"Well, sergeant; how many casualties?"
Bela Moshi, wearing a broad smile, saluted.
"Brass Pot, him head-bone blown inside out," he replied, as cheerfully as only a Haussa can when reporting losses amongst his comrades. "Nimshi Pali, him no good—maquisha. Dat all dead, but plenty much Haussa hurt—so many."
He indicated by means of his fingers that fifteen were more or less seriously wounded, a fairly heavy toll of the sixty odd men who had paraded that morning. Nevertheless, the sacrifice had not been made in vain, for a numerically stronger force had been completely routed with the loss of eighteen left dead upon the field, and thirty-eight wounded and unwounded prisoners, together with fifty-nine Mauser rifles, which, for want of transport, were smashed after the bolt action of each had been removed.
Having taken proper precautions against a surprise counter-attack, although such a step was unlikely in view of the demoralization of the defeated force, Wilmshurst directed his attention to the object of the expedition—the saving of the seaplane.
West African natives are as a rule good carpenters and blacksmiths, and the Haussas were no exception. Under Wilmshurst's directions they set to work to dismantle the machine, removing the planes as carefully and expeditiously as a party of crack mechanics from the Royal Air Force factories. One of the floats was badly smashed, but the other was practically intact except for a small jagged hole in the three-ply mahogany.
In a couple of hours the machine was ready for transport across five miles of bush country, although, fortunately, the ground was fairly level.
A pair of mountain gun wheels on a broad base-line had been brought for the purpose, and the chassis, engine included, was rested on the axle. Relays of men steadied and propelled the heavy load, others armed with axes and entrenching spades going on ahead to clear the path. Other parties transported the floats and planes, while advance and rear guards and flankers were thrown out to guard against a possible surprise, while an escort had to be provided for the prisoners.
With frequent halts it was not surprising that the rate of progress was roughly one and a half miles an hour, and it was close on sunset when the rescued seaplane arrived at the banks of a small river, where the Waffs, having struck camp in the vicinity of Gwelba, had only just marched in.
Colonel Quarrier was delighted with Wilmshurst's report and personally complimented him upon the way in which he had accomplished the difficult task with which he had been entrusted, and also the brilliant little action, which was quite unexpected.
"Pity you didn't either plug or capture that worthless scoundrel MacGregor," he remarked, for there was now no doubt about the utter faithlessness of the supposed Rhodesian. "A man like that will cause more trouble than a dozen machine-guns. I suppose, in the course of former conversations with him, you did not detect any trace of a foreign accent?"
"None whatever, sir," replied Dudley.
"Or mannerisms?"
Again the subaltern replied in the negative.
"I can only hope," continued Colonel Quarrier, "that the fellow isn't an Englishman. It is just possible that he is of German nationality, and that long years of residence either in Great Britain or the colonies has enabled him to totally suppress his Hunnish accent and traits, although it is almost an impossible matter to eradicate his sympathies for his kultured Fatherland. 'Once a German, always a German,' you know."
Having been dismissed by his colonel, Dudley was questioned and congratulated by Captain Manners, the adjutant, who also expressed regret that the so-called MacGregor had contrived to escape capture. The members of the "Lone Star Crush" were boisterously warm in their congratulations, chaffing the subaltern as well as they knew; but Wilmshurst, alive to the mannerisms of his brother-officers, took their facetious remarks in good part.
The two officer-airmen added their thanks and good wishes. They were still too weak to walk any distance and had to be carried in roughly-constructed "dhoolies" by the Haussas. Their relief on learning that the seaplane was safely alongside the river was great, especially when they were promised that the work of repairing the floats would be put in hand forthwith.
"Your C.O. evidently wants to get rid of us," declared the pilot smiling. "A crippled 'bus hampers the mobility of the column. We heard that a runner came in just now before we left Gwelba, with the news that an ammunition column and details are on their way up-country. We've sent down for more petrol, so things look rosy—thanks principally to you."
"That's nothing," expostulated Wilmshurst. "Merely returning good for evil—that's all."
"'Returning good for evil,'" repeated the pilot. "I don't understand you."
"Let me explain," continued Dudley, laughing at the thought of disillusioning the airmen. "A day or two ago my platoon were posted on the M'ganga road. We were just settling down nicely to give Fritz a warm welcome when you two fellows started dropping bombs on us."
"Good heavens!" ejaculated the observer. "We thought we were strafing a mob of Huns. No damage, I trust?"
"You would have heard of it before now if there had been," replied Wilmshurst. "The nearest one just dusted some of my men, that's all. We couldn't get you to see that we were a Haussa platoon, and I had a nice old job keeping my men in hand. They wanted to take pot shots at you. By the bye, what made you chuck it—clear out after dropping only a few bombs?"
"Our last, fortunately for you," said the pilot. "I say, what a frost! An' we claimed four direct hits, didn't we?"
"We did," corroborated the other dourly. "We seriously considered the idea of giving you a couple of trays of Lewis gun ammunition, Mr. Wilmshurst. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to distinguish between British and German native troops from any height. By the bye, did you find a mahogany box in the fuselage? Good! it contains undeveloped photograph plates. One we took of your position. I'll send along a print when we get back to our base. It will interest you."
The Waffs were to remain in camp for three days, pending the arrival of the convoy. Even had the latter not been expected the Haussas were temporarily rendered immobile by the presence of the crippled seaplane and her crew, and also by the number of prisoners. The captive Askaris were subjected to a strict examination, with the result that it was discovered that Robert MacGregor was really a German, and a person of some official capacity, since he was on friendly terms with the Hun commandant, while an Askari sergeant gave the traitor's name with great distinctness, Ulrich von Gobendorff, adding that the German used to have charge of a fortified post at Twashi in the Narewenda Hills.
"That's not so very many miles from the Rhodesian border," thought Wilmshurst, as he made a note of the name in his pocket-book. "I wonder if we are ever likely to operate in that district?"
