Tom Burnaby: A Story of Uganda and the Great Congo Forest

by Herbert Strang

  CHAPTER VIII

  In the Toils

  With the Raiders--The Hakim--Mustapha--A Trap--In a Slave Camp--Man'sInhumanity--De Castro Again--De Castro Eloquent

  A few minutes after Mbutu had left his master to go on his painful questfor help, four big Manyema warriors came bounding through the forest.They carried spears, the iron heads of which were as yet clear of blood.When they caught sight of the six prostrate bodies in the narrow gladethey halted, and with one consent bent down to rifle the dead. They hadstripped two of the Arabs of what small articles of value theypossessed, when the negro who had stooped over Tom's body uttered asharp exclamation, at which his companions left their gruesomeoccupation and came hastily to his side. As he was tearing a buttonfrom Tom's coat, the eyes of the apparent corpse had opened for aninstant, and the body had moved uneasily. The four men stooped, peeringat it, talking excitedly, and waxing hotter and hotter in argument.Three of them were for spearing the body at once, declaring that, fromthe nature of the wound, death was inevitable, and that they might aswell hasten matters and share the spoil. But the man who had come firstupon the scene obstinately opposed this course. It was the body of anEnglishman, he said; there was still life in him; and it would tend verymuch to their advantage to keep him alive and carry him to the Arabchief, who would no doubt reward them handsomely for so valuable aprize. As a final argument, he reminded his friends that they had beenamong the first to bolt from the field, and as they were aware of thepunishment that awaited them, it was well to propitiate the chief andsave their skins. This argument had its effect, and without wastingmore time on the fallen Arabs, they prepared to carry Tom away.

  The leader tore a strip from the burnous of one of the Arabs, and deftlywound it about Tom's head, to prevent further loss of blood from thedeep gash at the base of his skull. The rest as quickly fashioned alitter out of two spears and another burnous; and before Mbutu hadwalked halfway to the British camp, his master was being borne by thefour Manyema swiftly in the opposite direction.

  He was still unconscious when the men placed him on the litter. Theterrific blow inflicted on him by the Arab, followed by his heavy fall,had been very near causing concussion of the brain, and the loss ofblood he had suffered would of itself have deprived him ofconsciousness. Indeed, but for the opportune arrival of his captors,and the interested thoughtfulness of the man who had bandaged his head,there can be no doubt that Tom Burnaby would in a short time have donewith mortality and become a prey to jackals and vultures.

  As the Manyema hurried on with elastic stride, the gentle swingingmotion of the litter appeared to revive him partially. The moon hadjust risen, and Tom, opening his eyes, fancied that he was being bornealong by the Soudanese who had carried him into camp the day before.His lips moved, and the bearers started when they heard their helplessprisoner muttering light-headedly until he dozed again into quietude.

  After the negroes had tramped for about an hour, following a narrowtrack by the light of moon and stars, they were stopped by an Arab whocame suddenly out of the forest, and demanded of them who they were. Helooked with interest at the pale face of the sleeping stripling in thelitter, and informed the carriers that he himself was one of a number ofscouts left at various points along the track of the Arab chief, todirect stragglers to head-quarters. After the second repulse, and hissingle-handed fight with Tom, the chief had made no further attempt torally his men, but struck due north, picking up several parties offugitives on the way. At the distance of some few miles from the sceneof his disaster he knew of a ford over the river, at which he crossed,continuing thence his march in a westerly direction until he reached theright bank of the River Ntungwe, not far from its entrance into LakeAlbert Edward. There he encamped for the night, leaving word of hiswhereabouts, as has been shown, and appointing a general rendezvous at avillage on the farther bank of the Rutchuru.

  All this the four Manyema learnt from the Arab scout, who, whilespeaking, had helped himself to Tom's watch and chain, roughly tellingthe negroes that he would shoot them if they breathed a word of thatlittle performance to the chief. He then allowed them to proceed. Theysoon afterwards struck into a path leading to the ford, crossed theriver under a ghostly moonlight, and reached the encampment an hourbefore dawn.

