wound was becoming more and more painful, but he had said nothing about it to Barney, being resolved not to spare himself while anything remained to be done to complete his work. Four men, relieved at frequent intervals, carried him in the litter of which he had made such effective use to gain an entrance to the enemy's camp. This time, he thought with a smile, there was no pretence about it.
He guessed that Van Vorst's flotilla would be found about half way between Ilola and the spot where Mr. Martindale's canoes had been hidden. It was one day's march across country, a much longer distance by the river. For some hours he followed the path on which his uncle and he had been escorted by the Askari. The recollection of that march brought sad thoughts to his mind. Lying in the litter amid his men, as the column wound its slow way along the forest track, the red glare of their torches throwing weird shadows around, he had plenty of time for melancholy reflections. The incidents of his uncle's last days were burnt into his memory. He remembered the drawn, wasted features, now pale with exhaustion, now bright with the hectic flush of fever; the quick uneasy breath; the slow labouring voice. He remembered the tale of persecution and wrong. More than all he remembered the earnest, passionate words in which the dying man had bequeathed to him the cause of the Congo natives, and besought him to use his utmost strength on their behalf. "Dear old Uncle!" he thought; "I am trying to do what you would have wished me to do. I can't do much; this is only a small corner of the plague-ridden country; how many thousands of poor people are without even such help as I can give! But it will be something if only the few hundreds in Ilombekabasi can regain and keep a little of their former happiness; and Uncle would be pleased; he is pleased, if he knows."
Then the other side of the picture stood out sharply to his mental view. He saw the fleeing crowds of the enemy; the jammed gateway; the camp enclosure strewn with dead and wounded. Once or twice, even, his marching column came upon wounded men, too weak to crawl away into the bush, and he could do nothing for them. This terrible loss of life, this misery—was not this too due to the evil government of a monarch who, far away, in wealth and luxury and ease, spoke with two voices—one the voice of beneficence, benignity, zeal for peace and good order; the other the voice of greed, avarice, the callous demand for riches even at the price of blood? "Botofé bo le iwa! Rubber is death!"—the woful proverb haunted him like a knell: death to the dwellers in this well-favoured land, death to the minions of the power that oppressed them, death to those who, like his uncle, dared to make a stand for freedom and found themselves engulfed in the whirlpool of injustice and wrong.
As Jack approached the river, these gloomy thoughts gave way to the necessities of the moment. Lepoko, leading the column, announced that the river was very near. Then Jack ordered the torches to be put out, and the men to creep forward even more silently than they had already done. Had news of the storming of the camp been carried, he wondered, by fugitives to the flotilla? Since they had left the direct path to the river and struck obliquely towards it there had been no sign of fugitives. He supposed that the scared enemy had kept to the route they knew, and would follow the river bank until they reached the canoes. This involved many extra miles through the winding of the stream, unless the flotilla had come farther up than he thought was likely.
The principal danger was that some of Elbel's scouts, knowing the country better than the majority of the garrison, might already have taken the short cut Jack was now taking and would reach the flotilla before him. There were two white officers in charge; they might set off at once to the relief of their superior and reach the fort while Jack was still absent. Would Barney be strong enough to hold out against them?
The march was continued with brief rests throughout the night. Shortly after dawn a man sprang panting out of the thicket to the right of the path, and hurried to Jack's litter.
"O Lokolobolo!" he cried, "I have news!"
Jack saw that it was Lofundo, sub-chief of Akumbi.
"It was in the smoke and the flame, Lokolobolo. I saw Elobela, with fear in his face, climb over the fence and rush out into the night. After him I sprang—I, and Bolumbu, and Iloko, and others. It was Elobela, the cruel, the pitiless! After him, into the night! but first Iloko tired, then Bolumbu, then the others. I, Lofundo, I did not tire; no; was it not Elobela whose men ill-used and slew my people and burnt my village, and who with his own hands flogged my son? I ran and ran, hot on his trail, and in the morning light I came up with him, and saw him with fear in his face; and I had my knife; and now Elobela is dead, yonder, in the forest."
"Is it far, Lofundo?"
"A little march in the forest, Lokolobolo."
Jack had himself carried to the spot. There, beneath a tree, covered with felled branches and leaves to protect it from beasts, lay the stark body of Guillaume Elbel. Jack could not help pitying the wretch whose zeal in an evil cause had brought him to so miserable an end. But as he thought of the misery this man had caused—the ruined homes, the desolated lives: as he remembered his uncle, lying in his lonely grave, and Samba, lacerated by this man's cruel whip, pity froze within him.
"Cover him up," he said.
