



Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover art]



[Illustration: REINECKE FLUNG UP HIS ARM.]




                        TOM WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTS

               _A STORY OF THE WAR IN GERMAN EAST AFRICA_


                                   BY

                             HERBERT STRANG




                       _ILLUSTRATED BY WAL PAGET_




                            HUMPHREY MILFORD
                        OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
                       LONDON, EDINBURGH, GLASGOW
                 TORONTO, MELBOURNE, CAPE TOWN, BOMBAY
                                  1919




         PRINTED 1918 IN GREAT BRITAIN BY R. CLAY & SONS, LTD.,
    BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E. 1, AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.



                                  ----




CONTENTS


    CHAPTER I--TANGANYIKA
    CHAPTER II--PARTNERS
    CHAPTER III--THE VOUCHER
    CHAPTER IV--TRAPPED
    CHAPTER V--A FRIEND IN NEED
    CHAPTER VI--MWESA'S MISSION
    CHAPTER VII--TOM SEIZES THE OCCASION
    CHAPTER VIII--REINECKE RETURNS
    CHAPTER IX--A DELAYING ACTION
    CHAPTER X--A BREATHING SPACE
    CHAPTER XI--TOM'S NEW ALLIES
    CHAPTER XII--THE DESERTER
    CHAPTER XIII--HUNTED
    CHAPTER XIV--THE TRAIL
    CHAPTER XV--THE BACK DOOR
    CHAPTER XVI--DRAWN BLANK
    CHAPTER XVII--A GERMAN OFFER
    CHAPTER XVIII--A GOOD HAUL
    CHAPTER XIX--BELEAGUERED
    CHAPTER XX--RAISING THE SIEGE
    CHAPTER XXI--WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTS

                                  ----




                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Reinecke flung up his Arm (See p. 193) . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
Tom took careful Aim and fired
Tom makes a Diversion
Mwesa flung Himself on the Arab




CHAPTER I--TANGANYIKA


Among the passengers who boarded the _Hedwig von Wissmann_ at Kigoma on
Lake Tanganyika, one June day in 1914, there were two who engaged more
particularly the attention of those already on deck.  The first was a
tall stalwart man of some fifty years, with hard blue eyes, full red
cheeks, a square chin, and a heavy blond moustache streaked with grey.
He stepped somewhat jerkily up the gangway, brought his hand stiffly to
his brow in response to the salute of the first officer, and was led by
that deferential functionary to a chair beneath the deck awning.

The second presented a striking contrast. Equally tall, he was slim and
loosely built, with lean, sunburnt, hairless cheeks, a clean upper lip
that curved slightly in a natural smile, and brown eyes that flashed a
look of intelligent interest around.  He walked with the lithe easy
movements of athletic youth, turned to see that the porter was following
with his luggage, a single travelling trunk and a rifle case, and
satisfied on that score, picked up a deck-chair and planted it for
himself where the awning would give shade without shutting off the air.

Both these new arrivals wore suits of white drill, and pith helmets; but
whereas the elder man was tightly buttoned, suggesting a certain strain,
the younger allowed his coat to hang open, showing his soft shirt and
the cummerbund about his waist.

The gangway was pulled in, a seaman cast off the mooring rope, and the
vessel sheered off from the landing-stage with those seemingly aimless
movements with which a steamer, until she is well under way, responds to
the signals from the bridge.  In a few minutes the _Hedwig von Wissmann_
was heading southward down the lake, on her three-hundred-mile voyage to
Bismarckburg.

The younger of the two passengers lit a cigarette and unobtrusively took
stock of his fellow-travellers.  The tall man before mentioned was
already puffing at a long black cigar, and a steward, with marked
servility, had placed a glass of some lemon- liquid on a table
at his elbow.  Beyond him four men of middle age, also provided with
cigars and glasses, were playing cards, not in dignified silence, like
Sarah Battle of immortal memory, but with a sort of voracity, and a
voluble exchange of gutturals. Sitting apart, smoking a dark briar pipe,
sat a grizzled and somewhat shabby passenger who, though the brim of his
panama was turned down over his eyes, had nevertheless watched and drawn
conclusions about the two strangers.

"H'm!  Public school--nineteen, perhaps--griffin--nice lad--clean," his
disjointed thoughts ran.  "T'other fellow--Potsdam--goose step--beer
barrel--don't like the breed."

For a while he sat smoking, giving a little grunt now and then, and now
and then a glance at the young Englishman.  Presently he heaved himself
out of his chair, tilted back his hat, and waddling a few steps, planted
himself with legs apart in front of the youth.

"Harrow or Rugby, sir?" he said without preamble.

"Neither, sir," replied the other with a smile. "I was at quite an
obscure grammar school--not a public school in the--well, in the swagger
sense."

The old man's grey eyes twinkled.

"H'm!" he ejaculated.  "Don't get up."  He took a chair that stood
folded against one of the stanchions and drew it alongside.

"Name, sir?"

The youth looked into the face of his questioner, saw nothing but
benevolence there, and thinking "Queer old stick!" answered--

"Willoughby--Tom Willoughby."

"H'm!  Not Bob Willoughby's son, by any chance?"

"My father's name was Robert, sir."

"Takes after his mother, I suppose," the old man murmured to himself,
but audibly.  "Hasn't got Bob's nose.  I knew him," he went on aloud.
"Saw in _The Times_ he was gone: sorry, my lad. Haven't seen him since
'98, when I was in Uganda.  Haven't been out since; wanted to run round
once more before I'm laid on the shelf.  Going to Rhodesia, I presume?"

"No: only as far as Bismarckburg: my father was interested in some land
on the edge of the Plateau."

"German land, begad!"

"Well, you see he was partner with a German: went equal shares with him
in a coffee plantation seven or eight years ago."

"H'm!  Why didn't he stick to mines?" said the old gentleman in one of
his audible asides.  "And you step into his shoes, I suppose?"

"Not exactly, sir.  He left his property to my brother and me jointly.
We decided that Bob--he's twenty-four--had better stick to the
commission business in London, and I should come out and learn planting,
or at any rate see if it's worth while going on; the plantation has
never paid, and it's lucky for us we don't depend on it."

"Never paid in eight years?  It's time it did. What's your German
partner about?  I'm an old hand; my name's Barkworth, and I was a friend
of your father.  My advice is, if your coffee hasn't paid in eight
years, cut your losses and try cotton."

"It may come to that; that's what I'm out to discover; but my brother
thought it at least worth while looking into things on the spot with Mr.
Reinecke----"

"Curt Reinecke?" said Mr. Barkworth abruptly.

"Yes."

"I know him--or did, twenty years ago.  _He's_ your partner.  H'm!"  He
blew out a heavy cloud of smoke.  Tom looked at him a little anxiously.

"Mr. Reinecke has had a lot of bad luck, sir," he said.  "He was always
hoping the tide would turn, Bob suggested that he might be incompetent,
but my father had complete confidence in him."

"Reinecke incompetent!  Bosh!  He's clever enough."

There was something in Mr. Barkworth's tone that caused Tom to say--

"I've never met him myself, and I should really be glad of any
information, sir.  You see, it's rather awkward, dealing with a man old
enough to be my father, I mean, and----"

"Yes, of course.  Reinecke is a clever fellow; I've nothing against him,
but I recommend you to go carefully.  I don't like him, but then I don't
like Germans."

"I can't say I do," said Tom.  "I spent a year in Germany.  But I've met
a few jolly decent chaps, and seeing that my father thought so highly of
Mr. Reinecke----"

"You're predisposed in his favour.  Naturally. Well, keep an open mind.
Don't be in a hurry to decide.  That's an old man's advice.  I'm nearly
seventy, my lad, and the older I get the more I learn.  With people,
now--there's the man who falls on the neck of the first comer, and
wishes he hadn't.  There's the man who stiffens his back and freezes,
and then finds that he's lost his chance of making a friend.  Don't be
like either: 'prove all things'--and men--'and hold fast to that which
is good.'  H'm!  I'm beginning to preach: sure sign of dotage.--You
haven't seen a view like that before."

It was indeed a new and an enchanting experience to Tom Willoughby, this
voyage on the vast lake, or inland sea, that stretches for four hundred
miles in the heart of equatorial Africa. Looking eastward to the nearer
shore, he beheld a high bank richly clad with forest jungle, fringed and
festooned with lovely creepers and climbing plants.  Below, the blue
waters, tossed by a south-east breeze, broke high upon a wilderness of
rugged rocks; above, masses of cloud raced across the green heights,
revealing now and then patches of bare brown rock, now and then the
misty tops of distant mountains.  The coastline was variegated with
headlands, creeks, and bays; southward could be discerned the bold
mountainous promontory of Kungwe.  Here and there Arab dhows with their
triangular sails and the low log canoes of native fishermen hugged the
shore; and birds with brilliant plumage glittered and flashed as they
darted in and out among the foliage or swooped down upon the surface in
search of food.

Tom feasted his eyes on these novel scenes until a bugle summoned the
passengers to luncheon.  He would have found it a slow meal but for his
new friend.  They were placed side by side at some distance from the
captain, the intervening seats being occupied by the Germans. The
planters talked shop among themselves, and Tom was amused at the
obsequious gratitude they showed to Major von Rudenheim, the newly
arrived German officer, when he dispensed them a word now and then, as a
man throws a bone to a dog.  The major had the place of honour next the
captain, whose bearing towards him was scarcely less deferential.
Through the meal the two Englishmen were almost ignored by the rest.
Afterwards, however, when the planters had returned to their cards and
Major von Rudenheim and Mr. Barkworth had both disappeared, Captain
Goltermann came up to Tom where he sat alone on deck.

"Fine country, Mr. Villoughby," he said pleasantly.  "I hope you like
zis trip."

"Thanks, captain, it's quite charming; but I'm not what we call a
tripper."

"So!  It is business, not pleasure, zat bring you?  But zere shall be
pleasure _and_ business, I zink.  If I can assist you----"

"Thanks again.  I expect Mr. Reinecke to meet me at Bismarckburg."

"Mr. Reinecke!  He is great friend of mine. You are lucky to go to
him--as pupil, perhaps?"

It seemed to Tom that the amiable captain was trying to pump him, and he
smiled inwardly.

"I daresay I could learn a good deal from Mr. Reinecke," he said,
guardedly, but with great amiability.

"Zat is certain.  He is a most excellent man of business, and as a
planter zere is no one like him.  Zat I ought to know, because I carry
his goods.  Yes, truly, many fine cargoes haf I carried from
Bismarckburg to Ujiji.  Zere vill vun vait me, vizout doubt.  Yes, my
friend Reinecke is ze model of efficiency--of German efficiency. Ze
English are great colonists--so! no vun deny it; and zey are proud zey
know how to manage ze <DW65>--yes?  But I tell you--you are young man--I
tell you your countrymen cannot make ze <DW65> vork---ve Germans can."

Tom was to learn later the methods by which the Germans achieved that
desirable end: at present he was slightly amused at the Teutonic
self-satisfaction of the speaker.  It was so like what he had
encountered during his year in Stuttgart.

"Ze German kultur," the captain proceeded--"it is carried verever ze
German go.  Yes; viz our mezod, our zystem, ve create for our Kaiser a
great empire in Africa.  In ten, tventy year ze Masai, ze Wanyamwezi, ze
Wakamba, ze Wahehe, and all ze ozers--zey shall become Germans--black
Germans, but ze colour, vat is it?  It is of ze skin; I speak of ze
soul, sir."

At this moment there was a great hubbub on the lower deck forward, where
a motley assortment of natives and Indian traders was located. The
captain hurried away; the planters left their cards and flocked to see
what was happening. Tom followed them.  Looking over the rail, he saw a
young <DW64> being dragged along by two petty officers, who cuffed and
kicked him between their shouts of abuse.  They hauled him on until they
stood below the captain, and then explained in German that they had
found him hidden among some bales of cargo: he had not paid his passage
and had no money.

"Throw him overboard," cried the captain. The planters laughed.

"Only a stowaway," said one, and their curiosity being satisfied, they
went back to the awning.

Whether the captain had meant what he said or not, he had turned away,
and the officers were apparently about to carry out the order. Tom,
understanding German and knowing something of Germans, was nevertheless
amazed. Acting on the impulse of the moment he hurried after the
captain.

"I say, captain, I'll pay for the boy," he cried. "Let him go."

Captain Goltermann smiled.

"Ze <DW65>?  You are good Samaritan, sir. Vell, it is your affair, not
mine.  Pay if you please; you fling money avay."

He called to the officers, who gave the boy a parting kick and shot him
into the midst of the crowd of shouting <DW64>s before them.  Tom paid
the passage money, and went back to his chair.  Had he made a fool of
himself?  It was really absurd to have supposed that the Germans would
have drowned the boy.  "I wonder what Mr. Barkworth would say?" he
thought.  And then he sprang up and hastened to find the purser: he had
suddenly remembered that if the boy had no money for his fare, neither
could he pay for his food.  "No good doing things by halves," he
thought.  He told the purser to charge the boy's keep to him, adding:
"and don't make a song about it."




CHAPTER II--PARTNERS


Tom Willoughby's first impression of Curt Reinecke had an element of
surprise.  Conspicuous on the landing-stage at Bismarckburg was a thin
wiry man of middle height, clad in the loose white garments affected by
planters, with a large white linen hat, its brim turned down
helmet-wise.  The coppery hue of his face was accentuated by a huge
white moustache, which projected at least two inches beyond the outlines
of his shaven cheeks.  He might have passed for a South American
president.

"That's Reinecke," said Mr. Barkworth, as he stepped on to the gangway
in advance of Tom.  "Hasn't altered a jot.  His moustache was white
twenty years ago; and he was as bald as a bladder.  Good-bye, my lad: we
may meet again: we may not: God bless you!"

Mr. Barkworth had already explained that, as the _Hedwig von Wissmann_
would remain two or three days at Bismarckburg to unload, he was going
to complete his journey to Kitata in Rhodesia by sailing boat.  They
shook hands cordially and parted.

It was impossible for Reinecke to mistake the lad he had come to meet.
Among the passengers who landed there was none so young as Tom, no other
who bore the stamp of Englishman. Reinecke came up to him with a smile,
lifted his hat, revealing for an instant his smooth pink crown, and
said--

"Mr. Villoughby, vizout doubt.  A tousand hearty velcomes."

"How d'you do, Mr. Reinecke?" responded Tom.  "Glad to meet you."

"Ve shall go to ze hotel for to-day; I shall see to your baggage.
To-morrow ve go to ze plantation.  Zat zhentleman you part viz--I zink I
know his look, but his name--no, I do not remember: it is--no, it vill
not come."

"Barkworth."

"Ach!  So!  Barkvorce.  Yes, of course, of course; I remember: it is
long ago----"

He stopped abruptly, and gazed after the broad shambling figure with a
look that Tom could not fathom.  Then he turned to Tom again, begged him
to excuse his absence for a moment, and went up the gangway on to the
steamer.  Returning after a minute or two, he explained that he had
arranged for Tom's baggage to be sent to the hotel, and had invited
Captain Goltermann to visit the plantation while the vessel remained in
harbour.

"I can gif you good shootings," he said, smiling again.  "You English
are all good sports, eh? And my friend ze captain also is expert viz ze
gun."

Tom felt that he had nothing to complain of in the warmth of his
reception, and glowed with anticipation of diversifying his business
inquiries with sport of a kind new to him.

He learnt that the plantation lay at a distance of about twenty miles
from the lake-side, on the Tanganyika Plateau, and could only be reached
by a rough path over the hills, impassable for wheeled traffic.  But he
would not be expected to walk. The journey would be done by _machila_,
which turned out to be a light canvas litter slung on a pole and borne
by two strapping natives. Reinecke had brought three pairs of porters,
in addition to a dozen who would convey certain bales of stores which
had come by the steamer. It was thus a large party that left early next
morning, the three white men in their litters going ahead, the porters
following at some distance under the charge of an Arab overseer armed
with a long whip.

Within half an hour of leaving the port the path entered hilly country,
much overgrown with forest vegetation.  The air was still, hot and
humid, and Tom, though this novel means of locomotion, over rough
ground, had its discomforts, reflected that he would have been still
more uncomfortable had he walked.  Innumerable insects buzzed around,
seeking to pierce the protective curtains that enclosed him.  Through
the meshes of the muslin he saw gigantic ferns, revelling in the moist
shade of huge trees, festooned with lianas and rattan.  He heard monkeys
chattering overhead, the soft notes of doves and the shriller cries of
partridges and guinea-fowl; and but for the teeming insects he would
have liked to spring from his litter and go afoot, where every yard
brought some new beauty, some novel form of life, to view.  After three
hours the caravan halted, for the purpose of refreshing the Europeans
with cool lager beer from bottles carried in ice-packs by one of the
natives.  It was drawing towards evening when they arrived at a clearing
beyond which there was a dense and impenetrable thorn hedge about eight
feet high. The path led to a wooden gate set in the midst of the hedge.
This Reinecke opened with a key, and he stood back with a smile and a
bow as he invited Tom, now on his feet, to enter.

"Zis is our estate," he said.  "Vunce more I bid you tousand velcomes,
and I vish your visit bring us good luck."

"Thanks very much," said Tom, noticing at the same time that Reinecke's
eyes were fixed on the peculiarly stolid face of Captain Goltermann.

"Yes, viz better luck you shall be rich man in a few years, Mr.
Villoughby," said the captain. "Zere is no man zat knows like my friend
Reinecke ze--ze----"

"Ze ups and downs of coffee," suggested Reinecke.  "A good season--yes,
zere shall be zree or four tousand kilos ze acre; but a bad season--ah!
disease come--who can stop it? Vat physician haf ve for ze cure?
Zen--ah! it break ze heart."

Tom looked about him with interest.  As far as he could see, extended
row on row of coffee plants in straight lines about six feet apart.
Between them, at the same interval, were dug shallow pits some eighteen
inches deep.  He had arrived just at the time when the fruit was ripe,
and a number of <DW64>s were busily picking it from the bushes.  Here
and there among them stood tall Arab overseers, all armed with whips.

Presently the party came to a couple of machines resembling cider
presses, which Reinecke explained were pulpers for separating the beans
from the reddish pulp that covered them.  Then they passed two large
brick vats, in one of which the beans were fermented, in the other
washed and dried.  Beyond these were sheds where the coffee, now ready
for market, was stored and packed.  And then, in a separate clearing,
laid out like a European garden, they came to Reinecke's bungalow, a
brightly painted structure of wood, with a long verandah and a thatched
roof.  A table was laid on the verandah, and a few minutes after his
arrival Tom was seated with his host and his fellow-guest at a meal,
prepared and served by native servants, which reminded him, with a
difference, of the meals he had known the year before, when his father
had sent him to Germany.

Finding that Tom understood German, Reinecke conversed in that language,
dropping into English now and then to explain technical terms.  He
related to his interested guests the story of the plantation: how the
land was first cleared by cutting down the timber and uprooting the
bush: how this was burnt and the ashes mixed with the soil: the months
of hoeing: the sowings in the seed beds: the planting out of the
seedlings in November, when the rains began: and the tedious three
years' waiting before the young plants started to bear.  Those three
years he had utilised by planting a thorn fence about the whole clearing
of some hundreds of acres.  Tom supposed that this fence had been
erected to keep out wild beasts, for depredations by human marauders
were not to be feared in a district where German authority was
established.  Reinecke assented; but Tom was to discover before many
days were past that the fence had another, even a sinister purpose.

The next two days were spent very agreeably in shooting expeditions into
the wild country beyond the plantation.  Captain Goltermann turned out
to be a crack shot, and the greater number of the antelopes and
buffaloes which the sportsmen brought down fell to his gun.  Tom was all
anxiety to get a shot at a lion or even an elephant, which Reinecke told
him were to be found in parts of the Plateau; but the Germans were
indisposed to take the long journeys that were necessary to reach the
habitats of these more dangerous game: Goltermann's visit was to be only
a short one.

One trifling incident of these days was to have an important bearing on
Tom's fortunes.  Captain Goltermann had shot an antelope, but, with less
than his usual skill or luck, had only wounded it. Determined not to
lose his prey, he followed, accompanied by the others, over a stretch of
hilly country, dotted with bush, tracking the animal by its blood-stains
into a deep nullah through which a stream flowed.  The sportsmen caught
sight of it at last, drinking at the border of a lake, the source of the
stream.  Goltermann had just raised his gun to give the _coup de grace_
when the antelope suddenly sank into the water and appeared no more.

"We have provided a meal for a crocodile," said the captain with a
shrug.  "The slimy sneaking reptile!"

"It was bad luck for you, Goltermann," said Reinecke.  "The beast was
hopelessly trapped; there's no exit from this end of the nullah.  Our
long tramp for nothing!"

Naturally, it was not until the captain had left that Tom broached the
business that had brought him from England.

"Now that we have come into my father's property," he said on the third
morning at breakfast, "my brother and I thought it just as well that I
should take a trip out and see things on the spot. He explained that in
his letter."

"Naturally," said Reinecke.  "It is what I should have done myself."

"Of course," Tom went on, "I've only had a year's business training--in
Germany, by the way: and I know nothing whatever about coffee: but I
know two and two make four, and I'm sure if you'll be good enough to go
into things with me, I'll soon get the hang of them.  If the plantation
can't be made to pay, there's only one way out--sacrifice our interest.
On the other hand, if there's a chance of success, I thought perhaps I
might stay on here and become a planter myself: it's a life I think I
should take to."

"Excellent," said Reinecke.  "I am very glad you have come.  And if you
can suggest some means of making the place pay--well, need I say I shall
be delighted.  What with poor crops and low prices, and the heavy costs
of carriage, it is difficult to wring from it even the small, and I
confess unsatisfactory margin which I have been able to show since the
plants came into bearing."

It crossed Tom's mind that this pessimistic attitude was hard to square
with Captain Goltermann's enthusiastic praise of Reinecke, and his
remarks on the valuable cargoes that he had carried; but he remembered
Mr. Barkworth's advice to "go carefully," to "keep an open mind," and at
present he had no material on which to form a judgment.  Nor could he
yet decide how to estimate Reinecke.  The German had been cordiality
itself.  He had left nothing undone for his guest's comfort; his manner
had every appearance of frankness; yet Tom was conscious in himself of
an instinctive reserve, a something undefined that held him back from
complete confidence.

"You will see the books, of course," said Reinecke, rising to unlock his
desk.  "They are kept in German, but after your year's training in
Germany that will be no difficulty to you. Here they are: the stock
book, the cost book, the ledger: on this file you will find the vouchers
for the quantities of beans we have shipped from Bismarckburg.  My clerk
is very methodical: he is a <DW65>, but trained in Germany, and in
spirit a true German: you will find all in order.  I will leave you to
examine them at your leisure, and anything you want explained--why, of
course I shall be delighted."

Tom spent the rest of the morning in digesting the figures that Reinecke
had placed before him. It was a task that went against the grain; he
hated anything that savoured of the part of inquisitor; but he reflected
that it was purely a matter of business, and being thorough in whatever
he undertook he bent his mind to the distasteful job, resolved to get it
over as quickly as possible.

As Reinecke had said, everything was in order. There were records of the
total quantity of beans produced; he compared the vouchers for the
consignments with the entries in the stock book, and found that they
tallied.  The other books gave him the costs of production, which
included wages, provisions, upkeep of buildings and so on; duplicates of
the invoices dispatched with the goods to a firm in Hamburg; records of
bills of exchange received in payment, and the hundred and one details
incident to an export business.  Balance sheets had, of course, been
sent to his father: here was the material on which those sheets were
based, and everything confirmed the position as he already knew it: that
the plantation did little more than pay the not inconsiderable salary
which Reinecke drew as manager.  His and the Willoughbys' shares of the
profits were minute.

Tom could only conclude that Captain Goltermann, knowing nothing of the
details of management, had drawn erroneous conclusions from the facts
within his knowledge.  His vessel conveyed a certain number of bags up
the lake at certain seasons: that was all.  It was easy for a seaman to
make mistakes in such a matter.  If so, then, what was wrong?  Were the
costs too high in proportion to the out-turn?  Was the acreage under
cultivation too small?  Was there something faulty in the methods
employed?  Tom felt that these questions carried him beyond his depth.
Would it not have been better to send an expert to make the necessary
investigations? That might still have to be done: meanwhile here he was;
he must learn what he could, spend a few months in getting a grip of
things, keep Bob at home informed, and then go back and consult with
him.

When Reinecke returned to lunch, Tom complimented him on the perfect
order in which his books were kept, and frankly told him the conclusion
to which he had come.

"That means that I must trespass on your hospitality for some months, at
any rate," he added.  "I shall see the results from this season's crops,
your preparations for next, and fresh sowings, I suppose.  Of course I
can't expect to learn in a few months what has taken you years."

"That is so," said the German, and Tom fancied that there was a shade
less cordiality in his manner, which was perhaps not to be wondered at
in view of the prospect of having a stranger quartered on him for an
indefinite period. "Still," Reinecke went on, "it is with knowledge as
with wealth.  The heir inherits thousands which his father has
laboriously amassed; the pupil enjoys the fruits of his master's long
and concentrated study.  I think you will be an apt pupil."

He said this with so pleasant a smile that Tom dismissed his feeling of
a moment before as unwarranted, and reflected that Reinecke was really
taking things with a very good grace.

Next day he accompanied Reinecke to the outlying quarter of the estate
where the workers were lodged in huts and sheds constructed by
themselves.  They were shut off from the outer world by the ring fence,
which consisted of quick-growing thorn bushes so closely matted as to
form a practically impenetrable barrier many feet thick.  There were
more than a hundred adult <DW64>s, men and women, employed on the
plantation.  A number of children playing in front of the huts stopped
and clustered together in silent groups when the two white men appeared.

"I suppose the workers get a holiday sometimes?" said Tom, whose
schooldays were only eighteen months behind him.

"Of course," said Reinecke.  "There are slack times, in the early part
of the season between the hoeings, when there is little to be done."

"But I mean, they go away sometimes?"

"Why should they?  Where should they go? There is only the forest, and
the port.  They would be eaten in the forest; they would eat up the
port."  Reinecke laughed at his joke.

"Then they are practically prisoners?"

"My dear Mr. Willoughby, this is Africa. In Europe you put fences round
your cattle: the <DW64>s are just cattle.  Break your fences, and your
animals stray and are lost.  So with the <DW65>s."

"But that is slavery."

"Words! words!" said Reinecke lightly. "They are no more slaves than the
apprentices who are bound to their masters for a term of years.  They
are indentured labourers.  They are paid; and there's not a man among
them but accumulates enough to make him rich when his time is up."

"They can go to their homes, then, when their time is up?"

Reinecke shrugged.

"As they please," he said.  "They have a long way to go.  See, Mr.
Willoughby, I give you a page from German colonial history.  Twenty
years ago, in our early days, our brave pioneers of empire had enormous
difficulties to contend with.  There was one savage tribe, the Wahehe
some two hundred miles north of us here, that resisted our civilising
mission with especial pertinacity and violence.  On August 17, '91, they
gained a victory over our much-tried soldiers.  They dispersed as we
approached, but when the column of Captain von Zelewski was passing
through a rugged and densely-grown country it was attacked along its
whole length by thousands of the treacherous dogs.  Zelewski was among
the first to fall; taken at a disadvantage his column was almost
annihilated.  Ten Germans, sir--ten Germans, I say, as well as over
three hundred askaris and porters, were slain.  The gallant Lieutenant
von Tettenborn fought his way back with a few survivors to Kondoa, and
thence reached the coast."

"We've had many incidents of that sort in India and elsewhere," said
Tom.  "I suppose there was a punitive expedition?"

"There was, sir; but not until three years had passed.  For three years
those treacherous swine were allowed to flout the German might.  Then,
in October '94, we captured and destroyed Iringa, their principal
village, and were again attacked in the woods on our way to the coast.
Some of the petty chiefs held out against us for years, but the German
destructive sword is very sure.  Finally they were terribly subdued, and
some hundreds of them were transported into this Tanganyika country and
compelled to earn their living by peaceful toil.  My people here are
Wahehe.  I have one of the very chiefs who opposed us--one Mirambo, a
great hunter in his youth.  I need not say that I find his woodcraft
very useful when I go hunting.  By the way, he carried Captain
Goltermann's gun the other day.  And now you see, Mr. Willoughby, how
well off these people are.  They might have been treated as rebels; they
might have suffered as prisoners of war. Instead, they are indentured
labourers, engaged, for pay, in producing a useful commodity--with no
profit to their employers, mark you.  My dear sir, it is philanthropy."

Tom did not venture to say what he thought. In these early days it was
useless to enter into a dispute with Reinecke.  But to his British way
of thinking the condition of the labourers was simply slavery, however
the German might seek to disguise it, and he would make it his business
to find out for himself the natives' point of view. If they were
contented with their lot, it would be folly to disturb them.  But if
not--and he remembered the whips he had seen in the overseers' hands--a
new system must be introduced, with or without Reinecke's consent.




CHAPTER III--THE VOUCHER


During the next two or three days Tom went about the plantation,
watching the <DW64>s at their work of picking and pulping the fruit.
Reinecke left him in perfect freedom to go where he pleased, and see
anything and everything.  The natives worked industriously: there was no
lack of talk and laughter among them, no indication of discontent or
ill-treatment.  Tom's misgiving was dissipated; he concluded that the
overseers' whips were wands of office rather than instruments of
correction.  The <DW64>s gazed at him with a certain curiosity and
interest.  Some smiled, in unconscious response to the charm of his
expression, of which he was equally unconscious.  One of them, he
noticed, a lad apparently about seventeen, looked at him with a peculiar
intentness.  Once, when, in lighting his pipe, he dropped his box of
matches, the young <DW64> sprang forward, picked it up, and handed it to
him with a sort of proud pleasure that so trifling a service hardly
accounted for.

"Thanks," said Tom, and the lad's face beamed as, admonished by a severe
look from the overseer with whom Tom had been talking, he went back to
the bush which he had left.

"I hope you will pardon my leaving you so much to yourself," said
Reinecke one day.  "There is little to be learnt at this season, except
what you can see with your own eyes.  In seedtime, if you still favour
me with your company, I shall have more opportunities of giving you
definite instruction.  And now what do you say to a little relaxation?
Shall we go shooting to-morrow?"

"I shall be delighted."

"Very well.  I will give orders that Mirambo and another man shall
accompany us to-morrow. We shall find wild geese and snipe at the stream
a few miles south; possibly a hippo, if, like most youngsters, you've a
fancy for big game."

When they started next morning, Tom looked at the German's gunbearer
with a good deal more attention than he had shown previously.  It was
strange that this humble <DW64> had once been a chief.  Mirambo was a
well-built man past middle life, quick in his movements, and with large
eyes of piercing brilliance.  With him was a youth whom even a white
man, not easily able to distinguish one <DW64> from another, could hardly
fail to recognise as his son.  Reinecke gave them their instructions in
their own tongue, and with a bullying manner that Tom secretly resented.
They received them silently, with an utter lack of expression,
displaying none of the interest or alacrity which an English gamekeeper
would have shown in similar circumstances.

The party of four set off, the <DW64>s leading. Their destination was
one of the rare streams that traverse this part of the Plateau, and make
their way in devious course and with many cascades to the great lake
below.  The morning was still young.  By starting early, Reinecke had
explained, they would make as large a bag as the men could carry before
the midday heat became oppressive, and after a brief rest could stroll
leisurely back to a late lunch.  Tom reflected that this attitude
evinced no great enthusiasm for sport, and concluded that Reinecke was
really rather a good fellow in taking so much trouble for the sake of a
guest.

It was not until they were well in the forest that Mirambo showed any
animation.  The instincts of the old hunter awoke.  His keen eyes moved
restlessly, alert to mark the spoor of beasts in the woods and on the
open park-like spaces dotted with acacias, euphorbias, and the wild
thick bushes known as scrub.  At one spot he became excited, pointing to
fresh marks in the soft soil.

"The tracks of a wart-hog," Reinecke explained. "The beast evidently
went to his hole not long ago."

"I've never seen one," said Tom.  "Couldn't we track him and have a
shot?"

"We couldn't carry him home.  We're out for birds.  Still, I daresay the
<DW65>s could dispose of him.  You can try your hand if you like."

To Tom's surprise, the <DW64>s, instead of following the tracks in the
direction in which the animal had apparently gone, went in the opposite
direction.

"They're going away from him," he said.

"No, no," said Reinecke with a smile.  "Speak low--or better not at all:
he's close at hand."

He halted, bidding Tom stand by with his rifle ready cocked.  The two
<DW64>s stole forward, and within about fifty yards posted themselves
one on each side of a hole in the ground. Then together they began to
stamp heavily with their feet, uttering no sound, and keeping their eyes
fixed on the hole.  Wondering at this strange performance, Tom looked
inquiringly at Reinecke, who shook his head and signed to him to be on
the alert.  Presently there appeared in the hole the ugly tusked snout
of a wart-hog.  He grunted with annoyance at his slumbers having been
disturbed by a shower of falling earth, heaved his ungainly body out,
and began to trot away on his short legs directly across the white man's
line of fire.

"Now!" murmured Reinecke.  "Behind the ear."

Tom shouldered his rifle, took careful aim, and fired.  But whether
owing to excitement, or to the fact that the animal, through his
protective colouring, was almost indistinguishable from the background
of brownish bush, his shot missed the vital spot and inflicted only a
gash in the shoulder. The infuriated animal wheeled round and charged
across the open space.  But he had covered only a few yards when a
well-planted shot from Reinecke's rifle stretched him on the ground.

[Illustration: TOM TOOK CAREFUL AIM AND FIRED.]

"Don't take it to heart," said the German, noticing Tom's crestfallen
expression.  "Everyone misses his first shot at a wart-hog.  I remember
a famous sportsman once having to dodge round a tree for a quarter of an
hour to escape the tusks of a beast he had only wounded.  Better luck
next time."

"But why didn't he charge the <DW64>s?  He passed within a few inches of
them."

"They stood a little way back from the hole, you noticed; and besides,
the beast is very short-sighted.  You were surprised that all the tracks
apparently lead away from the hole instead of towards it.  That's not
cunning, as it was in the case of that cattle-stealer, wasn't it? in
classical story who pulled oxen into a cave by the tails. It's sheer
necessity.  That hole was once the dwelling of an ant-bear; the wart-hog
had appropriated it.  But his head and shoulders are so much bigger than
the rest of him that he has to go in tail first."

The <DW64>s had rushed to the animal as soon as it fell, lifted the head
slightly, and tied it to one of the hind legs with thongs of creeper.
Then Mirambo tore a strip from his white loincloth and attached it to
the wart-hog's horns.

"That's to scare vultures away until our return," said Reinecke.  "In
the rainy season myriads of flies would be at the carcase already, but
in this dry weather it will probably not suffer much before the <DW65>s
get back to cut it up. Hyenas and other scavengers don't prowl till
night.  Now let us get on."

The <DW64>s, whose pleasure is always rather in the quarry than in the
chase, were delighted at having secured, without trouble to themselves,
a quantity of fresh pork to carry home, and went on with alacrity to the
stream a few miles away. Here, in the course of a couple of hours, the
two white men had shot as many geese, quail, and guinea-fowl as the
<DW64>s could conveniently carry slung about their bodies, with the
prospect of the addition of a good many pounds of hog's flesh later.
Tom was disappointed of his half-cherished hope of bagging a hippo; but
his morning's sport had been sufficiently exciting to form an
interesting part of his next budget of news for his brother.

