Thetwo chums berthed in separate cabins. On account of Desmond's weak lungs he was compelled by the company's rules to sleep in a part of the ship set apart for persons suffering from pulmonary complaints.
Consequently Colin had to have another cabin-mate, since every available berth had been booked weeks before theHuldebraswas due to sail.
When Colin went below to see to his cabin trunk, he found his future "opposite number" engaged upon the same errand—a tall, heavily-built bearded man of about forty years of age.
"Don't apologise," said the man. "You have as much right here as I have. We're cabin-mates, are we not? What is your name?"
Colin told him.
"Mine's Van der Wyck," volunteered the other. "Heard that name before?"
"It's Dutch, isn't it?" asked Colin.
The bearded man laughed, displaying a double row of large white teeth.
"Was once," he replied. "I'm an Afrikander; do you know what that is? Well, a Boer, if you like! See that?"
He turned up his coat-sleeve, revealing a bluish mark on his bronzed skin.
"That's a bullet wound," he continued. "I got that twenty years ago at Paardeberg, fighting against the British. See that?"
Van der Wyck lifted one leg, and, pulling up the trouser-leg a few inches, revealed the fact that he wore an artificial foot.
"Got that in 1916 fighting for the British in German East Africa," he explained proudly. "Bit of a scrap close to a place called Kilembonga. Don't suppose you've ever heard of the place."
"I have," declared Colin. "That's where I'm going."
"Allemachtag!" exclaimed the Afrikander. "I hope you will enjoy the place better than I did. But, then, Fritz with a rifle is no longer there. What are you going to Kilembonga for—ivory? There are plenty of elephants, and lions, too."
"No, mining," replied Colin, "or, rather, mining engineering."
Van der Wyck looked at his youthful cabin-companion with a quizzical air.
"You would do better in the Witwatersrand," he observed, and without offering anyexplanation, he busied himself with the contents of his trunk.
For the next three days Colin kept to his bunk. His high hopes of becoming a good sailor were rudely dashed, not exactly to the ground, but somewhere else of a less solid nature. In nautical parlance, he was "mustering his bag," or, in plain language, he was horribly seasick.
All the way down Channel and across the Bay theHuldebraswas followed by a strong nor'-easterly wind, that made the ship roll far worse than if she had encountered a head wind.
Colin had some slight satisfaction in the knowledge that he was not the only passenger out of action withmal-de-mer. The steward, who brought and took away twelve untasted meals, informed him that only half-a-dozen of the second-class were up and about.
On the morning of the fourth day Colin dressed and went on deck. He still felt far from well, but he was able to eat breakfast. There was no sign of Tiny Desmond, and it was not until late that afternoon that that very woe-begone-looking youth staggered out of his cabin.
But before theHuldebrassighted Las Palmas Colin had recovered his normal spirits, while Desmond looked better than he had done for weeks past. The rest of the passengers, too,were finding their sea-legs, and taking an interest in deck games.
In spite of the difference of ages, the two chums got on splendidly with Van der Wyck. Apart from the fact that he knew the district to which they were bound, he was a "thundering good sort." He retained the quiet, unassuming manner of a veldt farmer, combined with the experience gained by travelling in other portions of the Empire to which he was proud to belong.
Like many of his veldt friends and neighbours, he had been an ardent supporter of President Kruger, but the generous concessions accorded the conquered Boers had speedily been vindicated. Except for a minority, the Afrikanders were genuinely loyal to the British Government.
"There is a very remarkable tribe living in the district around Kilembonga," remarked Van der Wyck one evening, as the Afrikander and the two chums were standing on a secluded portion of the promenade deck, watching the sun set. TheHuldebraswas now approaching the Tropics, steaming at seventeen knots through a perfectly calm sea. From below came the strains of the ship's banddiscoursing the musicof the latest London comedy.
"Savages?" queried Tiny.
"Yes," replied Van der Wyck. "Savageswith qualities that a good many white men lack. The Makoh'lenga, as they call themselves, are big fellows—the average height is six feet two—of a mixed stock. Report has it that a Zulu impi, which had incurred the wrath of King Dingaan, fled northwards more than eighty years ago and 'ate up' almost every tribe they encountered until they struck the Arab races inhabiting the region between Lakes Tanganyika and Victoria Nyanza. Apparently Arab and Zulu blood fused, and the Makoh'lengas were the result.