Other information given by the prisoners fixed the position of a German entrenched post held by three native regiments and a handful of whites, at M'ganga, under the command of von Lindenfelt.
"M'ganga? I thought this was M'ganga," exclaimed the puzzled adjutant, referring to a map. "Ask the prisoner how far he marched and in what direction before he was captured?"
The man having replied, Captain Manners was able to locate the spot. On the German-inspired maps it was shown as a place, whereas, according to the Askari's description M'ganga was a fairly extensive table-land, precipitous on three sides, while on the fourth the ground descended in a series of slight terraces to a broad but shallow river, fordable at a dozen places, within a distance of a couple of miles.
"If only the beggars will stand," exclaimed Colonel Quarrier, "the place will be well worth going for. With our small force a turning movement seems rather a tall order. Of course, if we can get in touch with the Pathan regiments at Kilmoro—and there's a detachment of Rhodesian Light Horse, too, I believe."
"Yes, sir," agreed the senior major. "If we can co-operate—cannot we send a runner, sir? He'll be back before the ammunition and a supply column comes in."
In quick time the repairs to the seaplane were completed, and the craft moored afloat in a wide expanse of the river. Owing to the difficult country, where an aeroplane fitted with landing-wheels would be at a loss to find a suitable spot to alight, a seaplane stood a better chance, owing to the presence of several wide rivers, and here the Sea Service machines of the Royal Air Force scored over the German aircraft; most of which were alreadyhors de combat, and could not be replaced owing to the lack of material and the cutting off of German East Africa from practically all communication without.
On hearing of the proposed attack upon von Lindenfelt the naval airmen, who were rapidly recovering from the effect of their arduous and perilous trek, volunteered to remain and co-operate. For observation purposes and machine-gunning the Huns they would be able to render yeoman service, while, when their offer was promptly accepted, the ingenious officers set to work to manufacture bombs.
These missiles, rough and ready in construction, were none the less formidable, while the moral effect was a great consideration. The "eggs" consisted of small sacks filled with cordite, both loose and in cartridges, while by manipulating the fuses of Mills bombs, so that the period between release and explosion was increased to six seconds, the improvised missiles were made to detonate just before reaching the ground after a fall of six hundred feet.
The tempestuous shouts of the Haussas announced the arrival of the transport column, for food was beginning to run short and the men's rations would have had to have been reduced had not the expected stores been speedily forthcoming. There was petrol, too, enough for a series of flights over a distance of two hundred miles; while to the intense satisfaction of officers and men big Jock Spofforth rejoined the regiment, looking none the worse for his encounter with the lioness, except for the still raw scars on his brawny arms.
"Just in time for a dust-up, I find, old man," was his reply to Wilmshurst's greeting. "You've been lucky already, I hear? Where's that MacGregor chap? Is he still with the battalion?"
Briefly Dudley explained what had happened.
"Skunk," muttered Spofforth. "So we've been taking a dirty Hun under our wing, so to speak. I don't mind admitting now that I didn't think much of the blighter when he pushed off and promptly fainted."
"But I scooted, too," interrupted Laxdale, "and left you to tackle the lioness."
"I also plead guilty," added Danvers.
"But with this difference," rejoined Spofforth: "you were unarmed and he had a rifle. Ah, well; you fellows have stolen a march on me, and I've a lot of leeway to make up. When do we move against M'ganga?"
"As soon as we are in touch with the Indian crush," replied Danvers. "It may be tomorrow."
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Spofforth. "Let's hope it will be a decent scrap, and that von Gobendorff will be present at the meeting."
It was not until thirty-six hours later that the Waffs moved out of camp for the purpose of delivering a surprise attack upon von Lindenfelt's position. From N'gere a strong force of Pathans, accompanied by a mule mountain battery, was marching in a north-easterly direction to cut off, if possible, the Huns' retreat, while the Rhodesian Light Horse was operating between M'ganga and the Karewenda Geberge in order to keep contact with any German troops likely to attempt to reinforce von Lindenfelt's garrison. To still further encompass the hostile position a force of Belgians was approaching from the westward. Even if these resolute and energetic troops failed to be in for the actual fighting, they would most effectually round up any stragglers, who would otherwise contrive to escape to the hinterland, where strong bands of Huns still maintained guerrilla tactics.
Almost as soon as it was light the seaplane rose from the surface of the river and flew westwards to note the respective dispositions of the other troops operating against M'ganga. In the absence of wireless Colonel Quarrier could receive the airmen's report only by means of a written message dropped from the seaplane, while before the storming troops were in position the airmen would have to return to their temporary base, replenish petrol and then fly off to bomb von Lindenfelt's stronghold.
Progress was slow as far as the Haussas were concerned. Although there were no indications that the Huns expected an attack so promptly they had made certain preparations. The only approach from the south-east was by means of a narrow path through well-wooded and undulating country, and for miles from M'ganga the wily Germans had beset the road with pitfalls and booby-traps. There were caltrops by the hundred—sharp-pointed spikes stuck into the ground, their tips cunningly hidden by dead leaves—which were responsible for a few casualties as the Haussas' bare feet came in contact with the barbs. These devices the blacks countered by means of implements shaped like exaggerated hoes which they pushed in front of them.
Other defensive measures were heavy logs suspended by boughs overhanging the path by means of light but strong wires. An unwary footfall would release a catch which in turn would cause the baulk of timber to crash to the earth. There were old muskets, charged to bursting point with slugs and nails, which were fired by similar devices, while on three occasions fougasses, or land-mines, were exploded, fortunately without causing casualties. The Haussas, not to be outdone by their Askari foes, had taken the precaution of driving oxen well in front of the advance guard, and although six beasts had been killed by infernal machines, the troops succeeded in crossing the belt of forest with a loss of five men slightly wounded.
