Tom surprises MabrukiTom surprises Mabruki
Tom surprises Mabruki
There was for a moment a silence as of death. Then a low growl rumbled round the throng. The katikiro laughed, the chief frowned ominously, as Tom, keeping a wary eye on Mabruki, flung the bell contemptuously at his feet. The medicine-man was livid with wrath. The scorn of his enemy, the murmurs of the spectators, the despiteful usage of his fetish, whose terrors were now gone for ever, were too much for him. With a snarl of rage the burly negro hurled himself at Tom, aiming a vicious blow at him with a strangely-carved fetish staff he carried in his hand. It was the very move Tom had intended to provoke; if only Mabruki could be goaded to attack him he was confident of the issue. His confidence appeared to be shared by Msala, who, alone of that vast throng, seemed to be excited rather with suppressed merriment than with any emotion of doubt or fear. The crowd gazed open-mouthed, for Mabruki was to all appearance easily able to overpower the slim stripling opposed to him. But as the big man lurched forward Tom stepped nimbly aside and evaded the blow. Before Mabruki could recover he found his wrist firmly grasped, and was jerked sharply forward, his elbow being gripped as in a vice by Tom's left hand. Then Tom brought into play a trick of Japanese wrestling he had learnt from a ship's engineer, who had taken advantage of visits to the island empire to make a study of methods unrecognized and unknown in Cumberland and Cornwall. The medicine-man instinctively resisted when he felt the forward pull. Instantly reversing his movement, Tom pushed his opponent's elbow up with the left hand while pulling his hand outwards and downwards with the right. At the same time he placed his leg behind his opponent's knee, and before the astonished magician could realize what was happening, with a sharp jerk he was thrown on to his back, the earth seeming to shake under his seventeen stone of corpulence.
The whole operation had not occupied more than a few seconds. The medicine-man in an African village is rather feared than beloved; he has countless ways of making his dreaded tyranny felt. When, therefore, the people saw the man whose power they had held in awe so rapidly overthrown, apparently without any exertion on the part of his opponent, a great shout of mocking laughter burst from them. The katikiro was bent double with delight, and even Barega's face relaxed its habitual gravity, Mabruki, with no breath left in his unwieldy body, thoroughly cowed, was in no condition to renew the attack. He still lay upon the ground as Tom explained that he had turned Mabruki's medicine upon him, and shown that white medicine had enabled himself to do what no other man among them, not even the strongest, could have accomplished. Mabruki had brought his humiliation upon himself.
"But this," he added, "is mere trifling. In my country we leave such simple things to the children. If you wish to see what the white man's magic is like, pay heed to what I am about to do. And I warn you, be satisfied with that, lest worse befall."
He walked slowly to the centre of the circle, where the huge king-drum was placed. The glare of the torches lit up the hundreds of eager faces, all gazing at him with eyes opened to their widest. Even the katikiro, who had shown no surprise at the previous feats, looked on now with an air of fearful expectancy.
"Put out your torches!" cried Tom.
One by one the lights were extinguished. The whole village was covered with the black darkness of a moonless tropical night. For half a minute there was absolute silence; then, taking the drum-stick, Tom smote the drum with three measured strokes.
Boom! boom! boom!
The hollow sounds rolled away and died in the distance. Nothing could be heard but the quick pants of the waiting crowd. A light breeze had sprung up, grateful after the day's heat, and from far in the distance came faintly the trumpet note of an elephant, followed by the quick bark of a hyena. Again Tom struck the drum.
Boom! boom! boom!
A moment later he noticed a glow in the tree-tops of a plantation three-quarters of a mile to the west. The silent throng was still looking towards him, trying to pierce the darkness. The glow increased rapidly in brightness, defining itself as a globe of fire.
B-r-r-rrrrrrrr!
A tremendous roll from the drum woke rumbling echoes all around. Pointing dramatically with his drum-stick into the sky, Tom cried: "Behold!"
The crowd turned as one man. A huge blazing globe was advancing slowly towards them out of the darkness. The effect was stupendous. For a moment the throng was inarticulate with dread. Then murmurs of fear arose. Some of the women shrieked; many of the children buried their faces in their mothers' bosoms. Most of the men sank into their customary abject attitude of supplication; others were too terrified to move, and gazed upwards in stupefaction at the advancing and ascending ball of fire. It came slowly along on the breeze, passed almost directly over the village, then mounted higher and higher into the sky as it drifted eastward. The crowd watched it in awe-struck silence as it grew smaller and smaller in the distance, and at last disappeared as a tiny speck on the horizon.
A gasp of relief rose from the throng. Barega cried again for torches; by their light Mabruki could be seen shaking like an aspen, the evidence of superior medicine having overpowered him altogether. Among the people there was the inevitable reaction. Their fear being removed, they turned against the medicine-man and assailed him with vehement cries of scorn. Barega sent for his executioner, and announced his immediate intention of having Mabruki's head. But Tom called aloud for silence, and beckoning Mbutu, who with the torches had suddenly appeared at his side, said:
"Barega and Barega's men," he said, "you have seen with your own eyes. You saw that with Mabruki's own bell I proved against him, if such childish folly can be called a proof, what he had proved against me. You saw that when he tried to fell me with his weighty fist, with a mere turn of the hand I laid him low. And now you have seen how, striking your own king-drum, Bugandanwe, I summoned a globe of fire from the trees yonder, and how it sailed away out of sight with a message to the morning chamber of the sun. The trial is made; who has the stronger medicine--Mabruki or I?"
"You, the muzungu!" shouted every creature in the throng.
"And do you, O Barega, any longer believe that I caused the death of your cattle?"
"No, no; I do not believe it. If any of my people believes it, he shall surely die!"
Barega glared round the circle of his trembling subjects, as if to dare any of them to confess himself a doubter.
"No one believes it," said Tom quickly. "Now I tell you this," he added, turning to Barega; "you will lose no more cattle, my friend. Your losses are due to Mabruki's bad medicine."
"I will have his head!" cried Barega furiously.