"Then the Huns got possession of the territory lately known as German East, but they were unable to exercise any authority over the Makoh'lengas. Even the Askaris—the German native levies—failed to subdue them; and, as you probably may know, the Askaris under Hun officers made admirable soldiers.
"Several expeditions into the Makoh'lenga territory resulted in disaster, till at length the Askaris, also influenced by superstitious fears, point blank refused to fight the powerfully-built natives. So the German sub-Governor, von Spreewald, ordered a cordon to be placed round the Makoh'lenga country and tried to starve the tribe into submission."
"And did he succeed?" asked Colin.
"He succeeded in making a rod for his own back," replied Van der Wyck. "The Makoh'lengas are self-supporting. They grow enough maize and rear enough cattle to be independent of outsiders for food. So the blockade failed, but von Spreewald by his action created a menace to the German rule in East Africa. When the War broke out the Makoh'lengas were actively pro-British. Yet as far as I know only one white man ever set foot in the Secret City of Makoh'lenga."
"Did you ever meet him?" asked Desmond.
"Yes," replied Van der Wyck, as he deliberately filled his large Boer pipe. "And so did you."
"I did!" exclaimed Tiny.
"Yes, a fellow called Piet Van der Wyck," replied the owner of that name gravely.
"By Jove!" ejaculated Colin excitedly. "And what was the place like? How did you manage to get there?"
"Sort of accident," explained Van der Wyck. "You know what a swastika is? Well, years ago, when I was about eighteen or nineteen, I went with a friend, Cornelius Hoog, to Jo'burg for a holiday. Amongst other irresponsible things we did we went to a tattooist's, and the man tattooed a swastika on my arm. Here it is as plain as the day it was done. In '16 I was with Deventer's column operating in the region of Tabora. There I happened to do what you English call a 'good turn' to aninduna, or chief. It was quite a trivial thing as far as I was concerned, and at the time I thought nothing of it.
"As a matter of fact, I didn't know the fellow was an induna. Three days later I was out on patrol and we got into a nasty corner—six of us cut off by a couple of hundred Askaris. They got me just as I was getting into my saddle—a soft-nosed bullet through the ankle. What happened after that I have no recollection. None of my comrades returned. Their bodies were found the next day. Read this."
Van der Wyck produced a pocket-book filled with folded papers, many of them torn and faded. Holding the pocket-book in the rays of an electric lamp, for darkness had now fallen over the surface of the tranquil sea, he drew out a scrap of newspaper. On it was printed the names of five men killed in action; below were the words: "Missing, believed killed: P. v. d. Wyck."
"When I recovered consciousness I found myself lying in a kloof. I suppose I had somehow got into the saddle, and my horse had got through and galloped miles. To this day I do not know how I contrived to get away. But I was in a bad state—my ankle pulverised and my horse gone.
"There I lay for three days and three nights, tormented by the sun by day and scared byprowling animals by night. Several times I lost consciousness, and once an assvogal—you'd call it a vulture—sat on my chest and began pecking at my eyes.
"At last I was found by a party of Makoh'lengas. One of them was the induna I had befriended. They were going to carry me back to the laager. If they had I should have doubtless died on the way, for our detachment had moved eighty miles to the south-east.
"Then the induna—Umkomasi was his name—noticed the swastika tattooed on my arm. That was a sort of passport, for the Makoh'lenga have a very similar symbol that is supposed to possess magical properties. In my case it qualified me for admission into the Secret City of Makoh'lenga. I was there eleven weeks. They couldn't save my foot; but they prevented me from having bloodpoisoning and pulled me through a bout of black-water fever. You see, I can speak Zulu, and the Makoh'lenga tongue is a sort of Zulu dialect."
"And what sort of place is Makoh'lenga?" asked Tiny.
Van der Wyck was on the point of answering the question when he leant against the rail and stretched his leg to full length.
"Sort of cramp in my artificial foot," he explained apologetically. "You may thinkthat's an absurd thing to say, but it's a fact. Sometimes I feel sensations just as if my foot were still there. Once, I remember——"
A rending of wood, a stifled exclamation, and a warning shout from Tiny Desmond, and then a heavy splash. A portion of the rail had given way under the pressure of the Afrikander's bulk. Unable to recover his balance, Van der Wyck had fallen overboard.