"The explosion of those fougasses has knocked on the head our chances of delivering a surprise attack," remarked the company commander to Wilmshurst. "It will be a frontal attack against a prepared foe. Let's hope the Huns won't bolt."
"That's the general opinion, sir," replied the subaltern. "The men are simply longing for a scrap. Fritz has thrown away one good chance. He might have played Old Harry with us if he had posted a couple of companies in ambush in the forest."
"I wasn't sorry to get clear of the place," admitted the major. "A hundred men might have been lying in wait in those underglades and our flankers wouldn't spot 'em. Hullo, here's the seaplane."
Flying at a comparatively low altitude the machine approached rapidly "down wind." In the clear atmosphere the concentric red, white, and blue circles that indicated its nationality were visible from a great distance, while presently the features of the observer could be distinguished as he leant over the side of the fuselage.
Presently a small object to which coloured streamers were attached was dropped from the seaplane. Greatly to the curiosity of the blacks, who watched the descending message with undisguised wonderment, the object did not explode on reaching the ground as they fully expected it to do; and it was with an absurd display of caution that Tari Barl and Blue Fly went to receive it.
"The C.O—sharp!" ordered Wilmshurst. "Don't hold the thing like a snake—it won't bite."
Tari Barl departed on his errand, and returned presently, looking very crestfallen.
"What's wrong, Tarry Barrel?" asked the subaltern.
"Colonel him call me one time fool, sah," he reported. "Him tell you come see him all in dashed hurry quick."
"I wonder what Tarry Barrel has been doing?" thought Dudley as he hastened to report to his C.O.
Colonel Quarrier was laughing, so were the adjutant and the regimental sergeant-major. In the former's hand was the unrolled scrap of paper on which the airmen's message was written.
"It's all right, after all, Mr. Wilmshurst," said the colonel. "Your runner is a bit of a blockhead, as I think you'll admit. Evidently under the impression that these coloured ribbons were a present to me from the skies, he handed over the streamers, while the case containing the writing, which had been soiled when it fell to the ground, he carefully cut off and threw away. As you are here you may as well inform your company commander the news: the —th and —th Pathans are in their prearranged positions. There will be a twenty-minutes' bombardment by the mountain battery in conjunction with an attack by the seaplane. At four forty-five the Waffs will advance in three lines to the assault. That's all, Mr. Wilmshurst."
The subaltern saluted and withdrew. It was now three o'clock and an hour and three-quarters were to elapse before the battalion went into action.
"Looks as if we've cornered the beggars, Mr. Wilmshurst," remarked the major, when Dudley had communicated the C.O.'s message. "I suppose they are still there," he added.
The two officers searched the crest of the hill through their field-glasses. So elaborate and skilful were the enemy defences that the powerful lenses failed to detect any trace of the rifle pits and sand-bagged parapets of the trenches. Nor were any troops visible. The top of the table-land looked as deserted as an unexplored land in the Polar regions.
Wilmshurst lowered his binoculars. He was about to make some reply when to the accompaniment of a shrill whistling sound his helmet was whisked from his head, falling to the ground a good ten feet from where he stood.
For some minutes the two officers regarded each other, the major anxiously the other whimsically.
"Hit?" asked the major laconically.
"No, sir," replied Wilmshurst.
"Jolly near squeak," continued the other. "I think we'll choose a little less exposed position to resume our observations."
Dudley retrieved his helmet. A couple of clean-cut holes marked the entry and exit of a bullet, the missile having missed the subaltern's head by a fraction of an inch.
"We've drawn their fire, sir," he exclaimed. "They are still there."
"A sniper at eight hundred yards, I should imagine," observed the company commander. "A jolly good shot for a Hun. We'll try our luck again."
Making their way to the depression in the ground where the Haussas of "A" and "B" Companies were lying, the two officers set a couple of men to work to rig up a dummy soldier. When complete the effigy was slowly moved so that from the hostile position it gave the appearance of a Haussa brazenly and defiantly moving out in the open, while a dozen officers swept the ground on their front with their field-glasses to try to detect the faint flash of a sniper's rifle.
A puff of smoke rose from behind a bush at a distance of half a mile, and almost immediately following the sharp crack of a rifle a bullet "knocked spots" off the effigy.
Without hesitation twenty or more Haussas let fly in the direction of the puff of smoke.
"What are you aiming at, men?" shouted the major.
The score of blacks grinned unanimously. In their minds they had no suspicion but that they had acted promptly and efficaciously.
Again the dummy was held aloft, and again the same thing happened.
"I've spotted him, sir!" exclaimed Wilmshurst. "Caught sight of the flash about fifty yards to the right. Fritz, old sport, you're exposed."
While the riflemen were keeping up a hot fire upon the bush that they supposed was concealing the sniper the company-commander ordered Bela Moshi to turn a machine gun upon the position that Wilmshurst had spotted.
Before twenty-four rounds had been let loose a man sprang three feet in the air, and fell inertly upon the ridge that had but imperfectly protected him.
"Dead as mutton," reported Wilmshurst, after bringing his glasses to bear upon the ill-starred Hun. "He nearly had me, though," he soliloquised, tentatively fingering the double perforation in his helmet.
There was no lack of volunteers to examine the sniper's lair. Regardless of the risk of being potted at by other enemy riflemen Bela Moshi, Tari Barl, and Spot Cash crept forward, taking advantage of every available bit of cover.
In twenty minutes the Haussas returned, reporting in characteristically native terms that the German's head had been literally riddled with the burst of bullets from the Maxim. They brought his rifle and ammunition, his field glasses and a small electric battery. In connection with the latter wires were run from the sniper's lair to the bush from which the puffs of smoke had been seen. Here small charges of black powder had been placed so as to be exploded from a safe distance and thus deceive the Haussas as to the rifleman's actual position. The Hun was a bit of a strategist, but he had overreached himself. It was the dense smoke from the black powder that had given him away. Had he used the so-called smokeless powder the Haussas might have expended hundreds of rounds without discovering the cheat.
