Samba Part 42

That enemy, however, was not approaching. Jack had fired the huts and thrown the camp into confusion; his little party was not strong enough to turn the confusion to utter rout. Its smallness would be perceived if he led it into the open; his was a waiting game. The wisdom of his policy was soon proved. A sharp volley came from the men whom the Belgian sergeant had got together. Jack heard the man beside him groan heavily and fall to the ground; then he himself felt a stinging burning pain below the left knee. He called to his men to keep within cover, and hastily bound a handkerchief about the wound. And now the wind dropped, and the smoke which had hitherto screened his movements floated upwards. A scattering volley from the enemy reduced his band by two more men. The State troops were working round on each side of him; and the red glare from the burning huts was lighting up the whole camp. It would soon be seen how small his little company was; then one determined rush would annihilate it.

Less than four minutes had pa.s.sed since he entered the gate; it seemed an age. Would Barney never come? Why was he delaying? Surely he had heard the signal shot; surely by this time he must have seen the ruddy glare! The enemy were regaining confidence; their cries of alarm were changed to yells of defiance. Elbel and Van Vorst had taken command, one on each side; each was steadily moving down from the northern stockade towards the gate. Barney, Barney, will you never come?

Hark! What is that? The cries of the enemy are suddenly drowned in a babel of yells behind them. They halt, amazed; Van Vorst shouts an order; the men wheel round and dash northwards, leaving only a few to watch the rear. The Belgian sees now the meaning of this daring scheme. What has he to gain by routing the little band behind? Before him is pandemonium; a whole host must be upon him; here is the danger to be met.

But he is too late! "Lokolobolo! Lokolobolo!" Two hundred voices roar the name. And Lokolobolo himself sees a portion of the northern stockade black with moving figures, and rifle barrels, spear heads, gleaming red in the light of the flaming huts. Towards him rushes the greater part of the garrison, their first fright trebled. These guards of the forest can fight unarmed despairing rubber collectors, but their hearts are as water when the villagers prove to be men. Let the men in uniform, the clad soldiers of Bula Matadi, fight if they will; this is no place for forest guards; the gate! the gate!

Van Vorst's handful of more disciplined men present a bolder front to the enemy. But it would need many times the number he can muster to break the wave of exultant warriors now swarming over the stockade.

There is Barney! Jack sees him drop to the ground, brandis.h.i.+ng in one hand a rifle, an ancient cutla.s.s in the other. "Hurroo! hurroo!" he shouts. A second, no more, and then the crest of the wave breaks over the stockade into the camp.

"Barnio! Lokolobolo!" With a great roar the men of Ilombekabasi follow their leader. They are already sweeping the garrison like sea-wrack before them, when another wave comes tumbling behind, the shrill cries of boys mingling with the deeper shouts of the men. See, they come, furiously, irresistibly! And who is this? A tall white-clad figure springs over with the movement of a hurdle-racer. It is Mr. Arlington himself, stirred for the nonce out of his habitual calmness, caught up and carried away in this roaring current.

The enemy fire once, then, though Van Vorst may rave and storm, they turn their backs and flee helter-skelter for the gate. "Lokobololo!

Barnio!" The tempestuous war-cries pursue them. Struggling, yelling, they converge to the narrow gateway. It is jammed, wedged tight with human forms, squeezed by the presence of the frantic crowd behind into a solid ma.s.s of feebly struggling wretches lost to all consciousness but that of a great fear. The weaker men fall and are trampled to death; the stronger push and pull, and scramble over the fallen, mad with fright. Some win through or over, and rush with blind haste into the forest. Others, despairing of escape by that one constricted outlet, climb the palisade. Some impale themselves on the sharp-pointed stakes, and, hapless benefactors! serve as gangways for their comrades who follow.

Seeing the utter rout of the enemy, Jack had already ordered his men to cease fire. His end was gained; he had no l.u.s.t for useless slaughter.

But although Makoko and Lingombela and the rest with him loyally obeyed, nothing could check the storming party. They heard nothing, saw nothing, but the enemy in front. Not one of them but had a father, or mother, a wife or child, to avenge--a ruined home, a blasted life.

As well attempt to bridle the whirlwind as this infuriate flood. On and on they pressed, past the spot where Jack held his men in leash; and as they ran they shot and stabbed, yelling "Barnio! Lokolobolo!"

And as they were accustomed to receive no mercy, so now, in this hour of retribution, they gave none.

As Jack made his way towards the gateway, hoping to do something to ensure quarter for the fleeing wretches, he caught sight of a figure crawling painfully forth from a burning hut. At one moment he recognized the man and the man him.

"Nando!" he cried.

"Sabe me, ma.s.sa!"

"Getaway to the other end. Wait for me there. Any other men in the hut?"

"No, ma.s.sa, no! only me!"

But as he turned to run Jack heard the bark which ever and anon had struck his ears during these full minutes, and felt a tug at his coat.

The cloth, already tattered, gave way; but Pat caught his trousers, then ran a little way ahead, then back again, then once more towards the burning hut. Tearing off his coat, Jack wrapped it round his head and dashed in. The smoke was so dense that nothing could be seen save here and there spurts of flame. Scarcely able to breathe he flung himself on the ground and began to grope round the right of the hut.