Colin knew that the man was unable to swim. He rushed to the side and looked down to the phosphorescent water, then with Tiny's shout of "Man overboard!" ringing in his ears, Colin hurled a lifebuoy over, and, regardless of the consequences, almost immediately took a header into the sea.
TheHuldebraswas doing between sixteen and seventeen knots, which meant that she was forging through the water at the rate of nine yards a second. Consequently Sinclair was hurled obliquely against the surface with terrific force.
Well-nigh winded and swallowing a liberal quantity of the Atlantic, he came to the surface without any rational idea of how he had got "in the ditch." He realised that he was overboard, and that theHuldebrasseemed miles away. The blaze of light from her scuttles and portholes was receding rapidly. Something floating on the adjacent waterin the ship's wake a good fifty yards away and clearly visible in the starlight attracted his attention. It was the white-painted lifebuoy he had hurled overboard.
Instinct prompted him to strike out for it, and as he swam laboriously—for his limbs, owing to the force with which he had struck the water, seemed almost devoid of action—his reasoning powers began to resume their normal functions.
He remembered Van der Wyck falling overboard. Where was he? To Colin it seemed as if hours had elapsed since he dived, although actually less than a couple of minutes had passed.
Swimming stolidly, Sinclair gained the lifebuoy. It was with a sense of thankfulness that he gripped the rounded, canvas-painted surface. He even suffered the rebuff of a sharp blow on the head as the lifebuoy dipped and capsized under the one-sided weight of the swimmer. Then with more caution, Colin rested one hand lightly on the buoy, and looked for the unfortunate Van der Wyck.
He knew in which direction to look. The Afrikander, if he still remained afloat, must be somewhere in the phosphorescent trail known as the ship's wake.
His quick eyes detected something floating about a hundred yards away, a round black object rising and falling in the undulationscaused by the 16,000 tons steamer cutting through the sea at full speed.
Colin, pushing the buoy before him, swam towards the spot where he imagined Van der Wyck to be floating. Before he had covered half the distance he knew that his surmise was correct. It was his cabin-mate.
"Hold up!" he shouted, his voice sounding painfully feeble in the solitude of the night. "I'm coming to you."
Nearer and nearer Colin swam, pushing the buoy in front of him. Van der Wyck was floating perfectly motionless with his arms behind his head. Although he was unable to swim, he possessed sufficient confidence to lie on his back, keep his arms well submerged, and breathe regularly and deeply.
Nevertheless, he was unfeignedly glad to be able to grasp the buoy, but his surprise was unrestrained when he recognised Colin Sinclair. "How on earth——" he began, then, struck by the absurdity of the question, he added: "Did you fall overboard too?"
"Sort of," replied Colin. "Luckily the sea's warm. Wonder how long they'll take to pick us up. Hello, where's the ship now?"
There was no reply from his companion.
Colin repeated the question, conscious for the first time of their joint peril. TheHuldebraswas no longer in sight.
Forsome moments neither spoke. At length Van der Wyck broke the silence.
"They couldn't stop her all at once," he observed. "She might have gone five miles or more before the engineers got the order to stop. She'll be back again, never you fear."
A swirl of phosphorescent water close to the buoy turned Colin's thoughts in another direction.
"Are there sharks about?" he asked.
"Don't fancy so," replied the Afrikander. "If there are, we'll have to kick and splash. Look here, what did you get into this mess for?"
"I jumped ... on the spur of the moment."
"Sorry you did, eh?"
"No," replied Colin. "I knew you couldn't swim."
"That's a fact," admitted the other bitterly. "A man hasn't much chance to learn to swim on the veldt. See anything coming?"
"White light," replied Colin laconically."Yes, and red ... and green," added the Afrikander. "It's a ship. Can't be theHuldebras; she was chock-full of lights."
"How can we attract her attention?" asked Sinclair. "We're right in her track."
"Don't know so much about that," declared Van de Wyck. "Her starboard light's disappeared. She's altering her course. But I'll have a try for it, anyway. I haven't broken the company's regulations concerning firearms for nothing."
Hanging on to the buoy with one hand, Van der Wyck produced a revolver from his hip pocket. Holding it well above his head to allow the water to drain from the barrel, he added:
"I don't think it'll burst, but keep your face turned away. Thank goodness I have waterproof cartridges."
A streak of reddish flame, followed by a deafening; report, stabbed the starlit night. For some moments the flash blinded the pair.