Wilmshurst examined the weapon that had so nearly done him in. It was an improved Mauser, bearing the German Government proof mark and the date 1917, and was fitted with the latest approved type of telescopic sight, while on the muzzle was fixed a small metal cylinder that effectually silenced the report.
"That's strange, sir," he remarked to the major. "We distinctly heard the report."
"We did," agreed the company commander. "I cannot understand it unless the Boche for some reason fired several rounds with the silencer removed. If so, why?"
Before the discussion could be carried further a dull, booming sound came from behind the table-land of M'ganga, while at a little height behind the German position appeared the mushroom-like cloud of white smoke as the shrapnel burst.
"Good!" ejaculated the company commander, replacing his binoculars. "We've had the orchestral selection; the curtain rises on the First Act."
A loud whirring noise audible above the distant cannonade announced that the seaplane was passing overhead to participate in the strafing of Fritz. Of necessity the airmen had to fly high in order to avoid being hit by the British shrapnel, but the summit of M'Ganga offered a big target and the bombs were soon dropping merrily upon the trenches, dug-outs, and storehouses of von Lindenfelt's position.
In a very few minutes the table-land was enveloped in a piebald pall of smoke, yet no return fire came from the two 4.1 inch guns that were known to be with von Lindenfelt's column. Apart from the bursting shells and bombs there were no evidences of movement in the Huns' stronghold—a circumstance that caused the Waff officers to wonder deeply and mutter under their breath.
"Fix bayonets!"
The sharp click of the weapons being fixed to the rifles rattled along the line of excited Haussas. Then in open order the blacks hurried forward to take cover. Nor did any hostile bullet seek to check their progress. Without hindrance the black and khaki steel-tipped line gained a pre-arranged position within four hundred yards of the base of M'Ganga plateau.
Here the men were halted to take a "breather" before essaying the final task, while the company officers foregathered, consulting their synchronised watches. In another ten minutes—five minutes before the time for the bombardment to cease—the Haussas were to start on their desperate frontal attack.
"How goes it?" enquired Wilmshurst of Jock Spofforth, as the giant strolled leisurely across from the platoon.
"Rotten," admitted the other candidly. His big fingers were trembling slightly as he applied a match to a cigarette. "First time going into action, you know. It's the hanging about business that gets on a fellow's nerves."
"You'll be all right when the advance sounds," declared Dudley. "I felt like it once."
"Simply had to stroll over and have a palaver with you," continued Spofforth. "I was afraid that my men would spot my hands trembling. Hope the Boches are standing. Hang it all! Why did nature let me grow to this height?"
Spofforth was laughing now. The mental tension of the seemingly interminable wait was over.
"Two minutes more—hop it, old man," cautioned Wilmshurst. "The best of luck."
The whistles sounded. Almost immediately, as if by some uncanny means the distant gunners saw that the infantry were in motion, the strafe ceased. Overhead the seaplane still circled. The bomb-dropping part of their task completed the airmen lingered to watch the advance, and if occasion offered to assist the storming troops by means of their Lewis gun.
The natural features of the face of the plateau made the ascent a difficult one. Often the Haussas had to climb upon their comrades' shoulders, and in return help them to surmount an awkward terrace; yet everything considered the triple line was well maintained, the blacks needing no encouragement from their white officers, who, perspiring freely in every pore, were well ahead of their men.
The summit at last. Well-nigh breathless, Wilmshurst, although by no means the first, drew himself over the rocky edge of the table-land to find the ground plentifully sprinkled with barbed wire entanglements. Although this form of defence had been badly knocked about by shell-fire there was still sufficient wire, either in tension or else in snake-like coils, to offer serious impediment to the advance.
Suddenly the opening shot of a ragged, ill-aimed fusillade burst from a line of zig-zagged trenches a hundred yards from the edge of the plateau. A Haussa, in the act of assisting a comrade, sprang high in the air, and fell, his hands in his death-agony clutching at Wilmshurst's ankles.
Without knowing what trapped him the subaltern measured his length on the ground. Probably the fall saved his life, for a corporal immediately behind him was shot through the chest.
"Prone position—independent firing," shouted the major, realising that it was a forlorn hope for a few men to charge. Until a sufficient number of bayonets was on the plateau a forward movement was out of the question.
Coolly the Haussas threw themselves on the ground, taking advantage of every scrap of cover. To the accompaniment of the constant whip-like cracks of the rifles other blacks clambered upon the fairly level ground until three companies were in readiness to continue the advance.
Again the whistle sounded. The crowd of prostrate Haussas rose to their feet, yelling and shouting as they lurched forward with levelled bayonets. Men fell almost unheeded as the Waffs forced their way through the gaps in the barbed wire, and swept right and left to avoid the shell craters. By this means platoons became intermingled, while companies overlapped each other, but steadily the onward rush continued.
The Askaris in the first line of trenches did not wait. The sight of the tips of the glittering bayonets was too much for their courage. Their fire ceased; they turned and scurried over the parados, followed by bullets from the Haussas and met by bullets from their German task-masters, who had taken the precaution of stiffening their native levies with a lead ration should they show signs of weakening.
In this predicament the Askaris halted and faced about. Already the Haussas were astride the first trench and interlocked with the nearmost of their foes, the while a German machine gun was playing on the combatants with the delightful impartiality that a Hun displays to save his own hide.
Temporarily the Haussas' charge was checked. The machine gun was playing havoc with them. Then, suddenly, the ominous tic-tac ceased, while overhead came the pop-pop-pop of the seaplane's automatic gun. It was more than the Huns had bargained for. Some dived into underground retreats, others bolted, showing a clean pair of heels to the Askaris, who were now resisting valiantly.