A <DW64> carried the mail to Bismarckburg once a week, and Tom had
already dispatched his first letter, giving a description of the
plantation and a running account of his experiences so far.  He had
confined himself to statements of fact, saying nothing about the
problems he found himself faced with--the character of Reinecke and the
conditions of the <DW64> labour.  Until he should have arrived at
definite conclusions on these matters he felt that it would be unwise to
trouble his brother with them.

In his second letter he related further sporting expeditions, in some of
which he had been accompanied by Reinecke, in others only by Mirambo and
other natives.  He had shot several hartebeeste and waterbuck, which
Mirambo was accustomed to skin and cut up on the spot.  On these
occasions Tom was tempted sometimes to question the <DW64> directly about
the conditions of his employment; but he was held back by a sense of
loyalty to Reinecke. Pending further light on the man himself, he would
rely solely on his own observations.

It was at the end of the third week of his stay that the first really
disquieting incident occurred. Reinecke had gone to Bismarckburg, and
Tom, having time on his hands, had made up his mind to write a long
letter home.  Going to the desk to get some paper, he discovered that
the drawer in which he had usually found it was empty, and he tried the
drawer below.  This, however, would not open fully: it stuck half way.
He put his hand in, thinking that something had probably become wedged
between the upper part of the drawer and the one above.  It was as he
had supposed.  By pushing in the drawer a little, he was able to work
out the obstruction, which turned out to be a paper, half folded and
much creased.  On the portion that was not folded down he saw a series
of figures like the numbers on the vouchers which were kept on a file.

"An old voucher," he thought; and unfolded it to see if it were worth
keeping.  To his surprise it was dated Nov. 17, 1913, and evidently
belonged to the series which he had examined in connection with the
accounts of the past year. But that series had corresponded exactly with
the entries in the stock book--or had he made a mistake?  To reassure
himself he got out the file, turned to the vouchers for November, and
once more compared them with the book.  There was no discrepancy.  The
book showed that on Nov. 17, 1913, a consignment of 1000 kilos was
shipped on board the _Hedwig von Wissmann_, and there was a voucher
corresponding.  The voucher he had just found was for a consignment of
1000 kilos.

This was odd.  The numbers on the two vouchers were consecutive: clearly
they did not refer to the same consignment.  Yet there was only one
entry of that date in the book.  If one had been a duplicate or a carbon
copy of the other, the matter would have been easily explicable; but
both were originals, and written in the same clerkly hand.

Troubled, for it was impossible to crush down a suspicion, Tom put the
voucher into his pocket, and went out into the plantation.

"I'll write to Bob to-morrow," he said to himself.  At the back of his
mind there was the feeling that he might have more to say than he had
expected.

Reinecke was in good spirits when he returned about sunset.

"I've just made an excellent contract with a dealer representing a new
house," he said.  "He'll take all next season's crop, at a good price.
I hoped your visit would bring us good luck, and this is the best."

"Capital news," said Tom.  The German's manner was so frank and cordial
that he was almost ashamed of his suspicion.  "By the way, I found this
to-day: it was stuck between two drawers.  Is it any good?"

He handed Reinecke the voucher, folded.  The German opened it, and said
instantly, with a smile--

"At last!  I wondered what had become of it.  It is a voucher I lost,
and I got the shipping clerk to give me another.  You found that on the
file all right?"

"Yes."

"You don't know how I worried about that lost voucher.  And you found it
wedged between the drawers?  Extraordinary way things have of
disappearing!  Well, we don't want it now.  But I'm glad you found it."

He tore it across and threw the pieces into the waste-paper basket.

"Now for dinner," Reinecke went on.  "I hope your appetite is as good as
mine.  And how have you put in your time to-day?"


The German's explanation was so natural and reasonable, so ready, his
manner so free from embarrassment, that Tom was for the moment quite
reassured, and chatted unconstrainedly until bedtime--and Reinecke
appeared to take great pleasure in making him talk.  But later, in the
privacy of his room, some rather troublesome questions suggested
themselves.  Was it not unlike a shipping clerk to issue a duplicate
without writing "duplicate" upon it?  How was it that duplicate and
original bore consecutive numbers, when at least two or three days must
have elapsed between them?  It was very odd that no consignment from
another firm should have been shipped in the interim.  And then suddenly
Tom flushed.  "By George!" he thought.  "I'm hanged if the duplicate
hasn't got the earlier number!"

Then he wondered whether he was not mistaken. Saying to himself, "I must
find out for certain," he went back to the living-room to examine the
fragments in the waste-paper basket. He passed the door of Reinecke's
room, and heard his host splashing within.

The basket had been emptied.

The discoveries he had made kept Tom awake during a good part of the
night.  They were very disturbing.  Reinecke's explanation had been
plausible enough, and it was possible Tom was mistaken in his
recollection of the numbers on the vouchers.  But the German's haste in
disposing of the contents of the basket bred an ugly suspicion.  Were
there other such "duplicates" in existence?  Did the books account for
only a part of the consignments?  Had Reinecke, in fact, been
systematically robbing his partners? Tom felt worried and perplexed.
Here, thousands of miles from home, young and inexperienced, he was
hardly in a position to deal with a clever rogue, if Reinecke was in
truth a rogue; and he wished that he had some older person at hand, some
one like blunt, rugged old Mr. Barkworth, to whom he could turn for
advice.  He was not likely to find any help among the Germans in
Bismarckburg, and inquiries of the shipping clerk would probably be
fruitless.  Of course, he might question Reinecke's own clerk, but that
course had very obvious disadvantages.

He concluded that he could do nothing at present except mention the
matter in his next letter to his brother, and be more than ever alert in
studying his host.  To play the part of detective was abhorrent, but
there seemed to be no help for it, and he writhed inwardly at the idea
of living under the same roof with a man whom he distrusted but with
whom he must try to keep up an appearance of friendship.

When the next mail day came, his feeling of mistrust prompted him to
give his letter into the hand of the <DW64> postman just as the latter
was starting.  Reinecke's correspondence was as usual placed in a
padlocked bag.  The man had gone about a mile on his way from the
plantation when Reinecke overtook him, carrying two letters.

"I forgot these," he said.  "Put down your bag."

He unlocked the bag, dropped his letters into it, and took up the
voucher slip bearing the number of letters enclosed; this would be
signed at the post office and brought back with the incoming mail.

"That letter of Mr. Willoughby's had better go in too," he said.  "Give
it to me."

The man took it from the folds of his loincloth, and Reinecke appeared
to drop it into the bag.  In reality he put it into his pocket.  Having
altered the figures on the slip, he relocked the bag and dismissed the
man.  Twelve hours later the postman returned and delivered his bag as
usual into his master's hand.

Next day, in going about the plantation, Tom, as was natural enough,
sought the <DW64>, to ask him whether he had duly posted the letter
entrusted to him in so unusual a manner.  But he could not find the man,
and on asking where he was, learnt that he had been sent on an errand to
Bismarckburg.  It was nearly a fortnight before he returned to the
plantation, and by that time Tom was no longer in a position to make any
inquiry of him.




CHAPTER IV--TRAPPED


"You talked of slavery," said Reinecke one day.  "Our <DW65>s were no
better than slaves!  Have you seen anything to confirm that rather
scandalous suggestion?"  His tone was lightly sarcastic.

"If you mean any signs of positive ill-treatment, none," said Tom.  (He
was not aware that Reinecke had given the overseers strict orders not to
use their whips while the Englishman was on the spot).  "But I had
always understood that the <DW64> is naturally a cheerful person----"

"Well!" interrupted Reinecke.  "Don't they laugh enough?  Don't they
make noise enough?"

"The youngsters do make a great row," Tom confessed smiling; "of course
children always are noisy and happy; they don't understand.  But the
older men seem rather apathetic.  Apart from actual ill-treatment, of
which I do you the justice to say there's no sign, the mere loss of
liberty must be horribly depressing.  You admit that they can't leave if
they want to."

"Not at all.  Some have at times cut a way through the hedge.  They've
repented of it."  He smiled grimly.  "But now, what would be a
convincing proof to you that things here are after all not so bad?--that
the life has some attractions, even for the freedom-loving <DW64>?"

"The return of one who had escaped, I suppose."

"That's a proof I can hardly give you, because the few who have
escaped--or run away, as I should put it--have either been caught and
brought back or have no doubt come to grief in the forest. But I can
give you an instance of a <DW65> coming here of his own accord, and
being apparently quite content to remain."

"Indeed!"

"Yes; and, strangely enough, he arrived on the same day as you.  You
won't suggest that _you_ are the attraction?"

Tom resented this unmannerly remark, still more the tone in which it was
uttered, but he said nothing.

"As you may imagine," Reinecke went on, "I don't know all the people.
My Arabs look after them.  And I shouldn't have known anything about
this voluntary slave but for the fact that I mistook him for Mirambo's
son, and one of the overseers corrected me.  It appears that when we
landed our stores from the _Hedwig von Wissmann_ that day, we were one
porter short, and this fellow, a sturdy lad, was hanging about and
appeared to have nothing to do.  He was engaged and came up with the
others and stayed on--works well, and is quite cheerful, I'm told.  He's
astonishingly like Mirambo's boy.  Some of these <DW65>s claim to be
descended from their old kings or chiefs: Mirambo himself does; and it's
quite possible that this youth comes of the same stock.  There's a
jotting for your note-book, if you are making notes, and I daresay you
are."

Again there was a covert sneer in the German's tone.  Tom felt that he
would soon have to quarrel with his host.  As soon as he should have
come to a definite conclusion about the man's integrity he would cut his
visit short.

It seemed, indeed, as if Reinecke was determined to make him feel that
he had overstayed his welcome.  Once or twice, when he asked that
Mirambo or his son might accompany him shooting, Reinecke declared that
he could not spare any of the men; it was the busiest time of the year,
not a time for amusement.

"But there's no reason why you shouldn't go alone, if you find idleness
boring," he added once. "There are no dangerous beasts in our immediate
neighbourhood.  I'd only warn you not to go too far."

Tom was glad enough to take him at his word. While the fruit-picking was
going on, there was nothing for him to learn, and Reinecke had been so
ungracious lately that companionship was impossible.  So he went
occasionally into the woods alone, never straying more than a mile or
two from the plantation, and taking even more pleasure in quietly
watching the smaller animals--the tree-lizards, chameleons,
iguanas--than in shooting pigeons or teal.  His hope of big-game hunting
was apparently to remain unrealised.

One day on returning he found Reinecke in a particularly good humour.

"I have had a visit to-day from a high German officer, Major von
Rudenheim," he said: "an excellent soldier.  He came on the boat with
you, of course: did you have the pleasure of conversing with him?"

"No.  He seemed to me too much of what we call a big pot."

"True: our German officers are very much above civilians.  In any case,
however--you are not aware that I hold the rank of Captain of Landwehr?
So we met, as it were, on equal terms, though he is a step higher in
rank.  And I have another piece of news for you.  Eland have been seen
near that small lake where we shot buck with Captain Goltermann, you
remember.  Would you like to add elands' horns to your trophies?"

"I should indeed," replied Tom, again wavering in his estimate of
Reinecke.  "He really isn't a bad sort at times," he thought.

Next morning happened to be mail day, and as Reinecke had letters to
write, Tom feared that he was to be disappointed.  But the German was
again in excellent temper.

"You can start without me," he said.  "I shall be through with my
letters in an hour or so, and I'll follow you and meet you near the edge
of the lake--you remember, by that fallen tree where we ate our lunch.
Don't startle the game away: it will be a little practice in stalking
for you.  I'll bring the men along with me."

Tom set off, determined to show that the woodcraft he had picked up
during the past few weeks was not inconsiderable.  He reached the
appointed spot, and ventured to cast about in various directions,
without, however, finding any traces of the eland.  Returning to the
rendezvous, he was there joined by Reinecke, alone.

"I'm afraid the bird has flown," he said ruefully.  "I haven't seen a
sign of them."

"I will show you," replied Reinecke with a smile.  "We shall have to
stalk them, and we'll see what we can do without Mirambo's assistance.
He'll bring up some men presently to carry home the game."

He set off along a faint native track, so long disused and so much
overgrown that Tom by himself would hardly have discovered it.  They
pushed their way through the vegetation, and after about a quarter of an
hour Reinecke whispered to Tom to stop and be careful to make no noise.

"We ought to find our quarry in a glade just ahead," he said.  "I'll go
on: follow when I call."

He disappeared among the undergrowth.  In a few minutes Tom heard a
shot, then a faint call, and hurried eagerly on.  The track widened a
little, and Tom was quickening his steps when he suddenly felt the earth
give way beneath his feet, and next moment found himself lying at the
bottom of a deep pit, amidst a litter of earth and brushwood, and
conscious of a sharp pain in the calf of his left leg.  Almost stunned
by the fall, he lay for a moment or two scarcely able to realise what
had happened.  Then he shouted for help.

There was no answer.  All was silent except for the hum of insects and
the rustling of some small animals which his sudden descent upon their
lair had disturbed.  He shouted again, more loudly; then, supposing that
his voice from the depth of the pit had not penetrated to Reinecke's
ears through the vegetation above, he reached for his rifle, which lay
beside him, and fired a couple of shots into the air.  Not yet seriously
uneasy, he stooped to see what caused the pain in his leg, and found
that it had been gashed by one of some half-dozen sharp-pointed stakes
that were planted in the bottom of the pit.

"A native game-pit," he thought.  "Reinecke might have warned me."

Standing up, he discovered that his right ankle was sprained.

"They'll have to carry me home," he thought, "and the sooner the better;
the stuff here must have been rotting for years.  I wish to goodness
Reinecke would come."

Once more he shouted, then tried to scale the wall of the pit; but this
was perpendicular, and it was evidently a case of cutting notches in
it--a tiresome job to a man who could scarcely stand. It struck him that
he had better bind up the gash in his leg as well as he could.  When the
men came he would get them to carry him to the lake and bathe the wound.
How lucky it was that he had escaped with only one wound, and that in no
vital spot!  Looking at that ugly array of spikes, he shuddered at the
thought of the hideous injuries they might have inflicted.

While tying his handkerchief tightly round his leg he shouted from time
to time.  Was it possible that Reinecke had met with a similar
misfortune?  For the first time Tom felt really uneasy.  Reinecke's call
to him had been very faint, and had not been repeated.  If they were
both in the same predicament there was no hope of relief until the
<DW64>s came up from the plantation.  To make sure of their not missing
him, he shouted and fired at intervals, until almost all his cartridges
were gone.  Still there was no response.

He looked up the wall of the pit.  It was eleven or twelve feet high.
If only he could raise himself high enough to get his arms on the edge,
the rest would be easy.  It should not take very long to cut a few
notches in the earth: one of the spikes would form a serviceable tool.
He worked one out of the ground, and rose to his feet, wincing with the
pain that shot through his sprained ankle.  To his chagrin, the earth of
the pit wall was friable.  It crumbled as he drove the spike into it; so
far from making a hole that would afford him a firm foothold, he
succeeded only in breaking down a part of the wall.

"Fairly trapped," he thought, and sat down again to ease his aching
legs.

His watch announced midday.  The men ought to have arrived by this time.
They would carry food and drink, and he was very thirsty.  The
rendezvous was well known to them: surely they had not mistaken
Reinecke's instructions. And then at last he was startled by a suspicion
that sprang up suddenly in his mind--a suspicion so horrible that he
strove to crush it.  Reinecke might have lied to him about the vouchers;
was he villain enough to have decoyed him deliberately to this cunningly
concealed trap--deliberately schemed to clear finally out of his path
the man whom he regarded as a stumbling-block on his way to fortune, the
discoverer of his crimes?

The thought, terrible as it was, would not be stifled.  Tom recalled the
gradual changes in the German's manner--the descent from almost
excessive cordiality to stiffness, sarcasm, positive rudeness: then the
sudden return to geniality, the apparent eagerness to indulge his guest.
For the first time he was struck with the peculiar arrangements for the
day's shooting expedition--the sending him on alone, the absence of
gunbearers. This train of thought, once started, was carried on
remorselessly by Tom's active imagination. Granted the man's intention
of putting him out of the way, how easily one detail fitted into
another!  How naturally the Englishman's disappearance could be
explained!  It was known to every one on the plantation that he had
sometimes gone shooting alone.  Reinecke could say, and his statement
could be corroborated, that his guest had started alone on this morning,
he himself being engaged with correspondence.  He had followed later,
according to arrangement, but had failed to meet the Englishman at the
appointed spot.  He had searched for him, and after some days had found
the poor fellow's remains at the bottom of an old, long disused
game-pit.  How plausible the story would be! Bob, thousands of miles
away, would grieve: the story might get into the papers: people would
read the paragraph, perhaps sigh, and pass on to a scandal nearer home,
or to the latest news of the trouble in Ireland.  In a few weeks Tom
Willoughby would be only the shadow of a name.

Impatient with himself at the length his imagination had carried him,
Tom shouted again, fired off another cartridge--the last but one.  "I
must keep one for emergencies," he thought.  He made another attempt to
cut holes in the wall, and threw the spike from him in disgust at the
second failure.  It occurred to him to heap up debris at the foot of the
wall, to form a mounting block; but at the stirring of the putrid mass
innumerable insects, beetles, reptiles, foul nameless things issued
forth, causing him to shudder with loathing, and to shrink at actual
pain from their bites and stings.  Overcome with nausea, he retreated to
a far corner where this creeping population had not been disturbed, and
for a time, weary as he was, sickened by his increasing pain, he leant
against the wall, rather than sit down again, until sheer fatigue
compelled him to make an uneasy seat of his slanted rifle.

With the passage of time his thirst became a torture, and the shouts he
uttered ever and anon sounded cracked and harsh from his parched throat.
A sort of lethargy settled upon him: not a stoic resignation, a calm
acquiescence in fate's decree, but a numbness of the senses and the
mind.  For a time he was scarcely conscious of pain, of the things
moving at his feet, of the gradual cooling of the air as evening drew
on. Then he roused himself with a start, and heedless of stings and the
loathsome touch of obscene creatures, he gathered up heaps of rotted
leaves and twigs and the litter that had fallen under him, and began
with frantic energy to pile them against the wall.  His weight crushed
them into half their former bulk, and he fell exhausted on the futile
pillar.

Night came on.  Alternately he dozed, and awoke to a sharpened keenness
of apprehension. Now and then he heard noises above--the harsh
persistent note of the nightjar, the hollow melancholy scale of the
hornbill, the horrid whine of hyenas prowling in quest of prey and
calling to one another with increasing frequency as the night stole
towards dawn.  A sudden raucous cry, apparently near at hand, caused him
to seize the spike for defence in case some unwary beast should stumble
into the pit.  Once he beheld a pair of eyes, glaring with greenish
light upon him from the brink.  He uttered a hoarse cry: the eyes
disappeared: and he seemed to hear a creaking rustle among the trees
above.

Slumber again sealed his senses, and when he awoke, the pale misty light
of dawn threw green rays into his prison.  His limbs were numb with
cold.  His dry throat gave forth only a whistling croak when he tried to
shout.  Scarcely able to move, he watched the mouth of the pit and the
sunlight filtering through the foliage and dispersing the mist.
Listless, unconscious of the flight of time, he was just aware of the
lengthening day as a sunbeam climbed down the side of his prison.  All
at once he was shaken into attention by a sound overhead, and while he
was feebly trying to call, a shadow fell across the opening.  A man's
form appeared, and with a gasp of unutterable thankfulness he saw
Reinecke peering down upon him.  He struggled giddily to his feet:
surely the bitterness of death was past.

But what was Reinecke saying?  What words were these, that struck upon
his ear in spasms, as it were?

"You came to spy ... enjoy your visit ... mad English ... war with
Germany ... learn what it means to provoke the German."

He tried to collect his bewildered senses.  It was Reinecke.  What was
he talking about? "Expedition to conquer Rhodesia ... months before I
return ... a safe resting-place ... gather remains ... nothing but bones
... white bones."

Had Reinecke gone?  The voice had ceased; the sunlight fell unchecked:
and Tom, in a last flash of illumination before the darkness of
unconsciousness enshrouded him, realised that Reinecke had betrayed him
and had left him here to die.




CHAPTER V--A FRIEND IN NEED


On the previous evening, when the day's work on the plantation was over
and the workers had returned to their homes, a young <DW64> left the
large dwelling which he shared with a number of other unmarried men, and
betook himself to the hut where Mirambo was supping with his family.

"Have you eaten already, Mwesa?" asked the old hunter.

"No.  I am not hungry.  He has not come back."

The lad's eyes were wide with anxiety.  No one could have failed to
notice how strongly he resembled Mushota, the slightly older lad
squatting by his father's side.

"Has the Leopard come back?"

"He came back at midday.  The Antelope will never come back."

"Why so, Mwesa?"

"There has been whipping to-day."

Mirambo's face clouded.  There had been no whipping since the Antelope,
as Tom Willoughby was known among the <DW64>s, had come to the
plantation.  The Leopard was their name for Reinecke.  The <DW64> is very
shrewd, and it had not needed certain information brought by Mwesa to
make the people connect the cessation of corporal punishment with the
presence of the young stranger.  That information, however, given first
to Mirambo, had spread through the whole community, and was talked of
freely among themselves. But it had never reached the ears of the Arab
overseers: oppression is always met by secrecy. Neither they nor
Reinecke knew that the young <DW64> who had marched from Bismarckburg
among the porters, and had remained a willing worker on the plantation,
was not the chance recruit he had seemed to be.  The stowaway of the
_Hedwig von Wissmann_ had come of set purpose; and when Reinecke
sarcastically asked Tom whether he supposed his attractions accounted
for the boy's staying on, he had unwittingly hit upon the truth. Mwesa
had stayed as a starved and beaten dog will stay with one who has been
kind to him.

Quite unaware of the interest he had excited among these simple <DW64>s,
Tom had been watched, all his movements commented on, from day to day.
Whether by observation or by instinct the <DW64>s knew that there was
some intimate connection, obscure to them, between him and their
taskmaster.  They judged that the young Englishman was an object of
respect or fear to the German, for Mwesa had told them that he was
English and that the English did not whip their workers, except perhaps
in punishment for crime.  The Leopard had some reason for drawing in his
claws.

Mwesa, like others, had seen the Englishman start, unattended, with his
gun.  He had done so before: those who saw him go marked the fact as
they marked all that he did, but thought no more about it--except Mwesa,
who watched all day for his hero's return.  He had noticed, moreover,
the going and the coming of Reinecke, also with his gun; and he had been
troubled when the German returned alone, and when at sunset the
Englishman was still absent.

"The Leopard has killed," said Mirambo after an interval of gloomy
silence.

Mwesa burst into tears.

When he left the hut later, after eating a bowl of manioc, he carried a
long sharp knife.  Stealing along behind the huts, he made his way in
the darkness to a remote spot, climbed up into a tree, and disappeared.
Half an hour later he crept back to Mirambo's hut, restored the knife,
which the man would have to account for next day, and then returned to
his own lodging, and slipped in unperceived by his fellow inmates.  His
exit was prepared, but no <DW64> travels willingly by night.

Next day, at the time when the <DW64>s had their midday meal, he was
about to make his escape from a place no longer endurable to him, when
he caught sight of Reinecke leaving by the gate, again unattended.
Mwesa looked around; no one else was in sight.  He shinned up the tree
he had climbed the night before.  A few minutes later he was running
like a wild animal through the scrub outside the fence.  He posted
himself among the trees at a spot where he could not fail to see
Reinecke as he left the gate.  When the German had passed, the <DW64>
followed him with the stealth of one come of a long line of hunters,
tracking him over the course he had pursued on the previous day, without
revealing himself by so much as a rustle among the leaves or the crack
of a fallen twig.

As Reinecke approached the pit, no guardian spirit told him of the
watcher whose eager face was looking at him out of a frame of green
foliage, whose keen ears pricked up as he heard his master speaking to
some one below him.  When the German, his eyes alight with malign
triumph, turned to retrace his steps there was nothing to show that he
had been found out; the face had disappeared.  Nor could Reinecke
suspect that he was dogged back to the plantation, and that when the
gate had closed upon him, a <DW64> lad, lithe as a young antelope,
bounded back to the pit, and peered anxiously into the depths.

Tom had relapsed into a state of half-consciousness. He was roused by a
voice, and looking up, saw a black shiny face gazing down upon him. Two
rows of white teeth parted, two big eyes danced with delight when they
saw the white man glance upward.

"Sah, sah!" called the voice.

"Who are you?" Tom murmured faintly.

"Me Mwesa, sah; me come back bimeby, you see."

The lad ran back into the forest.  Tom lay as in a dream.  Who was this
<DW64> that spoke <DW64>'s English, and had called him "sah"?  He had
never heard any of Reinecke's slaves use English, yet what <DW64> in
these parts could be other than one of Reinecke's slaves?  Where had the
boy gone?  What was he going to do?  Tom felt almost too weak and
listless even to hope.

After what seemed a very long time the <DW64> came back, carrying a long
green rope which he had plaited from strands of creepers.  His face
beamed with excitement and joy.  Making one end of the rope fast to a
sapling that grew near the edge of the pit, he threw the other end down
and laughed when he saw that a long coil lay at the bottom.  Then he
swarmed down until he stood over Tom, and exclaimed:

"Sah climb; all right now."

"Who are you?" Tom asked again.

"Me Mwesa.  No talk now: talk bimeby. Dis bad place."

But climbing was easier said than done.  Tom was amazed to find how weak
he was after only twenty-four hours' confinement in the pit.  "Have I so
little staying power?" he thought.  But twenty-four hours in heat and
squalor, without food or water, with a wounded leg and a sprained ankle,
and a mind racked with anxiety and foreboding, would have put a tax on
the strongest.

He found himself unable to climb.  Whereupon Mwesa knotted the rope
about his waist, swarmed up the rope again, and hauled until sweat
poured from his body.  As soon as Tom was safely over the brink, the lad
let himself down once more into the pit, and returned with Tom's rifle
and a couple of the sharpened stakes.

"Come 'long, sah," he said: "me find place."

Tom allowed himself to be helped along, asking no questions, content for
the present to have regained freedom after the horrors of the past
twenty-four hours.  Mwesa led him along the old native track, in the
opposite direction from the plantation.  Presently they came to a brook
tumbling over rocks.  Here he bathed his aching limbs and drank deep
draughts.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked.

"No savvy, sah: all right bimeby," replied the boy.

They started again.  Mwesa kept carefully to the track, tracing it
unerringly even where it was almost obliterated.  The forest was thick
all round, and Tom, at another time, might have felt uneasy at this
apparently aimless wandering. Now, however, one way was as good as
another, so long as it did not lead back to the plantation.

Mwesa had no doubt guessed that the track would sooner or later lead to
a clearing.  After more than an hour's painful walk, Tom found himself
at the edge of what had once been an open space, but was now an expanse
covered with scrub and forest trees of recent growth.

"Stay dis place, sah," said the <DW64>.

Tom was ready to stay anywhere.  He sank down on the ground, and lay,
resting and watching the further proceedings of his rescuer.  The lad
cut down a number of young pliable branches, trimmed them to the same
length, and stuck them into the ground in a circle, at equal intervals
apart, bending them at the top until all met. Then he wound long grasses
and tendrils of creepers in and out around the whole circumference,
until in a surprisingly short space of time he had fashioned a rough and
ready circular hut at the corner of the clearing, which was almost
completely hidden by rank growths of vegetation.  He smiled with pride
in his handiwork when he invited Tom to enter.

"Come back bimeby," he cried, and darted away into the forest.  When he
returned he brought a wild gourd full of water and a handful of berries.

"No can get nuffin else," he said deprecatingly.

"They will do very well," said Tom, who indeed could have eaten sawdust
after his long fast.  "Now tell me who you are, and how you found me,
and why you are helping me."

The smile that spread over the lad's face awoke in Tom a dormant memory.
Surely this was the boy who had rushed so eagerly to pick up his
match-box a day or two after he had reached the plantation.

"Sah sabe Mwesa, Mwesa sabe sah," said the <DW64>, happily.

"Save!  What do you mean?"

"On boat, sah: German man kick, say frow me in water: sah pay cash, all
right all same."

"Oh!" exclaimed Tom, feeling a touch of embarrassment.  That little
unconsidered act of kindness had surely not won such devotion as to
bring the boy into slavery for his sake?  "Tell me about yourself," he
said.

The <DW64>'s story, told in his strange English, took a long time in the
telling, so roundabout was the course of the narrative, so much broken
by explanations and cumbered by trifling details. But the gist of it, as
understood by Tom, was as follows--

Mwesa was the son of Miluma, once a notable chief of the Wahehe, and one
of those who had sustained for a long time the resistance of his people
to the Germans.  At length he had fallen into the enemy's hands, and had
been among the first batch of labourers who had cleared the ground for
Reinecke's plantation.  Miluma's wife and two of his children had died
under their hardships, and the chief, left with Mwesa alone, had fled
with the boy, and, more lucky than other <DW64>s, had neither been
recaptured nor killed in the forest.  He had fallen in with an English
trader, with whom he had taken service, accompanying him in his journeys
through the country of the Great Lakes, and living at other times among
his native household at Zanzibar.  Mwesa, only a few years old at the
period of the escape, had at first remained in Zanzibar during his
father's absence, but at the age of twelve he, too, had travelled with
the Englishman's caravan, and had picked up a smattering of English as
well as of the dialects of the tribes through whose countries he had
passed.

Then his father died, the Englishman returned to Europe, and Mwesa, now
seventeen, was left alone in the world.  Having a little money in his
possession, he bethought him of his uncle Mirambo, whose large family
had prevented him from escaping at the same time as Miluma, and of whom
his father had often spoken.  He would return to the plantation, see if
his uncle were yet alive, and perhaps help him, or any of his family who
were still living, to escape with him to British territory.  He took
passage in a dhow that was sailing down the lake, but the vessel had
been blown ashore, and the shipwrecked crew and passengers robbed of all
they possessed by predatory natives.  Mwesa and one other had got away,
and after an adventurous journey had arrived at Ujiji.  Learning there
that a steamer was expected at Kigoma, Mwesa had made his way to the
port and smuggled himself on board.

On arriving at Bismarckburg he had found that the young Englishman who
had befriended him on board the vessel was going to the plantation which
was his own goal, and had at once sought employment among the porters.
It seemed to him that the presence of an Englishman was a good augury
for the success of his mission.  He had remained at the plantation,
always on the watch; and it was not long before he suspected that
Reinecke had a grudge against his benefactor. Slight signs that might
have escaped the notice of anybody who had not a personal interest in
the Englishman had betrayed to him and to Mirambo the real feelings of
the German; and Mwesa had now a double motive: the rescue of his uncle
and the care of the white man.  For the sake of the latter uncle and
nephew had concealed their relationship, awaiting the day when, as they
expected, the Englishman would leave.  On that day they, too, would go.
But the crisis had come in an unforeseen manner.  The disappearance of
the Englishman and Reinecke's strange movements had intensified their
suspicions, and Mwesa had stolen out to discover what the German had
done with his guest.

Tom thanked the boy warmly for what he had done for him.  He was a good
deal troubled in mind, and passed many hours of the night in that grass
hut in anxious meditation on his position. Mwesa had rescued him from a
lingering death, but to what end?  If it was true, as Reinecke had said,
that Britain was at war with Germany, that already a German expedition
against Rhodesia was in preparation, the immediate future was very
black. He dared not go to Bismarckburg; the nearest British territory
was forty or fifty miles away; how was it possible to accomplish so long
a journey through difficult country and hostile people?  At present,
indeed, his injuries precluded even a much shorter journey.  Until he
should have fully recovered he must remain in hiding.  How was he to
subsist?  There was game in the forest, no doubt plenty of vegetable
food in the shape of berries and nuts, though only a native could
distinguish the edible from the poisonous.  Mwesa would help him--but
Mwesa was himself a complication.  Tom felt that, the boy having done so
much for him, he was bound to consider the boy, and Mirambo; his lot
seemed to be knit with theirs.  It would not be just to appropriate
Mwesa, and leave his relatives in the slavery from which the boy had
come to deliver them.  Yet how helpless he was to do anything either for
them or for himself!

He fell asleep with these problems all unsolved. When he awoke the boy
was gone.  Tom supposed that he was seeking food, but as time slipped
away and Mwesa did not return he grew uneasy.  Then, however, common
sense asserted itself.  The boy who had already dared so much, who had
built him a hut and brought him food, would not desert him.  There must
be some good reason for his absence.

A little after mid-day Mwesa came back, looking more pleased with
himself than ever. A rabbit dangled from his waist; slung over one
shoulder was a native grass bag stuffed with cassava; in one hand he
carried an axe, in the other a sporting rifle, which Tom recognised as
the property of Reinecke.  Mwesa threw his load down, and emptying his
bag, revealed, under the cassava roots, a number of cartridges. He
chuckled with delight.

"You have been back to the plantation?" said Tom.

"Yes, sah: me go back; nobody see."

He went on to explain that there were strange doings at the plantation.
Reinecke had called the <DW64>s about him, and told them that war had
broken out between England and Germany; that the Germans were going to
seize all the English lands in Africa; that he himself was a great
officer in the German army, and had been ordered to turn every
able-bodied man into a soldier.  The gathering of the crops being
finished, such work as was necessary on the plantation must be done by
the women and the older men.  He was going to Bismarckburg to arrange
for supplies of arms.  During his absence the overseers would exercise
the men.

Taking advantage of the excitement that followed this announcement,
Mwesa had managed to possess himself of the articles with which he had
come laden.

"Me now sah him boy," he said gleefully.

Tom looked at him with a ruminating eye. It was well to have a companion
in this forest solitude, and he felt instinctively that Mwesa's fidelity
might be relied on.  But was he entitled to involve the boy in his own
misfortunes, or to separate him from his new-found relatives? He
reflected that the boy would be useful to him in helping him to find his
way into British territory; and when Mwesa emphatically assured him that
he was determined not to go back to the plantation, or to be drilled to
fight against the English, he made up his mind to accept the service
thus volunteered.

"Very well, Mwesa," he said, "you are my boy.  Whatever comes, we will
share it."

Mwesa was already skinning the rabbit, and Tom having a box of matches,
the boy kindled a fire and prepared to cook a meal for his new master.
Meanwhile Tom took earnest thought for their future.  Until he had
recovered from his injuries it would be hopeless to attempt to reach
Abercorn; but it struck him that to remain in his present position, only
a few miles from the plantation, might be dangerous.  Reinecke might
revisit the pit, and finding it no longer tenanted, would almost
certainly hunt for him in the neighbourhood.  It was necessary to find a
secure refuge where he could rest until he was able to undertake the
journey.  Almost as soon as the idea occurred to him, he remembered that
he had passed this way with Reinecke and Goltermann, on the day when he
had first made distant acquaintance with crocodiles.  The nullah and the
lake in the hills lay a few miles to the east.  The former, with its
windings, its overhanging rocks, its patches of dense scrub, would
furnish a safe hiding-place.  Game was plentiful in the adjacent forest;
the lake would be an unfailing water supply; and though he would have to
guard against falling a prey to the reptiles that infested its shores,
Mwesa's knowledge of their ways would no doubt serve him well.  The
neighbourhood was wholly uninhabited, and it was so far from the
plantation that Reinecke and his people were unlikely to visit it.

Could he find it?  Having gone there only once, before he had had any
experience of forest travel, he knew that unassisted he would have been
completely at a loss.  But he hoped that Mwesa would discover the track
leading to it, and when, as he ate his dinner of roast rabbit, he
mentioned the matter to the <DW64>, the latter instantly started up and
ran off in the direction Tom pointed out.  In twenty minutes he was
back, and declared with his invariable smile that he had found the
track.  He proceeded to dismantle the hut and to obliterate the traces
of the fire; then, loading himself with their few possessions, he begged
Tom to lean on him and make for their new home at once.