"She's still holding on," declared Colin. "Don't know, though. It looks as if she's altering her course again."
"I'll try another shot," decided Van der Wyck. "Fortunately I've about a dozen cartridges besides five in the pistol."
image: 04-shots.jpg{Illustration: "HE FIRED TWO SHOTS IN QUICK SUCCESSION" [p.42}
He fired two shots in quicksuccession, thenhanded the still smoking weapon to his companion.
"Keep it out of the water a bit," he said. "My hand's getting rather numb .... She's broadside on to us, I'm afraid. Surely she heard those reports. How long have we been here—an hour?"
Colin could give no definite information on the subject. He was feeling exhausted himself. In spite of the warmness of the water his limbs were stiff and cold. But gamely he held the revolver above the water, while Van der Wyck chafed his own benumbed limbs.
"Time to fire again," he observed. "Hand me the pistol."
Colin, from the opposite side of the buoy, handed him the revolver. He felt Van der Wyck's fingers close over the butt, then he heard a muttered exclamation of annoyance. The revolver, slipping from the Afrikander's nerveless fingers, was sinking rapidly, rapidly through three miles of water to the bed of the Atlantic.
"That's about the limit," he remarked dejectedly. "They'll never find us in the darkness, I'm afraid."
* * * * *
The moment Tiny Desmond realised that his chum had leapt overboard he ran for'ard. His shouts of "Man overboard!" had beenheard by a few passengers only, and they were helpless in the matter. The noise of the band had drowned his voice, and the warning was unheard by any of the ship's officers and crew.
Desmond knew his way about the ship by this time. Unhesitatingly, he made straight for the bridge. Charging through crowds of astonished and indignant passengers on the promenade deck, he swarmed up the ladder to the bridge-deck and thence to that forbidden ground, the bridge.
"Two people overboard!" he gasped breathlessly, and then a fit of coughing cut short his excited explanation.
Fortunately the third officer, who happened to be on duty at the time, was a man of resource. Ordering the quartermaster to "port sixteen," or, in other words, to turn the vessel until her head pointed in the opposite direction to her previous course, he promptly rang for half-speed ahead.
By this time theHuldebraswas more than seven miles from the scene of the accident. All that could be done was to man one of the boats and stand by until the ship, guided by her wake, approached within reasonable distance of the spot where Van der Wyck had made such a close acquaintance with the Atlantic Ocean.
Meanwhile one of the boats had been swungout, manned and lowered until she was suspended by the falls within a few feet of the surface, ready to slip at the word of command, while in order to prevent the men's eyesight being baffled by the glare, all lights visible from without were switched off, with the exception of the regulation steaming lights.
Tiny, a prey to the deepest forebodings, remained on the bridge, gripping the rails and peering through the semi-darkness. No one paid the slightest attention to him. In the excitement the fact that he was now a trespasser on the bridge passed unnoticed.
The engine-room telegraph bell clanged again. TheHuldebraswas nearing the spot where it was supposed the lost man had fallen overboard; for with the exception of Desmond no one on board knew that there were two human beings in dire peril.
Suddenly a flash leapt up through the darkness, followed by a hollow report. Mystified, the third officer sprang to the binnacle and took a hurried compass-bearing. Somehow he connected that flash with the man in the water, but he was completely puzzled as to how the signal of distress had been made.
"Did you see that light?" he shouted in stentorian tones to the coxswain of the boat.
"Ay, ay, sir," was the reply.
"Nor-a-half-east it bears," continued thethird officer. "I'm taking way off the ship now. Stand by to slip. Less noise there!" he added angrily, addressing his remarks to the now excited throng of passengers.
The alteration of speed had been enough to bring the whole of the saloon and second-class passengers on deck, and the startling information that there was a man overboard raised a storm of eager and for the most part purposeless questions.
The determined voice of one in authority quelled the babel. The third officer's anger was justifiable. It was impossible to issue orders clearly—orders on which success of the evolution depended—with scores of people talking excitedly.
A hush fell upon the throng of passengers. To many of them it was an entirely new experience being dragooned by a mere youngster in a brass-bound uniform, whose stinging commands were punctuated with the picturesque and forcible language of the sea.
The silence was broken by two more reports.
"Slip!" yelled the coxswain.
The patent falls were disengaged. The boat smacked the gently heaving swell with a noise like a pistol-shot.