In the mêlée Wilmshurst found himself attacked by three muscular natives, who for some reason did not attempt to fire, but fought with their rifles and bayonets.
One the subaltern shot with the last cartridge in his revolver. Hurling the empty weapon at the head of the second—which the Askari avoided by adroitly stepping aside—Dudley parried a bayonet-thrust with the sole weapon at his disposal, a "loaded" trench-stick. As he did so the second native closed, delivering a thrust that drove the bayonet through the left sleeve of the subaltern's tunic. Before the man could recover his weapon, Wilmshurst brought the heavy stick down upon his fingers.
Dropping his rifle the Askari gripped the subaltern's wrist with his uninjured right hand, while a third native ran in to drive his bayonet through the young officer's chest.
A deafening report sounded close to Wilmshurst's ear; he felt the blast of a rifle shot on his cheek, but he had the satisfaction of seeing the Askari topple forward and bite the dust.
Wilmshurst settled the third antagonist very effectively by delivering a crashing blow with his left upon the point of the Askari's chin. The man relaxed his grip and dropped.
"Thanks, Bela Moshi!" exclaimed Wilmshurst, catching sight of the sergeant as the latter thrust a fresh clip of cartridges into his magazine.
The struggle in this part of the line was now over. The Haussas were engaged in firing shots into the dug-outs to intimidate their German occupants. Fifty or sixty prisoners were being disarmed and rounded up, while the wounded had to be given attention.
Wilmshurst, picking up his revolver and reloading it, looked around for his brother subalterns. There was big Jock Spofforth in the act of putting a first-aid dressing round a bullet wound in Danvers' arm, while Laxdale was sitting on the ground and nursing his left foot.
There was no time to make enquiries just then. It was satisfactory to learn that all the officers of "A" Company were alive; those who were wounded were making light of their hurts. On the right flank the struggle was still in progress, and until all resistance was at an end Wilmshurst had no time for other things.
Acting upon his company commander's orders the subaltern took charge of the task of clearing out the dug-outs, while the remaining platoons of "A" and "B" Companies re-formed, and hastened to the support of their comrades who were still hotly engaged.
"If we only had a supply of bombs!" thought Dudley as he watched the ineffectual attempt of his men to induce the occupants of a deep shelter to surrender.
Half a dozen Haussas were gathered round the entrance firing volleys into the cavernous depths, and punctuating the fusillade by quaintly-worded threats of what they would do if the Bosh-bosh didn't "show hand up one time bery much quick."
Bidding his men be silent, Wilmshurst demanded the surrender of the Germans in the dug-out. Hearing a British officer's voice one of the Huns replied defiantly:
"We no surrender make to a schweinhund Englander. We food haf for six week, an' you cannot hurt us."
"Can't we, by Jove!" replied Wilmshurst. "Sergeant, bring along that box of bombs."
"Bery good, sah," said Bela Moshi, grinning as he hurried away a few steps on a phantom errand.
"Now, then," continued the subaltern. "I give you one minute to make up your minds; if you refuse to surrender we'll blow you to blazes. I take the time from now."
Half a minute passed in absolute silence as far as the vicinity of the dug-out was concerned, although three or four hundred yards away the desultory firing still continued. Three quarters of a minute: there was a shuffling sound from the subterranean retreat and the guttural voice of several Huns engaged in excited debate.
"Fifty seconds!" announced Wilmshurst. "Ten seconds more."
"Do not t'row der pomb; we surrender make!" implored a voice.
"Out you come, then; one at a time," ordered Dudley.
With his revolver ready for instant action should the Huns display any signs of treachery the subaltern awaited the appearance of his captives, while the Haussas stood by to back up their young officer should necessity arise.
The first to appear was the junior lieutenant, looking very scared. Finding that nothing occurred to cause him physical hurt he held his arms high above his head, at the same time saying something to his unseen companions.
Then came Hauptmann von Argerlich, pale-faced under his sun-burnt complexion. He had good cause to feel afraid, for he was by no means uncertain that the British possessed a record of his deeds—deeds that might be worthy of the German arms, but certainly would not be regarded with any degree of favour by nations with any respectable code of honour. Poisoning wells, for example, was quite a favourite and pleasant Hun trick when the perpetrators of the outrage were all able to place a safe distance between them and their foes; it was quite another matter when the officer responsible for the dastardly deeds was a prisoner of war.
Three more Germans followed, and then came a full-faced, double-chinned Prussian, wearing an order on his cotton drill uniform. In his hand he held a sheathed sword, the scabbard of which had already been unfastened from the slings.
"I am Commandant Hendrich von Lindenfelt," he announced as captor and captive exchanged salutes. "I make surrender and claim der treatment due to der brisoners of war."
"That'll be all right," rejoined Wilmshurst. "Please keep your sword until the colonel decides—I mean, until you are taken to Colonel Quarrier of the Nth Waffs. Are all the German officers here?"
"Yes," replied von Lindenfelt. "All except those who killed and wounded are."
"I am anxious to find a certain individual known as von Gobendorff," continued the British subaltern. "Can you give me any information concerning him?"
The oberst seemed considerably taken aback.
"I do not know any person so called," he replied after a slight hesitation.
"Think again, Herr von Lindenfelt," prompted Wilmshurst. "The man we want is von Gobendorff, otherwise known as Robert MacGregor, and is known to have belonged to the forces under your command."
Von Lindenfelt shook his head, this time resolutely and defiantly.
"I do know not," he declared.
It was practically useless to press the question. There were, Wilmshurst argued, other means of finding out.
Setting a guard over the prisoners Dudley sent a file of Haussas to explore the dug-out. In less than a minute the corporal returned.
"Number one big hole, sah," he reported. "Me no find no one time man in no place."
