That march lived long in Tom's memory. Around him was the vast darkness, occasionally broken by the wan moonlight piercing the roof of foliage. The air was damp and chill, permeated by the sickly odour of decay. Tom walked at the head of his men with one of the best of his scouts, pressing on until he felt as though he were in a dream, his movements mechanical, requiring no effort, his feet seeming to find their way over obstacles without any volition of his, his mind busy all the time with other things. The pace was slow, for the path could rarely be seen, hemmed in by giant trees, underwood, and thorn. On and on the men tramped in silence, their bare feet making a curious swishing sound on the sodden mould. There were narrow streams to be forded, switchback hills to mount and descend; in some parts the path was slippery, and every step forward seemed to be followed by a longer slip back. Still he tramped on doggedly, his heart beating like a hammer against his ribs, the men panting aloud, uttering a sharp exclamation sometimes when they struck their bare feet against the knotted roots of a tree, or dodged a thorn too late to prevent their faces from being scratched and torn. On and on, with never a pause, till at nine in the morning the band reached the edge of the forest, and saw the wide scrub-dotted plain stretching in front of them.
For just five minutes Tom allowed the men to lie flat on the ground to rest; then up again. They were terribly fagged; the fighting and marching of the previous days, followed by the building of the stockade, had told on them all. But there was no time to spare for a protracted rest. Only half of the journey was yet accomplished, and the remainder of it must be done at a quicker pace. Walking was easier now that the forest was left behind, but the easiness of the path only incited Tom to quicken the pace, so that a still greater demand was made on the tired negroes. They plodded on doggedly, several falling out dead-beat, the rest following their leader with starting eyes and every muscle of their legs racked with cramp. At each of the block-houses, as the column passed, the Bahima in charge came out to meet Tom and received his instructions for signalling news. There was no halt at any of these places; Tom gave his orders on the march. On and on went the column till at mid-day it arrived at a clump of wood three miles from the village, and there Tom bade them lie down in concealment and rest, while he sent forward Mboda, Mbutu's brother, with a scout to find out what was going on. They were not to go into the village; indeed, they were to keep out of sight from its stockade, for the enemy might even now be in possession of it, and in that case must know nothing of the presence of a relieving force.
At four o'clock Mboda returned with the news that an hour before they had seen a large Arab force halt at a spot about a mile to the west of the village, and make preparations for camping. It had but just arrived, coming from the setting sun. Tired as he was, Tom saw that his best course now was to make a reconnaissance in person and discover for himself what was in the wind.
He had had nearly three hours' rest during the absence of the scouts, but no food except a few bananas, for he would not allow the men to light fires for cooking. Feeling stiff and sore and hungry, he started alone, and made a long circuit round the eastern and southern sides of the village, being careful not to approach too close to it, and ever on the alert to avoid any natives who might be in the neighbourhood. He walked as quickly as he could, so as to come within sight of the Arab encampment before dark. After a tramp of nearly six miles, the last two of which had been a gradual ascent, he found himself, on emerging from a clump of bush, within a mile of the camp, which had been placed very conveniently in a slight hollow. Even at this distance he could see that it was a regular encampment and not a mere halting-place, and he threw himself down behind a bush, and with his head propped on his arms surveyed the scene.
"There's a plot, that's pretty certain," his thoughts ran. "The question is, are these men outside the village concerned in the plot which sent eight hundred of the garrison on a wild-goose chase to the volcano? If so, their only aim must surely be the capture of the village. Then why don't they attack? It's a big camp; there must be a big crowd of Arabs there, and Msala has only about two hundred fighting-men to defend that enormous circumference. They must know that, if they're in the plot. And there's always the chance that the eight hundred will come back. Perhaps the Arabs are tired out with their day's march, and want time to recuperate. Or are they going to make a night attack? Last time they attacked at dawn, their usual custom. I wonder if they've taken a leaf out of my book, and think that as I routed them at night, they'll turn the tables and storm the village under cover of darkness? One thing is clear: they expect to have to fight, or they'd have marched straight in, and that they haven't is a proof that I was right in believing the katikiro to be loyal. Now, what's my next move? I should dearly like to see a little more closely into their camp; how can I manage it?"
He looked about him. The bush dotting the ground was quite insufficient to hide him continuously from the eyes of a sharp sentry. On the other hand, if he waited until dark he would probably fail to see much, and in any case that course would delay his return to his men, and perhaps make it too late to do anything to frustrate a night attack on the village. Wondering what was to be done, as he moved to the left his eye caught a narrow watercourse zig-zagging down the sloping ground in the direction of the camp. He remembered it well now, though for the moment it had slipped from his memory. The banks were steep, and the water shallow, so that he felt sure he could creep down to within a few hundred yards of the camp without being seen, provided no one came to the brook for water and that no sentries were posted outside. He decided to risk it, trusting to hide, if necessary, at one of the many windings made by the stream. Creeping along, with every care that no splash or rolling stone should betray him, he arrived safely within three hundred yards of the camp, and then, cautiously raising his head, he peered over the bank.
There were only two sentries on this side of the camp. The nearest, some two hundred yards away on the right, was leaning, as if half-asleep, on the stock of his musket; the other, half as far again to the left, had made himself comfortable in the fork of a fallen tree. It was evident that the Arab leader was either extraordinarily self-confident or convinced that he had no opposition to fear.
The whole camp was enclosed by a palisade, which Tom judged, from the portion he saw, to be about a thousand yards in circumference. The palisade consisted of saplings, and was not defended by a trench; but it was at least five feet high, and from his position in the watercourse Tom could see absolutely nothing inside the fence. There was nothing for it, then, but either to wait till darkness had fallen and then try to creep closer and look over or through the palisade, or to give up the attempt to obtain information and return to his men. He was very reluctant to adopt the second alternative, and decided at any rate to remain where he was until it was dark.