"Give way! For all you're worth!"
The coxswain's exhortation was a mere figure of speech, for the rowers were strainingevery muscle and sinew as they urged the boat through the water. Her progress was marked by a double scintillation of phosphorescence as the blades dipped. A wake of blue-grey luminosity showed her course even after the boat itself was a mere blur in the starlit night.
Save for the groan of the rowlocks, the creaking of the stout ash oars and stretchers, the laboured breathing of the rowers, and the splash of water from the boat's sharp stem, hardly a sound broke the silence. The coxswain, holding the tiller with one hand, shaded his eyes with the other as he scanned the expanse of sea.
"Why doesn't the silly josser fire again?" he soliloquised. "'Tis looking for a needle in a bloomin' haystack. Lay on your oars!" he added aloud.
The men obeyed. The boat, still carrying way, slipped through the water with a gurgling sound.
"Hear anything?" asked the coxswain of the crew in general.
He was obviously perplexed. According to his own estimation the boat must have overrun the spot from whence those three flashes came.
"There he is; on our port bow!" shouted the bowman.
"Sure thing," agreed the coxswain. "Giveway, lads ... way 'nough. In bow ... Bless me if there ain't two of 'em in the bloomin' ditch."
Ten seconds later Colin Sinclair, limp and barely conscious, was hauled over the bows and passed aft like a sack of flour, to collapse inertly upon the stern-sheet gratings. Van der Wyck followed, muttering his thanks, although in a state of exhaustion.
"May as well hike that buoy on board, Tubby," observed the coxswain dispassionately. "Now, lads, let her rip. It's my middle watch, worse luck."
"Got'em, sir. There were two of 'em. All fast, sir!"
"Hoist away!"
Amid ringing and unrestrained cheers from the passengers of theHuldebrasthe boat and its occupants were whisked up to the davits. Willing hands helped the two rescued men to the deck, where they were at once taken in charge by the ship's doctor.
Once more the twin screws lashed the water, and, gathering way, theHuldebrasresumed her interrupted voyage. The passengers went below, and in a very short space of time the forty-minutes wonder was to the majority of them merely an incident.
By noon on the day following, Colin and Van der Wyck were out and about. The former had quite a difficulty to avoid being lionised by the rest of the passengers, for, greatly to his annoyance, Tiny Desmond had related the circumstances under which Colin had leapt overboard.
The Afrikander got off lightly in that respect. He was merely an object of curiosity, and even the newly-repaired rail failed to scotch a rumour that he had deliberately thrown himself into the sea.
He said little about the mishap beyond thanking Colin for saving his life. He quite realised that if the lad had not brought the lifebuoy to within his grasp things would have gone badly with him. But what appeared to trouble him was the fact that he had lost his revolver, and also the mechanism of his artificial foot had been damaged by the salt water.
Although he continued to talk with Colin and Desmond, he never attempted to renew his interrupted account of the wonders of the Secret City of the Makoh'lenga. When Tiny broached the subject he adroitly switched the conversation off into another channel, and Desmond had the good sense to take the hint.
Beyond a mild excitement caused by the report that a first-class passenger had been robbed of a pocket-book containing £500 and a quantity of jewellery, nothing out of the ordinary occurred during the rest of the voyage to Cape Town.
The outlines of the famous Table Mountain were already showing above the horizon, and the end of the voyage in sight when Van der Wyck turned abruptly to his cabin-mate.
Colin and the Afrikander were engaged in packing their cabin-trunks when the latter asked:
"How are you going upcountry?"
"We're taking a boat to Dar-es-Salaam," replied Sinclair, "and then train to Tabora."
"H'm—might almost as well go up from here by train—through Mafeking and Bulawayo to Kambove, and then by steamer across Tanganyika. Don't know, though; perhaps you'd better carry on. We might have kept together as far as Mafeking. But we may run across one another again. If you want to write, Box 445B Mafeking will find me." Colin made a note in his pocket-book of the address.
"And look here," continued Van der Wyck, pushing his portmanteau aside and looking straight at his companion. "Look here, forget all I told you about Makoh'lenga—if you can. It's not exactly—— well, healthy. No white man ever did himself any good by trying to probe the secrets of the place. I'm sorry I ever mentioned the place or the people to you."