As a result of this somewhat mystifying intelligence Wilmshurst entered the dug-out. Descending a flight of a dozen wooden steps he gained the ante-room, a space fifteen feet in length and about seven in breadth. It was absolutely proof against the heaviest gun employed in the German East campaign, while, as a safeguard against bombs that might be lobbed into their retreat, the door of the second room was protected by a wall of sandbags backed with massive slabs of African teak.
By the aid of flaming brands held by the blacks Wilmshurst was able to make a rapid, but none the less complete examination of the shelter. Evidently it was the headquarters dug-out, judging by the smashed telephone, the pile of broken instruments, and the heap of paper ash that littered the floor.
At the subaltern's order the blacks prodded the walls with their bayonets and hammered the floor with the butt ends of their rifles, but no suspicion of the existence of a concealed "funk-hole" was to be traced.
"Precious little here," commented Wilmshurst. "I'll have to keep the place open for the colonel's inspection, I suppose."
Regaining the open air he posted a sentry over the entrance and, collecting the German prisoners, awaited the arrival of the C.O.
By this time all resistance on the summit of M'ganga was over. Away to the north-east came occasional reports of rifle-firing, showing that the Pathans and the Rhodesian horse were engaging the fugitives.
The one fly in the ointment was the escape of von Gobendorff. There was, of course, the possibility that he had been shot or had contrived to slip away during the action. In the latter case he had the cordon of troops to take into consideration; but knowing the wiliness of the man and the fluency with which he spoke English, Dudley began to feel rather dubious concerning the Hun's apprehension.
Otherwise the brilliant little affair was highly successful. Practically the whole of von Linderfelt's staff had been either killed or captured; most of the Germans in the firing-line had shared a similar fate, while the surviving Askaris were either captured or had escaped in small numbers through the lines of the encircling forces.
Von Lindenfelt had not counted upon the use of light artillery against his strong position, but the fire of the mountain batteries, assisted by the seaplane's bombs, had proved terribly destructive. Of the 4.1-inch guns mounted for the defence not one remained intact, their destruction materially helping the Waffs in their frontal attack. A considerable quantity of military stores also fell into the hands of the victors, much of the booty being found upon examination to have been sent to German East Africa during the last three months.
As a result of the operation a large hostile column operating in the neighbourhood of the Rovuma had ceased to exist. There were other roving forces still in the district, and against these the Haussas were to operate in conjunction with other detachments.
"It's all right when we catch Fritz sitting," remarked Spofforth. "The trouble is that he strongly objects to be caught. We'll have to chase him from the Rovuma to Kilimanjaro and back before we square up this business."
"And, even then, corner him in Cape Town," added Danvers facetiously. "I can see myself spending my seventieth birthday on this job."
On the evening of the capture of M'ganga a white man, fatigued and desperately hungry, stood irresolute upon the banks of the Kiwa River, roughly forty miles from the scene of the Waffs' successful operations.
It would have been a difficult matter to recognise in the jaded man the once well-set-up individual known in certain quarters as Robert MacGregor; nor was there much resemblance between the fugitive and the German secret service agent, Ulrich von Gobendorff—yet the man was none other than he whom the officers of the Haussa regiment particularly wished to lay by the heels.
By a series of hair-breadth escapes von Gobendorff had succeeded in making his way past the Pathan infantry picquets. For twenty minutes he had crouched up to his neck in the miasmatic waters of a forest pool, with thousands of mosquitoes buzzing round his unprotected head, while a patrol of the Rhodesian Light Horse halted within twenty yards of his place of concealment.
And now, with a strip of linen tied round his head, a ragged cotton shirt, a pair of "shorts" that were hardly any protection from the thorny cacti, and a pair of badly-worn "veldt schoen" as the sum total of his clothing and footgear von Gobendorff awaited the fall of night in the depths of a tropical forest.
His limbs were covered with scratches that were causing him intense pain and irritation; his face was swollen under the attacks of mosquitoes, until his bloodshot eyes were hardly visible above his puffed up cheeks. Unarmed with the exception of an automatic pistol, he was about to brave the dangers of a night 'midst malarial mists and wild beasts of an African forest.
As the sun sank von Gobendorff collected a heap of wood and leaves and kindled a fire. For the present he judged that he was practically free from pursuit. In any case he would take the risk of lighting a fire. It was not likely that British patrols would be wandering through the dense tropical vegetation during the hours of darkness.
Under the wide-spreading branches of a baobab the Hun was able to make one fire serve his purpose. Ordinarily he would have lighted three or four at a distance of five or six yards from each other, and thus found comparative immunity from the attacks of lions and hippos, but the baobab—it reminded him of a certain incident when he was "attached" to the Haussas—was able to protect both rear and flank from the voracious assaults of any four-footed creatures.
As the fire blazed brightly von Gobendorff consumed his last ration—a small cube of highly-concentrated food, which he had in his possession on the development of the attack on M'ganga. Throughout his flight, although tormented with the pangs of hunger, he had resolutely refused to draw upon his scanty commissariat. And now it was eaten: for the rest of his journey he would have to depend upon his wits to obtain food. Rather grimly he reflected that an automatic .302, although an efficient "man-stopper" in amêlée, was not to be compared with a rifle as a means of procuring food.
Although inured to exposure in a tropical country von Gobendorff was feeling severely the effect of the sun upon his insufficiently protected limbs. In the rapidly cooling air his blistered skin was stretched so tightly that every movement of his neck, arms and legs gave him intense pain. The mosquitoes, owing to the glare of the burning wood, had ceased their attacks, but the effect of their previous onslaughts was greatly in evidence.
Slowly and carefully lying down on a pile of broad leaves the Hun tried to fall asleep, but in vain. Racked in every limb, his head throbbing as if it harboured a rapidly working piston, he endured—waiting for the dawn that would give him no respite from his torments.