He had not long to wait. It was past four before he left his own camp, and it was now nearly six. After remaining for twenty minutes in his place of concealment, until he began to feel numbed by the cold, he ventured to lift his head above the bank. There was nothing between him and the palisade; a red glow from the camp-fires within was lighting, the sky, and over the fence came the noise of hundreds of gabbling tongues. He crept over the bank, waited an instant, and then ran noiselessly across to the palisade, where a few bushes would afford him some cover if anyone happened to look over. Resting a moment, he heard the guttural sounds of talking and laughing on the other side; the negroes were evidently preoccupied with their own concerns.
When a little time had elapsed he got up and peeped over the palisade, and saw crowds of Manyema eating, drinking, gambling about the camp-fires. Beyond them was another palisade defended by a trench, and within this he guessed that the Arabs of the force were camped. Finding that he could obtain no further information except by venturing among the enemy, which was out of the question, he stole back to the watercourse, made his way up it, then under cover of the darkness cut across the country, passing within a few hundred yards of the village. For a moment he thought of going in at the southern gate and arranging for the co-operation of the katikiro and his force in the movements he contemplated, but on consideration saw that to do so might arouse a commotion in the village and awaken suspicion among the Arabs. Proceeding, therefore, on his way, he saved more than two miles of his former journey, and reached his men about half-past seven. He was then dead-beat, but he had made up his mind what his course of action was to be. Mbutu, he was glad to observe, had not allowed the men to light fires. Giving orders that the men were to continue to rest until half-past eleven, and that unbroken silence must be maintained, he ate ravenously the food provided for him, wrapped himself in the rug Mbutu had carried, and threw himself on the ground to snatch a brief sleep.
Long usage enabled him to wake at any moment. At half-past eleven he rose, and ordered Mbutu to go quietly about among the sleeping men and rouse them. In a few minutes they were all on foot, and, looking at them as they stood, bright-eyed, eager, confident, Tom adopted a well-known saying and declared inwardly that they "were ready to go anywhere and do anything".
"Men," said Tom in their own tongue, "the Arabs are encamped beyond the village there. I am going to lead you to attack them. We shall surprise them if you walk silently. There must be no talking, no noise of any kind. The musketeers will leave all their ammunition behind; this will be a job for bayonets, spears, and pikes alone."
His plan was to make a wide detour and come upon the enemy from the north-west, the absence of sentries on that side having convinced him that if they were keeping watch at all it was directed towards the village. It was natural that they should take precautions against a direct sortie without looking for an attack from the quarter in which they had themselves come. Leaving fifty carriers, picked up at the block-houses, to take charge of the food and ammunition, Tom started with his men at a quarter to twelve.
It was pitch dark; the sky was evidently clouded, and the air had a nipping rawness that seemed to forebode rain. Tom was rather anxious about the possibility of keeping the proper direction; but his men were all natives of the district, and the man he had appointed as guide marched on with confidence, finding the way apparently rather by instinct than by the sense of sight. Soon a dull glow on their right, the reflection of the village watch-fires, served as a landmark, and in half an hour they were abreast of it, sufficiently near to hear the occasional howl of one of the village curs, or the lowing of one of the cattle. They marched in dead silence. Now and then a pike would catch in some obstruction, such as a bush, a creeper, a branch of a low tree; once or twice the butt of a musket carelessly held struck against an ant-hill or a rock, or a man would trip over a stone and cause a momentary break in the even progress of the column; but not an ejaculation came from the mouths of the men. Tom was proud of the splendid results of the discipline they had undergone, and ready to avouch that under proper training anything could be made of the Bantu negro. On and on they went, the narrow column crawling like a black snake over grass-land, swamp, and almost bare rock. They passed the village, began the ascent to the south of it, skirting the spot where the flourishing banana plantation had once stood, crossed the stream a mile and a half above the village, and then arrived at a point whence they could see the glow from the fires in the Arab camp.
Here Tom halted the men, and quietly told them his plans. The attack was to be made at two points, the north-west and south-west corners of the encampment. Tom himself would lead one body of his men; the other he entrusted to a gigantic negro named Mwonda, who had distinguished himself on many occasions during the siege of the village and in the forest fight. He stood six feet two in height, with extraordinary muscular development and great physical strength. He was absolutely fearless. His besetting sin was a habit of boasting, which, however, was so naïve and inoffensive that his mates were more amused by it than irritated. He was accustomed to assert loudly that he was a pure Muhima, though his features and his whole physical organization proved him to be incontestably one of the Bairo. But his valour was so pre-eminent that no one was hurt when Tom appointed him captain of the pikemen, and his skill with the weapon was unmatched. His pike was several inches longer, and proportionately thicker, than those of the rank and file, and on this night he also carried, slung round his waist, a scimitar taken from an Arab whom he had killed in single fight in the forest. His men had unlimited confidence in him, and Tom had marked him from the first as the ideal leader when any deed of desperate courage not demanding tactical skill was in question.
Half the force, then, was put under Mwonda's command, and he was to lead the assault from the north-west. It was essential to the thorough success of the plan that the two attacks should be simultaneous, and Tom was for a time greatly exercised as to how the necessary signal could be given when the two bodies were separated by the whole length of the Arab camp. It was important that nothing should be done to give the alarm there, and Tom, to avoid risks, had even left his revolver behind, and carried only a musket. Suddenly he remembered Mbutu's faculty for imitating the cries of animals. Why not make use of that now?
"You can mock the jackal's cry?" he said.
"Oh yes, sah! berrah good jackal."
"Very well."
The cry of the jackal, he thought, would carry farthest, and from its very frequency in those parts would not be likely to arouse special attention. There was just a chance of a real jackal interposing at an unfortunate moment, and thus precipitating matters; but the risk, after all, was slight, and Mwonda would not be likely to make a mistake, knowing from what direction the expected signal should come. This was therefore arranged; Mwonda was ordered to creep as near to the camp as possible, and lead the assault the instant he heard the jackal's cry. In case either of the parties were discovered before the signal was given, the resulting commotion in the Arab camp was itself to be the signal for a charge.