  Their arrival was not the important event they had anticipated. Shortlybefore, the Wanyabinga chief against whose village the Britishexpedition was directed, and who had brought a contingent to the Arabforce, had come into camp to plead with the Arab for one more attempt todestroy Major Burnaby's little army. He had himself done all he could,he said; he had "eaten up" all his rivals in the neighbouring villagesfor a score of miles round, in order to starve the British force; hisknowledge of the country had proved invaluable to the Arabs in theirraids for ivory; and it was due to information given by him that theambush from which he had expected so much had been planned. It wasunfortunate, a calamity only to be ascribed to some ju-ju ormedicine-man, that the ambush had failed; but for all that, hecontended, his services still merited some reward. If his lord Mustaphawas not prepared to make a direct assault on the expeditionary force, hemight at least help in the defence of the speaker's village, which wasencircled by a triple stockade, and impregnable, he thought, if stronglyheld.

  Now the poor Wanyabinga chief had all along been the dupe of his astuteArab ally. Mustapha had used him entirely for his own ends. He hadinstigated the acts of insubordination and treachery which Major Burnabywas proceeding to punish, persuading the credulous negro that the whiteman would before long be altogether expelled from the lake country, andpromising, when that happy day came, to establish him, the native chief,as King of Uganda. But the Arab was furious at the failure of hischerished scheme. He was beside himself with rage, ready to vent it onwhatever person or thing came first in his way. His answer to the blackchief's plea was a brutal laugh, a curse, a jibe. The Wanyabingaattempted to bring him to reason. "When I am king of Uganda," he said,"I will repay your kindness with hundreds upon hundreds of slaves, anduntold wealth of ivory." "You king of Uganda!" retorted Mustaphaderisively; "you will one day carry my wash-pot and tie the latchets ofmy shoe!" The man protested, whereupon the Arab flew into a passion,and, drawing his sword, declared flatly that he would slice theimportunate wretch into little pieces if he did not immediately withdrawfrom his presence. The negro hastily departed, nursing wild purposes ofvengeance in his heart.

  It was just after this scene that the four tired Manyema brought Tominto the camp. They sought an interview with the chief. He declined tosee them. They sent word to him that they had with them a woundedofficer of the British force. His answer was that they might kill himand eat him if they pleased. Astonished and crestfallen, they wereconsidering with one another what to do with their captive when thechief's hakim appeared on the scene. Put in possession of the facts, headvised the men to attempt nothing further with Mustapha in his presenttemper; in the meantime he himself would be answerable for the prisoner.The negroes were loth to let him go without some tangible recompense fortheir labour; but when the Arab glared at them, and threatened them withthe mysteries of his art, with superstitious fear they left theirunconscious burden and went moodily away.

  Tom owed his life to the skilful tendance of the Arab physician. Withsuch rough appliances and medicaments as he had at hand, the hakimdressed Tom's wounds; he then placed him in a comfortable position byhis own watch-fire, and sat by him until daylight.

  Tom awoke with the dawn, conscious of a terrible pain at the back of hishead, and a feeling all over him of emptiness and collapse. He was toofeeble even to be surprised when he saw the grave face of the Arab a fewfeet from his own.

  "Where am I?" he whispered, and wondered at the scarcely audible soundof his own voice. The Arab shook his head. He knew no English. He wentaway, and returned presently with a cup of some warm liquid, which headministered in drops on a horn spoon. Tom was grateful for theatt
ention; the Arab fed him thus for ten minutes, and the food revivedhim, bringing a touch of colour into his pale cheeks.

  Almost immediately afterwards the order was given to strike camp. Byeight o'clock the crowd was in motion. During the night some fourhundred Arabs had rallied to the chief, as well as a number of theirblack allies. But the majority of the Manyema had had their confidencein the Arabs dismally shattered by the event of the previous day, andhad dispersed to their homes.

  The chief, knowing that he was new in the territory of the Congo FreeState, felt pretty secure from pursuit by the British, and had decidedto continue his march westward towards the Rutchuru at a moderate pace.He stalked along with downbent head before his troops, reminding Tom,when he saw him presently, of Napoleon in Meissonier's picture of theretreat from Moscow. The hakim had seen him early in the morning, andspoken to him of the English prisoner; and the chief had curtly biddenthe physician tend him carefully, as he might be valuable as a hostage.As for him, he had other matters to attend to. Tom learnt later whatthese other matters were.