Tom limped along, anxious to reach the nullah before night.  On the way
Mwesa told him more about the morning's scene at the plantation.
Reinecke had boasted that the English were to be driven into the sea.
All their possessions would become the booty of the Germans, and the
Wahehe, if they served him faithfully, should share in it.  They had
once been great warriors; now they would learn how to be askaris, and
under German leadership do great deeds and amass great riches.  The
<DW64>s had listened to him in silence; and only when he had left them
did their sullen discontent find expression.  They remembered that they
had always fought against the Germans, not for them; and some of the
elder men said they would rather fight against them again.  But there
was no open revolt; cowed by years of oppression, devoid of leadership,
they could only accept their destiny.

With great difficulty Tom managed to drag himself along for two or three
miles; then he declared that he could go no farther.  It was already
late in the afternoon.  Mwesa at once constructed a temporary hut, and
there they passed the night.

Next morning, after again covering their tracks as completely as
possible, they set off again. Even with Mwesa's support, Tom could only
crawl along at the rate of little more than a mile an hour.  The almost
disused hunter's path was sometimes hard to find: here and there it was
overgrown with thorns through which Mwesa had to cleave a way; and in
the middle hours of the day the humid heat was so oppressive that Tom
had to take long rests.  Towards evening, however, they came suddenly
upon a dip in the ground which Tom thought he recognised.

"Run ahead," he said to Mwesa, "and see if the nullah is in that
direction."

The boy sprinted away, returning in a few minutes.

"All right, sah!" he cried.  "All right ober dah."

They went on.  Emerging from the forest, they crossed an expanse of
scrub and came to the mouth of the nullah, which was like a deep cutting
in the hills.  A thin stream trickled down the middle: Tom could not
doubt that the lake must be only a few hundred yards farther, and, in
spite of his fatigue, he struggled on to make sure that he had reached
his destination.  There at last was the lake, still, not a breath of air
bending the rushes on its banks, or stirring the trees on the island in
the centre.

Mwesa had just time to rig up a slight shelter of branches near the
margin of the lake before darkness fell.  He cooked some manioc for Tom
and himself; and when Tom sank into heavy sleep, the boy kept watch all
night by the fire.

In the grey light of dawn, when Mwesa also was asleep, Tom was awakened
by a rustling at the entrance of the rude hut, across which Mwesa had
thrown a rough barrier of thorns as a defence against a chance marauder.
Starting up on his elbow, he saw dimly some dark shape apparently edging
its way between the lower part of the barrier and the ground.  For a
moment or two he was unable to distinguish what it was; then he gave a
sudden shout, seized the shot-gun which lay by his side, sprang to his
feet and fired.

Awakened by his shout, Mwesa had jumped up and come to his master's
side.  There was a violent commotion in the thorny barrier.  Next moment
the slight hut collapsed, and both occupants were half buried by the
boughs. Extricating themselves from the tangle, they peered out at the
interlaced branches of thorn.  Nothing was to be seen.

"Wat dat noise, sah?" whispered Mwesa.

"I think I saw the snout of a crocodile," replied Tom.

Mwesa clicked in his throat, caught up his axe, and rushed out.  But the
crocodile had disappeared.

"He berry much 'fraid, sah," said the boy, when he came back.  "Gun make
him berry sick.  He go tell no come dis way no more: oh no!"




CHAPTER VI--MWESA'S MISSION


Tom could not help laughing as he surveyed the ruins of Mwesa's little
building, and the <DW64> himself put his hands on his hips and roared
with merriment.

"Silly fella tink all same proper house," he said, alluding to the
crocodile.  "Me show him."

It was clear that their first task, if they were to remain for any
length of time in this spot, must be to construct a more substantial
dwelling, and after a light breakfast they set forth to survey for a
site.  Tom found that his long tramp on the previous day had caused his
injured ankle to swell, and he could only get along by hopping on his
sound foot.  Fortunately he had not far to go before lighting on a
suitable situation in a spot above the shore of the lake, where a few
isolated trees in the form of a rough circle enclosed a clear space some
twenty yards across.  Here, after bathing his ankle and tying his
handkerchief tightly about it, he sat down to watch Mwesa set about
building him a "proper house."

The boy cut down with his axe a number of straight saplings, trimmed
them, cut them to the same length, and then planted them in a circle in
the centre of the space.  After a search along the banks of the stream
he returned with a load of withies cut from tough creeping-plants.  With
these he bound the upright poles together: first in the middle, then two
feet below, and finally the same distance above.  He worked with such
astonishing speed that early in the afternoon the framework of the new
hut was complete, standing up like a cage or a circular crate.  After a
short rest he started on the roof.  He gathered together a number of
flexible saplings, which he laid down on the floor of the hut so that
they radiated from the centre like the spokes of a wheel.  Then he
fastened the ends together, lifting the saplings one by one until the
structure resembled the ribs of an inverted Chinese umbrella.  When it
was finished he drew the loose ends together, turned it upside down, and
pushed it up through the open roof space, the ends, when released,
resting on the tops of the poles.  The skeleton of the hut was complete.

Tom envied the boy's dexterity.  All his measurements had been made with
the eye alone, and Tom reflected that the work would have occupied a
white artisan, provided with a foot rule, probably twice or thrice as
long.  Mwesa promised that another day's work would finish the job.

Next day he filled up the interstices between the poles with damp mud,
which he carried in his wallet from the edge of the lake.  He left a
space about three feet square at the entrance; and built up with mud, in
the interior of the hut, a long bench some three feet high.  The mud
dried rapidly in the heat of the day, and when the bench had hardened,
he mounted upon it, and wove long grasses in and out among the rods
composing the roof, until this was fairly impervious.  It would give
slight protection against heavy rain, but the rainy season was not yet
due, and Tom agreed that the hut would form a very serviceable shelter
during the short time he expected to occupy it.

It occurred to him, however, to suggest a means of doubly securing
themselves against intruders, human or other.  The trees surrounding the
open space could be turned into an effective zariba by planting poles
between them, and interlacing the poles with strands of prickly thorn.
Mwesa fell in with the notion at once, but this was a much longer task
than the construction of the hut had been, and in fact it occupied him
off and on for nearly a week.

Meanwhile the food he had brought from the plantation had long been
consumed, and he spent part of every day in snaring birds or small
animals for the subsistence of himself and his master.  It appeared that
vegetable food was not to be obtained in this part of the country, and
Tom grew somewhat uneasy as to the effect of an uninterrupted diet of
flesh.  He was uneasy, too, about his injuries.  The wound caused by the
spike was healing well, but the swelling of his ankle was but little
reduced, and it gave him great pain to hobble even a few yards.  It was
clear that without the ministrations of his faithful and indefatigable
boy he would starve.

Often as he lay at night, on rushes strewn upon the bench, listening to
the cries of night-birds, the bark of distant hyaenas, the coughs of the
crocodiles in the lake, the grunts and snarls of beasts that came
prowling around the zariba, but never attempted to penetrate it, scared
by the fire kept constantly burning within the enclosure--as he lay
listening to these eerie sounds he pondered plans for the future.  His
dearest wish was to make his way to the frontier as soon as he was fit
to travel, and to join the British forces which, he supposed, were
gathering to resist the German invasion.  The news that Germany and
Britain were at war had scarcely surprised him. Recollections of what he
had heard and seen during his year in Germany seemed to give
corroboration enough.  He remembered in particular one young German
baroness, who had been to school at Cheltenham, and was continually
boasting of what the Germans would do when "the Day" came.  He
remembered, too, how his father scoffed at the warnings of those who
foretold that Germany was only awaiting an opportunity for making her
tiger-spring, and how he and his brother had been rebuked for heeding
the "alarmists."  And now the Day had come at last.  He wondered what
spark had exploded the European powder-barrel, what pretext Germany had
alleged for the attack which, he believed, she had long been secretly
cherishing and preparing for.  In the only letter he had received from
England since his arrival, Bob had said nothing of trouble brewing.
Whatever the ostensible reason was, he had no doubt the war had sprung
from Germany's lust for world-power, and with the easy confidence which
too many Englishmen felt in those early days, he believed that the
British Navy would square accounts with the Germans before many months
had passed.  He did not know that Germany had cast her gauntlet in the
face of half the world, did not suspect that she had already set the
bases of civilisation staggering.

As for Africa, he took it for granted that German possessions would soon
be wiped off the map. It would have been difficult for a true-born
Englishman to think otherwise.  All that he wished and hoped for was
that he might reach Rhodesia before the last act was played.

When about ten days had slipped away, and even Mwesa had nothing to
occupy him except the daily search for food, Tom began to fidget for
news.  He was still unable to walk without pain; inaction irked him, and
ignorance of what was going on at the plantation and beyond gave him a
fit of the blues.  His despondency did not escape the keen eyes of the
<DW64>, who at last asked what was troubling him.

"I want to know things, Mwesa," he answered: "what Reinecke is doing,
whether fighting has already begun--all sorts of things.  And I want to
get away from here and join my own people."

The boy's anxious expression cleared; his eyes brightened.

"Me go; one day, two, me come back tell sah," he said.

"Do you think you could go safely?"

Mwesa looked hurt at the suggestion.  Had he not already stolen in and
out of the plantation? Why should his master suppose that he could not
do it again?  He would set off at once, as soon as he had provided food
and water for a day or two, and he would come back stuffed with news.

The boy was so eager that Tom let him go. He took nothing but his wallet
and a knife.  By nightfall he would reach the plantation.  There he
would learn all that was to be learnt from Mirambo: his master would be
only one night alone.

It was not till the dense blackness of night brooding over the nullah
deepened his feeling of solitude that Tom doubted whether he had done
right.  The boy might not return: who could tell what mischance might
befall him?  In daytime he might escape the many perils of the forest;
but what if he were discovered in his furtive passage of the thorn fence
and impressed into the ranks of the recruits?  "Without Mwesa what will
become of me?"  The troublesome question gave Tom no rest as he lay in
the hut, listening to the outer noises to which darkness adds mystery
and horror.  Alone, almost helpless, what could a white man do in the
wilds of Africa?  Tom was not ordinarily a victim to "nerves"; but the
series of shocks he had recently suffered had quickened his imagination
in proportion as it had reduced his physical vigour, and the sensations
of that night were one long nightmare.

At dawn, limp and haggard, he got up, crawled out of the hut, and sat
down with his back against a tree-trunk, listening for the return of the
<DW64> boy.  He heard rustlings among the trees, the call of a quail, the
snorting grunt of some animal prowling round the zariba.  But neither
rustle nor footfall caught his ear when Mwesa suddenly appeared at his
side.

"Come back all right, sah," said the boy cheerfully.

"But how?  I didn't hear you.  How did you get in?"

"Climb tree, sah; come like snake."

He had dropped thus into the enclosure to avoid making a gap in the
fence.  As before, he came laden with food.  Welcome as this was, Tom
was more eager to have his tale of news; but before Mwesa would relate
his discoveries, he produced from his wallet, with much show of mystery,
a small bundle with a covering of leaves tied with grass thread.
Opening this with an expression of great solemnity, he displayed a lump
of some substance olive-green in colour, and of the consistency of
putty.

"Good medicine, sah.  Mirambo my uncle: berry clebber pusson.  Me make
sah well."

Dropping to his knees he unwound the handkerchief from Tom's injured
ankle, pinched off a small portion of the plastic medicament, and rubbed
it gently over the joint, muttering strange words.  It gradually
softened to a greenish oil. When the joint was thoroughly anointed, the
boy bound it again with the handkerchief, jumped up, and, smiling away
his look of intent earnestness declared:

"Sah, one time better; two time better; t'ree time all same well."

Then he unslung from his shoulder a small iron cooking-pot, and sat down
to tell his news.

At the plantation drill was in full swing.  Some askaris had come from
Bismarckburg under the charge of a German non-commissioned officer, the
former as guards and examples, the latter to train the new recruits.
Drill went on all day and every day, the German giving his commands in a
Bantu dialect which was hard to understand, with the result that he
frequently lost his temper. The <DW64>s who were slow were stimulated by
the whips of the overseers.  A few rifles had been brought, and some of
the quicker men were already being trained in aiming and sighting: as
yet they had fired no shot.  They were all sullen and resentful; but
cowed by the presence of the armed askaris and in constant fear of the
whip, they gave no utterance to their feelings in face of their
taskmasters, pouring out their hearts only in the seclusion of their own
huts and sheds.

Reinecke himself was now seldom at the plantation.  Mirambo believed
that he was busy at headquarters at Bismarckburg.  The askaris had said
that a great force was being prepared to attack the English in Abercorn,
and had boasted of the terrible things they were going to do and the
great riches they would soon enjoy.  They told of many battles won in
the white man's country far away; of many great cities which the Germans
had taken; how the King of England and his war chiefs had been hanged by
the people, enraged at defeat. Soon there would not be a single
Englishman in the whole of Africa.

"Do they believe that stuff?" said Tom.  "It's all nonsense."

Mwesa was not at all sure that he had not believed it himself, for how
was a simple African to deny what was told him with such assurance?
Indeed, even among the Germans, settlers and soldiers alike, in those
early days of the war, no rumour was too fantastic to find easy
credence. Conceit is a hotbed for credulity.  But Tom's vigorous
assertion that it was all nonsense was enough to convince Mwesa.

"Dey silly fellas, sah," he said scornfully. "Mwesa him English: he know
all right."

Tom knew nothing of the relative strength of the British and German
forces in East Africa; but having a Briton's invincible faith in the
British Navy, he could not believe that the German colony, cut off from
Europe as it must be, could really measure itself against the resources
of the British Empire.  But he remembered how, in the past, British
carelessness and want of foresight had bred disasters only painfully
retrieved, and he felt no little anxiety as to how far Northern Rhodesia
was prepared to resist the expedition which the Germans were organising.

He was only the more eager to join his fellow-countrymen, and take his
part in the fight, if fight there was to be.  At school he had been
colour-sergeant in the cadet corps, and looked back with reminiscent
pleasure on the field days, when, in the intervals of business, he had
munched apples in a farmer's orchard or solaced himself and his squad
with junket in a dairy.  "Rummy," he thought, "if all that swat were to
turn out useful after all.  But here it will be minus the apples and
junket."

This being his state of mind, he was doubly curious about the healing
properties of the stuff"--Mirambo's plasticine, he called it--that Mwesa
had brought from his uncle.  He was aware almost at once of a lessening
of the pain in his ankle. After the second application the swelling was
sensibly reduced; within a week he found himself able to walk freely.
Mwesa took the cure as a matter of course.

"What's the stuff made of?" Tom asked him.

Mwesa shook his head gravely.

"Berry good medicine: Mirambo him savvy all same."

And that was all that Tom could get out of him.




CHAPTER VII--TOM SEIZES THE OCCASION


Tom had many occasions during the next ten days to rejoice in the
possession of an excellent servant.  Mwesa was everything in
turn--hunter, cook, valet, hospital orderly; and in every capacity he
was efficient.  His snares and traps stocked the larder; the grain, he
had brought from the plantation was eked out with wild fruits gathered
in the forest; and out of the one simple cooking-pot he produced as
great a variety of good things as a conjurer out of a hat.  Always with
the same gravity and the same muttering of spells, he anointed and
massaged Tom's ankle daily, and never failed to sing the praises of his
uncle Mirambo.  His constant cheerfulness acted as a tonic on his
master's spirits, and with reviving health Tom felt braced to endure
whatever hardship the future might bring.

At last the day came when he declared that he was ready to start for
Abercorn.  He had talked over his plans with Mwesa, handicapped,
however, by the fact that neither he nor the <DW64> knew the route or the
character of the country to be travelled.  The extent of his information
was that Abercorn lay somewhere to the south-west, and from a hazy
recollection of a map glanced at during his voyage from England he
guessed that the town was forty or fifty miles away.  Under the most
favourable conditions he could hardly hope to cover that distance in
less than three days: if the country was specially difficult the journey
might last even weeks.

It was unfortunate that Reinecke's plantation lay across the direct
route.  In order to avoid it, he must make a considerable detour, which
would add he knew not how many miles to the journey. And then he would
have to cross the main German road connecting Bismarckburg on Lake
Tanganyika with Neu Langenburg about twenty miles north-west of Lake
Nyassa.  This, the only practicable highway, might be crowded with
transports and would certainly be patrolled; but he hoped by careful
scouting to discover some part of its great length where, either by day
or by night, he could safely make the crossing.

Deciding to attempt a start at dawn on the following day, the two made
their simple preparations. Mwesa stuffed into his wallet all the edible
fruits he could gather, and after cooking the last meal, took his pot to
the lake, and washed it thoroughly.  He filled with water a couple of
gourds, one of which he fitted with a grass thong for slinging over
Tom's shoulder.  Tom cleaned his rifle, bathed in the lake, keeping a
wary eye open for crocodiles, and washed out his only shirt, with a sigh
for the contents of his travelling case, now, he supposed, appropriated
by Reinecke.

They were about to turn in early that evening when Mwesa jumped up
suddenly and darted out of the low entrance to the hut.  Tom, surprised,
followed him, and found him standing in an attitude of expectancy just
outside.  A few moments later he heard a human cry, faint and muffled,
as if coming from a great distance.  Mwesa was greatly excited.

"Two time," he cried, turning his head in the direction from which the
sound had come.

"You heard it before?" Tom asked.

Mwesa held up his hand enjoining silence. They waited.  A minute or two
passed; the cry was repeated, and Mwesa, still more excited, said:

"Mhehe call; man belong me."

"One of your own people!  It must be some one from the plantation.
Answer him ... No, wait.  Reinecke may be setting a trap for us. Perhaps
he has visited the pit and discovered my escape, and guesses I may be
somewhere in the forest."

Again they heard the cry.

"Who knows you are with me, besides Mirambo?" asked Tom.

"Mushota, no more, sah.  Mirambo say no tell: berry wise man, Mirambo."

"Then I think we had better answer: it may be Mirambo himself.  But we
will not call here; let us get away from the hut.  It will not do to
risk bringing an enemy here."

It was now nearly dark.  Adopting Mwesa's precaution, they climbed one
of the trees that formed the boundary of their enclosure, dropped to the
ground outside the zariba, and made their way into the nullah.  The cry
was repeated once more; this time it was louder.  When they had walked
nearly a quarter of a mile down the nullah, Tom ordered Mwesa to answer,
and the boy let out a curious series of notes, like the dropping scale
of the hornbill.  There was a shout in response.

"Mushota, sah," cried Mwesa, his big eyes gleaming.  "He say what place
me be."

"Tell him."

Mwesa directed his cousin, and in a few minutes the lad, so strangely
like him, came bounding along in the middle of the watercourse.  The two
<DW64>s embraced, and Mushota, his features and arms working with
excitement, poured out a story in a torrent of clicks and gurgles, every
now and then glancing at Tom, who stood a little apart.

Mwesa's expressive countenance showed that the story affected him
deeply.  He turned to his master, and seemed to strive to find English
words in which to repeat what he had heard.

"Come, let us get back to our hut," said Tom. "We can only just see to
find our way.  You can tell me all about it as we go."

Tom had two natural gifts rare in one who was little more than a
schoolboy--patience and sympathy.  He could be stiff enough with his
equals in rank and education; but with this faithful <DW64> lad,
ignorant, struggling to express himself in a strange and difficult
language, he was so patient that Mwesa's stumbling utterance became more
coherent as he told Mushota's story, and Tom was able to grasp its
essentials.

It concerned Mirambo.  The old hunter, once a chief and a warrior of
renown among his own people, had not taken kindly to the methods of the
German drill-sergeant.  Day after day he had been flogged by the
overseers for slowness of movement or some other fault in drill, and at
last the German sergeant, who had hitherto left punishment to the Arabs,
had kicked the man in the presence of the whole company of recruits.
Mirambo had retaliated with a swift blow that knocked the German off his
feet.  The sergeant, when he got up, was on the point of shooting the
<DW64>; but the head overseer, interposing, explained that Mirambo was
Reinecke's best hunting man, and the sergeant had then ordered him to be
chained up until Reinecke returned from Bismarckburg. Only a few days
before, a <DW64> had been shot for a similar offence, and Mushota feared
that his father would suffer the same fate.  Knowing the whereabouts of
the white man who had befriended his cousin, he had stolen out at midday
when even the indefatigable German rested, and had come to beg the
m'sungu to save his father.

"But why come to me?  What can I do?" asked Tom, astonished at the
confidence with which Mwesa put his cousin's plea.  It was almost
laughable that they should seek help of him, a fugitive, one whom
Reinecke had tried to kill, a single man without resources in an enemy's
country.

"Sah English," exclaimed Mwesa.  "Sah savvy big medicine, white man
medicine.  Sah boss, no fear."

Touched by this childlike faith in the power either of the English name
or of "white man medicine," which he supposed to mean some magic art, he
was at a loss what answer to make. He was willing enough to help, but
quite unable to see how.  It seemed best to temporise--to refrain from
immediately dashing the <DW64>s' hopes, and to explain to them presently
how impossible was the feat besought of him.

"We will talk it over in our hut," he said, and was then sorry he had
deferred the inevitable disappointment, for Mwesa clapped his hands and
laughed, and said to Mushota a few words that set him laughing too.  His
caution had only strengthened their belief in him.

The two <DW64>s chattered together the rest of the way to the hut, and
Tom was left to his by no means pleasant reflections.  How could he
break the unpalatable truth to these simple souls? What would be the
effect on them?  He could enter into their feelings through the
recollection of an incident of his own childhood.  His father had
promised him, a child of five, the present of a horse, and he remembered
the bitter tears he shed when the horse turned out to be a wooden toy
instead of the expected creature of flesh and bone.  The <DW64> is always
a child.

And then he found himself thinking: "Why not risk a visit to the
plantation?  It's running my head into a noose, perhaps; but after all I
owe to Mwesa I may at least show him that I'm ready to do what I can.
He can get in and out: why shouldn't I?  Reinecke is absent.  I don't
suppose he ever confided to the Arabs his pleasant intentions with
regard to me; perhaps I might venture to tackle them (provided the drill
sergeants aren't about), and get them to release Mirambo....  What tosh!
of course that's impossible: still, I might at least reconnoitre, and
I'll be hanged if I don't."

It was dark when they reached the hut, but the slight glow from the fire
that Mwesa had kept always burning in the enclosure revealed to Tom the
look of hopeful contentment on the faces of the two <DW64>s.  They all
squatted at the entrance, and Tom asked:

"When will Reinecke be back?"

Mwesa translated to his cousin.  The answer was, "To-morrow night."

"How many Germans are at the plantation?'

"One: the other had accompanied Reinecke."

"And how many askaris?"

"Six; the others had gone to Bismarckburg."

Tom pondered this information.  He had no chance if he was caught; the
likelihood of his being able to release Mirambo had almost vanished.
And what if the man, by some lucky stroke, were released?  Would he
consent to escape without his family?  There were five in all: the
larger the party, the more difficult to evade pursuit.  "It's all
utterly hopeless," thought Tom.  "They will see it for themselves if I
go and talk to them on the spot."

He told the boys what he proposed to do, at the same time warning them
that no good would come of it.  The promise overshadowed the warning:
the m'sungu would go; every other good thing would follow.  Half vexed,
half amused by what seemed sheer unreason, Tom bade them sleep: perhaps
with morning they would see facts as they were.

Before the glimmering dawn had penetrated the nullah, when the
four-footed creatures had slunk to their dens and the birds were
beginning to stir, the three clambered down on the outside of the zariba
and started on their long tramp. Tom wished to reach the plantation
before mid-day; he would then perhaps see for himself how the German
drilled his dusky recruits.

On arriving in the neighbourhood of the plantation, Mwesa struck off to
the left, and led the way stealthily through dense bush where there was
no path, and none but himself could have found the track of his own
previous journeys. They came presently to the stream that supplied the
plantation with water.  Climbing down the steep moss-covered bank, they
crept quietly along the bed until they reached the thorn fence, which
formed an impenetrable barrier across the stream. In the bank, just on
the outside, Mwesa pulled aside a curtain of rank grass, revealing a
hole scarcely larger than a drain pipe.  Mushota crawled into it, Mwesa
signed to Tom to follow him: he himself entered last, having remained to
see that the grass fell naturally over the entrance to this narrow
tunnel.

The passage through the tunnel took less than a minute, but Tom felt
almost suffocated before he reached open air again.  He said to himself
that it was like crawling in a grave.  Some day, he thought, the earth
will fall in; he wondered that such a tunnel, made with no art, had not
collapsed long ago.  Its inner end opened into the hollow trunk of a
tree.  Climbing until his eyes were on a level with a small hole scooped
out of the wood, he looked out upon the plantation.

The tree was a few feet within the thorn fence. Some little distance to
the left were the huts and sheds occupied by the <DW64>s.  In front of
these was the broad, clear, level space that was the usual playground of
the children and the promenade of the elders when work was done. Now,
however, no children sported upon it. Some sixty sturdy <DW64>s, ranging
in age from sixteen to forty and upwards, were drawn up in ranks.  At
each end hovered an Arab overseer with his whip.  And facing the
recruits, some yards away from them, stood the German sergeant, a stiff,
thick-set, bull-necked soldier, differing from hundreds of his kind whom
Tom had seen in Germany only in his uniform, which, more suited to the
African climate, was less complimentary to the sergeant's tight figure.
The sergeant bellowed an order, in words that seemed to be German
acclimatised; the <DW64>s hesitated, then, each interpreting the command
in his own way, became a mob instead of a half company. The German
stamped and roared; the overseers cracked their whips; and the scared
recruits scrambled back somehow into their original formation.

The sun beat fiercely down upon the scene, and the perspiring sergeant,
a martyr to duty, drew a finger round the inside of his coat collar and
tried again.  Brandishing the light cane he carried, he hurled abuse at
the <DW64>s in his hybrid dialect, and having thus let off steam,
repeated his sharp words of command.  It was evident that he was
attempting to teach the recruits how to form extended order from fours,
and Tom almost sympathised with him as the men blundered in the simplest
movements.  They appeared to be unable to distinguish "right turn" from
"left turn"; and even those who had once moved correctly seemed to be
unable to remember for five minutes what they had learnt.

"Mirambo no dis place, sah," whispered Mwesa over his shoulder.

The words recalled the purpose of his visit. Mirambo was no doubt tied
up in the hut which Reinecke used as a jail for refractory labourers. It
was at the further end of the row of huts, in full view from every part
of the parade ground. An askari was standing at ease outside it.  Tom's
sense of the hopelessness of any attempt at rescue was deepened.  Surely
Mwesa himself must realise it.  Sorry as he was, Tom felt that there was
nothing to be done.

A sudden commotion drew his attention once more to the drilling.  The
sergeant, incensed by the repeated blunders of one particularly stupid
<DW64>, had lifted his cane and dealt the man several vicious cuts across
the face.  Yelling with pain and rage, the victim had sprung upon the
sergeant, hurled him to the ground, and seized him by the throat.  Two
of the overseers had just rushed to the spot, and were dragging the
<DW64> from the prostrate German.  There was much chattering and
excitement among the other recruits and the <DW64>s who were looking on
from the huts.

The sergeant rose stiffly to his feet, and with apoplectic fury ordered
the Arabs to tie the culprit hand and foot.  As they were doing so, Tom,
who had been boiling with indignation at the German's brutality, had one
of those sudden inspirations which are often turning-points in a career.
Bidding the two lads follow him, he clambered up to the fork of the
tree, let himself down to the ground on the rear side, and ran, under
cover of a line of bushes, until he was some thirty yards nearer the
body of recruits. Then, stiffening himself, he emerged into the open,
rifle in hand, and advanced with quick martial strides across the parade
ground.  Until that moment he had not been seen; the sergeant and the
Arabs had their backs towards him; but the sudden silence that fell upon
the <DW64>s as they beheld the young m'sungu, who had been absent so
long, followed by the two boys, attracted the German's attention.  He
swung round to see what it was that all eyes were fixed on so intently,
and stared with amazement when, from the lips of the tall young white
man within a few paces of him, came the sharp command in German--

"Sergeant, release that man."

The instinct of military obedience on which Tom had reckoned did not
fail.  The sergeant saluted; at a word from him the Arabs released the
<DW64> from his bonds; the recruits broke their ranks and rushed towards
Tom with yells of delight, and from the dwellings along one side of the
parade ground the whole <DW64> population, men, women and children,
trooped forth shouting welcome to the m'sungu, and utterly regardless of
the overseers.  The sergeant's authority had vanished.  A few seconds
before he had had behind him the prestige of German rule; in yielding to
the command of an Englishman (whom he did not yet know as an Englishman)
he had become a thing of naught to these impressionable Africans.

[Illustration: TOM MAKES A DIVERSION.]

Before he had collected his muddled wits he was surprised to hear that
he was under arrest, and found himself on his way with two of the Arabs
to the jail hut, under guard of two of his own askaris.  Tom, wondering
how long the man's stupefaction would last, followed to the hut, ordered
Mirambo to be released, and the door to be shut and bolted.

As he turned away, he saw one of the overseers bolting across the parade
ground in the direction of the gate.

"After him, Mwesa," he cried, and the boy, who had followed him like a
shadow, instantly darted after the runaway, accompanied by a troop of
his fellow <DW64>s.  The Arab, whose whip had formerly been a terror to
them, was chased across the plantation, and, just as he reached the
gate, was seized by a score of sinewy hands and hauled back with yells
of triumphant glee, to join the other prisoners in the lock-up.  Tom,
with Mwesa as interpreter, ordered Mirambo to collect all the men on the
parade ground, and there wait for him.  Then, astonished and a little
intimidated by his own success, he hurried to the bungalow.  Reinecke
was expected to return that evening.  It was now past noon; within the
next five or six hours there must be some hard thinking if this
unexpected development was to be turned to the best account.




CHAPTER VIII--REINECKE RETURNS


At the bungalow the native servants received Tom with smiles of welcome.
It seemed that Reinecke had given out that his guest had gone away only
for a time; that the war, a distant and unreal thing to them, could have
turned apparent friends into enemies was as yet beyond their
comprehension.  Quickly and cheerfully they prepared a meal; and while
Tom enjoyed food that, after the experiences of the past weeks, was
incredible luxury, he bent all his wits to the solution of the amazing
problem with which he was now faced.

Here he was, within a few minutes transformed from a fugitive and a
wanderer into the absolute master of several hundreds of <DW64>s.  His
lightest word would be law to them.  The simple people were incapable of
perceiving how precarious was his authority; to them he was just the
m'sungu whom they admired and who had at a stroke altered the conditions
of their existence.

The sergeant and three of the Arabs were for the present safely locked
up.  The remaining overseers, somewhere in hiding, could not leave the
plantation, the gate being locked, to give warning to Reinecke on his
homeward way of what had occurred.  The askaris, always submissive to
authority, probably took the newcomer for a German officer, and supposed
the sergeant to have been guilty of some fault.  And as for the <DW64>s,
there were something over a hundred able-bodied men who before long
would have been askaris in the German service--unwilling recruits, but,
in spite of their difficulties with drill, the raw material of excellent
soldiers.  That, at any rate, must be prevented.

How?  Only by the immediate migration of the whole community.  "A large
order," thought Tom, knitting his brows.  Yet not so difficult as it
first appeared.  These <DW64>s had no possessions that they valued
except their cooking-pots. Their natural life was the free open
existence of the forest and the plain; they could build themselves huts
in a day, and needed no furniture. The implements of their plantation
work would be useful to them until they had made for themselves bows and
arrows.  A race of hunters, they would not want for food; besides, there
were the plantation stores which could be conveyed away.

But in what direction could they go?  Bismarckburg was only twenty miles
distant; some ten miles nearer was the road to Neu Langenburg, no doubt
studded with German military posts, and patrolled.  As soon as the
mutiny became known, a force would be dispatched from Bismarckburg, or a
telegram sent along the road warning any troops that might be moving up
for the projected attack on Abercorn.  Thus a migration into British
territory would be impossible. The Wahehe country was far to the north,
within the German boundaries; there could be no safety for them there.
For the moment the problem seemed to be, to find a temporary refuge in
some spot difficult of access, where the people might dwell in
comparative security until the course of events became clear.

What better place could there be than the nullah he had lately left?  It
was within easy marching distance, yet far enough away, for while only
about fifteen miles from the plantation, it was nearly twice that
distance from Bismarckburg, and in the heart of the forest.  Between its
steep banks a much larger body than these few hundred people might take
shelter.  It was near water; the forest provided food to supplement what
might be removed from Reinecke's storehouses. Within this natural
fortress, strengthened by such art as the <DW64>s under guidance were
capable of, they might bid defiance to any but a well-equipped force,
which circumstances might not allow the Germans to organise, and which
in any case it would take time to set on foot. In the interval he might
attempt to get into communication with the British beyond the border.

After half an hour's cogitation Tom had made up his mind.  To ward off
suspicion among the servants, he ordered them to hasten preparations for
the meal which Reinecke would expect on his arrival, then hurried back
to the <DW64>s' quarters, his brain busy with his plans.

It was fortunate that he had in Mwesa a quick and efficient interpreter,
and in Mirambo a devoted henchman whose former rank in his own country
lent him authority with the rest of the natives.  Through these two,
uncle and nephew, he made arrangements for the exodus with a celerity
that surprised himself.  And if his brother Bob had been able to
transport himself on a magic carpet to this spot in Central Africa, that
hard-headed man of business would no doubt have been amazed at the
qualities shown in this emergency by one whom, in his elder-brotherly
attitude, he was accustomed to call "the kid."  The truth is, of course,
that some people are happily born with the gift of organisation, though
it may lie dormant, unsuspected, until occasion rouses it.

Tom's first measure was to arrange for the immediate evacuation of the
women and children. Led by Mushota, and escorted by a band of the elder
men, they were to leave the plantation and push on as far as possible on
the way to the nullah while daylight lasted.  At nightfall they would
camp, and their escort would be at no loss to protect them until the
dawn.  Nor would they go empty-handed.  Each woman, each child, would
carry such household gear as would be useful, together with provisions
for a meal or two.

While the women were merrily making their preparations, Tom got the men
together, and set them to empty the store-sheds; to bring all the
foodstuffs into the open, and divide them up into loads, under the
direction of the men who were accustomed to serve as porters to and fro
between Bismarckburg and the plantation.  In one of the sheds, whose
padlocked door he forced open, he was delighted to find the Mauser
rifles which had recently been imported for the arming of the new
recruits, together with a stock of small-arm ammunition.  He set Mwesa
to discover which of the men had had musketry instruction by the German
sergeant, and arranged that these should have the rifles and a few
rounds of cartridges when the packing was finished; and he warned them
that if they fired without orders the rifles would be taken away and
they would have to carry extra loads--a threat that was likely, he
thought, to prove effectual.  There were enough rifles to arm also a few
of the older men, like Mirambo himself, who had had previous experience
of firearms; and though their experience dated back a good many years,
and the Mauser was a very different weapon from the old trade musket
which they had formerly handled, he had no doubt that with a little
practice they would soon outdo many of the recruits, whose instruction
could not yet have been carried very far.