"Wait, my brother. Let me plead for him. What will his death avail? It will not bring back your cattle. No, it is for the strong to show mercy. What shall be his doom? Let it be this, that he give to everyone who has lost cattle by this strange death one bull for every bull that died, you, O chief, to choose first among his beasts. And mark, if in the days to come any cattle die in the same way, let Mabruki give the owner two bulls for every one that so dies. My medicine is not concerned with cattle; but I think Mabruki has enough medicine left to preserve your cattle henceforth."
The suggestion met with instant approval, and Mabruki himself dared not raise a protest. As he slunk shamefaced away, the assembly broke up, to discuss the wonderful occurrences with shouting and laughter for hours afterwards.
Tom walked quietly back to his hut.
"You did it very well, Mbutu," he said.
Mbutu grinned.
"Like it berrah much, sah," he said; "jolly good bloony bloon."
"Yes; and we must never repeat the performance. We will not stale our big medicine, Mbutu."
The explanation of the wonderful event was simplicity itself.
When Tom had offered to pit himself against Mabruki, he had in his mind the trick of Japanese wrestling. But that was hardly sufficient, perhaps, to impress the people, and he resolved to attempt something even more startling. While thinking over the matter, he remembered how amazed he had been himself when, as a young child, he first saw a balloon. Could he make a fire-balloon? Suddenly he bethought him of a roll of Indian silk he had seen among the chief's possessions. Surely that would provide the very material he required. He persuaded the chief to give him a few lengths from the roll, and during the time of his seclusion in the hut he had, with Mbutu's assistance, cut the silk into strips, stuck them together with a natural gum obtained from trees near, stitched the seams together, smeared the whole surface with gum to make it air-tight, and bent a thin sapling to hold open the mouth of the balloon, with a light pan dangling from it to hold combustible material steeped in spirit. Mbutu had smuggled the balloon into the plantation on the previous night, while Tom was engaged in practising his wrestling trick on the katikiro. When the performance began with the ringing of the bell, Mbutu had inflated the envelope with hot air over a large charcoal fire, and at the second drum-signal had ignited the spirit-soaked material, and let the balloon rise.
Before Tom retired to rest that night, the katikiro came to him and humbly begged to know how he had made fire come from the tree-tops.
"Msala, my friend," said Tom, smiling, "that is my secret. We cannot all do everything; too much learning, like too much museru, might turn your head. Be satisfied with getting your cattle replaced, and take my word for it that you will never lose your bulls in the same way again."
Fortifying the Village--The Enemy at the Gate--An Attack at Dawn--Bridging the Trench--Fireballs--Invested
Tom's decisive victory over the medicine-man not only restored him to his former place in the estimation of the people, but raised him to a pitch of renown which he found somewhat embarrassing. Presents of all kinds were thrust upon him by the admiring villagers, and even the chief, who, though always affable, had nevertheless stood a little upon his dignity, now opened his heart to him without reserve. He showed him one day, hidden carefully under the floor of his hut, a magnificent collection of elephants' tusks, some being family heirlooms handed down from generation to generation, others the spoils of his own chase. And then he ventured to make a proposal which he said would once for all fix the confidence of his people in the white man. Would Tom become his blood-brother?
"Most happy, I'm sure," said Tom, who, however, looked a little blue when the details of the ceremony were told him by Mbutu. "I don't mind having my arm lanced, but I'm hanged if I'll lick his blood; no, I draw the line at that."
Barega assured him that a trifle like that need not stand in the way, and the ceremony was forthwith arranged. The people were again called together by tuck of drum. In the centre of the circle two mats of wild-cat skin were placed opposite to each other, and on these Tom and the chief sat cross-legged. The household officers stood around, holding shields and spears and swords over Barega's head. Then the katikiro made a small incision in the forearm of each, half-way between the hand and elbow, from which a little blood oozed. If the rite had been strictly observed, each would then have licked the blood of the other, but in deference to Tom's scruple, the chief was satisfied with their rubbing the cuts together, so that their blood was commingled. When this was done the katikiro began to knock two pieces of metal together, keeping up a monotonous tink, tink, tink, and talking all the time. He recited a sort of litany as the chief's representative: "If you want shelter, my hut is yours; if you are in trouble, my warriors are yours; if you are hungry, the food of my land is yours; if you ever make war upon me, if you ever steal from me, if you ever wound me",--and so on, the if-clauses continuing for half an hour, "may you die!" Then Mbutu got up and followed in a similar strain on Tom's behalf, after which the chief presented Tom with a small cube of ivory, and Tom in return gave him the only thing he had of his own, a trouser-button. The blood-brothers then heartily shook hands, and the assembled multitude shouted the name by which the new brother was to be known among them--Okubokokuru, which, being interpreted, means "Strong in the Arm". Tom expressed his gratification at this mark of respect, but pleaded that his new name might be shortened; and the chief announced that his brother was to be officially known as Kuboko.
No further news had yet been received of the approaching enemy. Tom was longing to see a white face again, but he reflected that all his friends must now have given him up, and that a few days more would make little difference. Besides, he felt the military instinct alive in him. He was keen to set his wits once more against the Arab cunning, and when he seriously thought over it he did not regret his impulsive promise to stand by his new friends.
"Barega," he said, with a familiarity justified by his new relationship, on the day after the ceremony, "if we are to defeat these Arabs we must set about preparations in earnest. Your scout said they were twelve marches away; twelve has now become ten. We have ten days. How many fighting-men have you?"
The chief replied that he had one hundred and fifty Bahima spearmen, and four hundred and fifty Bairo, some of whom had spears, the rest bows and arrows. They all had small oval shields, made of light basket-work, with a large central boss of wood. Tom had already seen and examined their weapons in the course of his walks about the village. The Bahima spear had a long wooden shaft and an iron head with two blood-courses, one on each side of the central rib. The Bairo spear was of ruder construction, the head containing a depression on one side answering to a ridge on the other. The bow was about four feet long, with a string of sheep-gut, and the arrows, eighteen inches in length, had barbed heads.