By and by his hands touched a human body, and then the s.h.a.ggy coat of the terrier. Lifting the body in both arms he staggered with it to the entrance, guided by the dog's barks. He gasped and drew long breaths when once again he came into the open air; but as he laid his burden upon the ground he stumbled and fell beside it, sick and dizzy.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Samba rescued from the burning hut]

He was unconscious but for a few moments. When he came to himself and sat up, he saw that Samba lay in his father's arms. Mboyo was sobbing, rocking his body to and fro, murmuring endearing words. Pat was stretched beside him, his eyes fixed on Samba, his ears p.r.i.c.ked forward.

"He dies, O Lokolobolo!" said Mboyo piteously, seeing Jack rise.

"No, no! Get water! Take him to the other end of the camp. I will come to you when I can."

Jack hurried off. Many of the huts were blazing; now that the fire had done its part it must be checked, or the stores and ammunition which would be invaluable in Ilombekabasi would be destroyed. Collecting such of the men as had not dashed out of the camp in pursuit of the enemy, Jack set them to beat out the flames where they could, and to demolish one or two of the still unburnt huts that were most in danger of catching fire. Luckily the wind had dropped; there was little risk of sparks or cinders flying through the air.

Then he set some of the boys to make torches, and by their light he surveyed the camp. He shuddered as he pa.s.sed over the scene of the disastrous flight and pursuit. The forms of dead and wounded lay scattered over the ground. He ordered Nando and other of Mr.

Martindale's carriers who had been left in the camp to attend the wounded as well as they were able, and sternly forbade the despatching of those of the enemy who were still alive but unable through injuries to escape. Then he went towards the gate. It was with a shock that he saw, amid the black bodies crushed to death in the gateway, the white-clad form of Van Vorst. In that terrible struggle for precedence the white man's skin had not saved him. But he was the only European left in the camp; Jack looked for Elbel and his subordinate; they were nowhere to be seen.

Complete darkness had settled over the country, and put a stop to the pursuit. Jack's men began to return, at first in ones and twos, by and by in groups that grew larger as the night drew on. They came laughing and singing; once more Elobela, even aided by Mutela, had been beaten by Lokolobolo. What a night it was for the men of Ilombekabasi! And Barnio!--was it not Barnio who had led them to the stockade with that wild war-cry of his? They must not forget Barnio! and Lianza made a song as he marched back to the camp:

Barnio! Barnio!

Down from the forty From Ilombekabasi, Dashed in the night, Sought Elobela, Cruel Mutela.

Hurroo! Hurroo!

Barnio leads, After him black men, Hundreds and thousands, Sweep like the wind, Rage like the torrent, Over the wall.

Hurroo! Hurroo!

Big clouds of smoke, Forests of flame, Into the midst, Barnio! Barnio!

Over the wall, Into the camp, Straight for the gate Barnio rushes, After him black men.

Hurroo! In the gate Thousands of black men, Only one white man, Cruel Mutela!

Ha! He will never, Never whip black men, Never kill women, Never kill children, Laugh again never!

Dead is Mutela!

Why do we sing?

Why do we laugh?

Whom do we praise?

Barnio! Barnio!

Lokolobolo!

Friends of Imbono, Friends of the black men Of Ilombekabasi.

Hurroo!

Begorra!

CHAPTER x.x.x

Sinews of War

Barney came back to the camp tired out. Following up the only party that seemed to have cohesion after leaving the fort--a party led by the Belgian sergeant--he had soon found himself left far behind in the race. But his men had done their work thoroughly; they had dispersed the band, few of whom escaped.

"'Twas for this I was born, sorr," said Barney as he gripped Jack's hand. "Sure I'll be a fighter for iver more."

"You did splendidly, old fellow. I knew all was well when I heard your hurroo! But there are five hundred men roaming the country and only a score of able-bodied men in our fort. We must look after that. Get fifty fellows together and send them back under Imbono, Barney."

"And what'll ye be afther doing yourself, sorr?"

"Oh! I'm going down to the river. The job's only half done while that flotilla is intact. I'm going to have a shot at it before the enemy get over their fright. I'll take a couple of hundred men with me.

You'll keep a hundred and remove all the stores and ammunition here to the fort; get the women and children to help; you can light the way with flares. When the camp's empty burn it. And look after Samba, Barney; he's here, nearly dead, poor little chap! Mboyo's got him; we'll go and see how he is getting on."

Making their way to the north side of the camp they found Samba laid on the floor of a hut, his father on one side of him, Pat on the other.

The dog leapt up excitedly when he saw his master, and invited him with a yelp to come and see Samba. By the light of a torch Barney tenderly examined the boy. He was conscious, and smiled, even though he winced under the gentlest of touches.

"Ochone! Ochone!" exclaimed Barney. "'Tis the divil's own work, sorr.

His poor flesh is wan jelly. By all the holy powers, if I catch that murdering ruff'n uv a fellow, that Elbel---- And I've no ointment at all at all. Bedad! but now I remimber Mr. Arlington has a whole docthor's shop in wan uv his traps, and if he hasn't got boracic ointment among his stuff, sure I'll think a mighty deal less uv him.

'Twill take a month or more, sorr, to heal all the wounds on this poor body; but we'll do it, plase G.o.d! and make a man of him yet."

"He dies, O Lokolobolo?" said Mboyo, looking up yearningly into Jack's face.

"No, Barnio says no. He is very ill, but in a month he may be well, and Barnio says he is going to make a man of him."

"Bolotsi O! Bolotsi O!" cried the negro, slapping his thighs. "N'dok 'olo aiyoko!"[1]