The half-dozen askaris looked surprised when they were ordered to lay
down their arms and assist in the baling of the food; but Tom's air of
assured authority imposed upon them, and they appeared to have no
suspicion that he was a usurper until the women and children were ready
to march out.  It was not till then that Tom, feeling in his pocket for
the duplicate key of the gate which Reinecke had given him, discovered
that he had lost it, probably in his fall into the pit.  The only other
keys were in the possession of Reinecke and the principal overseer, and
the latter, arrested in his attempt to escape, was locked in the
prison-shed.  Tom went to the shed to get this man's key, opened the
door, and was amazed to find the place empty.  All three Arabs and the
German sergeant were gone.  They had wrenched away some of the poles
that formed the rear wall of the shed, and escaped unnoticed in the
bustle attending the preparations for departure.

This discovery gave Tom an unpleasant, even an alarming shock.  The loss
of the key was a small matter; the gate could be forced; but if the men
were already well on the way to give the alarm to Reinecke, as was only
too likely, the whole scheme of escape was in danger of being utterly
ruined.  Without an instant's delay Tom hurried back, selected a dozen
men whose build promised fleetness of foot, armed them with hoes and
mattocks, and ran with them down to the gate, intending to burst the
lock with a rifle-shot. He found, however, that the Arab, in his haste
to escape, had left the key in the lock.  The gate was open.  Tom
dispatched the natives along the road to capture the runaways.  At this
hour Reinecke was probably within eight or nine miles of the plantation,
a distance which his bearers would take at least four hours to cover;
but if the fugitives reached him, he would no doubt spring from his
machila and hurry forward on foot, accompanied by his armed askaris.  It
seemed, then, that the evacuation of the place must be completed within
three hours at the most.

Luckily the women were ready, and Tom ordered them at once to set off.
It was then that the askaris became suspicious, and began to put their
heads together; but Tom stamped out any spark of mutiny that might have
been kindled by separating the men, and assigning to them places among
the natives who were now preparing to mount their loads.  Disarmed, with
armed men around them, the askaris dared not disobey; and within a few
minutes after the departure of the women they were marching out among
the first contingent of the Wahehe, each bearing a weighty bundle upon
his head.  Mirambo had selected the steadiest of his fellows to form
this first band, who were to follow the women, lay down their loads at
the proposed camping place, and then return at once for more.  Meanwhile
the other three overseers had been rounded up, bound, and placed under
guard: there must be no more fugitives.

While Mirambo was superintending the packing of the remainder of the
stores, Tom was wrestling with another problem.  Reinecke would arrive
about sunset.  He would find the gate locked as usual, and the silence
of the plantation would not awaken suspicion, for work hours were over,
and he would suppose the workers to have returned to their distant
quarters, out of earshot from the central road and from the bungalow.
But as soon as he reached the bungalow the fat would be in the fire.  He
would expect the principal overseer and the German sergeant to be
awaiting him, to give in their reports.  Not finding them, he would send
one of the servants to fetch them.  In ten minutes, or little more, all
would be known.  What would he do?  Perhaps lead his askaris in pursuit,
perhaps dispatch a runner to the nearest post on the Neu Langenburg road
to bring up reinforcements.  In either case the flight of the people
would be harassed; they might be caught before they had reached their
defensive position.  Tom saw that to gain time was of prime importance.

How could he gain time?  It would be possible to ambush Reinecke and his
party in the woods close to the plantation.  Even if they had been
warned by the fugitive overseers and the sergeant, they would probably
not suspect that the Englishman would attempt, with untrained natives,
to trap seasoned soldiers.  But an ambush would involve the necessity of
firing without warning, and Tom was too raw at the game of war to adopt
so cold-blooded a course.

Another idea suggested itself which, hazardous as it seemed, had a
certain attractiveness that commended it to Tom's sense of sport He
called up Mwesa.

"What does Reinecke do when he comes back from Bismarckburg with
askaris?" he asked.

"Him eat all too much," replied the boy.

"Yes, but I mean what does he do before that? Where does he dismiss the
askaris?"

"Dey all go to house, sah; stand outside; den he make um say one, two,
three; den dey go home."

Tom gathered that Reinecke was accustomed to hold a sort of inspection
parade before dismissing the men to their shed several hundred yards
away.  From his own experience he knew the method of procedure with the
porters.  These brought their loads to the bungalow; the goods were
checked off by Yakoub, the native clerk, then carried to the
store-sheds.

"Very good, Mwesa....  Here come my scouts--without prisoners.  See what
they say."

The twelve men he had sent in pursuit of the runaways reported that they
had run almost to Bismarckburg--a typical native exaggeration at which
Tom smiled.  They had seen Reinecke and his party coming slowly up the
road: neither the overseers nor the sergeant were with them. Since the
African has no measure either of time or distance Tom could not discover
exactly how far away Reinecke was when the men saw him; but on his
asking when the party would arrive, the spokesman pointed to the sun and
then stooped and moved his hand along just above the ground.

"At sunset, as I thought," said Tom to himself. "Then we have about two
hours."

An hour later the second contingent of the people left, well loaded up.
Tom locked the gate behind them, then set forty men whom he had retained
to remove all litter and other traces of the exodus from that portion of
the road which must be traversed in approaching the bungalow. This done,
he gave rifles and a round or two of ammunition to twenty of the men,
and ordered the other twenty to arm themselves with implements of their
daily work.  It still wanted half an hour of sunset.  Tom allowed the
men twenty minutes to make a good meal; then he divided each band,
posting ten riflemen and ten of the others in the bushes near the gate,
and the rest under cover in the grounds of the bungalow, where they
commanded the open space in front of the entrance.  This last
disposition was made very stealthily, in order to avoid attracting the
attention of the household servants, who, however, were busy in their
outbuildings at the back, making final preparations for their master's
dinner.

Having given his men their orders, Tom entered the bungalow, clapped his
hands for one of the servants, asked him if dinner was ready, and
reminded him that Herr Reinecke always liked a drink as soon as he
returned home.

"Take it to the dining-room," he said, "and one for me too."

He then went into the room Reinecke used as an office, opened a drawer
in which there was usually kept a revolver, assured himself that it was
loaded, and taking it to the dining-room, slipped it half underneath the
edge of a wide fruit dish.  The servant brought in two large tumblers of
a claret-cup of Reinecke's invention.  Tom drank his off, then sat down
and helped himself to a confection of rice and fruit.  But now that the
critical moment was approaching he found himself without appetite.  To
steady his nerves he lit a cigarette, and changed his position slightly,
so that he had a good view through the window of the approach to the
bungalow.

Tom was smoking his fourth cigarette, and the brief twilight of
Equatorial Africa was already half spent, when he heard the tramp of
marching men, and saw the expected party filing into the grounds of the
bungalow.  First came two askaris, then Reinecke and a native N.C.O.,
then a number of porters with bales on their heads, finally a dozen
askaris.  Reinecke was in uniform--white helmet and tunic, khaki
breeches, and leggings.

The number of askaris was greater than Tom had looked for.  He noticed
that the hand that held his cigarette was trembling a little, drew a
long breath, and waited.  The atmosphere seemed to be highly electric.

Reinecke ordered the askaris to halt and ground arms, the porters to lay
down their loads.  Then he called for Selim and Sergeant Morgenstein,
who ought to have been awaiting him, and cursed them volubly in German.
He shouted a few words in Bantu to the native corporal, and strode into
the bungalow.  He was evidently in a bad temper.

Turning into the dining-room he gasped and started back.  Tom dropped
his cigarette into the ash-tray, laid his hand near the butt of the
revolver on the table, and, smiling grimly, said--

"No.  I'm not a ghost, Herr Reinecke--nor a skeleton."

Reinecke, standing in the doorway, had quickly recovered himself.

"So!" he laughed.  "But it is clear: you are a fool."

"I _was_ a fool--to trust you," said Tom, standing up.

"You _are_ a fool--to come back here," said Reinecke, with another
laugh.  He advanced a step into the room and laid his helmet on a chair.

"That's as may be.  You will consider yourself my prisoner, Herr
Reinecke."

The German stared, then with a derisive guffaw, cried--

"Your prisoner?  Are you a madman as well as a fool?  Ha! ha!--your
prisoner!  We are at war: yes, you realise it.  But _your_ prisoner!
Why, you foolish child, don't you realise that you are _my_
prisoner?--that I can have you shot as a spy?--that that is exactly what
I shall do?"

"We seem to be talking at cross purposes."  Tom grasped his revolver,
and with a quick movement pointed it at the German's head. "Not a word,"
he added swiftly, as Reinecke, after a moment's paralysing astonishment,
was turning towards the door, and at the same time fumbling for the
revolver slung across his shoulder.  "Understand: if you call out, or
make a single suspicious movement--drop your hands, sir--I shall fire,
and if I fire it will be a signal to my men who are waiting to settle
accounts with your askaris.  Take off your pistol strap: lay it on the
table: your left hand, please: be careful not to touch the button."

Reinecke, taken all aback--what did the Englishman mean by "my
men"?--removed his strap and laid it on the corner of the table Tom
pointed to.

"Now your sword-belt."

The German obeyed.

A servant came through the inner door carrying dishes.

"Not yet," said Tom: "we are not quite ready."

The servant smiled, started as he saw the revolver in Tom's hand, then
backed hurriedly.

"Remain in the kitchen till I call," added Tom. "Now, Herr Reinecke, you
will precede me--I am not bluffing--to the place where my men are
hidden.  I don't wish to kill your askaris, but any madness on your part
will provoke a volley from my men.  It will avoid trouble, then, if you
order yours to pile arms.  Remember this revolver.  If you make a
mistake in the word of command it will be fatal to you as to them. Lead
on."

The German turned without a word.  Outside, the askaris were standing at
ease: Yakoub, the native clerk, had just finished checking off the
porter's loads.  Reinecke ordered the askaris, in a voice unlike his
own, to pile arms and reassemble two deep.  At Tom's bidding he told
Yakoub to go to his hut and remain there.  A call from Tom brought Mwesa
bounding from behind a shrub.

"Get the men to collect these arms," said Tom.

The <DW64>s came from their hiding place and seized upon the askaris'
rifles.  The amazed porters, standing by their loads, broke out into
eager questioning, and the replies set them shouting, laughing, leaping
with glee.  The askaris, equally astonished, looked in a puzzled way
from Reinecke to Tom, and made no resistance when the Wahehe were
ordered to tie their hands behind their backs.  Reinecke, standing
within a yard of Tom, gnawed his moustache in impotent rage.

"Keep these men under guard," said Tom, and Mwesa summoned forth the
concealed riflemen. "Now, Herr Reinecke, you shall have your dinner.
Make the most of it.  It will be a long time before you get such a meal
again."




CHAPTER IX--A DELAYING ACTION


Damocles, at the sumptuous banquet of Dionysius of Syracuse, no doubt
ate with a very good appetite, for Dionysius was his friend, and the
sword hanging over his head at the end of a single hair was merely a
playful illustration of the insecurity of princes, and no object of
fear.  It may be supposed that the Greek, sitting within reach of the
weapon held by a resolute hand, would have found the dishes offered him
savourless, or his throat perhaps too dry for degustation.  Curt
Reinecke, however, was a German.  He flashed one evil look at the tall,
grim young man who sat, grasping a revolver, across the corner of a
table opposite; then he bent his eyes upon his plate, and applied
himself with customary ardour to the appeasement of nature's cravings.
The servant went to and fro, silent, scared.

"Get ready to come with me, Mirami--you and the rest," said Tom when the
man had brought coffee.  "Light all the lanterns you have."

Reinecke had not spoken during the meal, complete _ab ovo usque ad
mala_.  Now, however, having gulped down his coffee, and the liqueur
which the admirable Mirami served as usual, though with shaking hand, he
cleared his throat and hesitatingly put a question.

"Where are you--are we--going?"

"That you will see."

The German, primed to attempt a parley, sat back in his chair, and said,
in the manner of one appealing to good sense:

"The frontier is closed.  It would be madness to attempt to cross the
Neu Langenburg road."

"You might be shot by your own countrymen, you mean?"

"What I mean," rejoined Reinecke, generously ignoring the insinuation,
"is that you are playing a fool's game.  You have the whip hand now; you
have, I suppose, raised a mutiny among my people----"

"Our people, they used to be: they are mine now."

"Ach! what folly it is!" said Reinecke, with a gesture of impatience.
"You are in German country; within a few miles there are hundreds of
well-trained troops; are you mad enough to think that these raw blacks,
who hardly know one end of a rifle from the other, can reach British
territory?  It is impossible--impossible."

"Well?"

"Then why attempt the impossible?  Look at the matter reasonably,
calmly."

"I don't think I am agitated, Herr Reinecke. But go on."

"The position--what is it?  You British are outnumbered.  You have no
forces equal to ours, even as they are; and I tell you we shall have ten
times as many in a few months.  Paris has fallen: your empire is broken
up: your navy is defeated----"

"Come now, Herr Reinecke, don't draw the long bow."

"I assure you the news has gone all over the world," said Reinecke
emphatically.  "What can you do?  We shall shortly capture Abercorn:
already we have taken Mombasa and Nairobi; there will soon be no more
British East Africa. It is certain.  Well now, I make a proposition. I
wish to be fair.  The plantation is of course confiscated; it will now
be mine, solely.  That is the fortune of war.  But you are young,
hot-headed.  I would do something for the sake of my late partner.
Abandon this folly, then, while there is time; and I give my word to
send you safe into British territory."

"And you make that proposition to me!" cried Tom, enraged by the mention
of his father: "you, the man who has systematically robbed your partner,
falsified the books, tried to murder me!  I should be a fool indeed if I
placed reliance on the word of a man like you.  Save your breath, Herr
Reinecke....  Ah! it is time for us to go."  Mwesa had just appeared in
the doorway.  "Get up! don't try any tricks: I have given you fair
warning."

Mwesa had come to report the return of the first contingent of Wahehe.
They had established a camp some eight miles from the plantation.

"Very well," said Tom.  "Let them take up as many of the remaining loads
as they can carry. I shall soon be with you."

He clapped his hands.  Mirami entered.

"Bring the lanterns, you and your fellows, and meet me at the front
door," said Tom.

Then, urging Reinecke before him at the muzzle of his revolver (and the
German seemed to be genuinely astonished at the rejection of his offer),
Tom went out to his men.  The askaris he ordered to join the ranks of
the carriers, each man with a load.  To the household servants were
given light articles, such as candles, matches, paraffin, drugs.  Among
the supplies just brought from Bismarckburg were some cases of
ammunition. These were entrusted to their original bearers.  By the time
the party was ready to start, the plantation had been pretty well
ransacked of all portable and useful stores.

Darkness having now fallen, the column was headed by two men carrying
lanterns.  In turn came the porters, two more lantern bearers, the three
Arab overseers under guard of riflemen, then Reinecke, followed
immediately by Tom and Mwesa, and finally two lantern bearers.  Apart
from their use in lighting the way, the lanterns gave confidence to the
natives, for whom a night march had nameless terrors.

So strange a procession, at dead of night--the lights flickering on the
trees, the <DW64>s chattering in loud tones to keep their courage
up--must have startled the furred and feathered inhabitants of the
forest.  Birds clattered out of the foliage, insects swarmed around the
lanterns; no four-footed beast came within sight.

It was about midnight when they arrived at the camp, pitched on one of
those wide bare spaces which break the continuity of the upland forest.
Fires had been kindled at several points of the circuit.  Within was a
scene of great confusion--women, children, and bales of goods lying
helter-skelter.  Hopeless of evolving order at this hour, Tom contented
himself with posting three sections of six men each as sentries on the
southern border of the camp, where alone danger might be feared.  An
attack seemed to him improbable.  The plantation had been cleared of
men; and even if the fugitive Germans and Arabs had succeeded in
reaching a German post, there was little chance of an armed force coming
up while night lasted.  Nevertheless, the sense of responsibility and
the need of keeping a close watch on Reinecke, whom, out of respect for
the white man's dignity, he had left unbound, prevented Tom from getting
any sleep.  Indeed, few of all those there encamped, except the
children, closed their eyes.  The <DW64>s, for all their weariness,
talked excitedly, hour after hour, of the wonderful change that the
m'sungu had wrought in their lives, and speculated on the fate in store
for their late master.  Watching them, Tom could not help questioning
within himself whether he had done right, whether they would be able to
defend and maintain their new-won freedom; but with the hopefulness of
buoyant youth he dismissed his doubts, resolving that, so far as lay in
him, nothing should be left undone to safeguard them.  After all,
British territory was only forty miles away.

An hour before dawn the camp was astir. Everybody was fed: then, just as
light was stealing over the scene, the women and children were sent off
under escort, scouting parties dispatched southward; the unarmed men
gathered their loads and departed.  Mirambo and a score of the elder men
with rifles accompanied the latter, with orders not to allow the askaris
to approach within half an hour's march of the nullah.  They were to
drop their loads at a convenient spot and return under guard for more.
Tom remained at the camp, keeping the prisoners and the remainder of his
armed men.

It was about two hours after the departure of the women: the carriers
had not yet come back: when Tom heard a faint sharp sound from
southward, which, unexpected as it was, he believed to be a rifle-shot.
For some few minutes there was no repetition of the sound: then there
came half a dozen cracks in succession, a little nearer--unmistakably
the reports of rifles.  Tom at once dispatched two men to follow in the
track of the scouts and see what was happening.  It seemed unlikely that
a German force had already been dispatched in pursuit of him; but it was
clearly necessary to be prepared for any contingency.

The shots had roused some excitement among the Wahehe; Reinecke and the
Arabs did not disguise the spring of hope.  Tom recognised that his men
were ill-fitted to cope with trained troops, in the open or even in the
bush.  The nullah, on the other hand, about six miles away, offered many
facilities for defence, and his plan had been to post his non-combatants
far up towards the lake, and to employ the men to strengthen the
position below.  He had reckoned on being unmolested for a whole day,
and the shots gave him not a little uneasiness.  The progress of the
laden carriers would necessarily be slow: it was essential that the
enemy, if enemy it was, should be delayed at least until the stores had
been safely conveyed to the nullah. He must fight and run.

Hoping that it might turn out to be a false alarm, he nevertheless sent
forward a runner to urge the carriers to their utmost speed; then
selected a score of the older men, who in their day had fought the
Germans, and ordered all the rest to hurry on with as much as they could
carry of the remaining stores.  Mwesa he kept as interpreter.

As soon as the camping-place was clear, he sent Reinecke and the Arabs
on, guarded by half a dozen men, and followed closely behind them with
the rest of his party, to discover a suitable position for making a
first stand if pursuers were really on his tracks.  He had been marching
less than half an hour through the forest when some of his scouts
overtook him, and reported that a large force of askaris, under German
officers, was pushing on at great speed.  Knowing the hopelessness of
getting from the natives a sound estimate of the enemy's numbers, he
asked no questions, but pressed forward as rapidly as possible for
another ten minutes.  Then, on the further side of a comparatively clear
space, about two hundred yards long and twice as wide, he saw a dense
belt of trees, fringed by low bushes, which seemed to offer advantages
for a delaying action.  There he decided to await the enemy's arrival.

He looked at his watch.  Allowing for the slow pace of the children and
the laden men over difficult country, he calculated that the head of the
straggling column had probably covered two-thirds of the distance to the
nullah.  It would be at least another hour before they reached its
entrance, and a second hour before the people and the stores were far
enough up to be out of harm's way.  The question was, then, could he
check the pursuit for two hours?

By the time he had posted his men just within the belt of trees, where
they commanded the whole space in front, he had been rejoined by all his
scouts.  The report of the last comers was even more alarming than that
of the first.  According to them, a great throng of ferocious askaris,
like a swarm of wild bees, was dashing on with the speed of antelopes.
Though he was aware of their habit of exaggeration, Tom was conscious of
a consuming anxiety, but had self-command enough to present a calm and
smiling front to the natives, in whom the least sign of wavering on his
part would have started a panic.  Through Mwesa he gave them the order
not to fire until he whistled, resolving at the same time to cut himself
a wooden whistle at the first opportunity.

The men had been posted barely twenty minutes when, through the thinner
woodland on the opposite side of the clearing, Tom caught sight of a few
scattered <DW64>s in uniform. "Scouts feeling their way forward," he
thought. The askaris moved rapidly, but cautiously, flitting from tree
to tree in a series of short rushes. Marking one of them, Tom fired.
The man instantly slipped behind a trunk; his fellows had all
disappeared.

Analysing later his frame of mind at the moment of firing, Tom had to
admit that his aim had been intentionally bad, and justified his action
with the excuse that his object was merely to delay the enemy.  At
bottom, however, he was really loth to kill his man--a feeling which
has, no doubt, seized many a young officer in his first fight.  In after
days he often debated with himself and discussed with others how far
humanity is compatible with war, and the conclusion that he came to was
that war must be abolished, or humanity would perish.  If man must kill
man, whether the agent be bullet, shell, bomb, poison gas, or any other
abomination, logically there is nothing to choose between them: the vile
thing is war itself.  But at this moment he had no time for reflection:
he acted purely from a humane instinct, not realising what war meant,
ignorant of the methods in which the enemy was prepared to wage it.

His ill-aimed shot had not been without effect. The enemy had vanished,
and Tom's men, in their simplicity, whooped with delight.  Tom however,
was under no delusion.  One or more of the askaris had no doubt stolen
back through the wood to report that they were in touch with the
fugitives; the rest were still lurking among the trees.

As the minutes passed without further movement, Tom's anxiety increased
in proportion with the natives' elation.  What numbers had he to deal
with?  Would his little force of untrained men be swept upon and
overwhelmed?  He would have been spared a period of racking suspense if
he could have divined the facts which he was not to know till much
later.  Sergeant Morgenstein and the Arabs, having escaped from the
plantation, did not take the twenty-mile road to Bismarckburg, but
struck southward to the highway to Neu Langenburg, a distance only half
as great.  On this road they met a half company of askaris marching
towards Bismarckburg. The German officer in command, on learning what
had happened at the plantation, tapped the telegraph wire and asked for
instructions. Ordered to make a forced march and deal with the
mutiny--what resistance was to be expected from a mob of undisciplined
blacks?--he pushed on to the plantation, only to find it deserted.
Darkness forbade instant pursuit; but at the earliest glimmer of dawn he
started to follow up the very plain tracks of the absconded rebels.

It was perhaps twenty minutes after the disappearance of the enemy
scouts when Mwesa detected a movement deep in the thin woodland
opposite.  Tom fixed his eyes intently on the spot the boy pointed out,
and presently saw several forms moving forward amid the brushwood. There
were signs that others were coming up behind them.  They were scarcely
distinguishable in the shade of the trees, and darted so quickly from
cover to cover that even a crack shot could hardly have picked them off.

Tom felt that an attempt to check the advance while the enemy were still
in the wood would be sheer waste of ammunition.  The most of his men had
not handled fire-arms for years; they had probably lost whatever skill
they might once have had; the younger men had only begun their musketry
course.  He must at least wait for the inevitable rush across the open;
then, perhaps, the <DW64>s, unskilled though they were, might be lucky
with some of their shots.  If the enemy were in no great strength, the
mere show of resistance might achieve his end--delay.

The askaris, finding their advance unopposed, gained confidence, were
less careful in taking cover, and presently formed up in line just
within the forest fringe.  Suddenly a white helmet showed itself above
them, a little in their rear; a word of command rang out, and the
askaris, twenty strong, charged with a wild yell in double line across
the open.  Tom gave a shrill whistle, marked his man and fired.  His
shot was followed by a ragged volley from his men.  This time his aim
was true; one or two askaris fell to the shots of the <DW64>s; the rest
wavered, and at a second volley scurried back into the forest, losing
another on the way.

Tom had not fired a second time, but had watched the forest.  It was
plain from movements he observed there that the German had held part of
his force in reserve.  The slight losses suffered in feeling for the
opposition had probably reassured him as to the character of the
resistance he had to meet; the next attack would be made in strength.

Ignorant of the numbers opposed to him, Tom thought it prudent not to
await a second attack, and gave his men the order to retire quietly.
They marched on for about half a mile, and then came to a rocky ridge
flanking the track, which it commanded for a considerable distance.
Here Tom determined to make a second stand.

It was nearly half an hour after he had posted his men before there was
any sign from the enemy. Then he heard in the distance the sharp crackle
of a volley, followed by shouts.  He guessed that the askaris were
charging across the open space under cover of strong rifle fire.
Abruptly the sounds ceased, and Tom could not help chuckling as he saw
in his mind's eye the blank faces of the askaris when they found their
entrance into the forest unopposed.

But he remembered that he had a German officer to deal with.  A trained
soldier would be put on the alert by the disappearance of his enemy. He
would probably suspect that he was being lured into a trap, and Tom
desired nothing better. The German would feel his way forward
cautiously, slowly, fearing an ambush in every gloomy spot.  He might
take an hour to cover the distance of a few minutes' walk.

Tom seized the opportunity of making good his retreat to the nullah.
Putting on their best speed, the little party overtook the tail end of
the column of carriers at the spot where the askaris had been ordered to
drop their loads.  Now that he was himself able to keep an eye on them,
Tom made them mount their bales again, and march on towards the nullah.
He left two good men to watch for the enemy, and followed with the rest.

Tom with his rearguard of riflemen had come within half a mile of the
nullah when Mushota came bounding along the column towards him, jostling
any carrier who was in his way.  The lad spoke excitedly to Mwesa, who
turned a crestfallen face to his master and said--

"He gone; all same run away."

"Who?"

"Old massa, sah."

"Reinecke?"

"Yes, sah.  He grab rifle quick, fella no can do nuffin.  He shoot one
man, den go bang into forest, no can catch him.  He gone sure nuff."

Tom's manner of receiving the news was a surprise to the <DW64>s.  Far
from being agitated, storming, threatening punishment for the unwary
guards, he smiled.  Reinecke's escape was in a certain degree a relief
to him.  It had been necessary to remove the German from the plantation;
but after the people had reached the nullah he would have been an
incubus.

"Good riddance," thought Tom.  "I hope I have seen the last of him."




CHAPTER X--A BREATHING SPACE


On arriving at the entrance to the nullah, Tom found that Mirambo had
already herded the women and children beyond the first bend, something
less than a quarter of a mile away, and was superintending the bestowal
of the stores still farther up, on natural ledges in the steep bank.

At the southern extremity the nullah was about sixty yards wide.  In the
middle a shallow stream rippled over the rocky bottom, disappearing in
places beneath tangled masses of vegetation. Trees of many kinds grew on
the steep walls, acacias and euphorbias predominating, and on both sides
of the stream there were many patches of scrub, mimosa, and thorn,
rendering the passage by no means easy.  But these natural obstacles
must be supplemented by art if the place was to be made even tolerably
secure, and Tom lost no time in putting the necessary works in
operation.

He first posted a score of riflemen in the scrub about two hundred yards
south of the nullah, putting Mirambo in charge of them, with orders to
fire one volley if the enemy appeared, and then to withdraw.  Next he
set all available men to clear away, with the tools brought from the
plantation, all the bush that grew thickly in front of the entrance, in
order to give a field of fire. The <DW64>s, many of whom had been
employed in clearing the ground for the plantation, were experts at the
job, and when more than a hundred men work with a will the result is
almost magical. In half an hour the space was free from every stump and
root.

Allowing them a few minutes for rest, during which the men who had
shared in his delaying action delighted the rest with very tall stories
of their prowess, he set them to fell a number of trees with which to
construct a barricade across the entrance.  While they were thus
engaged, Mwesa came to him.

"Haroun say want speak, sah."

"Haroun is one of the overseers, isn't he? Well, bring him down."

Mwesa soon returned with one of the prisoners, whom Tom knew by sight--a
tall, lean Arab, with strongly marked features and piercing eyes.
Addressing Tom very humbly in broken German, he begged to be allowed to
take service with him. He had not been long in Reinecke's pay; indeed,
he had been reluctant to accept employment with the German; nay more, he
had actually been forced to do so, for he was headman of an Arab village
on the Great Lake, and his village would have been destroyed if he had
not obeyed the call of the German "big master."

Tom did not much like the look of the man, but, true to Mr. Barkworth's
counsel to "keep an open mind," he decided not to stand on mere
prejudice; and after learning from Mwesa that the Wahehe had nothing
against this latest comer among the overseers, he accepted the Arab's
offer, and instructed him to superintend the erection of the barricade.

Time would not allow of the construction of a regular stockade, with
poles properly cut and trimmed, and deeply planted in the ground.  It
seemed to Tom that the most effective barrier that could be quickly
raised would consist of small trees with their foliage, set as closely
together as might be, with their crowns pointing outwards, in the form
of a rough _chevaux de frise_. The men were set to work on those lines.
Some felled or uprooted young trees from the <DW72>s of the nullah,
others hauled them to the bottom, and a third gang arranged them side by
side across the entrance.  Meanwhile a party of boys was employed in
cutting brushwood and piling it here and there among the trees where the
foliage was thin.  A single gap was left on the east side as a gateway
for the scouts.

The work had only just been roughly accomplished when a scattered volley
from Mirambo's party apprised Tom that the enemy had at last appeared.
Immediately afterwards he saw his men running back from the line of
bushes, and they had no sooner gained the entrance to the nullah than a
regular volley flashed from the cover they had just left.

Tom posted his men along the inner side of the barricade, ordered them
to kneel, pass the muzzles of their rifles through the brushwood, and
fire at the legs of the enemy askaris when he gave the word.  Haroun the
Arab begged to be entrusted with a rifle: but Tom, remembering another
of Mr. Barkworth's maxims, "Prove all men," refused the request until he
should have tested his new recruit.  A turncoat has to win confidence.

The enemy, however, did not repeat their volley.  Apparently they were
daunted by the aspect of the barricade which had sprung up so
unexpectedly, and which, in the distance, looked formidable enough.
Their hesitation to storm it was reasonable, especially if they were in
no great strength; and Tom, though he could see nothing of them through
the screen of bushes, had come to the conclusion that the vast number
his scouts had reported was a figment of their lively imagination.  No
German, in command of any considerable body of disciplined men, would
have been so sluggish in following up a horde of untrained <DW64>s.

Near the barricade the sides of the nullah sloped up steeply, but were
easily scalable.  It occurred to Tom that the enemy might wait until
nightfall and then attempt to turn his position. That, however, would
involve obvious difficulties and dangers; the German could hardly afford
to divide his force, if it were indeed a small one. At any rate such an
operation could be defeated by unremitting vigilance, and meanwhile
there was all the rest of the day, supposing his conjecture were well
founded, in which to push on with his defensive works.  Posting, then,
some of the riflemen under cover of the vegetation on either <DW72>, Tom
set the other men to fill up the gaps in the barricade.  They worked
with the eagerness of those who have faith in their leader, and before
the sun set Tom had the satisfaction of seeing his wall complete--a
rough, slight defence, indeed--but likely to be effective against
nothing worse than rifle fire.

By the time darkness fell, he had begun to realise that the position of
a commander-in-chief is not one to be coveted.  In his own small sphere
he had had, as he frankly put it to himself, quite enough of it.  The
physical and nervous strain of the last few days; the sense of
responsibility for the welfare of the people who had so readily put
their trust in him; above all, perhaps, the want of sleep; had almost,
in his own words again, knocked him out.  Yet he dared not even sleep
while the enemy was at hand.  Without him the Wahehe would be simply an
unorganised mob. There was nothing for it but to reconcile himself to
another wakeful night, to ensure that his sentries were alert, and to
leave the organisation of the people, in their retreat up the nullah, to
a hoped-for leisure.

The night passed undisturbed, except for false alarms.  Unaccustomed to
night watching, the <DW64>s more than once declared that they heard
footsteps, and even saw faces.  One of them fired off his rifle in
nervous excitement at the dangers his imagination had conjured up.
Their fears proved to be baseless; and in the morning, when Tom warily
climbed the <DW72> to a point from which he could overlook the ground
beyond the bushes, there was no sign of the enemy.  A little suspicious,
he sent Mushota out to creep round the position, and, if the enemy had
indeed decamped, to follow them up and see what they were about.  In an
hour the lad returned, elation beaming from his broad smiling face.  He
reported that the askaris were marching swiftly back towards the
plantation; in fact, they were running away!  Tom did not contradict
him: the belief that the enemy had fled would encourage the people; he
himself thought it likely enough that they had been recalled for more
important work than rounding up a gang of mutinous recruits.  But
Reinecke had escaped, and Reinecke, he felt sure, would never rest until
he had made a bid for vengeance on the man who had committed the crime
that a rascal never forgives--found him out.

"Pity he's gone, after all," thought Tom.

Now that no immediate danger was to be feared, he allowed himself the
indulgence of a couple of hours' sleep, leaving Mirambo in charge.
Refreshed by this all too brief rest, he went up the nullah to see how
the greater part of his people were getting on.  Not at all to his
surprise, he found that nothing whatever had been done by way of
organisation.  The <DW64> at best has little initiative, and these
emancipated slaves, in unfamiliar surroundings, had taken no thought
except to feed themselves, which they had done uncommonly well.  Tom was
not prepared to follow his mother's prescription with a new housemaid:
give free run until they made themselves ill.  Economy might be vitally
necessary: he saw that his first task must be that of food controller.
He called up Reinecke's head servant, a fat <DW64> from one of the coast
tribes.

"I want you to listen to me, Moses," he said. "You see what has
happened.  I have brought the people away for two reasons: first, to
free them, then to prevent the men from fighting for the Germans.  You
are no longer Herr Reinecke's servant, but my prisoner--unless you like
to take service with me.  I tell you frankly I can't pay you, at
present; but the Germans are going to be beaten, you understand; don't
make any mistake about that; and when I get to Abercorn I will pay you
your full wages, and something extra if you serve me well.  Think it
over."

Now Moses, like all the other servants, had fallen under the spell of
Tom's personality.  To put it shortly, Reinecke frowned, Tom smiled.
Further, he had been greatly impressed by the stories told him by the
Arabs and by Mirami: the moral victory over the German sergeant and the
humbling of Reinecke were events that specially struck a <DW64>'s
imagination.  If all Englishmen were like this one, it was not at all
incredible to Moses that the Germans would be beaten indeed.  Why not
serve the Englishman, then--and get extra pay?  It seemed worth trying.

Moses thought it over while Tom was counting the rifles and cases of
ammunition.  His choice was made.

"Very well," said Tom, when the man came to him.  "Now I want you to
take stock of the provisions, and tell me how long they ought to last if
we are careful.  The people have been helping themselves freely, I see.
We can't have that."

Tom's use of the plural flattered the <DW64>'s self-importance.  He set
about his first task with alacrity, and reported presently that the food
would last six or eight weeks if the women were kept in order.  Tom
delighted him by arranging that each head of a family and each
independent man should come to Moses once a week for his supply of food.

"We'll see how it works," he thought.

He had made up his mind to release and dismiss the askaris; they would
only be so many useless mouths to feed.  But when he told them they were
to go they looked by no means pleased. They gazed blankly at him and at
one another, then withdrew in a knot and talked among themselves.
Presently one of them came back, and said that none of them wished to
go.  They hated the Germans: they would rather serve the Englishman.

Tom looked at them squarely.

"Don't make any mistake," he said.  "You will not have an easy time if
you stay with me. You will have to work hard."

The man asked if they were to fight.

"I can't tell you that.  You will not have rifles, at any rate, until
you have shown that you are faithful."

Would they have to drill?

Tom smiled.  He had watched recruits in barrack-yards in Germany, and he
made a shrewd guess that the African askari did not find the German
drill-sergeant a very gentle taskmaster.

"You may have to do my drill," he said.  "You don't know what that is?
Then you had better stay a few days and look on while I drill the
Wahehe.  If you don't like it, you shall be free to go."