"Not poisoned, I hope?" said Tom, as Barega called up a Muiro to show his weapon. He was answered in the negative. The quiver was a long tube of hard white-wood, with a wooden cap at each end, and was worn slung by a string across the shoulder. Striking designs had been burnt out in a kind of poker-work on the wood, and Tom was delighted with the artistic taste they displayed. Inside the quiver, besides some dozen arrows, a fire-stick was kept.
"Your arms are pretty serviceable so far as they go," said Tom. "You haven't any guns, I suppose?"
The chief produced a few old rusty flint-locks, along with the three muskets taken from the Arabs, but as he had no ammunition they were in any case useless.
"Well now, how is the village prepared to stand an assault? It is impregnable on the north-east and east, I should say, owing to the precipice. The path up to the north gate is steep, and therefore an attack in that direction might be easily beaten off; but on the west and south, as well as on the south-east, your stockade, I am afraid, is easily scaleable. I would suggest that you dig a trench, Barega, outside the stockade, and fill it with water from the stream. And look here, don't you think you could make your men work? You'll never get things done if you leave them entirely to the women, and in my country, you know, we'd think precious little of a man who made his women do everything."
Stimulated by Tom's energy, the chief set the whole of his people to work. Unluckily, the Bahima not being an agricultural people, they had only their broad knife-blades to use, though the Bairo were well supplied with crude implements. Making the best of things, and impressing even the children into the task, Tom had the satisfaction, after eight days' strenuous labour, of seeing the vulnerable part of the stockade defended by a trench six feet deep and fifteen across. It was not carried right up to the stockade for fear of loosening the fencing, but the interval was planted with sharp stakes, forming achevaux-de-frise. Under Tom's supervision a drawbridge of wattles was rapidly constructed and thrown over the trench at the southern gate. The huts outside the stockade, which would afford good cover for an enemy, were cleared away, the owners being accommodated with new huts within.
There were now only two days left before the Arabs, at the earliest, could arrive, and Tom, thinking over the probabilities and possibilities, and as yet ignorant of the size and composition of the Arab force, wondered whether the attack might resolve itself into a siege. It might of course be beaten back once for all; still, it was well to be prepared. He advised the chief, therefore, to lay in a large stock of provisions, both animal and vegetable. A good many cattle could at a pinch be herded inside the stockade, and the flesh of slaughtered animals could be kept sweet under running water, in little streamlets diverted from the brook, or preserved in pans of salt. Great quantities of bananas, potatoes, maize, and other crops were got in and stored in the village, until Tom was assured that there was enough food collected to feed the whole population for at least a month on full rations.
On the eleventh day, walking round once more with Barega, to see that nothing had been left undone, Tom observed that one precaution had been neglected. Three hundred yards to the south-east of the village there was a somewhat extensive banana plantation, bounded on the west by the brook. This would afford excellent cover to an attacking force armed with rifles, and it seemed to Tom that it ought to be cut down, a course he at once suggested to the chief. But Barega did not appreciate the tactical point involved, and refused to allow the plantation to be touched. Besides, as he said with some truth, there was barely time to cut it down if the Arabs were to show themselves next day. Accordingly Tom had to remain satisfied with what he had achieved. He was indeed rather surprised at finding so many of his suggestions adopted without demur, and was inclined to ascribe it to Mbutu, who, as he discovered, was constantly singing his master's praises and dwelling on his brilliant fighting qualities. But he really owed much more to his own tact, and to the care with which he thought out his proposals before he placed them before Barega. No man is quicker than the African native to appreciate real force of character.
Scouts had been sent out to the north and east, the directions from which the Arabs were presumed likely to come--men familiar with the forest, who could be trusted to find food for themselves and remain invisible. No tidings had yet arrived of the enemy's near approach, but Tom did not allow the grass to grow under his feet. There were several smithies in the village, fenced off from the inhabited part, and here Tom kept the smiths constantly employed in sharpening spears and tipping new-made arrows. He found means also of still further improving his defences. Barega told him, as they were talking over their plans, that the Arab attack was almost certain to be made in a half-light, just before dawn. The question at once occurred to Tom: Could not the trench be disguised so that the enemy might flounder into it unawares? No sooner was the question put than the chief slapped his thigh, and cried: "Yes". In his hunting he frequently covered over his elephant-pits in such a way that the animals trod unsuspiciously upon what seemed to be solid earth, and fell helplessly into the hole. The same plan could be pursued now. No time was lost; bushels of light branches and twigs were speedily obtained from the woods and laid across the ditch, then covered with earth and rubbish until the surface, except to a most critical eye, could not be distinguished from the surrounding soil. Just before sunset, Tom walked all round the village, along the edge of the trench, and, from his inspection, he felt confident that a rapidly-moving enemy would never discover the trap.
The twelve days were past, and still there was no sign or news of the Arabs. Sentries were posted every night at short intervals inside the stockade, and more than once Tom himself went the rounds in the middle of the night to see that all was well. Late on the thirteenth day a scout came in, tired and famished, with the news that the Arabs were within two days' march. They had been harassed and delayed by pigmies, who had dogged them almost all the way, and had given cruel proofs of the sureness of their aim and the virulence of their poisons. Soon afterwards other scouts returned, confirming this information. Tom's eyes gleamed at the prospect of a stiff fight. He got the chief to call a council of his principal men, and to them he suggested a plan of operations.
"Brothers," he said, "it is agreed that you trust me. I am young, as you see; I have not fought so many fights as Barega here; my friend Msala is as brave as a lion--either might well lead you to victory. But the white men--your cousins--have handed down from father to son many stories of great fights, and these are in my mind. Have I done well up to this time?"
"You have," was the ready and unanimous answer.
"Then hear me when I tell what, with your approval, I think we should do. The enemy will come up to our trench on the south and west; they will stumble into it and be thrown into confusion. I will lead a picked band of men out of the south gate, and my brother Barega another out of the north gate. We shall thus have the Arabs between us, and we will advance to meet each other, pressing them all the way. At the same time Msala will direct the warriors in the village to assail the enemy with a thick shower of spears and arrows, taking care to hit the Arabs, and not their own friends. Is it understood?"