Then the march was resumed. Rain had been for some time falling in a steady drizzle, which increased to a downpour as they crept down the slope. Uncomfortable as it was, Tom welcomed the rain, for it completely drowned the dull sound of tramping feet. The scrub grew a little thicker as the ground descended, and the patter of the rain on the leaves, the soughing of the wind through the branches of the trees dotted here and there, produced a sense of uncanniness. Down they went, the bare feet of the men sometimes slipping on a rock, and Tom himself once narrowly escaping a headlong fall into the watercourse he had descended in the afternoon.
Half a mile from the camp he called a halt. The downpour was as steady as ever. There was no sign of sentries. If any had been posted outside the palisade the probability was that they had taken refuge in a small clump of trees some three hundred yards to the south. It all favoured the enterprise, for surely no attack would be expected on such a night. The very watch-fires inside the camp were well-nigh extinguished, and the absolute silence indicated that the Arabs and their negroes were sleeping beneath their tents, rude huts, and mats. "Now, Mwonda," said Tom in a low whisper, "that is your way. Lead your men as close to the camp as you can, and wait for the jackal's cry. Then you know what to do."
Mwonda grunted assent. His column filed off, and in the darkness the individual figures could only be dimly recognized at a foot distance by the wisps of light-coloured straw which Tom had ordered them to bind about their left arms to distinguish them from the enemy. Tom hoped that, faint as it was, the glow from the dying camp-fires would make these distinguishing marks of value.
Giving Mwonda's column a few minutes' grace to make the extra circuit towards the north-west, Toms force began to creep silently towards the camp. Slowly, cautiously, nearer and nearer they drew; so cautiously that Tom, leading the way, stumbled over a man huddled half-asleep in a blanket on the lee side of a bush. With a half-cry the man sprang to his feet, but as quick as thought Tom flung out his right fist, and stretched him on the sodden ground. Before he could rise again, or Tom could interfere, two Bahima flung themselves on the body, and only a faint gurgle told that their fatal knives had done their work. Tom felt a pang as he realized that one poor creature had gone to his account; he was not yet case-hardened to the terrible realities of war. But he did not falter; a life taken meant perhaps hundreds of lives saved, and never was war waged in a more righteous cause.
The column was now only four hundred yards from the camp. Yard by yard it crawled along, the squelching of the men's feet on the ground being smothered now by the heavy patter of rain on the palisade and the huts. Suddenly a stifled cry in the distance, far on his left, followed inside the palisade by a sentry's call, told Tom that Mwonda's column had not been so fortunate as his own.
"Now!" said Tom to Mbutu, who had kept close at his side all the way. Instantly the blood-curdling jackal's howl undulated through the drenched air. The men sprang forward, with never a yell or cheer, a quick grunt alone proclaiming their excitement. With a rush they gained the stockade, scrambled up and over, Tom never knew how, and while the startled enemy were still pouring half-dazed out of their shelters, and hurrying up by twos and threes towards the palisade, Tom's men were among them. The Arabs in their long burnouses were distinguishable even in the murk; their dependants formed only a blacker patch. Between the outer and inner stockades there was no real attempt at resistance, the men rushing hither and thither in wild confusion, not knowing which way to turn, many being without arms, others endeavouring in vain to fire muskets with damp powder. The Bahima, now yelling and whooping, ran among them, cutting them down by scores, and the cries of the wounded were mingled with the exultant shouts of the attackers.
Rushing towards the inner stockade, Tom met with a more determined resistance. The Arabs within that had had time to recover from the first shock, and to seize their arms. They made for the side on which, judging by the clamour, the assault was being made. A few shots were fired, at random, for no aim could be taken; but still the storming-party surged on. The foremost of them fell back from the higher palisade, and Tom himself narrowly escaped a blow from a scimitar which, if it had fallen, would have concluded his career there and then. But Mboda fortunately interposed his pike, which was cut clean in two just above the head. Before the Arab could recover himself a second pikeman had run him through. This gave Tom enough time to secure a foothold on the top of the stockade; the next moment he was over on the inside, laying about him doughtily with his clubbed musket. He was speedily joined by several of his men, who lunged and smote at the mass of Arabs before them. There was the remnant of a large fire still smouldering in the centre of the space. Driven back on to this, the combatants sent a shower of sparks into the air, and a flame shot up from the still unconsumed wood, throwing its light full in the face of Tom's immediate opponent, a pike's distance from him. In the features, distorted with rage, Tom recognized those of his old enemy De Castro. The recognition was mutual. With a snarl of hate the Portuguese flung his heavy pistol full at Tom's head, and, changing his sword from his left to his right hand, followed up the throw with a desperate cut. Tom ducked his head; the pistol struck with a dull crack on the skull of the man behind; with the stock of his musket he parried the cut and sprang forward at his enemy. Other warriors were crowding round, and in the press there was no room to swing the weapon; all that Tom could do was to prod heavily with the barrel. De Castro started back, but he failed to escape the force of the blow altogether; it took him in the midriff and doubled him up like a hinge. The surging movement of the throng carried Tom past and out of reach, and though he wrestled his way through and hunted high and low for the Portuguese, he saw him no more.
Their attention having been taken up by Tom's force, which was the first to reach the stockade, the Arabs had not noticed, until it was too late, that they were also threatened from another quarter. Mwonda and his men, clambering over the palisade at the north-west side, found themselves almost unopposed, and, sweeping away the few Manyema in the interval between the two stockades, fell upon the rear of the Arabs in the inner circle. Mwonda himself, by sheer weight and impetus, bore down everyone who tried to make head against him. Nothing could withstand the impetuosity of the charge. Taken thus between two yelling hordes, the Arabs made no further resistance. They fled for their lives, assisted in their escape by the rain and darkness which had so much contributed to their downfall. Scrambling pell-mell over the stockade on the eastern side, they rushed madly away, and became aware that the village a mile before them was astir; shouts were coming faintly on the air. Fearing that still another force was approaching to fall upon them, they swung round to the north in twos and threes, a hopelessly broken force; and falling, stumbling, crashing through mud and bush, over the streams, into the swamps, they ran headlong, fear pressing hard at their heels.