The askari's artless question drew Tom's thoughts to a survey of his
position.  He had brought the people away.  For the present, apparently,
they were safe.  What course was he to lay down for them and for
himself?  He was handicapped by ignorance of what was happening on the
border forty miles away.  From a remark let fall by Reinecke during that
unforgettable dinner in the bungalow he surmised that the British in
Northern Rhodesia were likely to be on the defensive at the opening of
the campaign. The Germans, he knew, had a much larger military force on
the frontier, and from what Reinecke had said, they were energetically
raising new levies among the natives.  It would be unlike the British,
an extraordinary break-away from their traditions, if they were not
taken by surprise, not slow in waking up, not tenacious and successful
when fully aroused.

Tom's conclusion was that he must sit tight. He might try to open up
communications with the British, with a view either to a dash across the
frontier, or to joining them if they should advance into German
territory.  Meanwhile, though for some reason unknown the small force
that had followed him up had drawn off, he was virtually besieged.  His
first task, then, was to put his position into as thorough a state of
defence as was possible, and to establish such order among the little
community as would further his ultimate design.

"And I've got all my work cut out," he thought, somewhat drearily.  Then
he smiled as he remembered his brother.  "Wouldn't Bob grin!  By George,
though, if we're at war Bob will want to be in it!  Of course he will!
The business will go to pot.  What a rum world it is!"




CHAPTER XI--TOM'S NEW ALLIES


The more Tom thought over the probabilities of the case, the less likely
it appeared to him that the Germans, if engaged in serious operations on
the frontier, would spare a force for dealing immediately with mutineers
who might be rounded up at leisure.  At the same time the situation was
so uncertain that he could not afford to neglect the opportunity of
preparing for a possible attack.  It was equally important that he
should get timely notice of the enemy's approach, and that could be
secured only by starting an efficient system of scouting. As soon as he
had dealt with the askaris, therefore, he got Mirambo to choose a dozen
active and trustworthy young men, and arranged that they should go out
in parties of six on alternate days, to reconnoitre as much ground south
of the nullah as they could cover between dawn and dark.  He could not
yet entrust them with rifles uncontrolled: they had no other arms than
the agricultural implements; but while the first six were absent, the
second could fashion wooden spears which would suffice for protection
against wild animals.  There were no villages in the immediate
neighbourhood of the nullah, or between that and the plantation, so that
collisions with hostile tribes were scarcely to be feared.

Tom then passed to the consideration of the problem of the camp.
Accompanied by Mirambo and Mwesa he explored the whole length or the
nullah between the bend and the lake, a distance of perhaps half a mile.
The width varied a good deal; the sides were almost perpendicular; and
the stream, being the outflow from an upland lake, descended in a series
of cascades.  At present there was little volume of water; but in a
couple of months, with the opening of the rainy season, the level of the
lake would rise, and what was now a trickling rivulet might become a
raging torrent.  Tom hoped that by that time his occupation of the
nullah would be at an end.  Preparing for the worst, however, he came to
the conclusion that the ground on either side of the stream would be an
insecure camping-place, and decided to plant his temporary village
around the spot where he and Mwesa had found a refuge a few days before.
It was in the heart of a wood, where the nullah broadened out to more
than three times its average width, and was defended on the northern
side by the lake. The building of huts would take a considerable time,
because the wood must be cleared of beasts, and the able-bodied men must
be employed in completing the defences lower down the nullah; but
certain parts of the work could be done by the younger women and the
elder children.

While some of the people were engaged in preparing this _ex tempore_
village, Tom set others to strengthen the barricade across the nullah.
As he watched them, it occurred to him that the position would gain in
security if he used the stream to form a moat, and he at once started
two gangs digging at the extreme ends of the breastwork, a foot or two
in front of it.  At the close of the next day the moat was finished--a
ditch six feet broad by four deep, extending right across the nullah
except where the stream flowed in the centre.  A man might easily leap
over it, but his leap would land him amid the branches of the trees.  It
would be useful in checking a rush, especially if it were unnoticed
until the enemy were actually upon it; and when, on its farther side, a
number of low bushes and clumps of long grass had been planted, Tom
found by experiment that the water was not seen until he came within
half a dozen yards of it.

The defences of the <DW72>s right and left then engaged Tom's attention.
There were not enough trees on the spot to form effective barricades,
and the only means of checking the enemy if they scaled the low heights
was to dig trenches.  The labour would be long and toilsome, for the
ground must first be cleared of the brushwood; but in no other way could
the enemy be prevented from swarming down into the nullah.  At the end
of a week the western and eastern <DW72>s, for about thirty yards from
the end of the nullah, were each scored with a deep trench, fortified
with a parapet constructed of the earth that had been removed.

A second line of defence might be necessary, and for this there was no
better position than the bend of the nullah, nearly half a mile to the
north. The sides being here steep, almost perpendicular, it was
impossible to haul trees from the forest above for a breastwork like
that at the entrance; so Tom had the bed of the nullah cleared of cover
for a space of about two hundred yards, and a trench with a strong
parapet carried from side to side.

The work was still unfinished when one day the scouts, for the first
time, reported that they had sighted the enemy.  About ten miles away
they had seen a band of young natives marching towards Bismarckburg in
charge of a German officer and a small party of askaris.  It seemed
clear that these <DW64>s were recruits for the German forces, and Tom,
relying on the scouts' statement that the askaris were few in number,
decided to make an attempt to prevent the natives from being turned into
what Captain Goltermann had called "black Germans."

The party, when sighted, was marching very slowly, following a native
path that wound through dense bush, and crossed the track between the
plantation and the nullah.  Tom calculated that if he started at once he
would arrive at a position where he might ambush the enemy just before
they reached the road to Bismarckburg. With his untrained men he could
not risk a stand-up fight; but he hoped that the advantage of surprise,
if the patrol was really so small as the scouts declared, would enable
him to achieve his end without fighting.

Selecting twenty of the men who had been with him in his little action
in the forest, he led them out, with Mwesa, and followed rapidly on the
heels of the scouts.  In about an hour and a half they came to the spot
he had fixed on, and while he posted the men in the bush on both sides
of the track, he sent the scouts to worm their way eastward and watch
for the enemy.  The interval before they returned was long enough for
the men and himself to regain breath.  It was perhaps half an hour later
when they came quietly through the brushwood with news that the enemy
were in sight.

At the place where Tom had posted himself the track ran fairly straight
for more than a hundred yards, and he was able to take stock of the
party with which he had to deal while it was still distant. First came
two unarmed natives, evidently guides; then a German non-commissioned
officer; behind him two German privates, followed by a string of
<DW64>s.  The tail of the party was out of sight.

Seeing how few were the armed men at the head of the column, Tom
instantly resolved on a bold course.  His own men were concealed among
the bushes; they had their orders.  He stepped out on to the track,
accompanied only by Mwesa, just before the <DW64> guides reached him.
They halted in surprise, and looked round towards the German thirty
yards behind.

"Tell them to come on, Mwesa," said Tom.

The boy called to them, and they at once hastened on.  Tom spoke to them
in German, but they evidently did not understand him. Meanwhile the
German sergeant had quickened his step, and hearing German on the lips
of the stranger, he approached unsuspiciously, halted, clicked his heels
together, and waited, as a well-trained subordinate will, for his
superior to address him.

"Halt your men, Sergeant," said Tom.

The sergeant started.  Quicker-witted than the sergeant whom Tom had so
easily disposed of at the plantation, he detected a foreign accent in
the stranger's speech.  Tom gave him no time to consider.

"Your life depends on your keeping cool," he went on quickly.  "Don't
make a sound. Keep your arms still and face me.  The bush on both sides
is lined with troops who will fire at the slightest hostile movement.
Halt your men."

The sergeant hesitated for the fraction of a second, then called to the
privates a few yards away to pass word along the column.

"They are halted," he said; "but there is something I don't understand
here."  He looked incredulously around him.  "I don't know who you are,
but if you are bluffing----"

"Let me convince you."

Tom parted a clump of thick bush on one side of the track, disclosing a
<DW64> kneeling, with his rifle pointed straight at the German. In a bush
on the other side, nearly opposite, he showed another man.  Moving
half-a-dozen paces down the track he revealed yet another man, finger on
trigger, to the astonished sergeant.

"Your position is quite hopeless, you see," Tom went on.  "You had
better surrender quietly. Give me your revolver."

The German threw a glance over his shoulder at the privates, standing at
the head of the column of <DW64>s.

"At once!  Don't hesitate!" said Tom. "Your men will be shot down if
they attempt resistance.  Your revolver."

The man handed over the weapon sullenly.

"Now tell those men of yours to come forward one at a time and lay their
rifles down on the track in front of me.  Don't say another word."

The sergeant gave the order.  The men, with a look of mingled curiosity
and wonderment, advanced, laid down their rifles, and at Tom's command
walked a few yards along the track, then halted.

"Mwesa, go and tell those natives to come past me, slowly, and then turn
into the bush and wait.  Tell them nothing else....  You have men at the
rear?" he added to the sergeant.

"Yes."

"Who are they?"

"Askaris."

"How many?"

"Twenty."

"Then when they come up behind the <DW64>s you will give them the same
order as you gave your Germans.  Stand here by me."

The <DW64>s, all strong young men, defiled past Tom in silence, their
eyes wide with anxiety and dread.  He counted sixty.  In their rear came
the twenty askaris.  One by one they laid down their rifles and passed
on, looking with surprise at their officer's glowering face.

"That is all?" asked Tom.

"All."

"Then we will go.  Give me your whistle."

The sergeant unslung the whistle from his shoulder.  Tom blew a shrill
note, and his men started out of the bush and lined up on the track. The
German cursed when he saw that they were less in number than his own
men; Tom felt that he would have writhed had he known that none of them
was trained.  At the present moment he was lost in wonderment at the
fact of a young white man, in German territory but clearly not a German,
having at his command <DW64>s who were just as clearly not German
askaris, but possessed German rifles.

The order of the march home was quickly arranged.  Half Tom's men went
ahead, carrying the captured rifles.  They were followed by the
liberated natives, who, imagining that they had only exchanged one
servitude for another, trudged on in gloomy silence.  Tom's motive in
not dismissing them at once was to link them to the British cause by
means of the impression which he hoped they would gain from his
defensive measures at the nullah, and he knew that they would break away
the moment they realised that they were free.  Behind them marched the
askaris, then five more of his riflemen escorting the German privates.
He kept the sergeant by his side, and the rear was brought up by Mwesa
and the rest of his men.

The capture of a German prisoner gave Tom an opportunity of learning
something of the course of events on the frontier.  He considered how
best to open up the subject with the sergeant, and decided that perfect
frankness would probably serve him best.

"You are naturally surprised, Sergeant," he said, "at finding an
Englishman on your side of the border."

"An Englishman!" growled the sergeant.  "I thought you were a Belgian."

"Indeed!  Are you at war with Belgium too?"

"There is no Belgium.  It belongs now to the Kaiser."

"Dear me!  I understand that Paris has fallen: you have therefore France
and Britain against you; but Belgium--did she break her neutrality?

"I don't know anything about that; but I do know that Belgium and half
France are now in our hands; your Navy is defeated; and London will soon
be at our mercy."

"You make me tremble!  And what about Abercorn?"

The sergeant blinked.

"London is rather far away," Tom went on. "I am much more deeply
interested at present in places nearer at hand.  You were going to
attack Abercorn, I understood.  No doubt you took it as easily as your
troops took Paris."

The German's frown relieved Tom of his anxiety.  Smiling, he continued:

"Come now, Sergeant, you may as well tell the truth, you know.  You have
nothing to lose by it.  You found Abercorn a harder nut than you
expected, eh?"

"You seem to know a lot," said the German gloomily.  "Did you come
across from Rhodesia?"

"No: I came from Kigoma on the _Hedwig von Wissmann_."

"Ach!"

"What is the matter?"

"There are always misfortunes; we can't win everything."

"You don't mean to say----"

"I mean to say that the other Wissmann boat, the _Hermann von Wissmann_,
allowed itself to be surprised at Sphinxhaven on Nyassa."

"And was captured?  Really we must take that as a set-off against your
defeat of our Navy--in the North Sea, I suppose.  But to come back to
Abercorn."

"You know as well as I do that we were beaten off.  The English were
four to one: what else could be expected?"

"I see!  That explains why you have been ranging the country for
recruits.  But I understood that your forces in East Africa hopelessly
outnumbered the British."

"So they do, but not everywhere.  In the north we have cut the Uganda
Railway, captured Mombasa and Nairobi, and are sweeping the English into
the sea."

"Well, they'll be quite at home there!  It's our native element, you
know.  These successes must console you for your failure at Abercorn:
they'll lighten your captivity, Sergeant."

"That is true," said the German, blind to irony.  "And I shall not be
your prisoner long."

"I hope not, I'm sure."

"It was a trick.  You would never have beaten me in fair fight; and the
English, when they win at all, only win by trickery.  Everybody knows
that."

"Trickery, and superior numbers, as at Abercorn! Don't you think the
Kaiser had better throw up the sponge, then?  It would save trouble."

The sergeant was so much horrified by the suggestion that he launched
out into a violent denunciation of England and all things English, and
painted a dismal picture of the dismembered British Empire.  Tom let him
run on: he had heard something like it in Germany, and had taken it
then, as he took it now, as the raving of impotent envy.  He would
probably have listened to the German with less serenity had he known to
what lengths the pitiless logic of militarism had carried the Kaiser's
helots on the stricken fields of Europe.

They were welcomed at the nullah with shouts of joy by the people, who
had thronged behind the barricade and on the <DW72>s.  Astonishment sat
on the faces of the Germans when they were admitted by the single
gateway and marched up the nullah, past the trench, to the village
growing by the lake.

"You keep us here, with <DW65>s?" said the sergeant.

"Yes: until I have the pleasure of escorting you to Abercorn," replied
Tom.  "You are white men: I don't want to have to tie you up: but I
shall do so unless you give me your word not to attempt to escape."

To avoid the ignominy of being kept in bonds the Germans gave their
parole readily enough. Tom arranged with Moses for their rations, then
returned to the rescued <DW64>s whom he had left under guard lower down.
They, meanwhile, had been regaled with stories, freely embroidered, of
what the m'sungu had done, and when he appeared among them their
downcast expression had been replaced by looks of hope.  He learnt from
Mwesa that they had been collected from several villages to the
eastward, near Lake Rukwa, some fifteen miles away.  Mwesa brought to
him a young <DW64> whom he introduced as the son of M'setu, the chief of
the largest of these villages.

"Tell them they can all go home," said Tom. "This young man may take his
father a message from me.  The Germans will no doubt raid the villages
again for men.  It is not likely I shall be able to help them a second
time.  M'setu, then, had better march away with all his people into
British territory and remain there until the war is over."

The <DW64>s laughed, leapt, embraced one another when they heard that
they were free. Without delay they poured out through the gate and
flocked away towards the east.  Not even the chief's son stayed to thank
their rescuer. But the incident had a strange sequel two days
afterwards.  About midday one of the scouts came running back to report
that a large body of spearmen, led by a great chief, was marching
through the forest in the direction of the nullah. They were not on a
warlike expedition, for behind the chief three men led each a goat,
which could only be intended as peace-offerings.

"Go and see who they are, Mwesa," said Tom.  "They are not to come
across the clearing until I know what they want."

Presently Mwesa returned, smiling with even more enjoyment than usual.

"Him M'setu, sah," he said: "come for talk with sah."

"Very well.  Bring him along; he can come in with six of his men: the
rest remain outside."

Mwesa ran back into the forest, and soon reappeared at the side of a
powerful <DW64> of middle age.  A throng of <DW64>s about a hundred
strong followed him to the edge of the clearing.  There at his order
they squatted in a long line, and the chief himself, accompanied by his
son and five other men--three of whom led milk-white goats bleating
dolefully--marched at Mwesa's heels towards the gate, where Tom stood
waiting.

"Him M'setu, sah," said Mwesa, by way of introduction.

Tom at once stepped forward and grasped the chief by the hand, an act
which brought a smile of pleasure to the face of his six companions and
a shout from the men watching intently two hundred yards away.

M'setu began to speak.  After one sentence he paused, looking to Mwesa
to interpret.

"Him say sah him fader and mudder," said Mwesa.

Tom acknowledged the compliment with a smile.

The chief began again, inquiring after Tom's health, the health of his
father, mother, wife, children, cattle, and so on, until Tom felt rather
overwhelmed by his politeness.  By and by he came to business.

"Him say berry glad sah him good send back men all same.  Him say bring
goats for sah him pot, berry nice goats.  Him say come alonga sah: what
for? sah kill all dem Wadaki, so M'setu him came alonga sah kill Wadaki
all same."

"You mean that I am to kill all the Germans, and he will come and help?"

"Dat just what M'setu say," said Mwesa, delighted that his master had
understood him so well.

"Well, you must tell him that that's not my job.  I couldn't rid the
country of Germans if I tried, but the British will come across the
border by and by and eat them all up.  Tell him that."

M'setu's response was very long-winded.  The gist of it was that he
expected another recruiting visit from the Germans.  He had heard that
they had been thrown back across the border by the British, and was
therefore not inclined to go to the trouble of removing all his people
from their villages, but would rather stay and defend himself, with the
assistance of the m'sungu, who had already rescued his young men.

Tom was a good deal perplexed how to deal with this ingenuous offer of
an alliance.  M'setu's warriors, armed only with spears, would be wiped
out by a single machine-gun, and Tom could do nothing to help them:
outside his nullah he would be as much at the Germans' mercy as they. On
the other hand, the chief's men, familiar with a wider stretch of
country than the Wahehe from the plantation, could do inestimable
service as scouts, and might give him early warning of movements of
which otherwise he would be unaware.  Through Mwesa he explained as
clearly as he could the difficulties of the situation, and in the upshot
made an arrangement with M'setu by which the chief guaranteed to provide
a company of skilled scouts, and Tom in his turn promised to lend
assistance to M'setu if he was threatened, and in the last resort to
give his people shelter in the nullah.

M'setu departed, well satisfied with the result of his interview.

"What time sah eat goats?" asked Mwesa.

"Eat them!  I'm not going to eat them," said Tom.  "Take them up to
Moses and tell him to look after them.  We'll have some milk by and by."




CHAPTER XII--THE DESERTER


"Come now, Reinecke, you have been away two months or so.  What is the
truth of things?  We are fed here with what I am convinced are false, or
at any rate too rosy, reports. Coming from the centre you ought to be
well informed, and I want to know exactly how matters stand."

Major von Rudenheim bent forward and fixed his hard blue eyes on
Reinecke.  They were sitting in the major's quarters.  Reinecke had just
returned from a mission which had carried him right across the country,
and after delivering dispatches at headquarters had lost no time in
visiting his friend the major.

"What is the truth?" said Reinecke, flicking the ash from his cigar
irritably.  "Who knows? They said that Paris would fall before the
British Army got across the Channel; now it is said that Paris has not
fallen, though the British Army has been annihilated."

"And the Fleet?"

"The British are skulking in their harbours and won't fight.  We have
bombarded most of their commercial ports out of existence, but they had
been laying in such enormous stocks of food in anticipation of the war
that it will take a year or so to starve them out.  So it's said."

"But surely if the ships won't fight we command the sea and can bring
them to terms.  It ought to be over by Christmas."

"Yes, the Kaiser is to eat his Christmas dinner in London.  But the fact
is, Major, we're living on rumours.  The British smashed up our wireless
installation at Dar-es-Salam, and we haven't had any really authentic
news from Germany since a fortnight after war broke out.  As for this
country, we are not doing so well as we ought to have done.  We've taken
some places inside their frontier, but they've put up a surprisingly
good defence, and at present it's stalemate.  Apparently they are
bringing troops from India----"

"In spite of our Fleet?"

"Yes, in spite of our Fleet.  Tirpitz deserves to be cashiered."

"But, my good friend, if they can get reinforcements and we can't, where
are we?  And then, I thought the English had to send troops to India to
put down the rebellion there.  Isn't that true?"

"I don't know what's true.  I'm sick of the whole thing.  Here's my
plantation going to rack and ruin: that wretched young cub of an
Englishman having the audacity to run off with my workers; and when I
ought to be bringing him to book I'm packed off to Tabora.  Heaven knows
what has happened in my absence."

"I know a little, too.  Your young cub is a pretty lively one, and has
pretty good claws. A few days after we were beaten back at Abercorn----"

"That's true, then.  I didn't believe it."

"What could be expected when all our best troops are in the north?  We
were outnumbered."

If Major von Rudenheim believed what he said, he must have been
singularly ill-informed. On September 5, when the Germans attacked the
little town of Abercorn, its defenders were forty members of the native
police, its commandant the postmaster.  There happened to be a
machine-gun at hand, and this was so well manipulated by the postmaster,
Mr. Bisset (who might have been expected to be more at home with the
telegraph instrument) that the tiny garrison was able to hold off the
enemy, four times its strength, until reinforcements of Rhodesian
planters arrived. Mr. Bisset's name deserves to be recorded on the
illustrious roll of civilians turned soldiers who have at critical
moments helped to make and to save the British Empire.

"As I was saying," the major went on, "a few days after our unlucky
reverse at Abercorn, your young cub pounced upon one of our recruiting
patrols and carried every man of them to his lair somewhere in the
forest."

Reinecke swore a good old German oath.

"It's not true," he declared.

"You forget yourself, Captain," said Rudenheim, severely.  "I am not a
Berlin newspaper, or even the Wolff bureau."

"I apologise, Major, but really--a German patrol, with German soldiers?"

"A sergeant, two privates, and I don't know how many askaris.  They all
vanished."

"Then it can't be known that this English pighead captured them: how
could it?"

"My dear captain, a recruiting patrol recruits. These unfortunate
Germans were returning with their bag--how large I don't know: your cub
released them all.  When the patrol was some days overdue, a party was
sent out in search. They found the villages towards Lake Rukwa
absolutely empty of able-bodied men, which seems to show that this
British lion-cub has set up a pretty efficient system of scouting, or
the <DW65>s could hardly have had warning.  But by adopting the usual
methods they wrung the story out of one of the old men, burnt down a few
houses, and returned with the news."

"And you hunted the wretch?"

"We had something better to do.  The English, reinforced by Belgians,
have kept things rather lively on the frontier, and we have had no men
to spare for cub-hunting."

"But--but--it is preposterous; it is an insult to the German flag; to
allow a nest of mutineers to exist--yes, and to make raids--within a
couple of marches of a German town.  The young fool is alone----"

"With all your plantation hands, I understand."

"Raw <DW65>s----"

"But armed with Mausers we can ill spare."

"They don't know butt from muzzle."

"Possibly your cub is not such a cub after all. The English schoolboy
nowadays has a cadet's training, I believe.  Perhaps this youngster
might drive a little military gumption even into the <DW65>'s wooden
head."

"Really, Major," cried Reinecke impatiently, "you speak as though--as
though you think the English good for something, whereas we all know
they can't possibly be.  They've no efficiency; they're slack; they----"

"Yes, we've been told so," the major interposed drily.  "It's just
possible that we're mistaken--believe what we want to believe.  And I've
seen this boy, remember."

Reinecke got up and stalked about the room.

"It is absurd; it is scandalous," he cried.  "A young whippersnapper
kidnaps our men, defies us, lowers the prestige of the German name,
makes us a laughing-stock----"

"Stay, stay, Captain.  You are a little intemperate.  A friendly word of
warning: don't talk like that outside this room.  It's unwise, unsafe,
if you value your commission.  I go so far as to say you are
unreasonable.  You allow personal feeling to warp your judgment.  Your
dislike of this young Englishman, however natural in the
circumstances--" Reinecke flashed a keen look at the speaker--"must not
blind you to the facts of the situation.  As I have explained, we have
been hard pressed on the frontier.  The Englishman, it appears, has an
extraordinarily strong position----"

"Where is he?"

"They talk of a nullah----"

"I know it.  It was in my company he learnt of it."

"That must be very annoying."

"Not at all, it is good news.  Strong?  Why, it is a cul-de-sac.  At the
north it is blocked by a lake.  The cub has trapped himself."

"You are a little impatient, Captain.  I was about to tell you that a
half company of askaris went in pursuit of him the same night he left
your plantation--while you were making your way here.  You left next
morning, you remember, or you would have known that our men were checked
in the forest----"

"Checked?  By a horde of untrained <DW65>s?"

"Commanded by your cub of an Englishman. They were checked; only
temporarily, of course; the lieutenant did not know what force he had
against him, and acted with prudence as a good soldier should.  But when
he pushed on to the nullah, he found that fortification had already been
begun.  The entrance of the nullah was defended by a formidable
breastwork, and to capture the place would have taken a longer time than
he had to dispose of: he was under orders for Abercorn."

"But surely----"

"Let me finish, Captain.  There was a breastwork, as I say; and I am
very much mistaken if between then and now the boy has not added to his
defences.  It is a mistake to despise one's enemy, Reinecke, even an
Englishman.  Lieutenant Obermann's opinion--and he is a good man, you
know--is that the nullah, properly defended, could not be reduced by
less than a couple of companies of good troops--unless it could be
surprised; and since the fellow draws scouts from all the <DW65>s in the
neighbourhood there's little chance of that.  Two companies could not be
detached from our frontier posts without a risk which the colonel was
unwilling to run.  He is not blind to all the considerations you put so
forcibly just now; but his decision was, to wait until the general
situation eased, then to take measures to stamp out your Englishman and
his mutineers as one would destroy a nest of vipers."

"Yes, hang the lot."

"The Englishman?"

"Why not?  He is a spy.  The spy's fate is to be hanged."

"Quite so.  And I am sure we can depend on you, Captain, to supply a
good rope--even for your partner."

Reinecke turned angrily towards the major, whose attitude throughout the
interview had been very unsatisfactory, and in whose tone he had caught
a hint of contempt.  But the explosion that seemed imminent was
prevented by a knock at the door and the entrance of the major's
servant.

The man saluted formally, and announced that an Arab was enquiring for
Captain Reinecke.

"Send him in," said the major: "unless you would prefer to see him at
your own quarters, Captain."

"No.  Why should I meet an Arab secretly?" said Reinecke with
irritation.  "Let him come in."

There entered a lean, haggard Arab, in worn and tattered dress, with one
arm in a sling.  He bowed to the officers.

"Haroun!" cried Reinecke.  "I hardly knew you ... It is one of my
overseers, Major ... Where have you been?"

The man, in his broken German, poured out a long story, which keenly
interested the officers in different ways.  He said that, after having
been removed from the plantation, he had been forced to take service
with the Englishman, and been cruelly treated by him.  Lifting his
tunic, he turned his back, and displayed a few weals. He escaped, and
was fired at and wounded in the arm.  After several terrible days in the
forest, he had managed to crawl into Bismarckburg, and what with hunger
and pain was now at the point of death.

"Flogging a German subject!" cried Reinecke. "Another nail in the
Englishman's coffin."

"A knot in the noose, let us say.  Your Arab had better have something
to eat: he may then tell us a good deal that we want to know.  His arm
can be attended to afterwards.  He is not so near death as he thinks."

The man was given into the charge of the major's servant, to be fed.

"Your Englishman, I suppose, dealt with the Arab as he had seen him deal
with your <DW65>s," remarked the major.

"He saw nothing of the kind," replied Reinecke with an air of malicious
triumph.  "While he was at the plantation I forbade the use of the whip.
You see, Major?--the English boasted humanity is sheer cant and
hypocrisy: what we do openly they do on the sly."

"Hardly that, Reinecke.  You forget there are German prisoners in the
nullah.  They probably saw the flogging."

"And shared it, I daresay.  The English are capable of any atrocity.
But we shall find the man useful, Major.  Nothing could be better. And
the nullah is so near that though the rains have started we might crush
the vipers soon: there'll be a pause in the operations on the frontier."

The Arab returned, refreshed and clean. Reinecke questioned him eagerly,
and drew from him many details of what had happened since the flight
from the plantation.  The German prisoners, he said, had been placed on
the island, where a hut had been built for them.  Food was conveyed to
them on a raft.  As the man described the defensive works at the nullah,
Reinecke drew a rough diagram in his pocketbook, and marked the
positions of the trenches and the camp.

"The youngster has a good headpiece," said the major, looking with
interest at the diagram. "His name?  Willoughby?  I'm afraid we can't
claim German ancestry for him."

"A machine-gun will smash him," said Reinecke.

"A machine-gun would not be very effective against defences like these,
and it would be a terrible business to get up anything heavier across
such country, at any rate while the rains are on. He seems to have made
good use of his time during the last two months in training his <DW65>s,
and unfortunately has won over our trained askaris.  A frontal attack
would be very costly, my friend."

"I can show another way into the nullah, Herr Major," said the Arab.

"Why didn't you say so before?" cried Reinecke.  "Where is it?"

"The Herr Hauptmann will take me back into his service?"

"Dog, would you bargain with me?  By your own confession you deserted to
the enemy."

"I was compelled."

"You deserted all the same.  Deserters are shot.  Your only chance of
escaping the penalty is to assist us--to show us the way into the
nullah.  You'll do that, and if you fail you'll be shot."

The Arab protested that he was sure of his ground, and would faithfully
lead the troops to an entrance into the nullah which was at present
wholly unsuspected by the Englishman.  He described its position, and
Reinecke's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he turned to Rudenheim and
said--

"We have him, Major!  We'll capture the place at little cost, and
then----  Haroun, go and show the doctor your arm, and come to my
quarters to-morrow."

"A moment," said the major.  "You were flogged: what for?"

The Arab appeared to be for a moment disconcerted by the German's swift
question.  Then he answered:

"Because I would not work as hard as the Englishman wished, Herr Major."

"So!  You may go ... The man is a liar, Reinecke.  You will find that
there's nothing much wrong with his arm, if anything at all. All the
same, that northern entrance is genuine enough, I think; and we must
certainly catch your cub.  But I don't think we'll hang him; he's the
kind of man I like to make a prisoner of war."




CHAPTER XIII--HUNTED


Major von Rudenheim's surmise that "the cub" had been busy was correct:
Tom had never before been so fully occupied, and, as he afterwards
confessed, he had never been happier in his life.

The northern end of the nullah had now the appearance of a prosperous
native village.  Tom had felt certain misgivings on the score of
cleanliness and health; but he found that the Wahehe, like all tribes
that inhabit inland and mountainous districts, away from the corrupting
influences of the coast, were tidy and orderly, and under the authority
of their old chief, Mirambo, the people settled down to a comfortable
existence.  The one drawback was the limited range of movement; but even
in this respect the people were little worse off than they had been on
the plantation, and their rooted belief that before long the Germans
would be utterly driven from the country gave them bright hopes for the
future.  Moreover, the women and children in a native village rarely
stray far from their homes, and as for the men, they had movement
enough.

To begin with, Tom organised a regular body of scouts, incorporating
some of his own men with those furnished by his new ally, M'setu. Always
keeping in mind his alternative ultimate designs, either to trek into
British territory or to hold his ground until the British overran the
border, he determined, when the scouts became proficient, to patrol the
whole country between the nullah and the Neu Langenburg road.  The
defeat of the Germans at Abercorn was very heartening: clearly they were
not to have the easy conquest that Reinecke had apparently expected.  At
the same time, it was only too likely that their preparations were much
more advanced than the British, and he could not hope that the Germans
would yield the largest and most precious of their colonial possessions
without a bitter struggle.  It was also certain that the enemy would at
some time or other make a serious effort to crush this mutiny; and
while, in such a vast and well wooded country, he could not have
commanded every possible avenue of approach even with ten times as many
men as were available for scouting, he would at least make reasonably
sure that any movement of the enemy on the main tracks should be
reported to him.

At first he sent out one of the Wahehe with each of M'setu's men, and
practised them in watching the movements of small parties of M'setu's
people within a few miles of the nullah. Presently, in order to increase
the number of his fighting-men, he accustomed M'setu's men to scout
alone.  By degrees he extended their field of operations until at length
he had established a definite chain, or rather network, of
scouting-posts commanding the principal tracks from Bismarckburg, and
especially the main frontier road to Neu Langenburg.  Within a month no
enemy force or convoy could move along the frontier without Tom's
hearing of it.

The reports were at first brought to him by runners, and reached him
many hours late. Could he not devise some means of saving time and
exertion alike?  He remembered having read, in a book of travels, how
the natives of the mountainous interior of New Guinea were accustomed to
shout news from height to height. The hills to the south of his own
position would lend themselves admirably to a similar system, and after
a few rather heart-breaking experiments he succeeded in teaching the
<DW64>s to adopt this plan.  Each prominent hill was given a name; the
man stationed at any particular post had to shout the name to the next,
and within a very few minutes Tom at the nullah learnt that a message
had been dispatched by a scout perhaps forty miles away.

Meanwhile he practised the fighting-men in aiming and sighting and fire
discipline, giving his commands by means of the whistle borrowed from
the German sergeant.  These exercises were performed, not only in the
nullah, but on the ground cleared in front of the barricade and also in
the forest.  His stock of ammunition would not allow of much target
practice, and he ruefully owned that the greater part of the men could
not be expected to become good marksmen.  It was more profitable to
spend time in giving them cohesion in simple field movements.  He
divided them into sections of sixteen, and got up sham fights in the
forest: one party advancing, the other retiring.  At first the men whose
part it was to retire refused to do so, and even came to blows with the
attackers: why should they withdraw before men no better than
themselves? But after a time they entered into the spirit of the game,
and showed considerable aptitude.

Tom found the askaris useful in the course of his various exercises.  At
first, when he practised his men in the nullah, the askaris looked on
with disdain, and roared with laughter at the mistakes made by the
<DW64>s.  But by degrees they grew interested; they commented among
themselves on the contrast between the Englishman's patience and good
temper and the rough treatment they had suffered at the hands of their
German drill sergeants.  Tom, though he affected to disregard them, was
all the time keenly watching, and there came a moment when he suddenly
turned to them and asked for two volunteers to show the Wahehe the
correct way of kneeling to take aim.  As he had expected, they were
flattered; every man wished to serve as a model.  For some days he did
not apply to them again, and noticed a certain restlessness and
disappointment among them.  At length he allowed them to act regularly
as guides and markers, but did not admit them definitively to the ranks
of his fighting-men until they came to him in a body and begged to be
taken fully into his service.  They were Sudanese, like the majority of
the German native troops.  Many of their people were fighting in the
British ranks: they preferred his drill to the German; and they were
ready to vow fidelity to him.

"What about pay?" asked Tom.  "I have no money."

They replied that in the nullah they had no use for pay, but no doubt he
would pay them when he had the money--an English promise was good. Tom
was rather doubtful of the wisdom of trusting men who so suddenly
changed their allegiance, and he suspected that at the slightest
set-back they would desert him.  On the other hand, these trained men
might serve as good stiffening for his untried troops, and ultimately he
decided to incorporate them with the garrison of the nullah, but not to
allow them to leave it until he had some clear proof of their loyalty.

As time went on, he became somewhat worried about two matters--the
approach of the rainy season, and the food supply.  The foliage of all
the trees had turned red, a sure sign, according to Mwesa, that the
rains were at hand.  The lake would fill, the stream would become much
swollen: would he be flooded out?  What would be the effect of the damp
upon his health and the health of the people?  Hitherto there had been
no sickness except minor ailments, which he had treated with such drugs
from Reinecke's stores as he knew the use of.  Ague and malaria were
only names to him, but they stood for something terrible--the more
terrible because unknown.  He had a good stock of quinine, the great
stand-by, he understood, in tropical climates; he would watch for the
first sign of fever, and then dose freely.  Fortunately one of the Arab
overseers had been accustomed to doctor the workers on the plantation,
and this man was gratified by being appointed health officer to the
community.