The assembly grunted approval.
"Then, Barega, do you at once select a hundred of your steadiest men for yourself, and a hundred also for me, so that all things may be ready when the enemy appears."
The arrangements were rapidly made. Every warrior in the village had his appointed place; a number of the cattle were brought in and tethered within the stockades, the rest were driven away to the south under the charge of armed herdsmen, who were instructed to elude the enemy to the best of their ability.
On the next day the force in the village was swelled by the accession of two separate bands of Ruanda, whose hamlets had been destroyed by the Arabs, and who had flocked to the protection of Barega. The same evening the last of the scouts came in, with the news that the enemy had been hastening their march and were bound to arrive next day. He put their numbers at five thousand, but Tom knew enough of the African character to be assured that this estimate was far in excess of the actual number, and he took the information very quietly.
Now that an attack was imminent, he advised Barega to call a mass-meeting of the inhabitants. Standing in the midst of the circle of negroes, whose kind treatment of him forbade their being called savages, he felt a deep sense of his responsibility, and spoke with special seriousness.
"Bahima and Bairo," he said, "you are all my brothers and sisters. I believe that I am doing right in helping you to defeat the enemy who has caused so much misery to you and to all your race. Please God, we shall defeat them. We must all do our best--some to give orders, others to obey. My sisters, you will stay with your children in the middle of the village. The Arabs will have fire-sticks, and there is no need for any of you to run into danger. Your husbands will defend you, and strike hard for their homes."
Speeches at greater length were delivered by the chief and the katikiro. The people were deeply impressed; never had they gone to war in any such way before; and Tom on his side was struck with their intelligence, and the eagerness they showed to follow instructions so novel to them. He was a little uncertain of the steadiness of the Bairo, who were more impetuous and less docile than the Bahima; but they had been divided into companies under Bahima officers, and Tom himself had put them through a little drill in the brief intervals left by their task of fortifying the village. All that he feared was that they might break out in wild rushes, after the undisciplined negro's manner, and leave the stockade insufficiently defended.
Next morning, just as light was breaking, the sentries gave word that the enemy was advancing. Tom, waked by Mbutu out of a long quiet sleep, hastened to his post at the southern gate. For days he had been hammering it home into the negroes' heads that silence was a strong weapon on their side, but the negro cannot change his nature in a week, and as soon as the news had run through the camp, the eager warriors came clamorously out of their huts to the stockade. Tom bade them keep out of sight, and the enemy, advancing rapidly in crescent-shaped formation stretching from south-east to north-west, must have believed that the noise was merely the usual morning bustle in a large village. On they came, Arabs mingled with Manyema, in perfect silence and fair order, confident of finding easy access to their expected prize. The horns of the crescent reached the trench; twenty men at each extremity stepped heedlessly on to it, and instantly they were in the water, floundering beyond their depth. Loud cries of dismay filled the air; the rest of the force halted in amazement, scarcely able in the faint light to perceive what had happened. Then the deep boom of a drum rolled from the village, over the precipice, into the wooded plain.
Instantly a thick cloud of missiles flew from the stockade, arrows whizzed, spears hurtled through the air. At the same moment, Tom, with his hundred, sallied out from the southern gate, the men raising a fierce whoop of exultation. From the northern gate, after a barely perceptible interval, came an answering cry; and within the stockade the warriors, hurling their weapons at the centre of the Arab line, added their shouts to the din. The confusion of the Arabs was too great to permit of their firing a volley; a few separate slugs fell among the Bahima, and ill-aimed spears struck down a few. But the troops of Tom and Barega were pressing hard upon the extremities of their line; they were driven in towards the centre. An attempt was made by their leaders to rank them in some sort of order, but the necessity of facing two ways at once baffled their efforts; the Bahima were upon them in a wild charge, and with cries of mingled fright and disappointment they broke and ran.
With yells of triumph the Bahima dashed in pursuit. But the sun was now peeping, large and red, over a distant ridge, and by its light Tom saw a fresh and well-ordered body of men advancing to the support of the fugitives. Divining that this was the Arab reserve, he ordered his drummer to beat the recall, at the very instant when the enemy, even at the risk of killing their own men, opened fire. The command was timely, for the Bahima, unaccustomed to the fire of muskets, already showed signs of trepidation. His drum was answered by the chief's, and the two bands retreated to their several gates, followed by the hostile force, their return being covered by a hot discharge of missiles from the stockade. After some hesitation, the enemy drew off to reconsider their plan of attack, pursued by a loud chorus of derisive yells.
Tom had not the heart to check the self congratulation of the people, who celebrated their victory with song and dance. Victorious, certainly, had they been, but Tom, cool in the midst of the excitement, had carefully scanned the opposing forces to estimate their strength, and he saw that Barega's warriors were greatly outnumbered. They were no more than six hundred fighting men all told, while the enemy, as nearly as he could tell, consisted of at least three times that number, some ninety of them being Arabs, and the rest Manyema. The success of the Bahima was evidently due solely to the surprise and confusion of the enemy, for, even with the advantage of the stockade, they could scarcely hope to outmatch a force so much larger, armed, moreover, as two hundred and fifty of them were, with muskets and rifles. The Bahima losses so far had been few; two men had been killed and five wounded, of whom two died later. Of the enemy, six Arabs and about thirty Manyema had been left upon the field, and others, doubtless, lay drowned at the bottom of the ditch. It was with some anxiety that Tom awaited the dawn of the next day. He passed a sleepless night, framing many conjectures as to the enemy's further operations, and thinking out plans for their discomfiture. But morning broke in silence; Tom wondered whether spear and shield were to remain idle. Looking over the stockade about ten o'clock, he saw a movement amid a clump of trees about half a mile up the slope to the south-west, and, carrying his eye downwards to the north-west, he observed similar evidences of activity in the thicker woods in that direction also. Before he had quite realized what this might portend, a large body of the enemy emerged from each clump, many of the men carrying what appeared to be a kind of trellis-work. Their object flashed instantly into Tom's mind; they were going to bridge the trench. Drums beat, and Bahima and Bairo rushed to the points threatened; but the enemy halted just out of range of their arrows, and, under cover of a phalanx of native shields, prepared to rush their extemporized bridge across the ditch.