  The hakim sought out the four Manyema who had brought Tom to the camp,and ordered them to resume their task. The Arab walked by the head ofthe litter, and when the sun rose higher, he arranged a linen screenabove Tom's head, which served to defend him from the burning rays andin some measure from insects.

  At mid-day the chief halted to dispose of the business that weighed onhim. He first called up the Wanyabinga chief, who had clung to the bandin the hope of the Arab's relenting. But Mustapha told him bluntly thatif he accompanied the caravan farther it would be as a slave. The manstood trembling for a moment as though paralysed; then muttering awfulimprecations, he collected his few tribesmen, brandished his spearthrice, and bolted amid his men across the swamp. Having reached a safedistance he halted, led a chorus of execration, and hurling his spear ina last desperate defiance at his late ally, he turned and disappearedinto the bush.

  Then the Arab formed a court of six of his leading men, and summonedbefore him two miserable wretches whom Tom had noticed marchingpainfully, with shackled feet and wrists, under a close guard. Theywere charged with cowardice during the first terrible fight on theprevious afternoon. In due form they were condemned to death and ledaway, and shortly afterwards Tom heard two shots. In affairs of thiskind the Arabs waste no ammunition.

  The march was resumed, and now that he had attended to his othermatters, the chief had time to take some notice of Tom, He came up tothe litter, and started when he saw that the prisoner was none otherthan the stripling who had held him in such desperate fight. Hegrunted, as though in displeasure at discovering his doughty opponentstill alive; then a faint smile wreathed his lips, and the cloud thathad darkened his face all day cleared away. He spoke rapidly to thehakim, who nodded his head and replied gravely. Tom of course understoodnothing of what they said, but he inferred that the physician haddeclared him out of danger, and that the Arab was calculating on turningthe capture to some profit. Giving Tom another glance, in which therewas a tinge of admiration for a warrior worthy of his steel, Mustaphareturned to his place at the head of the caravan.

  Late that night they reached the right bank of the Rutchuru. The chiefand his men had slept for but one hour during the past twenty-four, andwere too tired to attempt a crossing. They formed a zariba on a stretchof dry ground about half a mile from the river, intending to continuethe march next day towards their stronghold beyond the hills. Tom wasagain carefully tended by Mahmoud the hakim, and, thanks to his fineconstitution, was steadily gaining strength.

  Next morning, just as the Arabs were breaking up camp, one of the scoutswho had already been sent across the river returned with the news that,some distance beyond the farther bank, he had descried from an eminencea body of about a hundred men in uniform preparing to march. They werecommanded by a white officer. The question naturally flashed intoMustapha's mind: "Could they be a part of the British force sent out insearch of the missing officer?" He had already heard, from one or twolate stragglers from the force which had engaged Captain Lister, of therockets sent up and the bugles sounded when darkness had fallen afterthe fight, and he had no stomach for encountering a vengefulsearch-party. The force just discovered, it was true, was in a quarterwhere the British were little to be expected, but it was well to be onthe safe side. Hoping that his troops had not yet been seen, and thatif they had been seen they would be mistaken in the distance for apeaceful caravan, the Arab determined on a strategic move. Instead ofcrossing the river, and thus coming upon the other force at an acuteangle, he moved off in a north-easterly direction, as though making forthe south-eastern corner of Lake Albert Edward, leaving a few trustyscouts to watch the movements of the unknown troops. But this was onlya feint. After marching for a few miles he swung round suddenly to thesouth-east, cut across the track of his previous day's march, pressed onrapidly over the swampy ground, and struck the Rutchuru some ten milesfrom his first position, the river bending there almost due east. Therehe crossed, and, finding a stretch of comparatively clear and levelground between the forest and the hills, he halted his men, to rest themafter their forced march.

  Not many minutes afterwards a scout came up at full speed to say thatthe unknown force was following hot-foot at their heels, and taking amore direct line, having evidently divined the object of the trick. Thenews was hardly out of his mouth when another scout followed andinformed the chief that the pursuing force was composed of Bangala, andwas unmistakeably Belgian, and not British. Mustapha smiled grimly.His four hundred Arabs were a match, he thought, for a body of Bangalaof one fourth that number, and rather than run the risk of being doggedand harassed, he determined to chance a fight. Sending his transport onin advance, under an escort of fifty Arabs and a crowd of negroes, heproceeded to prepare a hot welcome for his pursuers.