The food question was an even greater difficulty, for while all might
not be sick, all must be fed.  The provisions brought from the
plantation were running low: and though these had been supplemented by
small animals trapped in the forest and by occasional gifts from M'setu,
these sources were too precarious to be relied on.  In order to ease the
situation, Tom at last made a habit of going into the forest for a day's
hunting once a week, leaving Mirambo in charge of the nullah.  M'setu's
people were excellent beaters and knew the likeliest places for game;
the Wahehe were born hunters; but he could not afford to let them use
his ammunition indiscriminately, and when they accompanied him they were
armed only with spears.  Everything depended on his own gun.  In the
course of these shooting expeditions he brought down several head of
eland, hartebeest, and rhinoceros, the last being a special favourite
with the people. The game was cut up and carried home by his own men and
by M'setu's people, who were sufficiently paid for their services by the
present of certain portions of each day's bag.

It was after one of these expeditions that Tom had had to take
disciplinary measures with Haroun. The rationing system, after a little
trouble, had worked well.  Moses had proved himself to be thoroughly
honest, and every one had his fair share.  After a time Moses began to
suspect that some one was pilfering.  Small quantities of food
mysteriously disappeared.  A watch was kept; Tom called the people
together and warned them that any one who acted against the common
welfare must be punished; but the thief was not detected until, made
bold by success, he forgot caution, and was caught red-handed by Moses.
On returning from a day's shooting Tom learnt that the culprit was the
Arab who had volunteered his services on the first day at the nullah.
In such a man the crime could not be taken lightly, and Tom ordered the
man half a dozen strokes of the whip.

A few days afterwards Haroun disappeared. The sentries on guard day and
night at the barricade declared that the Arab had not passed them.  The
nullah was searched; no trace of him could be found.  Some of the people
reported that, after the whipping, he had sulkily held himself aloof,
and used to wander alone by the shore of the lake.  At length it was
generally believed that he had fallen victim to a crocodile, and his
fate was a fruitful topic of conversation among the Wahehe.

One day, accompanied by Mwesa and some two-score beaters and carriers,
Tom set off to shoot.  The rains had just begun, and Mirambo had told
him that with the filling and overflowing of the streams animals would
certainly be found on the swamps thus created.  He had usually gone
either north or east, as being least likely to encounter enemies in
those directions.  On this occasion, however, he struck to the west, in
order to reach low-lying ground where, according to M'setu's huntsmen,
at this season of the year game was plentiful.

A couple of hours' march through the forest brought him to an extensive
hollow, covered only with scrub and tall grass, and already showing
signs of becoming the impassable swamp which would result from a few
weeks' rain.  The beaters, marching quietly ahead, soon made signs that
they had sighted game, and presently, through the grass, Tom saw the
long dark form of a rhinoceros placidly browsing.  Stealing round to
leeward, he gradually approached the animal until he was within easy
range, fired, and had the satisfaction of seeing his quarry fall at the
first shot.

The report of his rifle had startled another beast that was wallowing in
a pool near by.  It rose, sniffed around, then made off with lumbering
but rapid gait across the hollow towards a belt of woodland on higher
ground.  Tom hurried in pursuit with his beaters, leaving Mwesa to guard
the animal he had already shot.

The chase was a long one.  The rhinoceros, before it recovered from its
alarm, plunged through a long stretch of forest and scrub, and was found
at last resting in a narrow glade bordered on the further side by tall
bushes. Again Tom brought down the beast, this time at his second shot.
The natives, with cries of delight, were rushing forward to skin and
dismember it for transport when, without warning, there came from the
bushes beyond the sharp crack of several rifles, bullets sang through
the air, and two of the beaters fell.  The rest bolted into the bush on
either side, and Tom, a little less precipitately, was about to follow
them when he saw a number of German askaris emerge from cover opposite,
with Reinecke at their head.

Reinecke's eyes were already gleaming with triumph.  He shouted a word
or two which Tom could not catch, and then fired his revolver.  In face
of odds, Tom had already started to make good his escape: but when he
heard the German's bullet whistle past him, he snatched out his
revolver, wheeled round, and fired.  Reinecke flung up his arm, stopped
short, and yelled to the askaris at his heels.  Tom sprinted across the
few yards of open ground, dashed into the bush, and ran, at first
blindly, for he heard the askaris close behind: one or two of them were
shooting at random in the hope of hitting him as he ran.

He was fleet of foot, and guessed that he could easily outstrip the
askaris, laden with their service packs.  The danger was that he might
lose his way in the forest.  All his men had disappeared; they would
probably find their way back to the nullah without difficulty.  It was
important, however, that he should not be long behind them, for if they
should report that he was captured or killed, the people might be seized
with panic, and all his work be overthrown.  He had left the glade at a
different point from that at which he had entered it, and so could not
follow the track made by his men.  But fortune favoured him. He had not
pushed his way far among the trees when he struck a game track, along
which, if the askaris also did not discover it, he could make still
swifter progress than they, hindered by the bush.

Some few minutes later, the track brought him to a small stream: it had
no doubt been trodden by animals in quest of water.  He jumped into the
stream, ran a short distance in the same direction as the current, then
made a long jump into a clump of low shrubs on the right bank. Replacing
as well as he could the disarranged vegetation, so as to give no clue to
his pursuers, he plunged once more into the bush, in the hope of coming
by and by upon a cross track that would lead towards the nullah.




CHAPTER XIV--THE TRAIL


Never before had Tom been alone in the bush.  On the few occasions when
he had gone shooting alone, during his sojourn in Reinecke's bungalow,
he had always followed well-defined tracks.  Since then, Mwesa or
Mirambo or some other native had been with him.  But now he had no
guide, and he was seized with a feeling of helplessness.  Rain had begun
to fall, and the obscure sky could not be read for the points of the
compass.  Brushwood grew to his knees; thorn bushes threw out tentacles
that caught at his clothes and tore his flesh.  Dodging obstructions, he
sometimes found that he had only worsened his plight, and was forced to
tear a way for himself at the cost of bleeding hands.  Rarely he came to
open spaces; then he quickened his pace, though his wet boots dragged
heavily upon his feet.  Once, in crossing a grassy glade, he sank over
his ankles in morass, and swerved hastily into the bush again, to avoid
being engulfed.

Presently, stopping to rest, he thought he heard voices, and hoped that
they came from his own men.  He dared not call, nor even move towards
them, until he was sure whether they were friends or foes.  The voices
came nearer. At all costs he must learn who the speakers were, and he
sprang up into a leafy tree from which he might get a view of the
country around. Spying out cautiously through the foliage, he saw a band
of men pushing their way up a bush-covered <DW72> not a hundred yards
from his perch.  Through the heavy rain he could not at first
distinguish them; but as they approached he recognised the deserter,
Haroun, leading a couple of askaris.  Behind them, out of the bush,
emerged Reinecke with his arm in a sling, a younger officer by his side,
and a line of askaris following in single file.  He shrank back into the
tree, dreading lest they should pass immediately beneath him and some
sharp-eyed man discover him.  But they topped the <DW72> some distance
away and passed out of sight.

"I have come in the right direction," he thought.  "They must be bound
for the nullah."

Waiting a little, to make sure that no more of the enemy were coming, he
slipped down from the tree, and with infinite caution followed in their
track.  If this led indeed towards the nullah, he would presently be on
ground that he knew, and might circumvent them and arrive first.  He
felt somewhat perplexed.  The Arab Haroun had certainly betrayed him:
why, then, had Reinecke set out with no more than thirty or forty men?
Had Haroun so little respect for the defences of the nullah as to
imagine that they could be stormed by so small a force?  Had Reinecke so
much contempt for his ability to train the <DW64>s as to believe that
forty askaris were more than a match for three times their number as
well armed as themselves?  He set his lips grimly: if such were their
ideas, he would promise them a rough disillusionment.

For some time he followed them up, always with the greatest caution.  At
length the sound of voices ahead told him that they had halted. He
stopped at once.  The rain had almost ceased. In a few seconds he heard
a rustling and the squelching of boots not far in front of him, and he
dived into the bush at the side of the track and watched.  Two askaris
tramped past him, in the direction from which they had come. They walked
unconcernedly: no suspicion of his presence had brought them back.
What, then, was their errand?

Reinecke's party was still halted.  Tom heard now and then the lower
tones of the Germans mingling with the high-pitched voices of the
askaris.  What were they waiting for?  After perhaps twenty minutes
voices came from the other direction.  The two askaris reappeared,
followed by a string of native porters, some carrying what appeared to
be the material of a tent; others, boxes and bales of provisions;
others, lumps of freshly killed meat.  The explanation of the delay
flashed upon Tom.  The game he had killed had been cut up; the two
askaris had been sent back to hasten the march of the porters.  "I might
have been nabbed," Tom thought.

When the porters joined the waiting askaris, a German voice gave the
order to march.  After a short interval Tom emerged from his place of
concealment and followed.  On reaching the spot on which they had
halted, he found that it was skirted by a track evidently made not long
before--almost certainly the path by which his men had come from the
nullah that morning. To his surprise, Reinecke and his party, instead of
pursuing this track, as they might have been expected to do if their
destination was the nullah, had swerved northward and marched through
the pathless scrub.

Tom was standing at the angle between the two tracks, hesitating whether
to follow the enemy or to take the shortest cut home, when a rustle
among the bush behind him caused him to face round quickly, revolver in
hand.  His eyes fell not on an enemy, but on the ever-smiling
countenance of Mwesa.

"Savvy me find sah all right," said the boy, quietly.

"You saw Reinecke?" asked Tom.

Mwesa nodded.

"Haroun too, sah.  Him no eat up: how him get away?"

"The sentries must have been napping, I suppose.  But how did you come
to find me here?"

"Me hear shoot," he said.  "Me run find sah: rhino no matter.  Sah gone:
ebery one gone--all 'cept fellas what cut up nudder rhino. Ah!  Mwesa
savvy all same.  Me run back dis way: savvy sah come dis way bimeby."

Tom reflected that the boy's optimism had been justified by a lucky
accident.

"Where are the men?" he asked.

"No savvy, sah.  'Spect dey all run home quick."

"I hope so.  Now, these Germans--I thought they were going to our
nullah, but it seems that they are not.  What is their game?  Any
suggestion, Mwesa?"

Mwesa did not understand the word, but he tried to look as if he did.
Tom, however, did not expect from him any explanation of Reinecke's
movements: he was trying to puzzle out one for himself.  The sides of
the nullah were too precipitous to afford an entrance: and though the
enemy might do a little damage by firing from the top down into the
camp, that could easily be defeated by moving the people to well-covered
places where shots could not reach them.  As a means of capturing the
position such a course was absurd.  Yet Reinecke could hardly intend a
mere reconnoitring expedition: his men were equipped as for fighting,
and it appeared from the amount of baggage carried by the porters that
he expected to camp for at least one night.

Unable to guess at the German's design, Tom came to the conclusion that,
even at the cost of a certain uneasiness among his people, he had better
follow up the enemy, and see for himself the direction of their march:
that might throw some light on their object.  With Mwesa he set off in
their tracks, keeping a good look-out ahead for laggards, and stopping
frequently to listen.

It was just after one o'clock.  Tom was both tired and hungry.  His
clothes were sodden, and the atmosphere was like that of a Turkish bath.
The track wound in and out through the scrub, and presently among forest
trees; and it had evidently been traversed before, for no one absolutely
strange to the country could have found so well the easiest passage
through the scrub.

After walking for nearly two hours, at so slow a pace that no more than
four miles could have been covered, Tom found that the track led through
the middle of a wooded ravine, which trended, as nearly as he could
judge, to the north-east.  The ground sloped gradually upwards, and in
the distance Tom detected the march of the enemy by the swaying of the
bushes and tall grass through which they passed.

He advanced with still greater caution, and well it was that he did so,
for in a few minutes the path emerged into a narrow rocky defile, only
sparsely covered with vegetation, and here two askaris were posted as
sentries.  A little beyond them the porters had laid down their loads.
Looking out from behind a screen of bushes, Tom saw the askaris and
their German officers marching ahead.

Avoiding the sentries by plunging into the bush that skirted the defile,
Tom and the <DW64> lad hurried on after the enemy.  Well screened by the
foliage, they could afford to quicken their pace until they overtook
them, and thenceforward kept pace with them.  After about ten minutes
they discovered that the party had again halted. The men were sitting on
boulders and slabs of rock: the German lieutenant sat a little apart.
Reinecke and the Arab had disappeared.

Then Tom noticed that the defile seemed to end in the air, as if it had
arrived at the brink of a cliff.  Creeping cautiously through the bush
above the narrow path, they came to the top of the rise and looked over.
It was not a cliff, as Tom had supposed; but a somewhat steep and rocky
<DW72>, dotted here and there with patches of coarse scrub.  Down this
<DW72> two figures were moving: Haroun the Arab led, Reinecke was only a
few paces behind him.

When they came to the foot of the <DW72> they halted, and talked somewhat
excitedly together. Haroun pointed forward and downward; Reinecke
stooped, looked over the edge of the <DW72>, shook his head and
apparently flew into a rage.  Thereupon the Arab went alone over the
brink, descended slowly, and passed out of the watchers' sight. Reinecke
sat down in a fissure, in the attitude of waiting.

Tom had observed these movements at first with nothing more than a
certain impersonal curiosity; but a suspicion of their meaning began to
dawn when Haroun disappeared.  The air was misty; from the spot where he
crouched nothing was visible beyond the margin of the <DW72> except the
grey sky.  But Reinecke, where he sat, evidently saw something more.
Every now and again he bent over, following the progress of the Arab,
and also, as it appeared, taking much interest in the scene below.

"We are above the nullah," thought Tom. "That fellow Haroun must have
discovered a way out and in.  Our position is to be turned. My word!"

Some twenty minutes passed.  Haroun's head reappeared at the edge of the
<DW72>.  He spoke to Reinecke volubly, using his hands in free gestures,
as though demonstrating a point.  The German appeared to be convinced.
He got up, stepped over the edge with the aid of the Arab's hand, and
followed the man slowly out of sight.




CHAPTER XV--THE BACK DOOR


"Run back and see if the askaris are still there," said Tom to Mwesa.

The lad darted away through the bush that clothed the top of the bank of
the defile. Returning in a few minutes, he reported that the enemy had
not stirred from their position.

"Then we will go on.  Keep close to me."

They made their way carefully down the <DW72>. At the bottom they peeped
over.  A narrow cleft zigzagged down the face of a steep cliff, for the
most part bare rock, but with trees and bushes growing here and there
where soil gave them roothold.  This vegetation and the windings of the
cleft hid Reinecke and the Arab from sight; but several hundred feet
below they could just discern, through the mist, the still surface of an
expanse of water.

Mwesa's eyes opened wide with surprise.

"Don't speak," whispered Tom.  "Yes; I think it is our lake."

Reinecke's purpose was now clear to him.  He acquitted his sentries of
negligence.  Haroun had evidently discovered a hitherto unsuspected
means of egress from the nullah; on his information Reinecke had brought
up his askaris to take the position in reverse, but before committing
them to the enterprise had gone down to test the Arab's veracity.  It
would take him a long time to climb down the steep and rugged cleft,
hampered as he must be by his wounded arm: still longer to climb up
again.  What would he do when he returned?  Would he at once order the
attack? Daylight would last just long enough: a night attack was
impossible; no sane person would attempt to descend by so precipitous a
path in darkness.  Would he camp for the night, and attack with the
dawn?  It seemed to Tom that he would hardly wait unless delay were
unavoidable, for there was the chance that rain would fall again, and a
tropical storm that might continue for days would render his scheme
hopeless.  No doubt his decision would depend on the result of his
observations below.

To what point in the nullah the cleft led, Tom had at present no
knowledge.  It might descend to the lake side, or wind away to some spot
farther down.  He thought rapidly over the courses open to him.  He
might make his way back through the ravine, plunge into the bush, and
hurry along parallel with the nullah until he gained the entrance.
Thereby he might provide against the threatened attack and perhaps take
measures for a counterstroke.  But one consideration told heavily
against this idea.  At his best speed he could hardly expect to reach
the barricade before dark, and meanwhile Reinecke, if he found the
secret way so easy as Haroun had apparently declared, might have led his
men into the nullah, taken the people by surprise, and overcome what
resistance they were able to make without their leader.

What alternative was there?  If Reinecke once rejoined the askaris
waiting in the defile nothing could avail to check him.  It was
impossible to slip past him on the narrow cleft, and organise the
defence while he returned for his men. Could he be prevented from
returning? Without him the German lieutenant would probably hesitate to
risk a plunge into the unknown. Tom thought that Mwesa and himself
should be a match for Reinecke and the Arab; but if a cry or a shot
reached the ears of the men waiting above, all would end in disaster.

The only chance of success seemed to lie in following Reinecke down the
cleft and lying in wait for him at some spot where he could be taken at
a disadvantage.  Tom hurriedly whispered his plan to Mwesa, then stepped
down into the cleft and began his careful descent.

The frequent windings of the narrow gully, the patches of vegetation,
the boulders that stood up here and there, rendered detection from below
unlikely; but Tom moved very warily, peering round every corner, every
bush and rock, listening for voices or footsteps.  The lower he and the
<DW64> descended, the more cautious they were.  Once or twice Tom
slipped, and had to catch at a tree or a shrub to prevent himself from
slithering down.  No such mishaps befell the barefooted <DW64>, and Tom
wished that his soles were so hardened as to enable him to discard his
boots.  Step by step they crept downward.  Presently they caught sight
of the opposite side of the nullah, a rugged precipice looming through
the mist, with a portion of the lake cut off at its base.  A little
farther down Tom stopped suddenly.  Twenty or thirty feet below him
Reinecke and the Arab, side by side, were lying on a big rock that
appeared to jut out from the cliff, and were peering down.  No doubt
they were hidden by the rock from the sight of the people below--how far
below Tom could not tell, for the camp and the lowest stretch of the
cleft were invisible to him.

Mwesa, clutching his knife, looked expectantly at his master.  Tom could
have shot the two men where they lay; but apart from a natural
repugnance to killing them unawares, he knew that the sound of shots
would rise to the party above and put them on the alert.  Whatever he
did must be done without noise.

Drawing Mwesa back, he led him some little distance up the cleft until
he came to a shallow recess, partly concealed by a patch of bush. Here
they could wait until the men below reached them in their upward climb.
Tom withdrew behind the bush, bidding Mwesa stand a little forward and
watch: his dark body would be less likely to attract the eyes of the
climbers.

It was some time before they heard slow footsteps on the cleft below
them, and then ejaculations from Reinecke complaining of the steepness
of the ascent.  Then Mwesa reported that the German had rounded a bend;
the Arab was just behind him.  Tom drew the lad back behind the bush.

"Deal with Haroun," he whispered, "when I have dealt with Reinecke."

The two men mounted slowly.  Tom waited until the German had come within
two or three paces of him, then stepped out into the middle of the
narrow path.  Reinecke, a foot or two below him, looked up.  His face
paled beneath the bronze: he recoiled, and fumbled for his revolver.
Before he could grasp it Tom sprang at him, and with one deftly aimed
blow on the point of the chin hurled him against the side of the cleft.
He fell like a log.  At the same moment Mwesa darted past his master,
and flung himself on the Arab, who had halted in consternation at the
sudden onslaught.  He stepped back, warded off Mwesa with his arm, and
turned to escape down the cleft.  Before he had taken three steps the
<DW64> had recovered himself, and plunged his knife into the Arab's back.

[Illustration: MWESA FLUNG HIMSELF ON THE ARAB.]

So swiftly, so silently had things been done that no sound could have
reached the ears of any one who had chanced to be within a hundred
paces.

Tom bent down over the German.  He was unconscious.  Strange fate, that
had made him for the second time the captive of the man he had wronged!

"Watch him," said Tom to Mwesa.  "Call me if he revives before I come
back."

He went down the cleft until he reached the rock on which the men had
lain.  Climbing it, he looked over upon the huts fifty or sixty feet
below, the lake near by, and a considerable stretch of the nullah.
There were signs of excitement among the people, who were gathered in
knots, talking and gesticulating.  The German prisoners, standing in
front of their hut in the middle of the island, evidently suspected that
something had happened, some emergency had arisen, for they were
shouting, beckoning to the men nearest the margin of the lake.

"I had better reveal myself at once," thought Tom.

He stood up on the rock, put his whistle to his lips, and blew the
signal for "Fall in."  The voices, the movements, of the people ceased
as by magic.  They looked around in amazement, facing down the nullah,
from which direction numbers of the fighting-men came running. These
asked eagerly where the m'sungu was: they had heard his whistle; he must
be among them again.  But no one had seen him.  Again the whistle
sounded.  Some of the men glanced upward, and saw Tom standing on the
rock. For one moment they were transfixed with surprise; then a great
shout broke from their lips; the women and children flocked around them,
leaping and screaming with excitement and joy; and Tom wondered what
effect the hubbub would have on the enemy waiting in the ravine.

Signalling that he would soon be with them, he returned to the spot
where he had left Reinecke and Mwesa.  The German gave signs of
returning consciousness.  In a minute or two he opened his eyes and
stared dully up into Tom's face.  Recollection came to him gradually; he
tried to rise, his hand again seeking his revolver. The holster was
empty; Mwesa had taken that weapon, and also his sword.

"You are my prisoner," said Tom.  "We will now go down to my camp."

Reinecke cursed him.

"You strike a one-armed, helpless man," he said.  "You treacherous
hound!"

Tom was taken aback by this strange accusation. He had had so little
experience of the German soldier that he did not understand that curious
attitude of mind which views everything a German does as right and
proper, but the same thing done by others as infamous and base. The
charge of treachery from the man who had trapped him, left him to die,
and only a few hours before this moment had fired at him when he too had
been taken unawares, struck him dumb.  Then, curtly, impatiently, he
said:

"Come, we will waste no time.  You can walk, I think.  Mwesa, lead on.
Find the way into the nullah.  Follow him, Herr Reinecke: I shall be two
paces behind you."

Mwesa scampered down the steep descent like a young roe: the others
followed more prudently. When Tom arrived at the rock from which he had
viewed the camp, Mwesa was not to be seen. But a moment later his
laughing face showed round the base of the rock, like a child playing
peep-bo.

"Dis way, sah," he cried; "dis way."

At one side of the rock was the top of a narrow channel that wound down
the face of the cliff. So steep was this latter that not even a mountain
goat could have scaled it safely; but Nature had so carved the channel
that it formed a zigzag pattern, like those paths which the art of man
has cut in precipitous cliffs at popular resorts on our coasts.  Down
this rough path the two men followed Mwesa, hidden from the sight of
those below by the contour of the cliff.

About twenty feet above the ground the zig-zagging ceased, and the
channel took a sheer drop, almost entirely concealed by bushes.  While
Tom, standing on a ledge of rock, wondered how the final descent was to
be achieved, Mwesa had found the way.  Clinging to the tough stems and
branches of the bushes, he went down a few feet, then stopped and turned
his face upward.

"Ladder here, sah," he called.

The Arab had, in fact, so bent the branches and stems, and so connected
them by means of strands of creepers, as to form a light ladder that
spanned the last dozen feet of the descent.  Hidden by the overgrowing
vegetation, it might have been passed and repassed hundreds of times
without being discovered.

Mwesa clambered down, and bounded among the excited people who had
clustered in expectation of the m'sungu's reappearance.  After a minute
or two, Reinecke emerged from the foliage, and stood glowering, an image
of sullen rage, upon the <DW64>s who had once owned him master.  Fingers
were pointed at him, yells of derision mocked him: even the children
strutted in front of him, as if to vaunt their freedom. One of the elder
men stepped forward with menacing gestures: but he was checked by a
stern command from Tom, who had just appeared. He was hailed with
renewed shouts of triumph; some of the people threw themselves at his
feet, as slaves bow to their lord.  Tom's lips quivered; he felt a lump
rise in his throat.  Then he called to Mwesa, who was pouring out an
eloquent story to the crowd surrounding him.

"Go down to the barricade," he said.  "See whether the guards are at
their posts, and bring Mirambo to me."

He signed to the people to fall back to their huts, and beckoned to
Moses, who had been hanging on the outskirts of the crowd, looking with
a somewhat nervous and sheepish air at his late master.

"Give Herr Reinecke some food," said Tom. "Herr Reinecke, you will
remain where you are for the present.  You cannot escape: if you make an
attempt you will be shot.  I will give you proper quarters presently."

The German responded with a glare of venomous hate, and turned away.




CHAPTER XVI--DRAWN BLANK


When Mirambo came up, hard on the heels of Mwesa, he too fell on his
face and greeted Tom with an air of mingled humility and gratitude.  In
the absence of the m'sungu his position had been a difficult one.  The
men of the hunting party had come dropping in singly and in small
groups, and the story they told, magnifying the numbers of the enemy,
had struck consternation and fear into the hearts of the people.  If the
m'sungu was gone, what would become of them?  Who would tell them what
to do?  How could they deal with white men's war-power without a white
man to help them?  Some of the weaker-kneed among them had talked of
fleeing from the nullah and betaking themselves to M'setu, and it had
needed all Mirambo's authority to check the panic.  He had reminded them
of what the m'sungu had already done: how he had escaped the snares of
Reinecke, quelled the German drill-sergeant with a look, led them forth
with Reinecke himself a prisoner, shown them how to fortify the nullah,
driven back the enemy. Surely one who had done all this would not now
fall a prey to the evil men; surely he would come back to them.

Strangely enough, as Tom thought, the old chief's arguments had been
strongly backed by the askaris, who, as fighting-men, were held in
respect by the Wahehe.  They expressed the utmost confidence that the
m'sungu would return, and declared for holding the nullah at least until
it was definitely known what had become of him.  No doubt their motive
was complicated by fear of the consequences if they fell into German
hands and were treated as deserters; but Tom did not know this, and when
he heard of their loyalty he abandoned his last objections, and resolved
to incorporate them in his fighting force.

He listened to Mirambo's story, interpreted by Mwesa, only for a minute
or two, for there was work to be done.  During Mwesa's absence he had
rapidly made his plans.  The German askaris in the ravine above had
almost certainly heard the shouts which had greeted his arrival. Their
officer would send men forward to discover the meaning of the shouts,
and what had happened to Reinecke and the Arab.  They would no doubt
move with caution, and, unfamiliar with the ground, would take some time
in scouting over the rough, steep <DW72>s, and would probably hesitate to
adventure into the cleft which dropped deep into the unknown.  If they
came so far as to find the body of Haroun, they were more likely to
hasten back with the news than to court danger or death themselves by
descending lower. What action, then, would the lieutenant take? He would
wish to learn his superior officer's fate, probably come down with his
men, and, if he discovered the passage into the nullah, might risk an
attack.

Tom felt that he must first guard against this. Getting Mirambo to
choose a dozen of the best shots, he sent them up the ladder, with
orders to post themselves in the cleft behind bushes or boulders, and
fire at the enemy if they appeared. Though outnumbered, with the
advantage of position and surprise they could probably check the
descent.  In case they should be driven back, he ordered Mirambo himself
to hold thirty men under cover near the margin of the lake, and at the
same time to keep Reinecke under guard. Mirambo was the last man in the
world to be overcome by any German blandishments.

The non-combatants--old men, women and children--must be protected from
harm.  He ordered them to withdraw some little distance down the nullah,
out of range of fire either from above or from the ground at the foot of
the cliff.

For himself, he had resolved on a venturesome, if not a risky, course.
There were still a few hours of daylight left--long enough to lead a
force out of the nullah, along the foothills above, to the ravine where
the enemy were encamped. The probabilities were that, met by rifle-fire
as they descended the cleft, they would hesitate to press an attack
against unknown numbers, and make their way back to headquarters to
report the disappearance of their captain and the necessity of larger
forces.  Tom thought that with luck he might reach the mouth of the
ravine in time to ambush them, cut them off, and capture them all.  His
men being only partly trained, he would need perhaps twice as many as
the enemy numbered, which meant almost all the Wahehe who were able to
shoot.  But his new-born confidence in his askaris led him to adopt the
bold course of leaving them to defend the southern end of the nullah.
It was scarcely likely that another hostile force was approaching in
that direction: Reinecke had probably been confident of an easy victory
through the back door.  Yet nothing should be left to chance; and the
defence of the barricade might be safely entrusted for a few hours to
the askaris and the remnant of the Wahehe, with Mirambo and his party at
hand as reinforcements in case of need.

Tom lost no time in making these arrangements, and an hour after his
return he led some eighty men out through the barricade, swung round to
the right, and climbed the foothills over which the course of the ravine
lay.

"They'll have to carry me back," thought Tom, before he had walked a
mile.  "Didn't know I was so fagged."

Tom, indeed, had been drawing rather heavily on his physical reserves,
and to-day for the first time weariness warned him against overdoing it.
Now, more than ever, was it necessary that he should not break down, for
he felt certain that the difficulties of his people were only beginning.

Having already been on his feet for eight or nine hours, he found that
march of a few miles, at the close of the day, more exhausting than he
would have imagined.  The country was broken and hilly, now bare rock,
now soft spongy ground cumbered with tangled vegetation and overshadowed
by forest trees.  But the chance of trapping the force that had been
sent to trap him sustained his spirits; and the mind can, for a time,
compel the body to feats beyond its normal strength.  His men, fresh,
vigorous, inspirited by the return of their leader and the recapture of
Reinecke, marched on with eagerness to reach their goal: their
enthusiasm was itself a stimulant to him.

There was no path along those rugged, wooded foot-hills.  The sun was
blanketed by the rain-laden sky.  It was possible only to guess their
course; and Tom, seeing by his watch that little more than half-an-hour
of daylight was left, began to fear that darkness would surprise him
before he should have struck upon the ravine. But at this very moment of
misgiving he was almost at the edge.  A few yards farther brought him to
a sharp declivity.  He ordered his men to halt, advanced with Mwesa
through the low-growing trees, and looking cautiously to right and left,
beheld the long hollow that was his journey's end.

It appeared to him that he had hit the ravine at a spot half-way up its
length.  None of the enemy was in sight.  The askaris, if they remained
where he had last seen them, were probably some distance to the right;
the sentries at the mouth of the ravine must be three or four hundred
yards to the left.  These latter must be secured if his plan was to have
full success; so, returning to his men, he chose four to accompany him
and Mwesa, and hastened along through the scrub near the brink of the
ravine.

Scouting with circumspection, he arrived at the place where the steep
sides fell to the level of the surrounding country.  The sentries were
not where they had been.  He sent Mwesa to worm his way across under
cover of the bushes and to see if he could track the men to another
post.  The boy returned sooner than he had expected.

"Fink all gone, sah," said he.

"The sentries, you mean?"

"All fella askaris, sah.  All gone, no fear."

"How do you know?"

Mwesa looked down at Tom's feet.

"Dey hab got big boots like sah.  Sah come see."

Tom went down with him into the midst of the long grass and the bushes
that covered the centre of the ravine.  Broken twigs and branches and
long swathes of trampled grass marked the recent passage of men, and
Mwesa pointed out on the damp soil the impressions of heavy boots, and
showed him that in the freshest the heels were up, not down, the ravine.
A few minutes' investigation in both directions placed it beyond doubt
that, not long before, a body of men had marched westward into the
forest.

"Too late!" muttered Tom.  "But we must make sure.  Mwesa, scout along
to the cleft. Be quick, for it will be dark soon."

He returned to his party, dragging his weary limbs.  In twenty minutes
Mwesa came back, hot and breathless.

"All gone, sah.  Haroun him stay: big birds dey find him."

Tom shuddered.  The vultures were already at work.  "Come, let us get
back," he said. "Get some of the men to make a _machila_.  I can't walk
another step, and we can't venture the climb down in the dark."

With two rifles and some pliant tendrils a litter was soon constructed,
and reclining on this Tom headed the march home.  He was tired and
disappointed; the men were crestfallen: some asked why the m'sungu did
not pursue the askaris.  But Tom was in no condition to follow up the
enemy, even if his reason had favoured the idea.  He could only guess at
what had happened: that the lieutenant, alarmed by the distant shouts,
had gone forward, discovered the dead Arab, inferred that Reinecke also
had come to grief, and concluding that the game was up, had withdrawn
his men hurriedly and in something of a panic.  To pursue in darkness
would be folly.  Tom consoled himself for his disappointment with the
reflection that, after all, more prisoners would have been a
nuisance--so many more mouths to feed, and a burden to the guards.

The homeward journey was slow and laborious: only by the touch of their
bare feet could the Wahehe distinguish in the darkness the tracks they
had made as they came.  Tom slumbered a part of the way, and when, at a
late hour, they regained the nullah, he waited only to hear that nothing
had disturbed the peace and to arrange for Reinecke's accommodation
during the night, before seeking his hut and throwing himself, worn out,
upon the mattress of plaited grass which some of the women had made for
him.

Next morning, after ten hours' unbroken sleep, he rose, a little
stiffly, to face the work of another day.

"First job, to dispose of Reinecke," he thought.

The German was in a furious temper.

"You wish to kill me," he cried, when Tom came to him.  "You put me in a
wretched native hut, without a fire, without blankets, to perish of
cold, to be struck with ague.  As a prisoner of war--you call it war?--I
demand proper treatment, according to international law."

"I don't know anything about international law," said Tom; "common law
and common sense would set you dangling from a tree, I suspect.  But I'm
not your judge.  While you're here you'll be treated like the other
prisoners. You'll join them on the island yonder."

"I must have a separate hut.  In Germany officers and men are never
lodged together: it is forbidden."

"We are not in Germany," said Tom, curtly. "The hut is large enough to
hold you all: there's no room on the island for another, even if time
could be spared to build it.  If you feel contaminated by the company of
fellow Germans you can spend your leisure in making for yourself a
partition: there's plenty of material on the island.  You can then live
in your own first-class compartment: the men will probably prefer it."

Reinecke was patently surprised.  The young cub, as he might have put
it, seemed to have suddenly grown up.  Even at that last dinner in the
bungalow Tom had not taken quite this tone with him.  He said no more at
the moment: his thoughts were his own.  In a few minutes he was punted
across the lake on the raft, and left on the shore of the island to
introduce himself to his fellow captives.  Tom smiled as he watched them
salute him, then step hastily aside as, without returning their salute,
he pushed his way into the hut.  In a few moments he came out and,
gnawing his moustache, gazed across at the village, and up the side of
the nullah.  His lips moved: then he wheeled round and re-entered the
hut, whence he emerged no more that day.

It was a busy day for Tom.  He saw that the failure of Reinecke's
expedition was sure to provoke the Germans to a serious attempt to deal
with him.  They would no longer hold him lightly, and suppose that he
could be snuffed out by a handful of Askaris.  When they came, they
would come in force.  It might be in a day or two; it might be perhaps
after a week or more; much would depend on the state of the weather.
Were the interval long or short, it must be utilised to the full in
strengthening his position.

An obvious precaution was to establish scouting posts between
Bismarckburg and the scene of the previous day's adventures.  Tom went
over the ground with some of M'setu's men who were in his regular
service as scouts, and fixed on two well-wooded knolls that commanded
the track leading to the ravine.  He surveyed the ravine itself with a
view to fortifying it--or rather of blocking the way to the cleft--and
came to the conclusion that this would involve too much labour, even if
it could be achieved with any success.  A more feasible scheme was to
form barricades of rocks and trees at various points on the narrow
cleft.  These, held by a few men, would interpose awkward obstacles to
any force that attempted to attack by the newly discovered back door.

Tom set some of his men to work at once in erecting three barricades,
some thirty yards apart. Then he clambered down by the ladder, and
realising that that ingenious contrivance would hardly bear the strain
of frequent use, gave directions that it should be strengthened.  By
this means communication between the nullah and the cleft above would
always be safe: while in the event of his men being forced back and
followed by the enemy, the ladder could be cut away, leaving the
attackers in the air, so to speak, nearly twenty feet above the ground.