"Measure for measure!" said Tom to himself grimly. Many and many a time, he made no doubt, had panic-stricken negroes fled from their oppressors in the same way. It was a turning of the tables. The measure the Arabs had meted was being indeed measured to them again, and Tom rejoiced in the thought that just retribution was at last falling on men by whom human life had been held so cheap.
Within the captured camp the victors were panting, laughing, shouting in their glee. The rain had no power to damp their spirits. Cries of "Kuboko!" rang through the air, and a new war-song was composed on the spot. It was past two o'clock in the morning; the rain was beating down more heavily than ever; and Tom ordered the men to see to the few wounded of his force and to do what they could for their wounded enemies before seeking shelter for themselves. He despatched a messenger at once to the village to give the katikiro information of what had happened, and fifteen minutes after the man had started, the shouts of thousands of voices were distinctly heard, as they raised their song of rejoicing.
Rumaliza takes the Field--Exit Mabruki--Tom checks a Rout--Mbutu Protests--The Great Zariba--Coming to Grips--Beaten Off--The Second Attack--Tom in the Breach--Rumaliza's Last Charge--The Eight Hundred--Nemesis
When morning broke in cold and mist, the scene showed how complete had been the surprise of the camp, and how one-sided the fight. More than two hundred men lay dead and wounded within the two stockades, and Tom's heart bled as he realized how helpless he was to do anything effectual for those whose wounds were serious. His own losses had been very slight; many of the men had nothing but insignificant bruises and cuts to show, only a few had been killed. All the equipment of the camp, and a large quantity of arms and ammunition, had fallen into his hands, forming a very welcome addition to his resources. He estimated that the captured rifles and muskets would enable him to arm nearly six hundred men.
With the morning light came the katikiro with a hundred of his men. He was wild with delight at the discomfiture of the Arabs' scheme, and furious with rage at the trick played upon him, which, but for Tom's vigilance and energy, would probably have succeeded only too well. Despatching three hundred men in pursuit of the Arab force, with orders to bring back what prisoners they could, Tom led the katikiro aside and questioned him on the extraordinary mistake he had made. Msala said that, on the evening of the day on which Kuboko started for the forest, a messenger had come into the village from an Arab force two marches away demanding its surrender.
"I cut off his head," said Msala simply.
Tom started, but the moment was not opportune for a reprimand.
"What happened then?" he asked.
"Nothing. I posted sentries as you bade me; nothing happened."
"Where was Mabruki?"
"He heard the man's message and saw me cut his head off, and he said he would go into the fields and search for herbs and charms to keep the village safe."
"And you let him go?"
"What could I do, master? Mabruki is a strong man, and the people would have grumbled if I had not let him go on such a good errand."
"Always a moral coward, Msala," said Tom to himself. "Well, what then?"
"He came back at dead of night with his herbs. Next day came the messenger from you, showing me the rag with the mark. I sent him back to you. I did not wish to send him, I thought he was tired, but Mabruki said send him, for he would know the way, and would tell you himself that his errand was fulfilled."
"I sent no messenger; that man never reached me. Go on."
"Then I sent the second message to say how weak I should be without the eight hundred. I did not tell Mabruki, for I thought he would be offended."
"No doubt."
"And then I sent the eight hundred men to the burning mountain, as you bade me. And that is all I know till I saw the Arabs coming from the north and making their camp. I was ready to fight. I sent off another messenger to you; but you came, O Kuboko, and you have smitten them like hares."
"I do not understand it yet. Where is Mabruki now?"
"I left him burning grass in honour of your victory."
"Very well. Go back to the village and keep a watch over him. Don't let him escape."
The katikiro returned, with a very crestfallen look, to the village. Tom then gave orders that the Arab camp should be destroyed after everything of any value had been removed. By and by his three hundred returned in twos and threes, bringing with them prisoners captured on the confines of the forest. From one of these, an Arab, Tom succeeded with some trouble in extracting information about the previous movements of the force to which he belonged. He found that, about a week before the main body of the Arabs had left their stronghold, a smaller force of one thousand picked men had started under the leadership of De Castro, all armed with firearms. Their destination was not known when they set out, but they had approached the village by a circuitous route through the forest, some thirty miles to the west of the route adopted by the main force. Their object was to surprise the village after its defenders had been decoyed away. De Castro had not reckoned on finding any force in the village, believing that its full strength would, by the time he arrived, have been drawn into the forest. What had happened after his messenger failed to return, this prisoner did not know.
Questioning him further, Tom was rewarded with information of the greatest interest and importance. The Arab stronghold lay many marches to the north-west, on an island in the middle of a lake. It was strongly fortified, and so cleverly concealed that no one could suspect from the shore that the island was anything but a wilderness of bush and trees. The forest surrounding the lake was dense, broken here and there by clearings where slaves were kept. The officials of the Congo State had never once made their appearance there. No path led through the forest to the shore. The Arabs reached the lake by a river, their canoes being kept on the island and paddled out and in when required. No white man had ever seen this fortress--stay, one white man was probably there now. On the way towards the village De Castro's force had met a big red-faced man with brown hair all over his face, four eyes, two of them stuck on wires of gold, and a stomach like a tub. They had captured with him several bags containing all sorts of curious and useful things, and four donkeys. He had blustered and stormed, saying many things in a strange tongue, but De Castro had ordered him to be carried in bonds to the fortress, to be kept there until the return of the expedition.
Tom could not help smiling as he thought of Herr Schwab, so full of confidence and cheerful assurance, kept a prisoner in the Arab stronghold.
"And who is your leader?" he asked the man.