Behind the stockade the defenders were keenly alert; Barega had command of the north-western section, and the katikiro, who, genial time-server as he was in peace, was a very paladin in war, commanded on the south-west. Seeing that all along the western boundary the defence was in good hands, Tom hastened to the south-east to assure himself that no danger need be feared in that direction. Barely half a minute after he reached a smithy in the south-eastern corner, from the yard of which he could scan the whole country to the horizon, he saw a strong body of men spring out of the banana plantation he had vainly urged Barega to cut down. They, like their fellows on the other side, had with them a long piece of trellis-work. Evidently there was not a moment to lose. Tom despatched Mbutu to inform Barega of the danger; but so quickly did the enemy move, that in less than two minutes they had arrived at the edge of the ditch, flung the trellis bridge across, and begun to swarm over to the other side, nimbly evading the planted stakes.
Tom looked around. Only some ten men were within call. Summoning these to his assistance, he turned to defend the stockade. He had no weapon but the musket got in the forest, and that, in default of ammunition, he could only use as a club. By the side of the smith's rude anvil he saw a recently-sharpened sickle, with a handle eighteen inches long. This he seized, and sprang to his post again. Some twenty of the enemy, he saw, bore light scaling-ladders, hastily constructed since the previous fight. These they placed against the stockade and began to clamber up. There was a fierce hand-to-hand fight. Tom caught hold of the top of one of the ladders, on which two Arabs were ascending, and putting forth his utmost strength, flung it back so that it fell on the climbers. Some of the Bahima were thrusting their spears through interstices in the stockade, and cries of agony bore witness to their success. But for every man that fell another sprang up to take his place. Already several of the enemy had reached the tops of their ladders, and were firing, fortunately with erratic aim, at the panting defenders. Three, indeed, had clambered down on the inner side, and still there was no sign of the expected reinforcements. Tom had been slashing with his sickle in his right hand, and warding off with the musket in his left the blows of Arab swords and Manyema spears. Seeing three of the enemy within his lines, he was down in a moment at the foot of the stockade. One of the three he clubbed with his musket, and then, while Mbutu, who returned at this moment, fiercely engaged the second, he pressed hotly upon the third. Two of the Bahima were prostrate; the remaining eight were vainly attempting to stem the torrent now pouring over the palisade, and Tom was in the thick of the mêlée, laying about him doughtily. It was a tense moment; Tom and his little band were outnumbered ten to one; and the fate of the village hung in the balance. The enemy were creeping up behind for a final rush, when the katikiro charged down at the head of two hundred yelling Bairo. The stockade was cleared in a few seconds and the baffled enemy driven back over the ditch.
"Whew!" blew Tom, and then for the first time became aware that he had received a slight spear-wound in the right arm. "Blood-brother indeed!" he said with a smile to the katikiro. "But Msala, my friend, you were only just in time. In a minute or two it would have been another case of what-d'ye-call-him against the world. Why were you so long bringing up reinforcements?"
The katikiro was exceedingly sorry, but just before Mbutu had reached him a similar request had been made by the chief, and he had felt bound, of course, to obey his chief first. But it turned out after all to be a mere waste of time, for the enemy in the north-west quarter, while making an extremely blusterous demonstration, had never come within striking distance, and Msala had soon recognized that their show of activity was a mere feint to draw off attention from the real attack at the other end. Tom saw that the delay had been unavoidable, and could only be thankful that the much-needed support had come after all in the very nick of time.
The brief rest was a boon; but the enemy were not routed, nor even definitively driven off. They were still clinging to their position outside the stockade, and the Bahima could not get at them without exposing themselves, nor even assail them effectively with their spears, for the Arabs had rifles, and were indeed dropping shots over into the village. It was clearly necessary to put a stop to these offensive tactics, and Tom was perplexed as to what measure to adopt. Suddenly the idea occurred to him: could he try a few fireballs? Vague recollections came to him of something he had read about fireballs in defence of towns during the wars in the Netherlands. He had noticed plenty of coarse wool of sheep and goats in the village; there were heaps of shavings where the artificers had been making spear-shafts; and the place was reeking with fat of various kinds. He knew also that there was a large store of the native spirituous liquors, museru and marwa, in a shed near the hut of the chief's cook and purveyor, the muchumbi wanyama, and he thought it would be rather a good than an evil if some of the spirits were consumed externally. He therefore left the katikiro in command while he himself went to consult the chief.
Barega was charmed with the simplicity and ingenuity of the notion of worrying the enemy with fireballs, but somewhat downcast when he learnt the use to which his wine-cellar was to be put. Thereupon Tom, with the tact that had marked all his dealing with the natives, did not insist, but quietly pointed out that if the Arabs got in, they would set fire to the village, and the spirits would be destroyed with all the rest. It was surely better to use half of it in doing some mischief among the enemy, and perhaps by this means decisively turn the scale.
The chief thought over the matter, consulted the kasegara, and finally, with an obvious wrench, gave his consent to the course Kuboko proposed. No more time was lost; twenty natives were immediately set to roll up balls about six inches in diameter, made of wool and shavings and fat, and anything else combustible that came to hand, and finally steeped in the heady spirit. When some hundred balls were ready, Tom had them carried to his old post, where the Arabs were once more attempting to scale the stockade. They were lighted and thrown in rapid succession over the stockade on to the trellis-bridge. The Arabs at first tried to quench the fallen balls, but others came flaming through the air still more rapidly, and after some score had been thrown, fearing that their retreat over the ditch was likely to be cut off by the burning of their bridge, the enemy threw up the sponge and beat a hasty retreat. As they retired, the Bahima gave a tremendous whoop, and sent a cloud of arrows and spears after them, causing many a gap in their ranks. They fled on in rage and confusion, and vanished behind the plantation.