All day the sky threatened rain, and distant rumbles of thunder were
heard; but the storm held off until these preliminary measures had been
carried out.  Soon after dark the heavens opened.  Thunder growled,
cracked, bellowed: the air was one vast shaking noise.  A vivid glare
rose up from the horizon until all the world seemed on fire.  Great
bursts of light, now in one quarter, now in another, shot through the
sky like gigantic squibs; and dazzling streaks of jagged brilliance rent
the firmament.  And then, in the midst of this wonderful phantasmagoria,
it was as if the fire-maker set out to quench the universal
conflagration.  Down fell the rain, in sheets, in torrents, in cascades
of hailstones as large as eggs.  The people cowered, shivering,
shrieking, in their huts.  Out of the boiling lake the stream poured in
angry flood, hissing and raving like a maddened beast let loose.
Tingling in every nerve, Tom watched the amazing storm for hour after
hour: what were man's puny battles compared with this titanic conflict
of the elements?  And it was only when the thunder died away in sullen
mutterings, and the lightning gave pale flickers and tired gleams, but
still the rain roared unceasingly--it was only then that Tom became
alive to the very practical question: would huts, stores, barricades,
all be washed away?




CHAPTER XVII--A GERMAN OFFER


For the rest of the night Tom got no sleep. Listening to the rush of the
torrent through the nullah he waited anxiously for the dawn.  As soon as
there was light enough, he went out to see what havoc the storm had
wrought.  The worst anticipations were not realised, but the damage was
serious enough.  Some of the huts were broken down; one or two of those
nearest to the stream had been washed away; the defences at the bend
almost obliterated; and the barricade of trees at the entrance of the
nullah showed many gaps.  But the <DW72> of the ground and the depth of
the channel had been sufficient to carry off almost all the overflow
from the lake, and there seemed to be no danger of the village on the
higher ground at the north end being flooded out.  The prisoners' hut on
the island had suffered nothing except from leaks in the roof, and these
Reinecke had at once set his subordinates to repair.

The rain had ceased, and as soon as it was possible to dig, Tom ordered
his men to reconstruct the damaged defences.  More trees were packed
into the barricades, the ditch outside it was widened and deepened; the
trenches on the <DW72>s were recut and strengthened, and a communication
trench was dug from each to the bed of the nullah, so that their
garrisons could be reinforced at need, under cover from the enemy's
fire.  The trench and parapet at the bend were also restored, and at
each end, some twenty-five feet above the bed of the nullah, a small
blockhouse of rocks was erected, in which half a dozen men, through
apertures left for rifle fire, could enfilade any attacking party that
advanced on either bank of the stream.

Tom had hitherto made no attempt to communicate with the British
authorities beyond the border.  He reflected that their hands were full,
and while he was in no immediate danger he hesitated to embarrass them.
Now, however, when it was clear that the Germans would make a serious
effort to deal with him, and major operations were interrupted by the
rains, he resolved to try to get a message through to Abercorn,
explaining his position.  He wrote on leaves from his pocket-book a
brief account of what he had been doing, made a copy, gave the
duplicated messages to two of the best scouts from M'setu's contingent,
and sent them off on successive days.  The papers, which they carried
folded in their loin-cloths, were addressed "The Commanding Officer,
Abercorn."  A single man should be able to cross the hills and the Neu
Langenburg road without much risk of being caught.  The journey might
take three or four days, so that it would be at least a week before an
answer could be received, even in the most favourable circumstances.

Several days passed, on most of which rain fell. Feeling pretty sure
that the enemy would not attack in such weather, Tom took every possible
advantage of the breathing space, improving the defences, drilling his
men, and shooting game in the neighbourhood, in order to eke out his
fast diminishing stores of food.  He also practised his scouts in the
system of shouting messages, and was not much surprised to find that
some of his posts had been deserted: it was hardly to be expected that
M'setu's men, undisciplined <DW64>s, would show fortitude enough to
remain at their stations in pelting rain-storms.  But since it was of
vital importance that the scouting should be efficient, he considered
how best to surmount the very real difficulty that had manifested
itself.  After a good deal of thought, he decided to reduce the number
of posts, retaining only those that commanded the main routes, and to
have these frequently inspected by Mirambo or some other trustworthy
native.  With Mirambo he himself made a round of the posts--a task that
occupied him for two days--and as the result of this personal visit
found himself able to devise a simplified scheme that promised to be
successful.

The outermost line of posts was established on the hills north of the
Neu Langenburg road, in such spots that any movement on about twenty
miles of its course must be seen by at least one of his men.  Taking
this line as the base of a triangle, and the mouth of the nullah as the
apex, he arranged for posts to be held along the sides, and also on
perpendicular lines to the sides from the base.  While he thus somewhat
narrowed the area that was watched, he concentrated observation on the
quarters from which danger was most to be expected, and, needing fewer
men, was able to give them shorter spells.

On returning one day from a shooting expedition, he learnt that messages
had been received not long before from a scouting post near the Neu
Langenburg road.  The first message was that an armed party had been
seen marching from the direction of Bismarckburg; the second, that the
party consisted of two white officers with a number of askaris, and had
struck into a track which would lead past Reinecke's plantation to the
nullah.  One of the askaris carried a white flag.

"Parlementaires," thought Tom.  "They want to negotiate?  Well, I must
hear what they have to say."

For a moment he thought of going out at the head of a party of his men
to meet the enemy; but reflecting that he had no precise information of
their number, and that their object might be to lure him from his
defences, he decided to remain behind the barricade.

Presently another message came through his chain of scouts, announcing
that the strangers had just passed a post about ten miles from the
nullah. After some two hours and a half he learnt that they were now
within five miles.  Thereupon he ordered his men to take up their
allotted positions behind the barricade and in the trenches, and sent
Mwesa to the nearest scouting post, about two miles distant, to watch
for the enemy's coming, and to run back and tell him how many they were.
Mwesa was the only <DW64> whom he could trust to form even an approximate
estimate of their number.

In due time the lad came back with the report that the askaris were no
more than twenty. Reassured that no attack was intended by so small a
force, Tom awaited their arrival with composure.

"But they mustn't come too close," he thought, "or they'll see too
much."

He scribbled in German a note on a leaf from his pocket-book--

"Mr. Willoughby presents his compliments," he wrote, "and has the honour
to say that he, with ten men, will meet the recipient of this note, also
with ten men, at the edge of the forest, three hundred yards from his
position.  Any attempt to advance across the clearing will be resisted."

"Run and give that to the commanding officer," he said to Mwesa, "and
come back with his answer."

"Him say no come back," said Mwesa, looking uncomfortable.

"Not at all.  He won't prevent you.  Be quick."

The boy ran off, disappeared in the forest, and in twenty minutes was
seen speeding back again.

"You have an answer?" asked Tom.

"Him look at paper, den laugh and talk to other man; me no savvy what
say.  Den he tell me all right."

"In English?"

"Yes, sah, he talk English same as me."

It was not long before a party of men emerged from the forest beyond the
clearing, and halted. There were ten askaris, one of whom carried a
white flag; and in the tall German accompanying them Tom recognised the
officer who had been his fellow-passenger on the _Hedwig von Wissmann_
months before.

Collecting the ten men whom he had already chosen, Tom passed out
through the barricade and advanced to meet the German.

"Good day, Mr. Willoughby," said Major von Rudenheim, saluting.  "You
will remember me, no doubt.  We were on board the _Hedwig von Wissmann_
together."

"I remember you, Major," replied Tom, a little puzzled by this tone of
friendliness; "but I was not aware that I had come within your line of
vision."

"Oh yes, I saw you," returned the major with a slight smile, "and I have
heard a good deal about you since.  But you have got yourself into a
very awkward position, young man."

He spoke in the tone a benevolent uncle might have used towards a small
boy.

"Yes, your people have found it awkward," said Tom, smoothly.

"You take me too literally, Mr. Willoughby. But youth is often
adventurous, and thoughtless; you do not quite realise the consequences
of your rash actions.  It is a pity that a private quarrel should have
led you to take steps which bring you into conflict with the military
power.  The outbreak of war, of course, made you a public enemy; but if
you had not been in such haste to pay off old scores it would have been
easy to arrange for your departure into British territory."

"I assure you, Major, what you call a private quarrel had nothing
whatever to do with my action.  We will leave my private affairs out of
the question.  As you say, I became a public enemy.  Well?"

"You do not understand, perhaps, that we should be justified in treating
you as a spy."  The major's tone was not quite so friendly now.

"I don't understand what you are driving at," said Tom, bluntly.
"Hadn't you better come to the point?"

A flicker of annoyance passed over the German's face.  It vanished
instantly, and when he spoke again it was in the suave tones he had
employed at the beginning of the interview.

"I come to make a reasonable--a friendly arrangement.  There are certain
Germans, I believe, in your hands.  I am not sure whether----"

"To save time--I have a sergeant, two privates, and Mr. Reinecke."

"Ah!  And also certain askaris----"

"Africans, not Germans."

"But in our service, therefore Germans.  Also a number of natives who
were being recruited for our army--potential Germans.  Now, since it is
obvious that you cannot maintain your position indefinitely, you will no
doubt see the reasonableness of the proposal I put to you, namely, that
you surrender the German subjects you hold as prisoners, in exchange for
a safe-conduct for yourself and any twelve men you may select, to the
British lines."

"And the rest?  Besides the men, I have many women and children.  What
will you do with them?"

"That will be in the discretion of my superiors. The non-combatants will
no doubt return to their employment, from which they were enticed away.
As for the able-bodied men, technically they are mutineers and liable to
be shot.  But in consideration of their ignorance they may possibly be
pardoned and allowed to re-enlist."

"It is hardly a _quid pro quo_, is it?" said Tom. "You must be aware
that I could at any time during the past two or three months have made
my way to the British lines with all my able-bodied men without a
safe-conduct.  You propose that I should save my skin at the expense of
handing back those poor creatures to the slavery they have been glad to
escape from?"

"What are the <DW65>s to you, Mr. Willoughby? The war, _ipso facto_, has
dissolved your partnership with Mr. Reinecke.  Your interest in the
plantation and its workers has lapsed."

"Far from it: my interest in the workers is greater than ever.  I
enticed them away, you say; and believing that, you invite me to betray
them! Upon my word, Major von Rudenheim, those who sent you with an
invitation like that must have so low a standard of honour that I should
prefer not to trust to any assurances on their part."

"You impeach my honour, sir?" cried the German, with an angry glare.

"I take it that you are obeying orders, Major," replied Tom, quietly.
"Those <DW65>s, as you call them, are under my protection: I say that
any one who proposes that I should abandon them on the terms you offer
holds _my_ honour very lightly.  I don't think there is anything more to
be said."

"Only this, sir.  You reject a reasonable offer: I have not stated the
alternative.  The <DW65>s are under your protection!  It will not serve
them.  They will be exterminated, and you----"

"Yes?"

The major laughed.

"You will fall--on the field of honour!" he said with a sneer, "or be
captured and shot."

And with that he turned on his heel and strode off at the head of his
men.




CHAPTER XVIII--A GOOD HAUL


The interview with Major von Rudenheim left Tom soberly reflective.
There could no longer be the least doubt that he was to be attacked.
The attempt to come to terms with him seemed to show that the Germans
were now under no illusions as to the strength of his position, and
wished to avoid operations which must involve the employment of a larger
force than the objective, from a strictly military point of view,
warranted.  But their prestige was at stake throughout the whole region.
The native tribes, always restive under their galling yoke, would run
out of hand when it became generally known that the German power was
being set at defiance by an Englishman with a handful of <DW64>s, and
that Germans were held in captivity.  The menace of a great rising of
the blacks would grow increasingly serious, and the higher authorities,
having proved the uselessness of light measures, would now organise an
expedition in strength.

Tom felt confident in his ability to hold his own behind his defences,
provided they were not attacked by artillery; and the country between
the nullah and Bismarckburg, at all times difficult, was now rendered so
much more difficult by the rains that the transport of guns would be a
formidable undertaking.  It might prove to be impossible.  In that case
the attack should fail. Tom had under his command a hundred and
forty-seven able-bodied men, of whom a score were trained askaris, some
fifty Wahehe were fairly efficient with the rifle, another thirty could
handle fire-arms well enough to do considerable execution at short
range, and the remainder were expert with the spears they had made for
themselves.  Behind their fortifications, each man would perhaps be
equal to three outside.

On the other hand, the difficulties of the defence were serious enough.
Provisions were running perilously low; if the nullah were besieged, the
end must come in about ten days. There was, further, the question of the
wounded. Casualties were bound to occur; the medical stores brought from
the plantation would be of little use in dealing with gunshot wounds:
there were no surgical appliances whatever.  If Tom had known beforehand
what he was to learn before many days had passed, he might have met
Rudenheim's offer with a counter-proposal, instead of rejecting it
outright.  New to warfare, he was ignorant of what fighting with modern
weapons means; but he foresaw suffering, and felt some uneasiness in
contemplating a possible long casualty list.

It was time to dispatch another messenger to Abercorn.  Neither of his
former messengers had returned; possibly neither had got through; but
with the crisis imminent it was right to put the position clearly before
the British authorities.  He adopted the same plan as before: sent
duplicate notes on successive days, announcing his expectation of
attack, and stating his determination to resist as long as his
provisions lasted.

Feeling it unwise to leave the nullah himself, he allowed Mirambo to
lead short shooting expeditions in the neighbourhood, to replenish the
larder.  He devoted all his own energies to the maintenance and
strengthening of his fortifications, the drilling and exercising of the
men, and the allotment of duties to the non-combatants.  Of these last
every man, and many women, had their definite tasks--to bring food and
ammunition to the fighting-posts, to remove and tend the wounded, and so
on.

His plan of defence was to post twenty men on the cleft at the north end
of the nullah, in case the enemy should again attempt an entrance by the
"back door," and to employ all the rest in the nullah itself.  Seventy
men were told off to hold the first line--the barricade and the trenches
on the flanks; the remainder, in support, were to man the communication
trench, which led to a fold of the cliff face about a hundred and fifty
yards in the rear, and gave complete cover from enemy fire.

Waiting for critical events always puts a strain upon even the
stoutest-hearted.  A schoolboy dreads the interval between the "call-up"
and the headmaster's thrashing more than the thrashing itself.  The
soldier in the trenches knows more of the agony of fear when he awaits
the word of command than when he is actually going "over the top."  As
day followed day, and no message came through the chain of scouts, Tom
found constant activity the only sedative for his overstrung nerves.

Two little incidents relaxed the tension.  One morning, just as he was
leaving his hut, he heard a terrible shriek from the lake side.  Rushing
forward, he saw, near the brink, a woman waving her arms frantically,
and calling to a little toddling child, who was wading in the shallow
water towards a bright flower a few yards away.  In an instant Tom saw
the cause of the mother's agitation. Just beyond the glowing blossom, a
few inches above the surface, lay what appeared to be a log of greenish
wood.  Tom sprang into the water, caught up the child, and darted back;
and the seeming log sank with a gurgle and disappeared. Crocodiles had
been rarely seen since the occupation of the nullah; apparently they had
been scared away by the noise of so many people, which, however, had now
lost its terrors for them. Tom gave the child back to his grateful
mother, and, using one of the few phrases in the Wahehe tongue that he
had picked up, bade the woman be careful.

It was in the afternoon of the next day that one of the messengers, sent
out more than a week before, returned: the other was never seen again.
The man was very proud of his success, and exhibited a small brass rod
given him as a reward by the m'sungu in Abercorn.  Tom was more
interested to learn whether he had brought an answer to his message, and
the <DW64> produced from his loin-cloth a small dirty envelope.  Tearing
it open, Tom took out the still dirtier folded scrap of paper, which he
recognised at once as a leaf from his own pocket-book.  One side bore
his message, now almost illegible; on the other he read the few words--

_Hold fast._
       _T. Burnaby, Major._

"He's short of paper, I suppose," Tom thought; he learnt later that in
the army a superior officer writes his reply to a communication from a
subaltern on the back.  "But he might have said a little more.  Doesn't
promise anything.  Cold comfort, Major Burnaby.  Yet it _is_ comfort
after all.  He wouldn't say 'hold fast' if he didn't think there was a
chance.  Still, I'm glad I sent a second message: hope he gets it."

Towards ten o'clock on the fifth morning after the interview with Major
von Rudenheim, Tom was superintending work on the parapets of the
trenches when a message came from the nearest of his scouting posts.
From hill to hill had been shouted the news that a large column of white
men, askaris and porters, was marching along the Neu Langenburg road
from the direction of Bismarckburg.

"At last!"

Tom's exclamation had something of relief, from the strain of suspense;
something of anxiety, for what was to come.  It was not certain, of
course, that the nullah was the enemy's objective, but he must act as if
it were.  Within a few minutes every man had gone to his allotted post.

The source of the message was a hill many miles to the westward of the
track by which Rudenheim had come.  Two hours afterwards it was reported
that the column had reached that track, but had halted in a glade beside
the road; the men had thrown themselves on the ground.

"They're taking a rest after their hilly march," thought Tom.  "Or
perhaps they intend a night attack."

But a few minutes later another message suggested a different
explanation.  From the further-most eastern post came word that a
smaller party was marching from the direction of Neu Langenburg
westward.  It was formed mainly of porters, with a number of askaris and
two white men. Was it not a fair inference that the junction of the road
with the northward track had been appointed as rendezvous for both the
columns, and that either the one was before its time or the other was
late?

Tom made a rapid mental calculation, congratulating himself on the
personal knowledge of the road he had obtained in the course of his
round of inspection of the scouting posts.  When the second column was
sighted (that is, only a few minutes before he heard of it), it must
have been nearly thirty miles from the rendezvous. Now, the spot where
the first column had halted was not the point on the Neu Langenburg road
that was nearest to the nullah.  Some ten miles east of it there was a
scouting post closer to the nullah by about five miles; but the way to
it, though shorter, was much more arduous, and for that reason was not
at all likely to be chosen by the Germans as the route to their
objective.  It seemed to Tom that by a rapid march with a light force he
might reach this spot on the road before the eastern column, and, given
favourable circumstances, prevent this column from joining the other. He
had a rosy vision of snapping up the stores it was conveying, with the
result that the threatened attack on the nullah would be at least
delayed, while his own resources would be increased.

There were two risks to be taken into consideration: the first, that the
western column might not await the arrival of the eastern before
resuming its march to the nullah; the second, that the road between them
would be so closely patrolled as to render intervention impossible. The
scouts, however, had not reported the passing of patrols; and as to the
first risk, it seemed unlikely that the officer in command would make
any further movement until his force was complete.  The prize was great,
in Tom's eyes well worth the risk, and after a few minutes' cogitation
he determined to "put his fate to the touch."

Choosing forty of his best men to accompany him, with Mwesa and two of
M'setu's scouts, and leaving Mirambo in charge at the barricade, he
started southward.  The route he must follow led over very hilly
country, covered in parts with forest, through which it might sometimes
be necessary to cleave a way.  For this purpose he had ordered some of
his men to bring axes and bill-hooks, though he hoped that the scouts,
knowing the district thoroughly, would find a practicable track, and so
avoid the delays which cutting a path must involve.

It was fortunate that since the great storm the rainfall had been light;
otherwise much of the ground would now have become swamp, and put him at
a disadvantage compared with the enemy on the well-kept high road.  Tom
had always been known among his friends as a good "foot-slogger," and,
hardened as he now was by constant exercise, he had no difficulty in
keeping up with his lithe and limber guides.  The party covered the
first twelve miles in less than three hours, over a track that ran
almost due south from the nullah, and was very little obstructed.  Then,
however, they came into broken country, with steeper ascents and
descents and thicker vegetation, where the pace was necessarily
slackened. Once or twice the men had to use their implements, and Tom
chafed at the delay; but he let no sign of impatience escape him, and
found a few cheery words of praise a potent stimulus to his willing
<DW64>s.

Presently they came to a hill-stream flowing southward.  An idea struck
Tom.

"Does this stream cross the high road?" he asked.

The scouts replied through Mwesa that it did.

"Then is there a bridge?"

He learnt that a bridge spanned the stream some distance east of the
post for which he had been making.  The stream, which was much swollen
after a period of heavy rain, had cut a deep and wide channel, and
sometimes rose to within an arm's-length of the bridge.  Now, however,
the rainfall for some days having been slight, it was likely that the
water was two men's height below the trestles of which the bridge was
made.

This information caused Tom to change his objective.  Instead of
continuing along the forest track that led directly to the scouting
post, he followed the course of the stream, and in some twenty minutes
came in sight of the bridge far below.  Calling a halt, he sent one of
the men to the scouting post on a hill-top invisible from his present
position, to inquire of the man stationed there whether he had seen
anything of the enemy's columns, or of patrols.  The scout's report
being reassuring, Tom led his party down to the road, through the
brushwood, rank grass, and bushy shrubs that lined the bank of the
stream.

The ground within twenty yards of the road had evidently been at some
time cleared of the taller growing vegetation, no doubt to destroy
cover.  But the lesser plants had sprung up only the more thickly,
furnishing safer cover even than the larger shrubs and trees above.

Tom's first idea had been to have the bridge hacked down.  This would
have effectually checked the march of the columns along the road, and
the stream was here so wide and deep, and its banks so steep, that the
enemy could not have crossed it until the bridge had been repaired.
Second thoughts raised an objection to this obvious measure.  The column
would almost certainly be preceded by an advance guard, who would
discover that the bridge was broken and give warning.  The main body
would halt, and Tom would have no chance of getting possession of the
stores without a fight. Ignorant of the strength of the column, he dared
not risk exposing his small force of comparatively untrained men in the
open.  Unless he should see a fair prospect of dealing the enemy a
"knock-out blow," he would do much better to keep his men out of sight,
and remain content with having prevented the two columns from joining
forces and thus delayed their advance on the nullah. But this would be
only partial success: something more was wanted for complete
satisfaction; and an examination of the bridge suggested to Tom what
seemed a better way.

Having first sent a couple of scouts in each direction along the road to
guard against surprise, he set three men with axes to cut nearly through
two of the piles supporting the bridge, one up, the other down stream,
just on the water line.  A dozen others he sent a few yards along the
stream to weave two long, stout ropes from rushes and creepers.  Expert
at this work, the natives in the course of an hour or so had completed
two serviceable ropes about thirty yards in length. Tom tested them by
means of an impromptu tug-of-war; then, the axe-men having long finished
their part of the job, he himself attached the ropes to the weakened
piles by means of bowlines in the notches and allowed them to sag into
the water.  At intervals he weighted them with stones in order to keep
them below the surface, and carrying the free ends up stream, hid them
in the vegetation at the foot of the bank.  All these operations near
the bridge were carried out by men wading in the water, in order that no
tracks on the ground should betray them to the enemy scouts.

Tom had only just completed his preparations when the scouts he had sent
eastward came running back with news that the enemy column was in sight.
There were two white officers, and an innumerable company of porters and
askaris The <DW64>'s inability to estimate number was a constant worry to
Tom: anything above ten might be reported as a host.

Withdrawing all his men about fifty yards up stream, and posting them
under cover of the rushes, he gave them precise orders as to what they
were to do when he blew his whistle.  Until then no one was to whisper
or make the slightest movement.  Each man held his rifle with bayonet
ready fixed.  When he had proved that all were invisible from the road,
Tom found a spot where, concealed himself, he had a clear view of the
bridge.

He hoped that the period of waiting would not be long, for stillness and
silence taxed the <DW64>s more than anything else he could have demanded
of them.  Already there were signs of restlessness among them when,
about half an hour after they had taken up their positions, he caught
sight of two figures some distance away, approaching through the bush at
the edge of the cleared space skirting the road.  An urgent whisper
reduced the Wahehe to stillness again.  The two askaris came on quietly,
pausing now and again to peer into the thickets beyond the clearing.
Just before they reached the bridge they stepped into the road, and were
joined by two more askaris who had emerged from the bush on the other
side.  The four men crossed the bridge together, separated at the
western end, and pursued their way in couples as before.

A few minutes later four files of askaris followed.  At a short interval
came a connecting file, and then the main body, which consisted of two
parties of askaris marching in fours, with a gang of porters between
them.  With each party there was a German N.C.O.  Tom rapidly estimated
that the askaris numbered about sixty in all.

When the first party reached the bridge, they broke step and formed two
deep to cross.  Tom waited until about twenty had gained the other side,
then blew his whistle.  The Wahehe sprang to their feet.  Ten of them
fired a volley at the enemy who were upon the bridge, then charged
through the thin scrub upon those who had crossed and, startled by the
shots and the cries, had wheeled round at the sharp order of their
sergeant.  Meanwhile twenty men, with Tom at their head, had dashed
straight towards the road in the other direction until they had a clear
view of the second party beyond the porters, then halted, fired one
volley, and charged with the bayonet.  At the same time, two groups of
five rushed to the spot where the ends of the ropes lay hidden, seized
them and hauled with a will. The nearer pile collapsed; the farther held
until all ten men tugged at the same rope.  Then it snapped like the
other, and the whole central part of the bridge fell with a crash into
the stream, carrying with it one or two of the rear files of the
askaris.

Surprise is halfway to victory.  Even European troops could hardly have
avoided confusion, however short-lived, when suddenly beset at close
quarters by an unsuspected enemy.  The German sergeant who had crossed
the bridge hardly had time to bring his men into line before the Wahehe,
yelling the war-cry of their tribe, were among them.  They were severed
from the other party by the broken bridge and the crowd of
panic-stricken porters, who flung down their loads and fled
helter-skelter into the bush.  The sergeant and one or two more stood
firm and were cut down; the rest turned and bolted across the road,
seeking safety in the woods.

Meanwhile the sergeant in command of the second party, being farther
from the bridge, had had a few seconds longer to prepare to meet the
attack.  Before Tom reached him he had halted his men, formed them up
hurriedly, and ordered them to fix bayonets.  But the time was all too
short.  The men were still fumbling when the impetuous Wahehe at Tom's
heels had surged from the clearing on to the road.  Tom made straight
for the sergeant, and thrust at him with his bayonet.  The German deftly
parried the stroke, but before he could himself take the offensive Tom
swung his rifle over and brought the butt up swiftly against his
opponent's chin. The man fell like a log.  His askaris did not await the
touch of cold steel.  Some flung up their hands, others took to their
heels, the yelling Wahehe panting behind them.  Tom became alive to the
danger of his own men scattering in the pursuit and losing themselves in
the forest.  With loud blasts of his whistle he sounded the signal for
recall.  Some of the men obeyed instantly, but many minutes had passed
before all returned, and the weapons of most of them bore witness to the
work they had been doing.

Tom lost no time in taking stock of the situation.  A few of the askaris
had been killed by rifle-shots, a few by bayonets.  About twenty were
wounded, twelve so seriously that it was clear they could not be moved.
Rather more than twenty had surrendered.  One of the German was killed,
the other lay where he had fallen.  All the rest of the column were
scattered through the bush.

Examining the loads dropped by the porters, Tom found that about half
consisted of food, half of small-arm ammunition, both valuable booty. He
distributed the bales among the unwounded prisoners and some of his own
men, and sent them off at once on the return march to the nullah.  For
the wounded he could do nothing. He ordered those who were slightly
injured to revive the sergeant with a dash of water from the stream, and
to render first aid to their helpless comrades, knowing that help would
be forthcoming from the western column as soon as fugitives had reported
the disaster.

By this time the last of the Wahehe had rejoined, and Tom set off on the
return journey, soon overtaking the carriers.  He pressed the pace as
much as possible, though the risk of being pursued was slight.  Late in
the afternoon, tired but jubilant, his men marched into the nullah, amid
exultant shouts from their fellows who manned the defences and the
non-combatants who crowded about them as they conveyed their spoils to
the village.

Tom discovered that only three of his men had been slightly wounded.

"Almost a bloodless victory," he said to himself.  "What wonderful
luck!"

But the <DW64>s, discussing the affair far into the night, did not speak
of luck.  They talked of "white man's medicine," and assured one another
that their particular white man had better "medicine" than any one else
in the world.




CHAPTER XIX--BELEAGUERED


Tom's first business was to examine his spoils of war.  Besides a
considerable quantity of maize and other foods intended for the askaris,
there was a case containing coffee, condensed milk, tinned fruits,
biscuits, and a few bottles of wine--articles which were very welcome
additions to his private larder.  Still more welcome were the boxes of
ammunition.  One small case held a couple of dozen metal objects whose
use he did not know; but unscrewing the top of one of them he saw what
he took to be combustible material of some kind, and confirmed his guess
with a lighted match.  These flares, he thought, might prove very useful
in case of a night attack.

A commander's chief preoccupation, perhaps, is to divine the intentions
of the enemy.  What would the column from Bismarckburg do?  Its officers
had no doubt learnt within an hour or two what had happened to the
eastern column, and it seemed probable that the disaster would have
deranged their plans.  In the course of the afternoon Tom received a
message from the scout who had been stationed on the hill overlooking
the enemy's halting place.  The man reported that a number of the
askaris had climbed the hill on different sides, and he had withdrawn to
the next post northward.  Tom guessed that the German commander had
suspected the presence on the hill of scouts who had given him away, and
had wisely determined to get rid of them. The post having been thus
abandoned, the enemy's movements could not be known at the nullah until
they had come within sight from the next post.  That, however, was more
than twenty miles away, and Tom expected to receive warning of their
approach in ample time to prepare for them.  He conjectured that they
would make no move until they had replaced the supplies of which they
had been deprived.

He was not one to sit with folded hands, idly waiting.  Next day, taking
advantage of his largely increased stock of ammunition, he spent a good
many hours in giving his men rifle practice. Owing to the nature of the
position, firing, when the attack came, was likely to be at point blank
range, so that it was unnecessary to instruct the mass of the natives in
the mysteries of adjusting sights.  But in view of the possibility of
having to fall back up the nullah, he gave special instruction in long
range firing to a score of the men who had had former experience with
firearms.

More than once he had wished for the companionship of a man of his own
race.  Mirambo was a devoted lieutenant, but consultation with him could
only be carried on through Mwesa, and his range of ideas was as limited
as the boy's command of English.  Tom felt the lack of an equal, a man
of like upbringing and education, with whom he might have had those long
and intimate talks in which mind reacts on mind with mutual helpfulness.
More than ever he wished it now.  An advancing enemy should be harassed;
but Tom dared not leave the nullah himself, and neither Mirambo nor any
other native had the cool judgment and the self-control necessary in the
commander of even a disciplined force, much more in one who had only
half-trained <DW64>s under his leadership.  Pitted against well-drilled
askaris under capable German officers, the Wahehe would be hopelessly
overmatched; they would almost certainly be outflanked and cut off, and
Tom could not afford to lose men.  Under a white man the risks would not
have been so great.  But it is idle to long for the impossible, and Tom
realised that the only safe course was to keep the men with him.  He
gave orders to his scouts to fall back upon the nullah when the enemy
advanced, but slowly, and noting their progress from point to point.

It was on the third day after the little action at the bridge that his
furthermost scout reported the enemy were on the move.  They had marched
two miles along the track from the spot on which they had encamped
beside the Neu Langenburg road.  There was a great host of askaris, a
great host of porters, and several white men.  Some of the porters were
dragging a long green bottle on wheels.

A long green bottle on wheels!

Tom felt a sinking at heart.  What could this be but a field gun?  The
hosts of askaris did not dismay him: their numbers were, no doubt,
exaggerated by the natives as usual; but he recognized that his
barricade of trees would be a poor defence against shell-fire.  There
was little time to improvise adequate protection; but he set almost the
whole of his men to work at once in digging a deep trench a few yards
behind the barricade.

At intervals during the rest of the day came further reports of the
enemy's progress.  Their advance was slow; it was clear that they could
not reach the nullah before nightfall, and after their long march they
would not make an immediate attack.  Leaving a strong guard at the
barricade, Tom went to his hut to fortify himself with sleep for what
the next day might bring forth.  But he found it impossible to rest.
Now that the critical moment was approaching, his mind went over and
over the situation.  Had he left undone anything that might have been
done?  What would be the effect of shell-fire on his men--aye, and on
himself?  What were the enemy's plans?  Would they, after battering down
his outer defences, make a fierce charge into the nullah, relying on the
defenders' demoralisation by the bombardment?  Thinking over these and
other questions, he felt that he had done all he could: the rest was on
the knees of the gods.

Very early next morning he made a round of inspection, then issued
through Mwesa his final orders.  At the first sign of hostile action the
men were to take up their allotted positions. He warned them that they
must expect something worse than rifle bullets; but none were to leave
the trenches without permission.

To give notice of the enemy's approach, he had posted scouts on the top
of the sides of the nullah.  But the first intimation came not from
them, but from the enemy himself.  About midday there was a dull boom in
the south.  A few seconds afterwards a shell burst with a shattering
explosion on the hill face.  A cry of astonishment and fear broke from
some of the Wahehe; but Tom, in the centre of the trench with Mwesa at
his side, calmed them by asking whether they supposed the shells would
destroy the sides of the nullah.  The response was an outburst of
mocking laughter.  It was a big noise, said the men; but the result had
been only the fall of broken branches and fragments of rock.  All was
well.

The bombardment was continued and maintained steadily throughout the
day.  Some shells fell harmlessly on the steep sides of the nullah,
others in the stream or among the bushes some distance up, others on the
clearing outside.  One struck the barricade, scattering boughs and twigs
and making a gap; but none entered the trenches, and no man was hit.  By
the end of the day the natives had become indifferent to the
bombardment, laughing and joking as they watched the smoke and the
splinters which did them no harm. With sunset the shelling ceased, and
movement in the lower part of the nullah became once more possible.  So
far, none of the enemy had been seen, and Tom wondered how the gunners
had been able to range with even approximate accuracy on their unseen
target.  He never knew that Major von Rudenheim had not considered the
bearing of a flag of truce inconsistent with the taking of careful
measurements, by means of which he had fixed on several spots in the
forest whence the nullah might be shelled at known ranges.

It seemed to Tom hardly likely that the enemy would attempt a night
attack before they had ascertained how much damage their gun had done.
Nevertheless, he kept a large number of men under arms all night,
relieving them every four hours.  Two of the askaris were selected to
light the captured flares and throw them over the barricade if the enemy
made a move.  In the middle of the night Tom snatched a few hours'
sleep, leaving Mirambo in command; and when, shortly before dawn, on
returning to his post, he learnt that no sounds had been heard from
beyond the clearing, he felt sure that not even a reconnaissance had
been attempted, or it would have been detected by the <DW64>s' sharp
ears.

It was a misty, drizzly morning, and the trees at the edge of the forest
two hundred yards south of the nullah loomed through the murk only as a
blurred mass.  Tom gave orders to his scouts, before they climbed to
their watch-posts above, to be specially vigilant.  About seven o'clock
a shell burst just behind the trench, and three of his men were slightly
injured by splinters.  The fact that the shell exploded before the boom
of the gun was heard, showed that the gunners had drawn nearer during
the night. This was the opening of a bombardment that continued for
about three hours.  Again little damage was done, most of the shells
falling many yards behind the barricade.

Suddenly the firing ceased.  The scouts, sharp-eyed though they were,
had reported no movement among the trees, when there came the shrill
blast of a whistle.  Tom had posted himself with his men at the
barricade, and he was just able to see, through the mist, a compact line
of askaris break from cover.  There was no attempt at skirmishing; the
enemy rushed straight across the clearing towards the mouth of the
nullah. Twenty yards behind them came a second line, and with these Tom
saw the white helmet of a German officer.