He waited while his men buried Elbel, there at the foot of the tree.
"Let us go!" he said; "we have work to do."
When Jack's column, according to Lepoko, was still an hour's march from the river, Lingombela, one of the advance scouts, came back with a negro in his grasp. He had captured him, said Lingombela, as he was running from the river into the forest. Jack questioned the man through Lepoko. He said that his name was Bandoka, and he had been a paddler in Mutela's flotilla, and had suffered many times from the chicotte; he showed the marks on his back. Just after daybreak several men had come rushing madly into the clearing on the river bank where the soldiers of Bula Matadi had halted for the night. There was great confusion in the camp. He had heard it said among the paddlers that there had been a fight up the river at the Inglesa's fort, and that the men of Elobela had been badly beaten. The paddlers had already heard the name of Lokolobolo. The fugitives said that Mutela was sorely in need of help, and the white officer had at once started up the river in swift canoes, with most of the fighting men, leaving the rest to follow with the carriers. In the confusion attending the departure of the force with three days' stores, Bandoka had contrived to slip away into the forest. He would rather brave anything than endure further service with Bula Matadi.
Jack's first thought on hearing this news was that it simplified his position. The Congo officers had two days' journey before them; it was strange if he, with his lightly equipped force of men thoroughly acquainted with the country, knowing the short cuts through the forest, the fordable places on the river, could not do much to impede and harass their advance. But on subsequent reflection a still bolder course suggested itself to him. Was it possible to cut off the main body from its stores? The fighting men under their white commander had already started up the river; the stores would follow more slowly; Jack's line of march would strike the river at a point between the two portions of the enemy's force. If he could capture the stores, would he not have the main body at his mercy?
"How many fighting men are left to escort the canoes?" he asked.
"Him say no can tell. He run away plenty soon; plenty much nise, all talk one time."
In the absence of precise information Jack could only conjecture. The news brought by the fugitive from Elbel's camp was such that a force despatched in support would probably consist of at least two-thirds of the available combatant strength. The officer must be aware that a body of men that could defeat Elbel with his seven hundred mixed troops could scarcely be met with less than two hundred and fifty rifles. No doubt he would expect to be joined by some of Elbel's men; the full magnitude of the disaster would hardly be known; and like any other white commander he would be inclined to discount the alarmist reports of the fugitives. It would be safe to assume, thought Jack, that not more than a hundred rifles had been left with the stores. How many of the paddlers were also fighting men, how many impressed like Bandoka, it was impossible to guess.
"Bandoka is sure the white officers are not coming through the forest?" he asked, as the bare chance of meeting them occurred to him.
"Sartin sure, massa. Dey come in boats. Bandoka he fit to paddle in white man's canoe. 'No, no,' he say; 'me no like dat. White man lib for go too fast; me know what dat mean; dat mean chicotte!' Den he run away, sah."
"Well, I wish I knew a little more about the men with the stores."
"Know plenty more one time," said Lepoko, pointing ahead. "Dat am Makoko."
Makoko, a scout in a thousand, had brought just the news Jack most desired. He had counted the fighting men on the canoes: there were a hundred and ten with rifles and more than two hundred with spears. On each cargo canoe there was a rifleman—to encourage the paddlers, thought Jack. The flotilla had just started when Makoko left the river, at least two hours after the main body had left. One white officer had gone with the swift canoes, a second remained with the stores. The line of boats was headed by two large war canoes, each containing twenty riflemen besides the paddlers; and two similar canoes similarly manned brought up the rear.
It was clear to Jack that the enemy was doing everything possible to hasten progress. But the canoes were heavily laden, and the paddlers had the stream against them. Meanwhile Barney must be warned of the approaching expedition. Jack was not anxious about the fate of the fort. Behind the walls Barney's hundred and twenty riflemen and three times as many spearmen could easily hold their own. The enemy's machine gun, a deadly weapon in the open, would be of little use against stone walls. So, confident in Barney's ability to sit tight, Jack sent Lingombela back through the forest to give him timely notice of the troops coming towards him by the river.
The arrangements made by the officer in charge of the convoy of stores, as reported by Makoko, were well enough adapted for progress through a country in which the natives, even if hostile, were armed only with bows and arrows or spears. By keeping in mid-stream the canoes were practically out of danger from the banks, and an enemy on the water could be effectively dealt with by the leading canoes, carrying a strong force of riflemen armed with Albinis. The similar force acting as a rearguard discouraged any tendency on the part of the crews of the store-boats to bolt down stream. And each canoe had a forest guard ready with a chicotte to stimulate the paddlers' zeal.