  He knew every inch of the ground. Between his halting-place and thefoot of the hills intervened a swamp some two miles long and half a milebroad. It was crossed by two paths, one leading straight to the hills,the other intersecting the first at right angles about a quarter of amile from the outer edge of the swamp. The whole region was mere mudand water, except along the paths, with elephant-grass at least twelvefeet high standing up in all directions.

  Mustapha made his dispositions rapidly. He posted a hundred of his menon the second and shorter path, about two hundred yards to the left ofthe main path, at a spot where they were absolutely concealed by tallgrass. At the farther end of the main path he placed another hundred,with orders to offer a feeble resistance to the Belgian troops, and toretire before them into a dense copse at the base of the hills. A thirdhundred were stationed some three hundred yards north, at the edge ofthe swamp, on a line curving to the east, so that they commanded theright flank of the advancing force. These positions had hardly beentaken up when the Belgian scouts, having crossed the river, advancedcautiously to the edge of the swamp and began to move forward along themain path. Just as they came to the crossways they caught sight of afew Arabs retiring in their immediate front, these having beeninstructed so to do in order to lure them on. The plan workedperfectly. Not troubling to examine the crosspaths, they returned withthe information that the Arabs were retreating to the hills, obviouslydesirous of avoiding an engagement. The Belgian commandant, who hadarrived but recently from Europe and was burning to distinguish himselfin the pursuit of raiders, ordered his men to press forward rapidly. TheBangala advanced in single file, their commandant at their head, betweenhedges of grass, sometimes in their haste slipping knee-deep into theswamp.

  They came in sight of the end of the path, and were met by a few shotsfrom the Arabs there assembled, who then retired in apparenttrepidation. At the same time the Arabs stationed to the north opened abrisk fire on the Bangala's right flank, to which they repliedvigorously, but ineffectively, for the grass was too high to allow themto see the enemy or take careful aim. The commandant, at the head ofthe column, ordered a halt, and was amazed now to hear shots in
hisrear. The Arabs posted on the crosspath had begun to fire on the rear ofthe slender column. Fearing for his transport, which he had left undera small guard at the edge of the swamp, the commandant made the fatalmistake of ordering a retreat. His men turned about and began to runback. Meanwhile the Arabs behind them had come from their place ofconcealment and taken up their position at the crossways on both sidesof the path, and those at the other end, who had pretended to retire,returned in brisk pursuit. Caught between two fires, the Bangala werethrown into a panic. The commandant was hit, and speared as he lay; hismen, paralysed with fright, either stood until they were shot down, orplunged into the swamp and met their death in the ooze.

  Mustapha, with grim exultation in his face, then swept down upon thefeebly-defended transport. The Bangala, after firing one shot, threwdown their arms and begged for mercy. They were given a choice betweeninstant death and slavery; and in the upshot, when the Arab chiefcontinued his journey westward, he was richer by the whole of theBelgian baggage and a slave-gang of twenty Bangala, with as many morenegro carriers.

  Tom in his litter had been sent forward with Mahmoud the physician andthe Arab baggage. At the sound of firing his heart leapt with thethought that it was perhaps his uncle who had overtaken the Arabs. Thewatchful hakim observed his excitement, and dashed his hopes with ashake of the head. At that moment a slug, shot from who knows where,dropped within a yard of Tom's litter. The Arab started and let fall anexclamation in German.

  "Do you know German?" asked Tom eagerly in the same language. He feltquite friendly towards the grave hakim with the high narrow forehead andthe long straggling beard.

  "Yes, a little," said the Arab in surprise. "I lived a long time inBagamoyo, when the Germans first came, and I have learned to speak alittle in their infidel tongue."

  "I can't tell you how glad I am. I've been longing to have someone totalk to now that I am getting better. Who is firing away over there?"

  "Belgians."

  "Oh!" Tom looked glum, and the Arab's lips wore a queer little smile.

  "You may give up hope of rescue," continued the Arab. "We are miles andmiles away from your friends, and they would never find you."

  "What am I to expect, then? Better shoot me at once--if they think ofkeeping me as a prisoner."

  "You have rich friends, no doubt; they will pay."