Presently the denizens of the forest began their nocturnal activities. In the sluggishly-flowing river hippopotami floundered noisily. Elephants crashed through the brushwood making their way to the water, while at intervals rhinoceri and bush-cows charged blindly past the fiercely burning fire. Von Gobendorff was in a big game hunter's paradise, but he failed utterly to show enthusiasm at the prospect.
At intervals he crawled to his reserve stock of fuel to replenish the fire, knowing that if he allowed the comforting and protecting flame to die out he stood an almost certain chance of falling a victim to a four-footed foe. Once a large bush-cow thundered almost through the blazing logs, bellowing frantically as a panther with its claws deeply dug into the huge brute's hide was remorselessly tearing at the throat of its prey.
Monkeys, too, huge simians looking human-like in the dull red glare, came shuffling from the shadow of the neighbouring trees to gaze fixedly at the unusual sight of a fire. Muttering, chattering and gesticulating they watched the Hun's bivouac for several minutes until the sudden spring of a large cat-like animal claimed one victim and sent the rest of the monkeys flying for their lives.
With the first streak of dawn the nocturnal Bacchanalia ceased. Von Gobendorff, who had longed for the break of day in order to resume his flight to a supposedly safe refuge in the Karewenda Hills, found himself unable to resist the sleep of utter exhaustion, and as the last faint wreath of pale grey smoke rose from the dying embers he dropped into a deep slumber.
He awoke to find the glade bathed in brilliant sunshine. The sun was almost overhead, while he himself was lying in the dense shadow cast by the overspreading branches of the baobab. Through an opening in the otherwise dense foliage he could see the river rippling in the dazzling light, while partly hauled up the bank and partly resting between the reeds was a canoe—a dug-out of about twenty-five feet in length.
"Himmel!" muttered the German. "This is indeed good fortune."
The means of crossing the broad Kiwa River was at his command. He had made up his mind on the previous evening to risk a horrible death by attempting to swim the stream. He had seen what appeared to be logs drifting silently with the eddying current—logs that on the approach of danger would reveal themselves in their true characters, for the river swarmed with hippopotami.
Von Gobendorff was on the point of issuing from his retreat when the sound of voices and the rustling of the brushwood warned him that the owners of the canoe were returning.
Listening intently he recognised the dialect as that of the Birwas—a native tribe occupying a considerable tract of the hinterland. He knew the language well—he had the Hun's typical capability of acquiring a knowledge of foreign tongues.
Presently the blacks came in sight—two lithe and stalwart natives armed with primitive bow and spear. One man carried the hindquarters of a gnu, the other had a brace of birds dangling from the haft of his spear.
With an effort von Gobendorff pulled himself together and strode boldly into the open.
Halting, he signed imperiously to the Birwas to approach.
The blacks obeyed promptly. Experience had taught them to carry out the behests of their German masters with the utmost celerity. With every indication of abasement they approached and awaited the white man's orders.
Von Gobendorff pointed to the still warm embers of the fire.
"I am hungry," he said. "Get me something to eat and drink, and be sharp."
While one of the Birwas cut strips of flesh from the gnu and spitted them on skewers, the other placed more wood on the fire and coaxed it into a blaze. The grilling operation in progress the fire-tender ran to the canoe to return with a couple of small gourds of water, some dried berries somewhat resembling coffee beans and a flat cake of mealie bread.
Von Gobendorff soon discovered that the natives had been serving in the German outpost at G'henge, a position overrun and captured by a Sikh battalion about three months previously. They had, they declared, been very well treated by their new masters.
The fugitive smiled grimly, immediately wincing as the movement of the facial muscles gave him a thrill of pain. It was evident, he reasoned, that the Birwas had mistaken him for an officer of the British forces.
Hardly able to wait until the meal was prepared von Gobendorff turned to and ate with avidity, washing down the food with copious draughts of hot and far from palatable beverage. Having refreshed he ordered the blacks to hide all traces of his bivouac and made them carry him to the canoe. He realised how imperative it was that he should cover his tracks, and by no means the least important measure was to prevent any prints of his veldt schoen being discovered on the moist marshland on the river bank.
"Take me to Kossa," ordered von Gobendorff, naming a small military post on the Kiwa about thirty miles down the river, and at a point where the stream made a semi-circular bend before running in a south-westerly direction to join the Rovuma.
For the first time the Birwas demurred.
"There are strong rapids a little distance down stream," declared one. "We are not skilled in working a canoe. Can we not take you across to our village, where there are plenty of men who will paddle you to Kossa?"
"My word," said von Gobendorff, "is law."
To add greater emphasis to his words he produced his automatic pistol. The argument was conclusive. With every indication of fear the two natives pushed off, and seizing the paddles they propelled the unwieldy craft down stream.
Compared with his previous mode of travelling the Hun found the journey bordering almost upon the luxurious. He would have preferred a cushion, a double helmet and a sun-umbrella with a canopy thrown in, but reflecting that he was fortunate in being able to tackle the Kiwa without having to resort to swimming, he endured the glare with comparative equanimity.
Concerning the perils of the rapids he decided to take his chances. It was just possible that the Birwas had lied, hoping to deter him from his purpose. That they were fairly experienced in the art of canoeing was evident by the way in which they skilfully avoided the numerous hippopotami, their broad-bladed paddles entering the water without the faintest suspicion of a splash.
Whenever, as frequently happened, the canoe passed a native village von Gobendorff, no doubt with the loss of a certain amount of prestige, took up a position at full length at the bottom of the canoe, strictly warning his boatmen that they were to maintain absolute silence as far as his presence was concerned.
The canoe had barely passed a small collection of huts when the two Birwas began to jabber vociferously, pointing at an object a hundred yards ahead.
"Why this noise?" demanded von Gobendorff, who understood the cause of the conversation. "You have passed dozens of 'river-cows' before?"