It was Rumaliza himself, he replied. He was an old man, much broken since his last great fight with the Belgians, but retaining still all his indomitable spirit. He was actually accompanying the force through the forest; for he seemed persuaded that the final crisis of his life had come, and he wished to superintend the inevitable fight and match his known skill and craft against the white man, who, rumour said, was pitting himself against him. With Rumaliza came his tried lieutenant, Ahmed. Mustapha would probably have come also, but for the failure of his ambush against the British force, which had somewhat shaken the old chief's confidence in him. He had been left in charge of the island fortress. There were not many men left with him, but an expedition which had been sent out several months before to the north was long overdue when De Castro's column started, and Rumaliza would probably leave these men behind to strengthen Mustapha's garrison.
All this acted like wine upon Tom's spirit. Rumaliza himself, the chief whose name was everywhere held in horror as a synonym for cruelty, fraud, cunning, and barbarous valour, was leading his host forth on an enterprise on which he staked all! Tom's imagination was stirred at the prospect of meeting the redoubtable chief, and still more at the news of the mysterious island fortress.
From another prisoner, an Arab of higher rank, he obtained, later in the day, particulars which enabled him to piece together a coherent story of the attempted ruse. De Castro had waited and waited for his messenger to return, fuming at his delay, and vowing to teach him a lesson. At length a Muiro appeared, who explained that the man was dead, but brought an offer from the medicine-man to treat. De Castro had gone forward after dark and met Mabruki. This, Tom conjectured, was the time when the katikiro had supposed him to be gathering herbs. The prisoner had himself accompanied the Portuguese to the rendezvous, ten miles from the village, and had heard the terms of the compact. Mabruki had promised to get rid by a trick of the greater part of the katikiro's force. The Portuguese would find it easy then to enter the village. The katikiro would be cut in pieces, after which the white man was to be inveigled back and handed to De Castro. In return for these services Mabruki was to receive a present of ivory, and to be allowed to make himself chief in Mwonga's stead, thus getting possession (Tom supplied the detail from his own knowledge) of the store of ivory and treasure which lay beneath the chief's hut. It was evident that only the katikiro's after-thought, to send a second messenger into the forest, had foiled the plot.
There were still two points that puzzled Tom. The first was, why had not De Castro gone direct to the village instead of camping within a mile of it, three hours before sunset? The Arab explained that his chief had acted in the teeth of the advice of his lieutenants. They were all for proceeding without delay. It was sheer indolence, so characteristic of the Portuguese, and overweening self-confidence, that had determined De Castro to rest after his march and enjoy his evening meal in peace, deferring the attack until dawn. The other point was: How had the medicine-man got possession of the paper? The Arab knew nothing about this, Msala was equally in the dark, and Tom resolved to question Mabruki himself and probe the plot to the bottom.
Having now a pretty clear idea of the course of events, Tom returned to the village, where the people were holding high festivities in honour of the great victory. Tom did not check the mirth of the non-combatants, but he gathered the fighting-men together and told them gravely that the hardest fight of all was still before them. A few minutes after his return Msala came to him boiling with rage.
"Mabruki is gone!" he said. "While I was away he gathered his basket and bell and piles of charms and fetish-grass, and went away towards the setting sun. Many men saw him go, but they feared his evil eye and the might of his magic, and none dared to stay him."
"Well, we are rid of a villain, and I am spared the necessity of employing a hangman."
"A hangman!" cried the indignant katikiro. "I would myself have cut off his head, though all his devils plagued me for ever after."
"Msala," said Tom gravely, "that sort of thing will not do. Have I been with you so long, and yet you are ignorant of the true way of justice? You will think better of it when your anger has passed away, my friend."
Msala was silent.
"Now, we have no time to waste," Tom went on. "We have had a little rest, and there is the great fight before us in the forest. We must have the men back from the burning mountain. Mbutu, I will send your brother for them. He will go to the volcano and bring back the eight hundred men there. On reaching the village they must rest for a short time; then, Msala, you will send six hundred of them on with all speed northwards, along with two hundred fresh men. The rest will remain with you to defend the village."
This having been arranged, soon after twelve o'clock Tom led his men out towards the north. He had expected a messenger to come in with news from the force he had left in the forest, and he could not but regard his non-arrival as an indication that the men were at least holding their own. After a march of nearly five hours he reached the largest block-house, which stood two miles from the edge of the forest. He found that, though firing had been heard in the distance, no message had been received from the front, and after his troops had made a rapid meal he hurried on.
He had not gone far before he heard irregular firing ahead. Hastening his pace he soon saw, amid the scrub and thin copses at the extreme edge of the forest, scattered bodies of men approaching in the direction of the block-house. Keen as his eyesight was, he could not distinguish whether the men were friends or foes, but some of his own troops at once exclaimed that they were Bahima. The men he had left in the forest were evidently, then, retreating, but the firing showed that they were retiring slowly, fighting, as he had commanded them, every inch of the way. He at once made dispositions to prevent a rout, and to give his men a strong position to retire upon. Sending out a small body of picked men to rally the retreating troops, he ordered the seventy spademen he had with him to throw up a rough breastwork behind which the musketeers might take secure aim. The work was only half-completed when loud shouts, with the boom-boom of trade guns and the sharper crack of rifles, showed that the Arabs were pressing hard upon the retreating Bahima. Suddenly a larger body of men emerged in confusion from the dense scrub, followed closely by another body evidently in hot pursuit. The retreat would soon have become a rout, for the Bahima were outflanked and outnumbered, and the Arabs, assured of victory, were pressing hard upon them, with exultant cries, and the manifest determination, as soon as the whole of their force had debouched, to finish the struggle with a crushing charge. But the opportune arrival of the small rallying force sent forward by Tom enabled the retreating troops to draw off in comparatively good order. The reinforcements occupied a small copse on the extreme right of the Arab advance, and from this place of vantage they poured in so harassing a fire that the enemy, taken by surprise and fearing a trap, halted, undecided whether to press forward or retire, in the meantime taking what cover the ground afforded. The few minutes' respite was all that was needed to enable Tom to withdraw his discomfited troops behind the breastwork, and when the Arabs made up their minds to clear the copse they found it deserted. They then showed some disposition to advance against Tom's main position, but, meeting a sharp musketry fire, they changed their minds and prepared to form a camp, from which Tom concluded that they had decided to postpone their attack in force until they had surveyed the ground and taken a rest.