The Afrikander's almost fierce earnestness took Colin aback. Naturally the lad wished for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. Van der Wyck resumed his packing with almost feverish energy, never saying a word until,with a vicious tug, he secured the buckle of the last strap.
"Yes," he reiterated, apparently regardless of the fact that he had not spoken for quite ten minutes. "I'm sorry I ever mentioned the place. However, what's said cannot be unsaid. I owe you something, Sinclair, for hiking me out of the ditch——"
"No, indeed," interrupted Colin in protest. "You thanked me. That was quite enough."
"It's my call," declared Van der Wyck. "You were a good chum. I'd have thought twice before jumping overboard on a dark night—or in the daytime," he added grimly, "since I can't swim. So I want you to take this as a souvenir."
He tossed Colin a small bag of discoloured wash-leather secured by a thin strip of cowhide.
"It won't bite you," he added with a laugh as Colin handled the bag without making any attempt to examine its contents. "Open it and see what's inside."
Sinclair did as he was asked, and drew out a curiously shaped piece of metal of crude native workmanship bearing a decided resemblance to a swastika. It was of gold inlaid with copper. The face was inscribed with rough representations of animals of a kind unknown to biology, while on the reverse sidewas an inscription in uncial characters. At the top of one of the four arms a hole had been drilled, or rather punched, for the edges were rough to the touch.
"Why, it's gold!" exclaimed Colin. "It must be worth a tremendous lot!"
Van der Wyck nodded gravely.
"Yes, it's gold," he agreed. "African gold but I fancy there are a good many people who would give you ten times its weight in gold to possess it."
"But why give it to me?" asked Colin in bewilderment.
"'Cause I want to," replied the Afrikander. "That's reason enough. But take my advice, if you want to realise on it——"
"But I wouldn't," protested Colin.
"To realise on it," continued Van der Wyck, "don't attempt to do so while you are in Africa. Keep it. Wear it. It may do you a very good turn."
Then, as if dismissing the matter from his mind, Van der Wyck regarded his strapped portmanteau with a far-away air.
"Hang it!" he muttered to himself, yet sufficiently loud to enable Colin to hear. "Hang it! I wish I hadn't lost my revolver."
Almostthe first discovery Colin Sinclair and Tiny Desmond made upon setting foot ashore at Cape Town was that the next Dar-es-Salaam boat did not sail until the following Monday week. That came as a nasty shock, since it meant hanging about in Cape Town for ten days.
Van der Wyck did not make any further suggestion that they should go by the overland route. He, however, recommended the lads to a quiet and, as things went, inexpensive hotel just off Adderley Street, the principal thoroughfare of the capital of the Federation of South Africa.
Van der Wyck lost little time in getting his young chums settled, and two hours later Colin and Tiny saw him off at the railway station.
For the next four or five days the two lads passed their time exploring in a modest way the town and its surroundings, including a strenuous climb to the summit of Table Mountain under the guidance of a Kaffir whosecommand of English was both voluble and ludicrous.
One evening, just before going to bed, the chums overheard a conversation between two of the guests at the hotel. One was a tall bronzed man, with large horny hands, and who was apparently an engineer on one of the Rand mines. The other was a sergeant of the Cape Mounted Police, spending his annual leave in Cape Town as a bewildering change from the quiet of Nieuwveldt.
"Hullo!" exclaimed the former, pointing to a paragraph inThe Cape Argus. "There's been a hold-up between Kimberley and Vryburg."
The other man shrugged his shoulders.
"Thank goodness it's out of my district," he observed. "It won't scupper my leave. Have they caught the fellows?"
"No," was the reply. "By Jove! It was a cool bit of work; three men holding up a trainload of, for the most part, rough Afrikanders and farmers from Rhodesia. Not many details. One passenger got a bullet through his shoulder because he didn't take it lying down. The robbers got away with about a couple of thousand in hard cash, and the train was six hours late in arriving at Vryburg. Apparently the line had to be repaired."
"H'm!" ejaculated the policeman. "Andthe robbers: were they mounted or did they have a motor?"
"It doesn't say," replied the other. "Here's the paper. I've finished with it."
Both Desmond and Sinclair would have liked to have asked questions on the subject, but with typical British reserve they refrained. It was not until they were alone that Tiny remarked:
"Well, it was a jolly good thing we didn't go by rail or we might be stranded with empty pockets miles from anywhere. All the same, it must have been a thrilling stunt."