He had given orders that no man was to fire until he sounded his
whistle; but it was too much to expect that all his <DW64>s, in the
excitement of what was to many of them their first action, would
exercise the self-control of disciplined troops. Only one of them,
however, let off his rifle, and the single shot, fired at random, was
hailed with a derisive yell by the askaris.  Tom waited until they were
half-way across the clearing; then he blew his whistle.  Along the whole
length of the barricade burst a shattering volley, not perfectly in
time, but aimed low, as Tom had instructed. At so short a range the
effect was inevitable.  The first line of the assailants was broken;
groans mingled with the shouts; the survivors wavered. The German
non-commissioned officer from behind ran among them, threatening them
with his revolver, and under this stimulus they charged forward, with
the second line at their heels.

Now Tom gave the signal for a second volley. The enemy were barely fifty
yards away.  Many of them dropped; some flung themselves on the ground.
The few who struggled on found themselves baulked by the unsuspected
moat; and the German having fallen, and no supports being at hand, they
turned and fled.  Before they reached the cover of the trees another
storm of bullets swept upon them.

The Wahehe gave rein to their jubilation. They shouted, pranced, slapped
their thighs. Some wished to dash out from the barricade in pursuit of
the enemy; but Tom sternly ordered them to stand to attention.  He was
as much pleased as they were that the first assault had failed; unlike
them, he knew that this was only the beginning of things.  But it was of
good omen for the future.  Brief though the engagement had been, it had
weakened the enemy in numbers, whether seriously Tom, ignorant of their
reserves, could not tell.  It had encouraged his own men; best of all,
it had proved their steadiness.  The three shots they had fired were all
that their magazines contained; now that he could trust them not to
waste ammunition, he could allow them to keep their magazines full.

For more than an hour there was no sign of a renewal of the attack.
Then, however, the bombardment was resumed.  It would appear that while
the defenders' attention was wholly taken tip with repelling their
assailants, some of the enemy, unseen in the rear, must have "spotted"
for the gun, for the shells now began regularly to pierce the barricade,
exploding on impact, and tearing away masses of the leafy boughs.
Crouching at the bottom of the muddy trench, the Wahehe suffered no hurt
except bruises and abrasions from splinters of wood and metal; and Tom
resolved to have the breaches in the barricade repaired during the
night.

But nightfall did not bring a cessation of the bombardment.  Every few
minutes throughout the night the shells cut new gaps.  Work was
impossible.  Tom guessed that the enemy's object was not merely to
prevent repairs, but to wear the defenders out by breaking their rest
and keeping them constantly on the watch.  In one way, however, the
persistent bombardment was a source of satisfaction to him.  While the
shells continued to fall, there was no likelihood that the enemy would
again assault.  The prospect of a night attack had caused him much
anxiety, for the <DW64>'s morale is never at its best in the dark;
further, in darkness and confusion the weight of numbers would tell
heavily against him.

Tom knew nothing about artillery, and began to feel a certain contempt
for the gun, so slight was the material damage done by its shells.  It
was not, however, a field gun, but a small mountain gun, more easily
transportable than a larger weapon.  After the bombardment had continued
for some hours neither he nor the men were much disturbed by the shell
bursts, and he felt more and more confident of his ability to hold his
own.

But when daylight came again he discovered that the enemy had had
another purpose in their shelling.  The bombardment continued. The
scouts from their high posts above reported that they saw men's heads in
the ground on the further side of the clearing.  Unable to make out what
they meant, Tom climbed the side of the nullah under cover of the bushes
until he reached the trench, and cautiously looked out across the open
space beyond the barricade.  Some thirty yards in advance of the edge of
the forest, on the level of the ground, he saw the heads of several
askaris moving up and down.  At one moment a dozen heads were in sight,
the next some of them disappeared, only to bob up again a few seconds
later.

"By George, they're digging," he said to himself.

Quite ignorant of all military operations except those simple manoeuvres
learnt in the course of field days with his school cadet corps, he was
at first at a loss to understand why the enemy were digging a trench
which was apparently to extend from the forest to the nullah.  He had
perhaps heard the word sap, but it conveyed nothing to his mind.  It was
not long, however, before he guessed the meaning of this unlooked-for
movement.  The enemy were digging a means of approach by which they
would avoid the inevitable losses of a rush across the open, and the
bombardment during the night had been designed partly to cover the
sounds of their tools.

Watching intently, he noticed that the direction of the enemy's trench
was not a straight line towards the barricade, but a series of short
zigzags, obviously to minimise the risk of interference by enfilading
fire.

"I ought to try to stop that little game," he thought.

He lifted his rifle, and took a shot at one of the moving heads.
Instantly they all sank down; whether he had hit he could not tell; and
a fusillade burst from the trees on the other side of the clearing.  For
some minutes he saw no more of the diggers; then a head and shoulders
showed for a moment, a little nearer than the nearest head had been
before.

"I can't stop them, apparently," he thought, "but I can delay them."

Hurrying down to the trench behind the barricade, he sent a dozen of his
best marksmen, including a couple of the askaris, to the position he had
left, with orders to fire at the diggers whenever they appeared.  At
their first shots there was another fusillade from the forest; then an
interval of about a quarter of an hour during which the enemy was
silent, though Tom's men continued to snipe.  After that the enemy,
having located the position of the trench, began sniping in turn; but
the men were so well hidden that they suffered no loss.  Presently,
however, a shell burst a few yards above the trench, scattering
splinters upon its occupants; and a few minutes later another shell fell
plump on the parapet at the northern end, killing two men and wounding
several.  Tom at once withdrew the snipers from their position, and sent
them into the similar trench on the other side of the nullah.  From this
they sniped for a considerable time before they were again detected, and
when shells began to fall there also, Tom removed the men to comparative
safety in the bed of the nullah.  The wounds inflicted by the shells
were so severe that he did not feel justified in exposing his willing
soldiers to injuries which he was unable to deal with satisfactorily.

The sniping being thus put an end to, and a sortie being out of the
question, Tom had to reconcile himself to the inevitable.  The
bombardment slowed down, either because the enemy were satisfied that it
had crushed opposition, or maybe to save ammunition.  Several times
during the day Tom went up to his observation post, and noted the
progress of the zigzags.  The sap was so narrow that the enemy would
have to advance in single file, and he thought his men behind the
barricade would have an easy task in shooting them down when the attack
came.

Next morning, however, he saw with something like dismay that the enemy
had dug a trench across the clearing, parallel with the barricade, and
about eighty yards from it.  The full meaning of their work was now
clear to him. They would reach the trench by means of their zigzag path.
When the word was given, they would swarm out, and though their first
wave must suffer from the defenders' fire, the distance they had to
cover was so short, and they could be so safely reinforced, that they
might overwhelm the defence by sheer weight of numbers. Some of the
survivors of the first attack had come near enough to the barricade to
see the moat, and no doubt, when the enemy attacked a second time, they
would be prepared to meet that not very formidable obstacle.

All that day Tom anxiously awaited the assault. After a quiet morning,
the gun opened fire, and for two hours pounded the barricade, until it
was breached in many spots.  When the shelling ceased Tom expected the
attack to follow immediately; but minute after minute passed, and his
scouts gave no sign of any movement among the enemy.  Taking advantage
of this inaction, Tom set some of the men to fill up the gaps in the
barricade, but they had no sooner started work than the enemy's snipers,
unseen among the trees, began to pick them off.  It was clear that the
issue of the struggle would depend on the fighting capacity of the men,
and not on the strength of the defences.

For the past two days the weather had been dull but dry, and Tom found
himself longing for a downpour of rain, which would flood the enemy's
approaches.  His anxieties were the greater through his ignorance of
their numbers.  Since the first attack he had seen none of them except
the sappers; whether the men biding their time in the forest were
scores, hundreds, or even thousands he was utterly unable to guess.  If
he had known the German's contempt for "cannon-fodder" he might have
suspected that their numbers were not very great, for a German officer
with large resources would hardly have drawn off at the first check.

Darkness closed down upon the nullah.  Tom dared not leave his post,
weary though he was. Lying on a heap of twigs he waited, wondering what
the night would bring forth.




CHAPTER XX--RAISING THE SIEGE


Midnight passed: the still hours stole on; and Tom was dozing when Mwesa
roused him.

"Noise dis way, sah," said the boy.

Tom sprung up.  From the direction of the forest came slight sounds.
The enemy were on the move.  He sent to the trenches above the men
detailed to hold them: the rest he ordered to their posts behind the
barricade.  Their movements were silent.

The sounds from without were so faint that it was clear the enemy hoped
for a surprise. Presently they ceased altogether, and Tom guessed that
the men had assembled in their trench and only awaited the word.  At
each end of the barricade he had placed an askari with flares and
matches.

The silence was brief.  Suddenly a whistle sounded.  The air was rent
with a great shout as the enemy askaris leapt from the trench and surged
forward towards the barricade.  Instantly Tom gave a signal; two blazing
flares soared over the barricade and fell on the ground beyond, lighting
up a wide space around them.  Peering through a gap, Tom saw the line of
black men pressing on.  Some carried axes, others oblong
hurdles--pontoons for throwing across the moat. Only a few seconds after
the signal for the attack had been given, another whistle cut the air.
From the barricade and the trenches above rifles flashed, and there were
gaps in the ranks of the assailants. In the pressure of a moment like
this regular volleys were impossible: each man fired as fast as he
could.

In spite of their losses the enemy pushed on with scarcely a check.
They had not yet fired a shot.  Some crossed the moat with flying leaps
and began to hack at the barricade with their axes. Others rushed over
on the hurdles, and thrusting their rifles into the gaps, fired at
random.  The defenders here, having emptied their magazines, lunged at
the foremost assailants with their bayonets, while the men in the raised
trenches kept up a hot fire on the supports rushing up behind.  But the
stream seemed never to slacken. If a man fell back from the barricade,
another took his place.  A big askari forced his way through a gap, and
wounded two men before he was transfixed by Mirambo's bayonet.  Almost
before the bayonet could be withdrawn others of the enemy came through
at the same spot, and Mirambo and the men about him found themselves
engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand struggle.  The same thing happened at
many parts of the defences, and though for every man who got through two
or three had been hurled back into the moat or among their comrades, it
was clear that by pressure of numbers the Wahehe must soon be
overwhelmed.

Tom created a temporary lull in the attack by emptying his revolver on
the largest group of the askaris.  The flares having now gone out, he
took advantage of the darkness to sound the signal for withdrawal, and
his men, obedient to their training, rushed back into the trench and
reloaded.  From beyond the barricade the enemy were pouring a hot fire
upon the higher trenches, and Tom knew by the sounds that there were
still large reserves to deal with.  Coming to the conclusion that the
position at the entrance of the nullah could not be held much longer, he
sent the greater part of his force to take up new positions at the bend,
retaining a few to fight a rearguard action.  But it appeared either
that the first ranks of the enemy were exhausted, or that they had had
orders not to push forward into the nullah at once after the entrance
had been won. Their officers, who had not yet come into view, probably
suspected that the nullah might have many traps and pitfalls for their
men in the darkness, and reckoned on an easy conquest in daylight. At
any rate there was no immediate pursuit, and within half an hour Tom had
withdrawn all his men into the trench at the bend.

A few minutes afterwards a flame burst out at the entrance, spreading
across the nullah from side to side.  The enemy had set fire to the
shattered barricade.  None of them were visible in the glare: it seemed
that, content with having forced the outer defence, the main body had
had returned to their trench to await the dawn, now near at hand.

When Tom numbered his men, he found that thirteen were missing, and some
thirty were wounded, many of them lightly.  He felt a pang at the
thought that some of the thirteen were lying seriously wounded on the
field, but it was impossible to search for them.

He realised that he was now in the last ditch. If the enemy once rounded
the bend, the village on the high ground a quarter of a mile beyond
would be exposed to their fire, and for the sake of the non-combatants
it would be necessary to yield.  True, given time, another trench might
be dug across the nullah, and the enemy's advance delayed again there;
but his men were too weary to start digging at once, and, in any case,
it was unlikely that the work could be completed in the short hour
before dawn.  There was nothing to be done but to hold the trench as
long as possible, and inflict such losses on the enemy that they would
be compelled to await reinforcements before attempting a final assault.
They might even be satisfied with having captured the entrance, and
leave the rest to time and famine. Escape was impossible, for, knowing
of the "back door," they would certainly take care to block exit that
way, which could easily be done by posting a few men at the head of the
narrow cleft.

What hope was there of relief from the British border?  In reply to his
note a Major Burnaby had bidden him "hold fast," a message that seemed
to hold some slight promise of help. Would that help come in time?  If
the enemy were in sufficient strength, a few hours might see the defence
overwhelmed and the little community at the mercy of the conquerors.
How many days was it since he had received Major Burnaby's message?
Three?--or four?  He could not tell.  He had lost count of time.  So
obsessed had he been with the problems of the defence that he had given
scarcely a thought to what might have been passing in the village. Moses
had kept the fighting men supplied with food, sending down carriers
under cover of night. The men on guard at the cleft had reported that
all was well, and the single sentry who kept watch on the island prison
had sent word that the firing had at first caused some excitement among
the prisoners.  They had grouped themselves on the shore, gazing down
the nullah, talking to one another--all but Reinecke, who had stood
apart from the rest, and sometimes walked up and down with quick
impatient footsteps, twirling his long white moustache.  Tom had not
seen how the sound of the shells had caused the women and children to
huddle together and sit cowering and moaning in their huts.  He had not
heard their wails when word came that such-and-such were dead, nor their
croons of pity and tenderness as they did their little best for those
who were wounded.  All his thoughts were centred on the one pressing
problem: how to hold out, to wear down the enemy, to gain time.

When morning dawned he looked anxiously down the nullah.  Its downward
<DW72> enabled him to survey its whole length to the entrance without
unduly exposing himself.  He saw a few figures moving about where the
barricade had been, but between him and them none of the enemy was in
sight.  The vegetation on either side of the stream, growing to the
bases of the precipitous sides, would shelter hundreds: had any of them
crept up towards him under this cover during the night?  He could not
tell; nor dared he send out scouts to reconnoitre.

Presently he saw that the men at the entrance had been joined by two
white officers.  The Germans, who had kept in the background while the
askaris fought at the barricade, had now come forward to inspect the
position and direct the further operations.  Their intentions were soon
made manifest.  There was a burst of smoke from the middle of the burnt
barricade, and a shell exploded on the cliff-side just behind the
trench.  Tom at once withdrew his men to the cover of the bushes beyond
the bend, leaving only a handful in the trench to fire if any of the
enemy showed themselves within effective range. The bombardment thus
opened did not greatly disturb him.  The bend effectually protected his
men from harm, and the gun was not of a calibre large enough to demolish
the trench, of which only a portion was visible to the gunners.  Some
damage was done to the parapet on the eastern side, but the enemy's
object was clearly to intimidate the defenders, for the futility of
their shots, in a material sense, must have been clear to them.

It was clear, too, that they had learnt to respect the quality of the
defence opposed to them. They gave no sign of an intention to advance in
the open.  The bombardment was vigorous and sustained, but except for
the few figures moving about the gun at the entrance, not a man of them
was seen.  This inaction seemed ominous to Tom.  He could not think that
they meditated another night attack, for, unfamiliar with the ground,
they would be at a disadvantage in darkness.  Was it not more probable
that, relying on the bombardment to distract the defenders and to drive
them under cover, they were creeping through the brushwood nearer and
nearer to the trench, and would by-and-by make a rush, with the hope of
profiting by surprise?  This was the movement that he most dreaded,
because the result must depend absolutely on the numbers opposed to him.

Just after mid-day the bombardment suddenly ceased.  For a few minutes
there was a breathless silence in the nullah: nothing was heard but the
gurgling of the stream.  Then the storm broke. From the bushes on each
side, within a hundred yards of the trench, burst a swarm of men at the
double.  Tom had already summoned his men to their posts in the trench,
and the masses of the enemy had covered only a few yards when they
encountered a hail of lead from the parapet.  In spite of many gaps in
their crowded ranks they dashed forward with ferocious yells, and
pressed the charge up to the very edge of the trench. There, however,
they came under fire from some of the best marksmen, whom Tom had
stationed in the block-houses and also in the bushes on higher ground in
the rear.  They reeled under the double fire; a few who sprang over the
parapet into the trench were bayoneted or clubbed; the rest turned and
fled panic-stricken into the cover they had lately left with such
confidence, many of them falling to the shots of the triumphant Wahehe.

In the silence that followed, Tom was startled by sounds of firing from
the north.  It flashed upon him that the Germans had arranged a
simultaneous attack on the cleft.  The guard of twenty men he had posted
there, behind their barricades, ought to be able to hold their own on
ground so favourable to them; but Tom at this moment felt that he must
see for himself how they were faring. The repulse of the main attack
gave him at least a respite: he would not be absent more than thirty or
forty minutes; so leaving Mirambo in command, he hurried up the nullah.

On the way he was met by Moses himself, running to tell him that the men
above had sent word that the enemy was upon them, and asking that the
m'sungu would come to their assistance. Knowing the nature of the ground
they were defending, Tom guessed that the support they craved was rather
moral than material.  He did not care to send for reinforcements to
Mirambo, who might yet be hard pressed; but as he passed through the
village he collected half a dozen men who had been slightly wounded in
the first action, and ordered them to follow him up the ladder. Unknown
to him they were joined by the armed sentry who patrolled the lake-side
opposite the island.  The man afterwards explained that he was tired of
watching prisoners, and wished to have his share in useful work.

Tom found, as he had expected, that the men guarding the cleft had no
reason to be alarmed. Posted behind the first of the barricades
commanding a difficult passage along which the enemy must come in single
file, they could have held the position indefinitely.  It appeared that
the sight of a white officer among the askaris who had emerged from the
end of the ravine had struck them with dread: how could black men stand
against a m'sungu?  They hailed Tom's arrival with shouts of delight.
Being for once unaccompanied by Mwesa, he was unable to cheer them with
words; but he managed to make them understand by signs that he trusted
them, stayed with them for a few minutes while they fired at the enemy,
who showed no eagerness to risk the perils of advancing against a
position so formidable; then, confident that all was safe in this
quarter, at any rate for a time, hastened back to where the danger
threatened.

Just before he came to the rock from which the lake was visible, he
heard shouts of alarm and excitement from below.  Surely the enemy could
not already have broken through?  There had been no firing.  Hurrying
down at some risk of a fall, he halted at the rock in amazement at an
extraordinary drama that was being enacted.

Between the island and the shore a crazy raft was rocking in the water,
under the paddles, rough branches of trees, wielded in desperate haste
by the German prisoners.  From Tom's high position the reason of their
frantic exertions was only too apparent.  He could see far into the
clear water of the lake.  About the raft it was alive with crocodiles.
The hideous reptiles swam round and round, sheering off where the water
was churned by the paddles, but pushing their snouts on to the edges of
the raft where the paddlers stood.

The scene would have been laughable but for a possible element of
tragedy.  The raft was so slight, evidently so hastily put together,
that it dipped now on one side, now on another, under the strokes of the
paddles or the pressure of the crocodiles' snouts.  Water poured over
it.  The men dared not shift their positions, for every moment
threatened to make it capsize.  Divided between anxiety to gain the
shore and the urgency of beating off their horrid foes, they used their
futile paddles, now for propelling the raft, now for smiting the
reptiles' heads.

"The madmen!" thought Tom.  "How do they suppose they can escape?  But
where is the sentry?"

Women and children, shouting and screaming, thronged the shore, but
there was no armed man among them.

Tom watched the scene as if fascinated.  The positions of the men on the
raft had evidently been arranged with care to ensure its balance, which
was disturbed from moment to moment by the violence of their blows.  In
spite of all, they were making progress towards the lake-side. Suddenly,
in a moment, Fate said her last word to Curt Reinecke.  Intending to
strike a snout that had just slid on to the raft almost at his feet, he
overreached himself, the raft tilted, and he was in the water.  The
shriek that rose from the unhappy man rang long in Tom's ears.  At the
spot where he had fallen there was a furious swirl as the crocodiles
crowded together, and disappeared into the depths of the lake.

For a moment Tom was paralysed with horror. Then collecting himself, he
hastened down to the lake, and summoned the women to assist him in
launching the large raft on which food was taken to the prisoners.
Reinecke's fate had given the others a short respite.  Before the
reptiles returned to the surface the Germans had transferred themselves
from the one raft to the other, and pale, cowed, trembling mortals, were
paddled to the shore.

Tom had no time to question them, or to inquire about the missing
sentry.  The sound of scattered shots drew him at his best speed towards
the trench.  When he reached it, he found that his men were sniping at
individual askaris who were hurriedly making their way, not up, but down
the nullah.  Surely the enemy were not withdrawing?

"Me hear shots long way off, sah," said Mwesa, running towards his
master excitedly.

Tom thrilled from top to toe.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Sure nuff, sah.  Mirambo he say no: old ears, sah, no can hear, same as
me."

Tom wondered.  Could it be true?  Was the long-expected relief coming at
last?  Could there be any other explanation of distant firing?  He
strained his ears for the welcome sound.  He gazed towards the end of
the nullah.  There were certainly signs of activity there.  And then
came the sound that could not be mistaken. Somewhere to the south rapid
rifle fire was going on.

For a few moments all other feelings were submerged in overpowering
thankfulness.  Then the possibilities of the situation struck upon his
mind.  It was clear that some of the enemy had been withdrawn to meet
this attack in their rear. Had they all gone?  Had the conquest of the
nullah been wholly abandoned?  That must be put to the test.

He sent Mirambo out with a dozen sharpshooters to feel his way down the
nullah. Stealing along under cover of the bushes, the men had gone
nearly two hundred yards before the sound of shots reached the trench.
A scout hurried back to report that the whole of the enemy force was
retreating.  Tom instantly collected all his remaining fighting men, and
led them down after Mirambo's party.

Presently another scout came with the news that the enemy had not all
left the nullah, but had manned the old trench just within the
barricade.  Tom felt his way forward cautiously through the bush, and
overtook Mirambo where he had halted about a hundred yards from the
trench.  Southward the crackle of rifle-fire was growing louder and more
distinct.  It would be a pity to lose an opportunity of routing the
troops who still remained in the nullah, dispirited as they must be by
the knowledge that a fight was going on in their rear.

Tom jumped at the chance of employing against the enemy the manoeuvre
which the enemy had unsuccessfully employed against him. He ordered the
greater part of his men to creep through the trees and bush on each
side, taking care to avoid making the least noise, and to halt when they
came within fifty yards of his old trench, now manned by the enemy.  At
the same time, to divert attention, he sent word to the men he had left
at the bend to fire a shot occasionally, aiming at the cliffs.

When all was ready he gave the signal, and with a vociferous whoop
eighty men sprang from their places of concealment and followed him in a
whirlwind dash upon the trench.  The askaris there, taken aback by this
sudden charge of an enemy who had hitherto stood wholly on the
defensive, had no ears for the commands of their German lieutenant.
Without pausing even to fire one volley, they sprang out of the trench,
sprinted over the ruins of the barricade, leapt the moat or crossed by
the hurdles, and fled helter-skelter into the forest, flinging away
their arms as they ran.

Tom's men dashed after them in a flush of enthusiasm; among the pursuers
none were nimbler or more excited than the captured askaris.  Tom
shouted to them to take the fugitives prisoners, and not to use their
weapons except against those who resisted.  As for himself, he put every
ounce of what little energy remained to him into the chase of the German
officer, who, finding himself deserted by his men, had shown a clean
pair of heels.  Tom was up with him before he gained the forest.  The
German, aware that he was outrun, suddenly swung round and half raised
his arm to fire his revolver.  But he was a shade too late.  Tom hurled
himself upon him with all the impetus gained in his sprint across the
clearing, struck the revolver from his hand with his left fist, and with
his right dealt the officer a smashing blow on the chin that sent him
headlong backward with a crash.

Leaving him to be picked up by some of the older and less fleet-footed
of the <DW64>s, Tom hurried on towards the sounds of firing.  He had no
need to go far.  Fugitives from the nullah had reached their comrades,
who were falling back before a force of white men and Rhodesian police
advancing on a wide front. Realising that they were between two fires,
the enemy gave up the hopeless struggle, and scattered to right and
left, seeking safety in the pathless forest.  The firing ceased, and
within ten minutes of leaving the nullah Tom was grasping the hand of a
tall bronzed Englishman who bore a major's crown upon his sleeve.

"Tom Willoughby, I suppose," said that officer, looking with a quizzical
smile into the tired brown eyes on a level with his own.

"You're Major Burnaby?"

"Yes.  A nice little scoop, eh?  Now, we've no time to lose.  Take me to
your nullah.  Your people must trek at once.  We've cut the wires on the
Neu Langenburg road.  Two detachments half a mile apart are holding a
place clear for our crossing.  With luck we'll get through before they
send up troops from Bismarckburg. But we must hurry."




CHAPTER XXI--WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTS


An hour later a singular procession marched southward through the
forest.  At the head went a number of Msetu's scouts, with an advanced
guard of strapping Rhodesian planters, young and middle-aged.  Behind
these, a detachment of Rhodesian native police, their broad black faces
shining.  Then, a happy throng of women and children, each bearing a
bundle. These were followed by a number of white men and black, all
wearing bandages about an arm or a leg or the head.  Then, twenty or
more couples of native soldiers with the Red Cross upon their sleeves,
carrying field ambulances on which lay still, bandaged figures, white
and black.  Next, four Germans, among whom the stiff bulky form of Major
von Rudenheim was conspicuous, and thirty odd askaris--prisoners guarded
by Rhodesian police.  Then Major Burnaby, with Tom Willoughby, Mwesa in
close attendance behind. Then a large body of native porters, stepping
lightly under the heavy burdens on their heads. Following these marched
the whole body of the Wahehe fighting men, led by Mirambo; six of them
drew a mountain gun; and finally, at an interval, the rearguard of
British planters, volunteers in the service of the Empire.

There is no need to relate the details of their uneventful journey.
Next day, in a pelting rainstorm, they crossed the Neu Langenburg road,
where their numbers were increased by two small detachments of Rhodesian
police under British officers, whose watch upon the road had not been
molested.  Late on the third day the procession, weary, drenched, but at
the top of high spirits, filed up the hill into the little town of
Abercorn.

It is perhaps worth while, however, to record two conversations.

When the arrangements for the evacuation of the nullah had been made,
Major Burnaby had leisure for a little talk with Tom Willoughby, over a
bottle of excellent hock from the case Tom had captured on the Neu
Langenburg road.

"Oh, that's all right," said the major, in response to Tom's warm
expression of thanks. "You owe it to my old father-in-law, you know--Mr.
Barkworth."

"Indeed!"

"Yes: he took a fancy to you on the boat. Dear old man!  His heart's as
young as it was when I first met him in Uganda twenty years ago--when I
was about your age.  He was mightily perturbed about you when we got
word that the mad dog had broken loose.  Wrote off at once to Reinecke,
whom he knew long ago, asking him to pass you across the border with a
safe-conduct, and became quite ill when Reinecke replied that you had
been accidentally killed.  He gave a very circumstantial account of your
accident, by the way."

"He was a good liar," said Tom.

"Was?"

"Yes, he's dead--horribly.  He came to attack me, and I collared him and
put him on the island in the lake.  I suppose he grew impatient when he
heard the firing, couldn't wait for the end, and got his
fellow-prisoners to make a sort of a raft. Our sentry deserted his post,
with the most praiseworthy intentions, and Reinecke took advantage of
his absence to launch the raft.  He was attacked by crocodiles; Reinecke
lunged at one, and toppled over.  I saw the whole thing: the
recollection makes me sick."

"Poor devil!  He was a tricky sort of fellow, according to Mr.
Barkworth."

Tom related the incidents that had led to his occupation of the nullah.

"He deserved no better fate," remarked Major Burnaby at the close of the
story.  "Fellows like him make one unjust, perhaps--I mean, one would
rather not regard him as a typical German. Unhappily his countrymen are
doing their best to make the name of Germany odious."

"What are they doing, sir?  What's the war about?  Of course I've heard
nothing."

Major Burnaby gave an outline of the public events that led to the
war--events which all the world knows.

"But the real origin of the war is Germany's tigerish greed," he said.
"One can understand that a great nation, flushed with unexampled
success, conscious of power and the possession of many good qualities
which only an ass would deny, should look with a certain envy and
jealousy on our little islands as the owners of a world-wide empire.
There are wrong-headed and sentimental people at home who make excuses
for her, ask how we could expect her to be content with the present
position of things, say we deny her means of expansion, and so on.  But
they shut their eyes to the fundamental contrast between Germany and
ourselves.  Our Empire is a gradual, almost an accidental, growth: much
of it has been so to speak thrust upon us: you've only to read history
to know that.  We have taken up the burden of rule in barbarous
countries, or countries like India and Egypt, where civilisation had
decayed, and which but for us would be either bear's gardens or hotbeds
of slavery and oppression.  I don't say that our motives have always
been of the purest or our methods always the best; but I do say that we
have never, as a state, set before us the deliberate aim of grabbing
what doesn't belong to us, forcing all civilisations into our particular
mould, and subjugating all other nations by sheer brutal terrorism.
That is what Germany is doing. She hasn't a notion of honour.  She was
bound to respect the neutrality of Belgium; a few days before she threw
her troops across the frontier she assured the Belgian Government that
she had no intention of doing so.  She forced on the war when Austria
was hesitating, simply because she thought she saw a unique opportunity
of gaining a quick and easy victory, smashing Russia, smashing France,
grabbing valuable territory, filling her coffers with millions of
foreign gold, and reaching a position in which every country in Europe,
and ultimately in the whole world, would be her very humble tributary.
She will allow nothing to stand in her way: no treaties, no scruples of
honour, no considerations of humanity. She is simply Brute Force
personified; the whole nation has gone mad in the worship of militarism;
and she will never come to a better mind, there will be no security in
this unhappy world, until her idols are broken by the application of the
same force in overwhelming measure.  That's our job, my dear fellow, and
we must go through with it, whatever the cost."

The other conversation took place in a planter's house at Abercorn.  Mr.
Barkworth had just heard from Tom's lips the full story of all that had
happened to him since their parting on the landing stage at
Bismarckburg.

"H'm!" ejaculated the old man.  "Tom," he said, turning to his
son-in-law, "he's your namesake.  Eh?  Tom's a good name--better than
riches!  Young Tom must have a commission, eh?  Want to fight, young
Tom?"

"Not particularly, sir.  I mean, I don't want to fight; but there's only
one thing to be done with a bully--hit him hard.  That seems to be the
position; and I'll do my best."

"Sound doctrine, my lad.  I'm a man of peace; but I read of a Man of
Peace who once flogged a pack of rascals out of the Temple of Jerusalem.
No soft words; but stinging whips.  Please God, we'll whip Germany into
good behaviour.  But now, the practical point.  Infantry?  Cavalry?
Artillery?  What's it to be?"

"He seems rather good at organising scouts," Major Burnaby put in.

"H'm!  Scouts very useful when we get seriously to work in those wilds.
Willoughby's Scouts, why not?  What do you say, young Tom?"

"I couldn't wish for anything better, sir.  The Wahehe will be a
nucleus: they're very keen."

"They'll follow you like faithful dogs.  I know them!  Well, old Tom,
you'll arrange it.  Smuts is coming: fine fellow, Smuts: I know him.
Willoughby's Scouts must be ready--


                      'TOM WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTS.'"




                      PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY
                     RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
                  BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E. 1,
                          AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.




                                  ----




                        A FEW STIRRING ROMANCES

                           By HERBERT STRANG


The Air Patrol

A story of the North-West Frontier.

Illustrated in colour by CYRUS CUNEO.

In this hook Mr. Strang looks ahead--and other books have already proved
him a prophet of surprising skill--to a time when there is a great
Mongolian Empire whose army sweeps down on the North-West Frontier of
India.  His two heroes luckily have an aeroplane, and with the help of a
few Pathan miners they hold a pass in the Hindu Kush against a swarm of
Mongols, long enough to prevent the cutting of the communications of the
Indian army operating in Afghanistan.  The qualities which marked Mr.
Strang's story, "The Air Scout," and won extraordinarily high
commendation from Lord Roberts, Lord Curzon, and others, as well as from
the _Spectator_ and other great journals, are again strikingly
displayed; and the combination of thrilling adventure with an Imperial
problem and excellent writing, adds one more to this author's long list
of successes.

"An exceptionally good book, written moreover in excellent
style."--_Times_.

"'The Air Patrol' is really a masterpiece."--_Morning Post_.



The Air Scout

A Story of National Defence.

Illustrated in Colour by W. R. S. STOTT.

The problems of National Defence are being discussed with more and more
care and attention, not only in Great Britain, but also in all parts of
the Empire.  In this story Mr. Strang imagines a Chinese descent upon
Australia, and carries his hero through a series of exciting adventures,
in which the value of national spirit, organisation, and discipline is
exemplified.  The important part which the aeroplane will play in
warfare is recognised, and the thousands of readers who have delighted
in the author's previous stories of aviation will find this new book
after their own heart.

LORD ROBERTS wrote:--"It is capital reading, and should interest more
than boys.  Your forecast is so good that I can only hope the future may
not bring to Australia such a struggle as the one you so graphically
describe."

LORD CURZON writes:--"I have read with great pleasure your book, 'The
Air Scout.'  It seems to me to be a capital story, full of life and
movement: and further, it preaches the best of all secular gospels,
patriotism and co-operation."

"We congratulate Mr. Strang on this fine book--one of the best fighting
stories we have read."--_Morning Post_.



ROMANCES BY HERBERT STRANG


Palm Tree Island

Illustrated in Colour by ARCHIBALD WEBB.

In this story two boys are left on a volcanic island in the South Seas,
destitute of everything but their clothes.  The story relates how they
provided themselves with food and shelter, with tools and weapons; how
they fought with wild dogs and sea monsters; and how, when they have
settled down to a comfortable life under the shadow of the volcano,
their peace is disturbed by the advent of savages and a crew of mutinous
Englishmen.  The savages are driven away; the mutineers are subdued
through the boys' ingenuity; and they ultimately sail away in a vessel
of their own construction.  In no other book has the author more
admirably blended amusement with instruction.

"Written so well that there is not a dull page in the book."--_The
World_.



Rob the Ranger

A Story of the Fight for Canada.

With Illustrations in Colour and Maps.

Rob Somers, son of an English settler in New York State, sets out with
Lone Pete, a trapper, in pursuit of an Indian raiding party which has
destroyed his home and carried off his younger brother.  He is captured
and taken to Quebec, where he finds his brother in strange
circumstances, and escapes with him in the dead of the winter, in
company with a little band of stout-hearted New Englanders.

General Baden-Powell, in recommending books to the Boy Scouts, places
"Rob the Ranger" first among the great scouting stories.



One of Clive's Heroes

A Story of the Fight for India.

With Illustrations in Colour and Maps.

Desmond Burke goes out to India to seek his fortune, and is sold by a
false friend of his, one Marmaduke Diggle, to the famous Pirate of
Gheria.  But he escapes, runs away with one of the Pirate's own vessels,
and meets Colonel Clive, whom he assists to capture the Pirate's
stronghold.  His subsequent adventures on the other side of India--how
he saves a valuable cargo for his friend Mr. Merriman, and assists Clive
in his fights against Sirajuddaula--are told with great spirit and
humour.

"An absorbing story....  The narrative not only thrills, but also weaves
skilfully out of fact and fiction a clear impression of our fierce
struggle for India."--_Athenaeum_.




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