It was now past five o'clock, and little more than half an hour of daylight was left. The Arabs had had a hard day's work. They had found the ford so stoutly defended that a passage at that point was impossible, and they had had to march for some miles before they found another fordable place, and then to cut their way through dense forest, harassed all along by the persistent Bahima. Thus they were much in need of rest. To attack by night, moreover, is foreign to all the Arab's habits and traditions, and Tom recognized thankfully that he had the whole night in which to prepare for the fateful conflict.
Obviously, with a force so largely outnumbered by the enemy, he could not afford to risk a fight in the open. The questions occurred to him: Suppose he took up a strong defensive position, could he tempt the Arabs to attack him directly? was there no danger of their creeping round on his right and overwhelming the village? The first question he easily answered. The Arabs had come purposely to attack him, and all that he had ever seen or heard about them warranted the belief that they would waste no time in tactics, but would come on in a furious onslaught, trusting to sheer weight of numbers to carry them through. The second question gave him more difficulty; but when he remembered that in order to reach the village without fighting him the Arabs would have to make a detour of nearly twenty miles, through a country already stripped of food and waterless, with the danger of their rear being harassed all the way, he regarded such a movement as very improbable, and decided that the approaching battle would in all likelihood be fought on ground of his own choosing.
He had already marked what seemed to him an ideal spot for such an encounter. Extending for nearly a mile into the plain, there lay, to the west of the path into the forest, an extensive swamp, fringed with thick reeds, and so much swollen by the recent rains that it was bound to present great difficulty to an advancing enemy. He resolved to form during the night a strong zariba, resting one side of it upon this swamp. He ordered his men, therefore, to remove all the ammunition and provisions from the block-house to the edge of the swamp, and to obtain a good supply of water from a stream running across the plain half a mile in his rear, and then to set fire to the block-house, which could not be held if seriously attacked, and yet might prove a source of danger if left as a means of cover for the enemy. Collecting, then, his whole force, he led them to the swamp, and set a large number digging a trench and erecting an earthwork around three sides of a square, each face being about one-fifth of a mile in length. Another body he ordered to collect mimosa-scrub and cactus from the clumps in the neighbourhood, to plant these in the earthwork, and to weave among them all kinds of thorn-plants, so as to make a thick hedge, almost impervious to bullets. It was dark before the task was weir begun, but posting a number of pickets and sentries round his position, to prevent any interference on the part of the enemy, he got some thirty of his men to light the workers with torches, which, being seen extended over a large area, would no doubt also serve to give the Arabs an exaggerated notion of his strength. Soon after the torches were lit, shouts from the Arab camp more than a mile away apprised him that they had noted his movements, and the beating of drums at first suggested that an attack was imminent; but Mbutu explained that the Arab drummers were merely amusing themselves by signalling the terrible deeds that were to be done on the following day, and how the Bahima force was to be scattered to the four winds.
Tom merely smiled, and pressed on the work, allowing his men short spells of rest, until about eleven o'clock, by which time the zariba was complete. He would have liked to protect his position still further, by means of pointed stakes planted all round it, driven deep into the ground, and projecting only four inches above the surface. In the half-light, when he expected the attack to be made, these would be invisible to the enemy. But, walking round in the moonlight among his men, he saw that their work on the entrenchments had told heavily upon those he had brought from the village, while those who had been fighting all day in the forest were obviously incapable of further exertion. It was absolutely essential that they should regain their strength and freshness for the morrow's combat. He therefore contented himself with protecting only the two exposed corners of the zariba, knowing that these are always the most vulnerable points, and the first to be attacked.
Soon after eleven he turned in himself for a short nap, taking every precaution against surprise by posting pickets and maintaining a regular series of patrols, of which Mwonda was left in charge. At two he was up again, going the round of the sentries, and he ordered Mwonda to get what sleep he could before dawn. He had expected that by this time the eight hundred men from the village would have joined him, but when at three o'clock there was still no sign of them he called Mbutu to him.
"You must go and hurry on the advance of those eight hundred men," he said. "We have tremendous odds against us, and it may make all the difference in the world to have those men. If, when you return, you find us fighting, take them round the swamp and fall on the rear of the enemy. I depend on you, Mbutu."
Tom had spoken in Mbutu's own tongue, and was somewhat surprised to miss the bright eager look with which the boy usually received his commands. Mbutu's face was expressionless, and he made no remark.
"What is it, Mbutu? You are not afraid?"
"I am not afraid. I am never afraid."
"Tell me, then, why you look so strangely solemn?"
Mbutu was silent for a few seconds. Then he said:
"I vowed never to leave you, master, to stay always by your side, to be your right arm. You send me from you; I obey. But if any harm comes to you, if a spear pierces you, or a bullet plunges into your flesh, I shall not be there. It is not well, master."
Tom was touched by the boy's devotion.
"I am proud of you, Mbutu," he said. "It is because I trust you that I give this task to you. Do not fear for me; you will do me the best service by leading the eight hundred faithfully to my support. It is my command, Mbutu."
"I will do as you say, master," said Mbutu, and hastened away.
Tom employed the two hours before dawn in still further strengthening his position. He got his men to throw up a semicircular entrenchment inside the zariba and resting on the swamp, as a protection for his reserve. Near the middle of this was a boulder from which he could survey the whole battlefield. For the safe-keeping of his ammunition and hand-grenades he directed his men to make a number of bullet-proof shelters--holes about a yard deep, dug near the earthwork, roofed with wood, and covered with the earth excavated. These shelters were ample protection except against powerful artillery, which Tom knew that the Arabs did rot possess, and he was no longer in any anxiety lest an unlucky shot should explode his reserve ammunition.
At one point on each face of the zariba he so arranged the screen of mimosa and cactus that it formed a rough gateway opening outwards, thus allowing, if opportunity should arise, of a rapid sally by the defenders. On the northern and southern faces the gateways were at the extremity resting on the swamp; on the third face the opening was at the south-east corner, clear of the stakes.