"Ah! I think they've had enough," said Tom. "Barega, my brother, what do you think of our morning's work?"
Barega confessed himself "pleased too much", as Mbutu interpreted him. "Say one fing, sah; say no want no more museru wasted!"
"Good heavens!" was Tom's thought, "it's all got to be argued again. Wasted! As Mr. Barkworth would say, 'There's no gratitude in these natives!'" But all he said was: "Tell the chief that I hope we shall need no more of his excellent stuff, and that I consider he has shown a fine spirit of self-denial for the common good. The scamp!" he added under his breath; "he ought to be as pleased as Punch!"
Tom was in the highest spirits. He felt confident now that the resources at his command were sufficient to defend the village against all attacks in force, and he hoped that the enemy would appreciate the situation and relinquish their enterprise.
The rest of that day passed uneventfully. At night sentries were posted as usual, and none of the precautions were relaxed; but there was no attack. The day slipped by with the same tranquillity. Parties of the enemy were seen at times, but they were always out of range, and, so far as could be ascertained from the village, were not making any preparations for renewing the assault. That night Tom, walking round by the stockade the last thing before turning in, noticed that at short intervals from the north gate round the western and southern sides to the extreme south-east corner, where the ground shelved down rapidly to the foot of the precipice, large watch-fires were burning, which had not previously been the case.
"What does that mean?" he thought. "Are they going to make a regular siege of it? I hope not, for to be cooped up here for another week would be awful. I'd give something for a newspaper, or Ranjy's cricket book, or even Euclid--yes, by Jove, even oldquod erat demonstrandum--to help pass the time away. By the by, I'll be forgetting all my maths out here, and if I'm to stick to engineering that'll never do. Well, if it turns out a siege, I'll set myself a few stiff problems and correct the solutions experimentally, eh?--besides teaching these beggars something of infantry drill. Heigh-ho! 'the heathen in his blindness'--who'd have thought I should ever be living among 'em, and a blood-brother too!"
And as he walked back to his hut, in a fit of abstraction he began to whistle the tune of "From Greenland's icy mountains," to the great contentment of the katikiro lying awake.
The Arab Camp--A Balista--A Vain Appeal--Eureka--Cutting a Channel--The Eleventh Hour--Barega's Last Fight--After the Battle
Tom's premonitions were well founded; on awaking next morning he saw that the whole accessible part of the village was blockaded by a chain of posts extending from the north gate to the south-east corner. The banana plantations on the south side appeared to be occupied in force, and the object of the enemy was clearly to prevent any going in or coming out, and so to starve the villagers into submission. Naturally Tom congratulated himself on his foresight in stocking the village with food, and expressed to the chief his confident hope that the besiegers would tire.
That their intentions were serious was soon evident. Early in the morning a large gang of Manyema were observed, nearly half a mile up the hill, engaged in damming up the stream, and diverting its course from the village away to the left Tom turned to the katikiro, who happened to be by his side, and smilingly pointed out what the enemy were doing. The katikiro was never loth to laugh, and he fairly bubbled over, slapping his thighs and chuckling with infinite enjoyment.
"How mad they will be," thought Tom, "when they find that we can manage without water! The man who planted this village round a constant spring was a genius. Besides, they must know there's plenty of water in the ditch at present, not very palatable, perhaps, but enough to keep us alive."
He wondered where the enemy had fixed their main camp. Those of them who came within sight were for the most part Manyema, and it occurred to Tom that perhaps the Arabs had departed for a time, to return with reinforcements of their own race. However, on the third night of the siege a Muhima managed to creep out without attracting the attention of the besiegers, and returned after being absent about three hours, with information that relieved Tom's mind on that point. He discovered that the Arabs had formed an entrenched camp in a green hollow at the foot of the precipice at the north-east corner of the village. They had evidently noticed that by moving in close to the base of the cliffs they were protected by the overhanging spur from the weapons of the Bahima, as well as from any other missiles, such as rocks or fireballs, that might be hurled from above. They had placed their camp so that any projectiles thus cast at them would fall outside their eastern boundary, and their rampart and trench were sufficiently formidable to secure them against assault. The position had the further advantage that the cliff protected them from the prevailing wind, while they had a good supply of water from a stream that joined the village stream a few hundred yards below the precipice. Some little distance to the south, where the ground rose steeply, a large body of their slave carriers had been penned like cattle, under a strong guard. The Muhima said that the chief camp contained some fifteen hundred Arabs, a number which Tom thought might safely be divided by three.
Several days passed away, most wearisomely for the two thousand people shut up within the stockade. While in time of peace, with men constantly away on hunting expeditions and women working in the fields, the village was never offensively over-populated, yet now that all the people were necessarily at home, with more than the usual number of cattle, Tom feared that it would before long be a hot-bed of fever. The people, he had found, were always accustomed to allow calves and other young animals to sleep in their own huts along with their families, but it was quite unusual, even for them, to be cooped up constantly with full-grown beasts. He did what he could to make the conditions as little unfavourable to health as possible; but not much was in his power, and he fretted at his impotence.
The besiegers had clearly abandoned all ideas of an assault in force, but every now and then a bullet or a slug would whistle over the stockade, and more than one man was killed. Tom got the chief at length to forbid any of the people to show themselves, and, accustomed as they were to a free and open life, they were greatly irritated by the restriction. Seeing that something must be done to keep them in good-humour, Tom took advantage of their love of novelty and their amazing fondness for drill to instruct them for an hour or two every day in simple movements and formations, finding that they were quite content to continue drilling on their own account for hours at a stretch.
As time went on, the besiegers were amazed at the unconcern with which the stoppage of the water-supply had been received in the village, and came to the conclusion that the people must have been drawing on the stagnant and dirty water in the ditch. One morning, then, Tom, who never relaxed his vigilance, saw a body of men approaching under cover of a light palisade lined with skins of Hima oxen, which effectually protected them from the spears and arrows of the villagers. He was not long left in doubt about the object they had in view. They came right up to the ditch, and began to cut a channel where the ground sloped down to the east, so as to drain off the water.