  "Ransom! Much I'm worth! What are you taking me right away from myfriends for, then?"

  The Arab shrugged.

  "You can judge," he said.

  And indeed, when Tom thought of it, he saw that the chief was wise inseeking his remote and inaccessible stronghold before openingcommunications with the British authorities.

  It took two days to reach the village appointed by the chief as therendezvous for his scattered force. Tom was carried all the way in thelitter, the hakim refusing to allow him yet to try to walk. They talkedtogether in German, but though the Arab spoke freely enough about thingsin general, giving the captive many bits of curious and interestinginformation, he was very reserved on all matters relating to the chief'saims and plans and movements.

  On reaching the village the chief announced his intention of remainingthere for three days, to give his friends and allies ample time forrejoining him. From the hut in which the hakim had fixed his quartersTom had a clear view through the village. He saw a scene which hauntedhis memory and imagination for many a long day. Within a fence ofbanana stalks stood a series of low sheds, many lines deep. Betweenthem, and around, were packed rows upon rows of naked negroes, standing,lying stretched upon the ground, or moving about in utter listlessness.Young men, women, children, all, save the very youngest, were chainedand fettered; their necks were encircled with iron rings, through whicha chain passed, binding the wretched creatures together in gangs oftwenty. Tom saw one man raise his hand to his neck to ease it of thegalling band; another, worn to a skeleton, lay panting his life out by aheap of filth; two tiny black boys were innocently playing with thelinks of the chain that bound their mother to other women. The look ofagony and despair upon the faces of the grown slaves, still more thehappy unconsciousness of the little children, touched Tom to the heart,and there and then he vowed, if in God's providence he ever escaped fromthat place of horror, to do all in his power to help stamp out the crueltrade. He poured out his indignation in fierce words to the Arab, whosmiled and shrugged, remarking simply, "Allah is good." Tom tried toreason with him, but found him absolutely incapable even ofunderstanding what the pother was about. "There always had been slaves,there always would be slaves; Allah is good."

  Tom turned away, impatient and sick at heart. His eye fell on anadjacent enclosure, in which the relics of innumerable raids layscattered or heaped up in profusion. Drums, spears, swords, assegais,bows and arrows, knives, ivory horns, ivory pestles, wooden idols, thewardrobes and paraphernalia of sorcerers, baskets, pots,hammers--thousands of things, useful and useless, bore witness to theArabs' depredations. As he looked, a picture seemed to form itself inhis mind. Through the darkness of night he sees stealthy, long-robedforms creep towards a sleeping village; no sound issuing from the gloomsave the drowsy hum of cicadas or the croak of distant frogs; whensuddenly the glare of torches gleams upon the huts, the thatch burstsinto flame, and the scared sleepers wake amid the rattle of musketry,some to meet swift death with momentary pain, others--alas! theyoungest, the strongest--to wear out their lives in the lingering deathof slavery. Tom brushed his hands over his eyes, and begged theimpassive Arab to take him away.

  On the third morning of his stay in the village Tom observed that thechief was in a towering rage. He asked the physician, as the caravanagain moved out westward, what was the cause of his master'sdisturbance. Mahmoud refused to explain. The truth was that one of thescouts despatched by the chief to the scene of his fight with MajorBurnaby had returned with the news that he had discovered, on the bluff,the corpses of eight of the nine men placed there to hurl down the logs.Up to that moment the chief had been entirely at a loss to account forthe failure of the ambush so carefully arranged, and had only nursedvague suspicions. But the fact that the ambush had failed, as nowreported, in the very first detail, coupled with the nonappearance of DeCastro, whom he had expected to join him immediately after the battle,convinced the chief that he had been betrayed, and by his supposedfriend, the Portuguese. Chewing the bitter cud of his wrath, Mustaphaordered his men to set off early in the morning, including in thecaravan six hundred of the slaves.

  Tom was no longer borne in a litter. The hakim had declared him wellenough to walk. He was provided with a linen turban to protect hishead, and with a gourd and wallet to hold water and food for the day.That he was a prisoner was left in no doubt by the guard of six men,armed with loaded rifles, who marched with him, three in front and threebehind. The six were changed every three hours, a precaution againstany attempt on Tom's part to become too friendly with his guards,unnecessary in the circumstances, for when, from sheer tedium, heventured to address a few words to them, they shook their heads inunfeigned ignorance of his meaning.