While a small force of workers was carrying out these operations, Tom sat down to take a final cool review of the whole situation. His own advantages were: a strong position, ample supplies of food and water, a certain number of disciplined troops, and some novelty of armament in the shape of pikes and hand-grenades. On the other hand, he was weaker in numbers than the Arabs, and was not nearly so well equipped with firearms. They, on their side, had the larger force and the better weapons, but these advantages were to some extent counterbalanced by the defects of their strategical position. They were bound to attack, for their supplies were limited. They could only safely obtain water from a stream five miles in their rear; while in regard to food, the whole region for a hundred miles was so sparsely peopled, and had been so thoroughly scoured during their advance, that it could not now maintain a tithe of their number for a week. To assault the village would be, as he had already decided, to court disaster, and after their previous experience, they must themselves feel that they had very little chance of capturing it with a rush. It was quite possible--indeed, more than probable--that they had already heard of the crushing blow suffered by De Castro. Many of the fugitives from his force had no doubt sought safety in the forest until their friends came in sight, and then had joined them. Tom thought it not unlikely that De Castro himself was in the neighbourhood, and he at any rate would stimulate the Arabs to attack, and seize what opportunity there might be of crushing their enemy at a single blow. Weighing all these points, Tom saw that a task of great difficulty and tremendous import lay before him, but he did not quail; his courage and determination rose to meet the manifest danger, and it was with a feeling of confidence, a consciousness that every faculty was nerved to the encounter, that he quietly, about five o'clock, gave the order for the camp to be aroused.
"Breakfast!" he said, for he well knew the fighting value of a good square meal. The natives were wildly excited, and no amount of discipline would suffice to make them hold their tongues. All the time that the food was being prepared, and throughout the meal, their tongues clacked and chattered with unchecked volubility. Soon responsive sounds came from the Arab camp, and the drummers on both sides started a tempestuous duel of threats and malediction. Tom, however, put a stop to this on his side, and when the meal was finished he collected the men, and in a few quiet and earnest words impressed upon them the gravity and moment of the impending conflict. Then he ordered them to their posts.
On each of the three exposed sides of the zariba he placed a front rank of musketeers and a rear rank of pikemen, the double line accounting for two thousand seven hundred men. The six hundred trade guns and rifles captured from De Castro's force had been distributed among the allies. These included a fair percentage of hunters who knew how to use firearms, although only one in a hundred was the happy possessor of a flint-lock. At each of the corners of the zariba Tom posted fifty additional pikemen, forming thus a double line. The pikemen were supplied with three hand-grenades apiece. The remainder of the force, consisting of four hundred picked men, was stationed in reserve within the inner entrenchment, ready to be thrown towards any threatened point. This reserve was under the command of Mwonda. Tom himself took up his position on the boulder, whence he looked through the gray dawn towards the Arab camp.
It was a cold morning, and a thin mist lay clammy over the plain, wrapping the scattered bushes and trees in a fleecy garment of white. The scouts whom Tom sent out soon vanished, but a breeze was springing up, and pale streaks of light struggled through the haze. Half an hour went by, a period of anxious expectancy. The noises from the Arab camp were hushed, and Tom's three thousand men stood to their arms, and strained eyes and ears towards the enemy. The mist was rolling towards the swamp, and suddenly, as it were behind it, two of the scouts reappeared, with the news that the enemy was on the move. Soon afterwards shots were heard, the remaining scouts came hastening back, and in the distance, dimly through the wisps of vapour, appeared the Arab host, a compact mass, moving directly and rapidly towards the north-east corner of the zariba. It advanced in dead silence. The zariba was still partially curtained by mist; but the Arabs could not have expected to surprise the camp, for the shots fired by the scouts as they were driven in must have shown that Tom's troops were on the alert. From his post of observation on the boulder Tom saw that behind the main body, which he judged roughly to be about four thousand strong, a smaller body was advancing at an interval of a hundred and fifty yards. A few white burnouses were dotted among the serried mass of Manyema in the van, but the reserve force was Arab throughout.
The light was growing, and the mist hanging over the zariba was gradually rolled by the breeze back on to the swamp. Shouts arose from the foremost ranks of the Manyema as they saw their enemy, who responded with a bellowing roar. On came the hostile host, and Tom marked every foot of their progress, ready at the right moment to give the word to his eager troops. The Manyema would charge, he knew; he made up his mind that the force of their charge must be broken ere they came too near, so that they might have less energy for hand-to-hand fighting. The effective range of his muskets was no more than three hundred yards, but he had a few Winchesters, captured after the siege and in the rout of De Castro's force. When the enemy was within about a third of a mile of the zariba, Tom ordered twenty picked riflemen to open fire. A sharp volley rang across the plain; several men in the front ranks of the Manyema dropped, and there was an instant reply.
"Down, men!" shouted Tom, immediately after his men had fired. Not a head was visible above the parapet, and the enemy's scattered volley passed harmlessly over the camp. Many of the bullets, indeed, were nearly spent when they struck the earthwork; and Tom concluded that the best-armed among the Arabs were certainly not in the van.
He threw a hasty glance at the Arab reserve, now about half a mile away. It was advancing leisurely to the support of the main force, as though the leader expected the zariba to be carried easily at the first shock of the huge mass. Only two faces of the zariba were threatened, and Tom, seeing that there was no immediate danger of an attack from the south, ordered the musketeers on that face to issue from their gateway and post themselves behind the stakes at the corner, whence they could bring a flanking fire to bear on the dense crowd approaching. At the same time he moved the pikemen-grenadiers on this face to the eastern front, to assist in meeting the expected rush, and ordered part of his reserve to sally out by the north gate, and, lining the edge of the swamp, to threaten the flank of the attack.