Tom was in no anxiety about the loss of water, but he objected to being "done", as he put it to himself, and yet, in default of firearms, saw no means of preventing the enemy from effecting their purpose. Fortunately a tremendous downpour of rain, forerunner of the approaching rainy season, drove the Arabs away for that time, and Tom at once set his wits to work to defeat their scheme should they return. Thinking of one thing after another, all at once he remembered, in an old illustrated edition of Caesar he had used in a lower form at school, some engravings of the torments used by the Romans in their siege operations. There was the catapult--ah! and the balista; that was the very thing. Could he manage to rig up a balista before the ditch was effectually drained? It was worth trying.
"Good heavens! what it is to be without pencil and paper!" he groaned. But he managed with a spear-head to scratch on a stone a rough diagram of the machine, as nearly as he remembered it, and then immediately set to work to construct a model.
There was plenty of wood in the village, and it took very little time to hammer together the square framework, and to chisel out the grooved beam on which the missile was to run. While this was being done he set some of the Bairo to twist two many-stranded ropes, and the native smiths to forge an iron handle for his winch. When this was fixed in its place at the bottom of the grooved plank, and the ropes securely fastened at each side of the frame, he placed one of the fireballs in front of the cross rope on the plank, sloped this downwards at an angle of forty-five degrees, and drew the rope back by means of the winch until it was stretched to its utmost tension and almost as tight as a steel spring. Then he released his hold of the handle, it flew round, the spring was suddenly relaxed, and the ball shot along the groove and over the stockade, falling some ten yards beyond.
"I'll have a welcome ready for the Arabs if they return," he thought, delighted at the success of his experiment.
Some three hours after the downpour had ceased, the Arabs came back in stronger force, again bearing their palisades. Tom allowed them to arrive within five yards of the trench, and then let fly a piece of rock from his balista. A tremendous cheer arose from the crowd of wondering negroes as the missile sped with sure aim to the very middle of the palisade, with such force that it tore a hole through skin and wicker-work, and struck a man behind.
The Arabs were startled, as they might well be, and halted. Before they had made up their minds what to do, another missile struck the palisade, and ricochetted across it, inflicting a blow on one of the Arabs that would have killed him if its force had not been partly broken. Another stone, and another, and then the enemy hesitated no longer; they dropped their palisade, flung down their tools, and bolted for their lives. Mocking jeers and exultant laughter followed them, and then a shower of arrows, and four or five of them dropped. Tom ordered his men to cease shooting, and allowed the wounded to be carried off by their friends.
That was the last attempt the enemy made to take the offensive. They had clearly recognized by this time that they had a more formidable antagonist to deal with than the average native of Central Africa. Tom, indeed, had freely exposed himself to their marksmen throughout the operations, and had had more than one narrow escape, as well as the one slight wound in the arm, which gave him no concern. They could scarcely have failed to perceive that they had to reckon with a European of determination and resource, and from that time on they contented themselves with a strict investment. They rounded-up what cattle they could lay their hands on, and, having the banana and other plantations of the villagers to draw upon, they lived luxuriously without consuming the provisions they had themselves brought. They could thus afford to play a waiting game.
Within the village, however, things were becoming unpleasant, nay, dangerous. The sanitary arrangements, at any time crude and imperfect, were unequal to the necessities of the case, and one or two cases of sickness had already occurred. The strain upon the fortitude of the people was proving more than it could bear. After three weeks the food-supply began to run short, and the daily rations were diminished, amid murmurings from the Bairo. A week later it was found necessary by the chief to order the slaughter of several of the much-prized cattle. Now that it had come to this pass, the Bairo were bound to suffer most, for, living as they did for the most part on fruits and grain, the stock of which was well-nigh exhausted, they were without the resources of the Bahima, and were earlier in straits for food.
Early in the fifth week of the siege Tom begged the chief to call a palaver. Barega had displayed qualities of patience and endurance which won Tom's unbounded admiration. From the beginning of the siege he seemed to have recognized that his only chance of successful resistance was to trust in the ingenuity and prudence of his blood-brother, and he had sunk his own pre-eminence without a shade of jealousy. No doubt this was in great measure due to Tom's own tactfulness. He took no steps without consulting the chief, and he had that invaluable faculty which enables a man to get his own way without the other party suspecting it. Barega, therefore, willingly called a council, and showed his readiness to listen to anything his brother had to say.
"Barega and my brothers," Tom began, "we have held out so long, and we are not going to give in." (Grunts of applause.) "But we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that we are in sore straits. Our food will last but a few days more, and then, without help, we must starve. Now, if our enemies had no firearms, Barega and I together would lead you out of the village and attack them. But we cannot cope with their weapons, and if we made the attempt it would surely fail. Is it impossible to obtain help from outside? Are there no villages within reach whose people have suffered at the hands of the Arabs, and would aid us against the common enemy? Brothers, it is for you to speak."
The katikiro at once replied that there were three villages within a radius of thirty miles which certainly had suffered by the Arabs' depredations and might possibly be able to lend assistance. One of them, however, Barega reminded the assembly, was ruled by a chief who was extremely jealous of his power, and would not be much inclined to put himself out on any such matter. Still, it could be tried. Barega then selected three of his fleetest runners, and two hours before dawn, under a moonless sky, they were sent out singly from the north gate.
When morning broke, Tom was called from his hut by furious cries in the village. Hastening out, he soon understood the cause of the uproar. Outside the stockade, just beyond arrow-range, a big Manyema was parading before the eyes of the villagers, holding a spear aloft, and on the end of it was the bleeding head of one of the three runners. Behind him marched a crowd of mocking negroes, pointing derisively to the impaled head, and shouting threats at the enraged villagers. Tom mentally registered that as one more atrocity for which the Arabs would some day have to pay, and then did his best to pacify the people.