"Wonder if Van der Wyck was in it?" said Colin. "If he were, I shouldn't be surprised if he was the fellow who got plugged."
"Why?" asked Tiny.
"I can't explain exactly," replied his chum, "but from what I've seen of Van der Wyck he's pretty strong and determined and not likely to submit to being robbed without doing something."
Next morning at breakfast the subject of the train robbery was again broached.
"I'll swear that was Jan Groute's gang," declared the Cape Mounted policeman. "Jan's been lying low for some months, but he's the only fellow I know who'd have the cheek to bring off a thing like that. I was on his trail once. You remember that hold-up abouttwo years ago near Beaufort West when two farmers had to stand and deliver to the tune of £500? We got hot on Jan's trail. In fact, one of our fellows hit him at three hundred yards, but he cleared off on horseback, although he was bleeding like a stuck pig. We found his horse, but he was off. I fancy he boarded a goods train and slipped off during the night."
"Does the paper give the name of the passenger who was wounded, sir?" asked Colin.
Both men looked curiously at their youthful questioner. By the use of the word "sir" they rightly put him down to be an English boy.
"Yes, sonny," replied the mining engineer. "A chap called Armitage, living up Bulawayo way. Why did you ask?"
"Because we had a friend who left here for Mafeking last Friday. We were a bit anxious, you know."
"Well, he might be a little lighter as far as his pockets are concerned," rejoined the policemen. "Jolly sight better than a plugged shoulder, and less painful."
"What was your chum's name?" inquired another of the guests, a man with shifty eyes to whom Colin and Desmond had taken a dislike.
"Van der Wyck," replied Tiny.
"Christian name?"
"Hendrik," said Desmond unblushingly.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed the other. "Hendrik Van der Wyck; I know him well. I know him well. Old chum of mine. We must celebrate this."
"Unfortunately," said Tiny coolly, "I've made a mistake—haven't I, Colin? It's not Hendrik; it's something else. I've mixed up the Christian names."
A general laugh went up at the shifty-eyed man's discomfiture. He promptly got up, pushed back his chair, and beat a retreat.
"That's the stuff to give 'em!" exclaimed the mining engineer. "You did him that time. Take my advice and give that fellow a wide berth. We get shady customers in every walk in life, and that's one of 'em."
Atlength the Monday fixed for the departure of the s.s.Tombolifor Dar-es-Salaam arrived.
Colin and Tiny were glad to shake off the dust of Cape Town. For one thing, they were all impatience to arrive at their Land of Promise. For another, it seemed simply astonishing how their money went, even with the strictest economy, during their ten days' enforced detention.
Already Tiny was showing decided signs of improvement in health. The sea voyage had done him a lot of good, and the air of South Africa, even though it were on the coast, helped to keep up the improvement. The fact that he had been able to ascend Table Mountain showed that. It fagged him, but even Colin felt the physical strain after about three weeks on board theHuldebras.
TheTomboliwas a poor ship compared with the well-equippedHuldebras. For one thing, her speed was a bare eleven knots; her accommodation was meagre and far from comfortable. She rolled like a barrel, and in a following sea "steered like a dray"; and since, in addition to her slow speed, she was to call to land and unload cargo at Port Elizabeth, Durban, Lorenzo Marquez, and Mozambique, the time of her arrival at Dar-es-Salaam was a matter of question.
She carried twenty-three passengers, including four Portuguese officials, but amongst them was one whom Colin and Tiny were sorry to see—the shifty-eyed man from the hotel off Adderley Street.
In the passenger list his name was given as Joseph Londray, his destination Ujiji, which meant that in the circumstances Colin and Tiny would have to be in his company until they reached Tabora.
Londray showed no sign of surprise at meeting the lads on the deck of theTomboli, and during the long and tedious voyage he made no attempt to address them. It was a case of mutual disinclination on both sides, and although they met regularly in the saloon for meals, not a word passed between the two chums and the shifty-eyed passenger.
At length, after landing and picking up passengers at various ports of call until only seven of those who left Cape Town remained on board, theTomboliarrived at the spacious and land-locked harbour of Dar-es-Salaam—the name meaning the "Port of Tranquillity."
"This is another good step towards our journey's end," remarked Tiny, as the chums gazed upon the well-laid-out town that, thanks to German thoroughness, had taken the place of a squalid native hamlet.