"This one is awake and furious," replied one of the natives. "We sought to keep to the bank, and the animal has seen us."
The Hun sat up and drew his pistol. A brief glance on either hand showed that there were no signs of escape by running the canoe ashore. The banks were here quite twenty feet in height, precipitous and topped with dense vegetation. There was deep water close to land, while in mid-stream a mud-bank just showed above the swirling current.
"Go on!" he ordered.
The men plied their paddles vigorously. Although the heavily-constructed canoe was incapable of any great speed, and was also undermanned, the commotion of the paddles and the frantic shouts of the two blacks made up for the lack of manoeuvring powers. The hippo dived. The canoe shot past.
Von Gobendorff breathed freely, but he was too premature. The hippopotamus reappeared amidst a smother of foam. Its wide-open jaws closed up on the gunwale of the dug-out.
The canoe listed dangerously. The Birwas still further endangered its stability by standing upright and raining absolutely ineffectual blows with their paddles upon the armour-plated head of the amphibian. The air in the vicinity of the heeling craft was thick with spray and flying fragments of woodwork.
Raising his pistol von Gobendorff placed the muzzle within an inch of the hippo's right eye, and fired two shots in quick succession. Then, without waiting to observe the effect, he put two bullets into the animal's left eye.
With a stupendous jerk that dipped the badly shattered gunwale under the water the hippo relaxed its grip and disappeared. Whether mortally wounded or not there were no means of ascertaining, but the brute was seen no more.
Throwing their paddles into the bottom of the canoe the two natives, crouching on the uninjured side to keep the jagged hole above the surface, plied their gourds frantically in order to get rid of the quantity of water that had poured over the gunwale. This task having been completed von Gobendorff noticed with a certain amount of apprehension that the freeboards betwixt the edge of the gaping hole and the water was less than four inches.
In the excitement of the encounter the Hun had overlooked the fact that already the canoe was within the influence of the rapids. The Birwas had spoken truly—there were cataracts; what was more there was now no means of avoiding them.
The banks on either hand were still steep and precipitous, while, undermanned, the heavy canoe could not be propelled against the stream, the speed of which exceeded five miles per hour and was steadily increasing as the rapids drew nearer and nearer.
The thunder of the foaming water could now be heard distinctly, as the canoe, held in the inexorable grip of the swirling torrent, swayed towards the danger. The two natives realised their peril. Their black faces were suffused with an ashy grey hue; their eyes were wide open with fear.
"Paddle backwards!" ordered von Gobendorff, knowing that to attempt to turn the canoe would mean both loss of time and increased chances of being immediately swamped.
With every muscle strained to its utmost capacity the Birwas strove desperately to back up-stream. Anxiously von Gobendorff kept his eyes fixed upon a mark in the bank. For a few minutes he watched—then he muttered curses under his breath. The canoe was slowly yet surely losing ground. He was fully aware that, apart from its damaged condition, the cumbersome craft stood no possible chance of escape in the maelstrom-like eddies of the rapids, unless by sheer good fortune combined with the skill of the two natives the canoe could be made to avoid the jagged rocks between which the waters of the Kiwa rushed.
Suddenly the German caught sight of a huge teak-tree that, having been uprooted, was trailing over the banks. It was a faint chance, but von Gobendorff decided to risk it.
Raising his hand he pointed towards the tree-trunk. Already the roar of the water made it impossible for the Birwas to hear him speak. The men nodded and again began to ply their paddles vigorously, keeping close to the border between the main stream and a back-eddy by this part of the right bank.
With a quick turn of his broad blade the bowman urged the canoe's bows diagonally against the mass of timber. Caught by the full force of the current the dug-out swung round, crashed against the tree and, listing, was immediately swamped by the inrush of water.
Von Gobendorff leapt to safety. With cat-like agility he swarmed up the inclined bank. Here he stood and waited, watching the efforts of the two natives to save themselves.
The bowman had succeeded in getting astride the massive log and was endeavouring to extricate his companion from the peril that threatened him, for the other had been thrown out of the canoe and was pinned between the tree and the side of the water-logged craft.
In spite of the Birwa's most strenuous efforts the trapped man was unable to extricate himself from the vice-like grip, for edges of the jagged hole in the canoe's side were pressing hard against his thigh, while the canoe itself, forced against the tree-trunk by the swiftly-running current, could not be moved in spite of the combined efforts of the two blacks.
A third man would have made all the difference. The trapped Birwa raised his eyes appealingly to the white man, but von Gobendorff stirred not so much as a little finger.
The Hun, having no further use for the natives, was merely awaiting the catastrophe that would effectually cover his tracks. Without the need of further aid from the Birwas he was now within measurable distance of the Karewenda Hills. Another six hours ought to find him in at least the temporary shelter of the German fortified post of Twashi.
With a sardonic expression on his face von Gobendorff waited and watched. For a full five minutes the grim struggle was maintained. The trapped Birwa's strength was fast failing. Already greatly exhausted by his strenuous work with the paddle he was rapidly collapsing under the strain.
Suddenly he relaxed his grip. The water-logged canoe dipped, and was swept under the tree, taking with it the doomed native, whose last despairing cry was drowned in the roar of the rushing river. For a few moments the surviving Birwa remained kneeling on the inclined mass of timber, trembling in every limb, then, slowly and with every sign of temerity he began to make his way up the trunk to dry land.
Raising his pistol the Hun fired straight at the man's head. The Birwa's arms collapsed, he fell at full length upon the rounded mass of timber, and, slipping sideways, toppled inertly into the foaming torrent.
"Hamba gachle!" exclaimed von Gobendorff, using a Zulu expression that he had picked up in his many and diverse wanderings through South and Central Africa. "Dead men tell no tales, and you were in my way."
Then, recharging the magazine of his automatic pistol, the German turned, and, setting his face towards the north-west, strode rapidly towards the Karewenda Hills.