  Indignant as he had been at the sight of the herded slaves in thevillage, his blood boiled at the scenes which met his gaze during themarch, and his fingers itched to get to grips with the slave-traders."If I were only Hercules, or Samson, or any of the fabled giants ofold!" he sighed, chafing at his impotence. The slaves were driven onwithout remorse or ruth, the heavy whip descending upon their shouldersor curling about their loins at any sign of lagging. Mothers carriedtheir babies till they collapsed from exhaustion, strong youths fell,utterly spent, by the path-side. Some of the weaklings were butcheredas they lay, the rest were left to die of famine, or perchance to beenslaved again if haply some Good Samaritan found them and nursed themback to strength.

  Besides these actual evidences of present cruelty, the path itself borewitness to savageries in the past. Leading, like all native paths, uphill and down dale, crossing rocky uplands or traversing dense forests,it had been
trodden with no attempt to find the easiest way, sometimeswinding like a snake where a straight course would have saved miles,sometimes making a straight line up a precipitous ascent where acircular route would have been more expeditious. If a tree had fallenacross it the obstruction was not removed, but a new path was troddenround it, joining the original path again at a point beyond. At morethan one spot Tom saw a skeleton across the track, and there the pathmade a little divergence of two or three yards, returning to its courseat the same distance on the other side. In answer to Tom's question thehakim told him that if a man died on the road he was never buried, butleft to the beasts of the field and the fowl of the air. The loopformed by the path about the body remained for ever, though the obstaclein course of time disappeared. Several of the grisly skeletons thereencountered had the iron rings still about their necks; and with each,fuel was added to Tom's wrath, and strength to his resolve.

  Towards noon, on the second day after leaving the slave-village, Tom,marching among his guards, felt more than usually dejected in spirit.He held his head high, and preserved an undaunted mien before the Arabs,but in reality he was beginning to despair of ever beholding England andhis friends again. For one thing, he was physically out of sorts; thevillages in which the long caravan encamped at night were not models ofcleanliness, and he was sometimes too sick to swallow the unsavouryfoods provided for him. Moreover, he had been terribly plagued with thejiggers, the scourge of African travel,--insects which pierced the skinand laid their eggs beneath it, these in their turn becoming worms thatcaused intolerable pain and irritation.

  Towards noon, then, when he was feeling particularly unhappy, heobserved signs of commotion in the column ahead. The chief, posted uponan ant-hill, was looking eagerly into the distance at a group of menwhom he had descried upon the sky-line a mile away. He ordered thecaravan to halt, and, suspecting from the smallness of the group that itmight be the advance scouts of another force led by Europeans, hedespatched fifty of his men to reconnoitre. They divided into two equalbands, and went off through the bush on either side of the path so as tosurround the little party, and, if it proved hostile, to cut off itsretreat.

  Mustapha, in the meantime, collected the best of his fighting-men aroundhim, and waited intently for his scouts to reach the strangers, who hadhalted upon an eminence and seemed to be hesitating whether to advanceor to retire. But after a short period of indecision the group movedslowly towards the halted caravan. It proved, as it came moredistinctly into view, to consist of ten men, all fully armed. They weresoon met by the Arab scouts, with whom they exchanged, not shots, butfriendly greetings, and who turned and escorted them towards thecaravan. As they approached, something in the bearing of the leaderseemed familiar to Tom, and it was with a thrill almost of dismay thathe recognized him, a hundred yards away, as indubitably his old enemy,De Castro.

  It was a different De Castro, however, from the brisk and alert pursuerwhose clutches he had so narrowly escaped. The Portuguese was haggardand worn; his self-confidence had vanished; his clothes were in tatters;even his green coat was sober and subdued, for constant exposure to thesun had bleached it to a dirty gray. His hunt for the Arab hadevidently been particularly arduous, and there was no eagerness in histone as he greeted his friend Mustapha.