Rapidly as these movements were carried out, they were barely completed when the Manyema broke into a run, and with fierce exultant yells surged forward, firing as they came. Their fire was wild and unsteady, while Tom's riflemen, taking careful aim from their position behind the earthwork, did much execution among them. The remainder of the musketeers, stooping behind their shelter, eagerly expected the order to fire, but Tom stood silent and watchful, waiting until the enemy were well within range. Even in that tense moment he felt proud of his men's self-restraint. Then, when the shouting negroes were within two hundred yards of the zariba, the long-awaited order was given. A sheet of flame burst from the two sides of the zariba on which the attack was directed. There were many gaps in the advancing ranks, but so dense was the throng that these were instantly filled up, and the Manyema came on like a swiftly-moving wall. There was no time for Tom's musketeers to reload. At fifty yards he gave the word to his grenadiers, who were stooping, match in hand, their eyes fixed on his face, their limbs strained like springs. At the command, three hundred grenades were hurled into the seething mass, and amid the deafening clatter of the explosions the grenadiers seized their pikes and stood close to stem the advancing torrent. Yelling with fury, the horde swept forward. Standing grim at his post, Tom wondered whether anything could resist the impending shock, and glanced with a momentary anxiety at his embattled ranks. But there he saw no sign of flinching, nothing but gleaming eyes, and hands clenched firmly about their weapons.
Suddenly the centre of the enemy's line came upon the row of stakes at the north-eastern corner of the zariba, so cunningly planted that in their impetuous rush the Manyema failed wholly to perceive them. The advancing wave broke like surf upon the shore; the onrushing force split into two sections, with a confused heap in the centre, stumbling helplessly over the sharp points, screaming with pain, yet pushed on by their comrades behind, these in their turn to fall upon the stakes. As they struggled there, a heavy fire broke from the musketeers who, pushed out from the southern face, had just taken up their position behind the stakes at their corner. A moment later an answering volley came from the ranks of the reserve thrown out on the north side. Bullets fell thick among the maddened heap. Five hundred yards away the Arab leader recognized that his main body was in imminent danger of rout, and hurried forward a portion of his reserve. But it was too late. His riflemen could not fire without doing more damage among their own friends than among the Bahima. Before they had covered half the distance separating them from the zariba, the vanguard was in full flight, rushing pell-mell from the withering rifle-fire, bursting into the ranks of the reserve, and sweeping them away in their mad dash for safety. Fierce yells followed them; the musketeers behind the earthwork had had time to reload, and, leaping up, poured a volley into the retreating ranks. Some of the pikemen were preparing to fling themselves over the fence in pursuit, but a curt word from Kuboko fixed them to their posts. Tom saw, a quarter of a mile away, some fifteen hundred well-armed men, the flower of the Arab force, and recognized that before he could get his own troops clear of the zariba the broken ranks of his enemy might re-form and return with the supporting force to outflank and crush the Bahima, by superior numbers, to say nothing of superior armament, which in the open would tell much more in the enemy's favour. He therefore checked the incipient pursuit, and ordered the troops he had thrown out on each flank to return within the shelter of the zariba.
It had been a breathless moment. Not a quarter of an hour had elapsed since the advancing tide had rolled towards him in the full confidence of victory, and now it had rolled back again, leaving four hundred strewn over the field.
"Well done, my men!" cried Tom, and a great shout rose from his exultant troops. Their loss had been but slight. Tom ordered the wounded to be attended to, and allowed the panting warriors to drink their fill of water.
He was under no illusions upon the situation. The first attack, an impetuous rush en masse, had been repelled; but he knew that he was not dealing with mere savages, or even with Arabs of the Soudan, but with experienced warriors who had borne the brunt of many a fight, and who had every motive for nerving themselves for a second and more formidable onslaught. It was now broad daylight; the sun lay large and red upon the horizon. In the distance Tom descried the Arab camp occupied only by a horde of slave carriers; between them and him was the baffled enemy, and he saw the Arab leaders slashing at their retreating troops, and adjuring them with vehement cries to rally and stand firm. The conflict was evidently still to come, and Tom was glad of the breathing-space to allow his men to rest, and to enable himself to make preparations for meeting an attack which he knew would strain the powers of his force to the uttermost.
The exertions of the Arab leaders had checked the rout among their men, who were gradually rallying and forming up on either side of the reserve. There was an interval, and then Tom saw emerging from the hostile force three tall figures, two of them wearing turbans and long white robes, the third a gigantic negro, taller even than Mwonda. Tom looked anxiously at the other two as they approached, no doubt to see for themselves the position which had so unexpectedly disconcerted their men. They drew nearer.
"That is Ahmed, I suppose," said Tom to himself. "Who is his companion, I wonder? Can it be the hakim?"
But no; the figure was that of an older and a taller man than the hakim, a venerable figure with long white beard reaching almost to his waist. He was slightly bent, and walked with the tottering steps of an old and feeble man. "Rumaliza!" ejaculated Tom; "it must be Rumaliza himself, the old chief who has deluged Central Africa with blood. He comes breathing out threatening and slaughter. He means to direct the fight; he does me honour."
The three figures still advanced. They were now within musket shot.
"Impudent, not to say foolhardy," thought Tom. "I can't allow them to come any nearer."
He called up half a dozen of his sharp-shooters and bade them open fire. Six bullets sped across the earthwork; next instant Ahmed staggered, and was supported out of range by his companions.
"There's no want of courage, at any rate," thought Tom. "The real business is only just beginning."
When the three intrepid leaders had regained their lines, about a thousand men advanced in skirmishing order towards the zariba, taking advantage of what slight cover was afforded by the inequalities of the ground and the little scrub which Tom's men had not removed. Halting out of range of Tom's muskets, though not of his few Winchesters, they opened a brisk fire on the zariba. A moment's observation sufficed to show Tom that he was outranged; he therefore made no attempt to reply to the fire, but ordered his men to lie close, withdrew them from the north and south faces, where they were exposed to the cross-fire over the earthwork, and set a number of spademen to dig a shelter trench and embankment parallel to the northern and southern faces of the zariba. Beginning under the eastern face, the men were in great measure protected from the enemy's bullets, and though every now and then a man was hit, the new defences were completed with surprisingly little damage.