The other two runners, as it turned out, had been lucky enough to get through the enemy's lines undetected. They both returned on the following night. One of them announced that Barega's rival had received him with scorn and insult, and that he had barely escaped with his life. The other brought news that a raiding-party of Arabs, evidently despatched by the surrounding force, had surprised and burned the neighbouring village a few days before, and that the few inhabitants who had escaped were hiding in the forest.
With this intelligence, it was impossible to disguise the fact that the outlook was gloomy in the extreme. It was hopeless to look for help from outside, and from the inside it appeared that nothing could be done. The rainy season had set in, and sickness had declared itself unmistakeably, especially among the Bairo, who had all along been less well nourished than the Bahima. They were reduced now to a few handfuls of grain daily, and as they roamed about, the ribs showing through their skin, they cast ravenous eyes at the few remaining cattle. Murmurs of "Give us food! give us food!" met the ears of Barega and his officers as they went about, and some of the more violent of the poor people had begun again to listen to the half-lunatic ravings of the medicine-man, who, since his defeat, had sulked almost unnoticed in his hut. Even some of the Bahima, talking among themselves, said that it would be better to submit to the enemy than to die of slow starvation. The katikiro, who through all the incidents of the siege had never lost his faith in Tom, informed him of these murmurs, and Tom impressed on Barega that he must still them at once. The chief immediately summoned a mass-meeting, and addressed his people in an impassioned speech. What would their fate be, he asked, if they yielded? Nine-tenths of the men would be butchered on the spot, along with all the older women and all who were too infirm to stand the strain of marching in a slave-caravan. What would become of their younger women and children? Barega pictured the line of miserable slaves, marching in chains at the mercy of their brutal captors, dropping and left to rot on the path; if they survived the march, to suffer tortures compared with which the fate of their murdered kinsfolk would be happy indeed. Let them choose, he cried, let them choose freely; as for him, he would die in his village, fighting his foe if so it might be; if not, still he would die a free man!
His burning words provoked a shout of approval from the throng, and then Tom stepped forward. A deep hush fell upon the assembly; every man there felt a strange magnetic power in the young white man who had stood by them and done them such good service.
"O Bahima and Bairo!" he cried, "brothers, all of you, do not give up hope. You have heard your brave chief; his words are the words of a lion-heart. I tell you now that I believe we shall yet win. There is a town, in a far land belonging to the Great White King, which was besieged like this village for many long days, and where the people waited and waited, hoping that at last their friends would come to their aid and drive away the hordes besieging them. Their food was gone; they were sick, aye, sick unto death; but did they give in? Know that the children of the Great White King never give in! No; they waited and fought, and some of them died, and then at last, far over the fields, they saw the spears of their friends advancing to help them, and the enemy melted away like mist in the sun, and they were saved! Let us wait also, a little longer, my brothers!"
For a moment after he had ceased the silence was unbroken. Then the katikiro sprang into the ring; his feelings could be played on like the notes of an instrument; raising his spear aloft he cried "Muzungu will save us! Kuboko will save us!" The crowd took up his cry, and Tom was touched to the quick to see their haggard faces lit up once more with the light of hope, and their wild eyes fixed on him as their expected deliverer.
That night he lay awake, thinking, thinking, racking his brains for some means of compelling the enemy to raise the siege and justifying the confidence of the villagers. All the expedients that he had ever read of were passed in turn before his mind, only to be dismissed as impracticable; the want of firearms and gunpowder was against them all. Then suddenly, by an inspiration seemingly quite unconnected with his train of thought, a light flashed upon his mind. There was no need to weigh probabilities; the idea carried conviction with it. Crying "I have it!" he sprang from his couch, waking Mbutu with a start.
"Come, Mbutu," he said, "a night's work and a day's waiting and then we shall be free. Come with me."
In pitch darkness, for the sky was heavy with threatening rain, they made their way across the courtyard into the village, past the silent reservoir and the swollen stream, up to the stockade above the precipice. There they clambered over with infinite caution, lest the slightest sound should arouse the attention of the Arabs below. Feeling over the ground, they searched for the small aperture through which Tom had thrust his stick when exploring the cavern. Tom was half afraid lest some shifting of the soil had covered it up; but after ten minutes' careful search Mbutu whispered that he had put his hand into it. Thrusting a stick into the hole to mark the spot, they hurried to the chief's hut. When Barega came out, rubbing his eyes, Tom asked him for the services of twenty men, with baskets, spades, and bars of iron. He asked him also to pretend to lead a sortie out of the south gate, and to order his men to make as much noise as possible.
"Beat all your drums," he said; "clash all your pots and pans together; let the men yell their hardest, and keep up the din until I send you word."
Barega naturally asked what purpose was to be served by all this to-do, and what his brother would be about in the meantime. But Tom begged him to wait a little; he had a plan, he said. He would rather keep it to himself until he was sure of its success, lest his brother should be disappointed. The chief agreed to follow his instructions, and Tom left him.
Getting twenty of the strongest men together, he led them across the stockade, impressing on them that they must exercise the greatest caution and hold their tongues. Arriving the hole, he selected four of the longest and strongest bars of iron and ordered the men to push them quietly for some distance into the narrow cleft. Then, when he gave the word, one man on the one side was to push and two men on the other to pull at each bar, his aim being to widen the cleft into a practicable passage. The bars had barely been inserted when the noise of drums rolled over the stockade. A moment afterwards a great clashing and clanking startled the air, and wild cries from some hundreds of lusty throats woke echoes from rock and plantation. The sounds of hurried movement rose from the depths of the precipice; the Arab camp was evidently alarmed; and then Tom gave the signal. The men pushed and pulled as he had directed, but in vain; the heavy rock refused to budge. Another man was told off to each bar, and again they put forth their strength; but still there was no sign of movement. The uproar from the village was greater than ever; there was little risk, after all, Tom thought, of his movements being heard; so he now ordered the men to exert all the force of which they were capable, regardless of noise. The result was startling. The whole of the ground; near the rock suddenly gave way and fell with a swish and thud into the cavern. Two of the men stumbled forward after it into the darkness, and knocked their shins violently against the rock. But they clambered up again, and Tom found that all the damage they had suffered was a few contusions.