But for the Kaiser's lust for world conquest by the force of arms, Dar-es-Salaam might have been under the Black Cross Ensign to-day, and bringing millions into the exchequer of the German Government. Instead, like the rest of "German East," it had passed under the control of Great Britain, and the blighting shadow of the Mailed Fist was for ever removed from the native population.
"I'm jolly glad we haven't to live here," rejoined Colin. "It's too hot and moist. Look at that chap. One could imagine him to be a slave-driver."
He pointed to a tall Arab in charge of a gang of native porters. There were very few Europeans about. Some had come down to watch the arrival of the s.s.Tomboli, and without exception they rode either in American "runabouts" or in man-propelled conveyances.
Two hours later Colin and Tiny boarded the train, which consisted of a number of narrow-gauged corridor cars drawn by an unfamiliar type of engine provided with a formidable "cow-catcher." At the far end of the same compartment Joe Londray had installed himself, and was already engaged in a game of cards with a very stout man, who was evidently of Portuguese extraction.
The other passengers were mostly Germans, who, having expressed their willingness to conform to the laws of their conquerors, were permitted to retain their homesteads. There were, however, a couple of Englishmen, who, invalided during the War, had taken to farming in Africa for the sake of their health, and were returning up-country with stores purchased at the port of Dar-es-Salaam.
For several miles the country was flat and swampy, then the miasmic marshes gave place to a densely-wooded country, through which the train climbed laboriously. Stations were few and far between, but at frequent intervals the lads caught sight of native villages wedged in between the thick masses of foliage.
Once, as the train crossed a sluggish stream, Colin called his chum's attention to what looked like a number of floating logs suddenly endowed with life. The logs were crocodiles that, alarmed by the roar of the train, were seeking shelter in the mud that formed the bed of the stream.
Just before sunset a sudden application of the brakes brought all the passengers to the platforms between the carriages. It was a sight worth seeing.
About a hundred yards in front of the engine and moving in a zig-zag fashion across the permanent way, was a huge dark brown animal that Colin rightly guessed to be a rhinoceros. Even when equipped with a cow-catcher, an engine has to exercise discretion when confronted by one of these formidable animal battering rams. No doubt the rhino was terrified, but at the same time the brute hadn't the sense to take cover, but continued to career madly along the line.
Someone on the platform of one of the foremost carriages fired at the animal, but the bullet, although it struck with a resounding thud, failed to pierce the armour-plated hide.
Other shots followed in quick succession, without any apparent effect beyond goading the rhino to fury, for suddenly it turned and charged the now stationary engine.
The impact was distinctly felt, but the animal came off second best. It rolled a full twenty feet before it brought up against a large palm tree.
There it lay savagely regarding its huge enemy as if contemplating another charge at a less substantial portion of the train, but before the rhino could put its plan into execution the driver started the engine. The hiss of the escaping steam, accompanied by the shrill blast of the whistle, was too much for the rhino'sdetermination, and, regaining its feet, the animal charged madly into the forest. As night fell a powerful light was shown from the front of the engine, its rays illuminating the track for several yards ahead.
Although it was yet only seven o'clock the passengers began to make preparations for turning in. "Early to bed and early to rise" seemed to be the order of things in Equatorial Africa, so as to take advantage of the relatively cool period just after sunrise and to rest while the rays of the sun are strongest.
But neither Colin nor his companion felt any inclination to sleep. The novelty of rushing through a tropical forest in the darkness was too great. After days afloat, when the rhythmic vibrations of the propellers seemed to lull them into slumber, the rumble of the train as it swayed over the metal rails had the opposite effect.
The moist and clammy heat, coupled with the fact that the lights in the carriages were kept on, also tended to wakefulness.
At length—it was close on midnight—Colin was on the point of dropping into a fitful slumber when the sudden application of the brakes aroused him.
"Another rhino?" he asked himself, "or an elephant, perhaps."
The train halted with disconcerting suddenness. Some luggage pitched noisily on the floor. A passenger thrown from his bunk was expostulating in German with no one in particular and the world in general.
Then from the rear of the train came voices raised high in angry expostulation. Heavy boots grated along the corridor. The sliding door of the compartment was thrown back, and a tall, bearded man, his face partly hidden by a mask, burst abruptly upon the startled passengers. One man began shouting in a high-pitched frightened voice.
"Chuck it!" exclaimed the masked man. "Hands up!"