  Tom had been watching the chief, and wondering at the ominous scowl thatdarkened his face, growing ever blacker as the Portuguese drew nearer.To De Castro's greeting the Arab replied with a curse; then turning, hegave a sharp word of command. Twenty of his men sprang forward, and thewayworn new-comers were disarmed in a twinkling, standing helpless withdull amazement. A change instantly came over the attitude of thesurrounding Arabs, the ready smile of welcome gave place to a darkscowl, and many a forefinger moved suggestively to the trigger. ThePortuguese, after the first shock of surprise, gave vent to a torrent ofindignant remonstrance, to which the chief turned a deaf ear; whereuponDe Castro, with a shrug that seemed to say: "He's in one of histempers", held his peace, and accepted the situation with stoicalindifference.

  Tom, in the meantime, had watched the scene with curious eyes, carefulto keep out of the man's sight. "Strange," he thought, "that both ofus, after our former tussle, should be prisoners in the same hands!"When the march was resumed, the Portuguese was sent forward undersurveillance to the head of the column, Tom being nearer the centre,puzzled beyond measure at the incivility with which the chief hadreceived one supposed to be bound to him by special ties.

  Camp was pitched that night at the verge of the forest, in a desertedand half-ruined village, the stockade of which was broken down at manypoints of its circumference. Tom, in charge of the hakim, was locatedin a hut near the centre of the village, some distance from thatappropriated by the chief. The chief's hut was the principal habitation,but it was little less ruinous than the rest. The thatch was broken inplaces, and there were two apertures in the walls wide enough to admit afull-grown man. It was overshadowed by a large and bushy tree, one ofwhose branches, springing from the trunk some fourteen feet from theground, and bending down under its weight of foliage, overhung the roof,actually grazing it as the freshening breeze swayed the bough.

  Tom, reclining on the grass before the hakim's hut, to eat his eveningmeal in the cool air before turning in, saw the Portuguese led underguard into the presence of the chief. In a few moments the sun wentdown, but Tom still sat, wondering what was going on at the interview.Once he thought he heard the sound of angry voices raised inaltercation, but in the absence of the moon he saw nothing more, and byand by re-entered the hut, and sought the rough blanket that formed hisonly bed. At first he could not sleep for thinking over the, to him,unexpected arrival of the Portuguese. "It bodes no good to me," hethought. "Things are bad enough, but may easily be made worse. Thatvillain will tell how I treated him; how he saw me afterwards with hisrunaway boy on the track of the expedition; that it must have beenthrough our information the ambush came to grief. Heavens! what's to bethe end of it all?" More than once during the march he had had thoughtsof attempting to escape, but he had barely recovered his full vigour,and not the shadow of an opportunity had as yet presented itself. Hepondered and pondered until his anxieties were drowned in quiet sleep.

  It seemed but a minute later, it was in reality an hour, when he wasawakened by the glare of a torch held close to his face. The smell ofthe pitch-soaked tow clung to him for months afterwards. Dazed atfirst, he soon made out the swarthy features of the Portuguese behindthe torch, and met his keen eyes peering closely at his own. ThePortuguese clicked his tongue, and uttered an exclamation of gleeful andvindictive satisfaction. Turning to the Arab chief, who stood behind,just within the doorway, he cried in Arabic:

  "It is the very man!"

  Tom lay watching. Now that a crisis was manifestly at hand, his tremorshad ceased; his very life depended on his coolness and nerve. De Castrohad begun an impassioned speech to the grave Arab. If Tom could haveunderstood it, he would have heard him say:

  "You charge me, forsooth, with being a traitor, with betraying you tothe English--me, De Castro, the best hater of the English in all Africa!There you have the man who spoilt your game--our game. Man, I callhim--that cub yonder, who tricked my boy away from me, and paid him, nodoubt, to spy on me!"

  ("Wonder if he's telling the chief how I punched him!" thought Tom,noting the gleam and gesture of anger in his direction.)

  "And you talk of accepting a ransom for him! Bah! 'tis the idea of awhite-livered fool! Ransom! Mustapha, you were not always like this.Once upon a time you would have been hot for revenge--your wrath wouldhave been satisfied ere the sun went down. Now you will sit supineafter a shameful defeat, and take its price in gold!"

  The Arab winced under the sting, and Tom saw him scowl as he laid hishand on his scimitar. He was beginning to speak, but the Portuguesegave him no time.

  "Threats! I care not a straw for your threats. Come, Mustapha, do notlet us quarrel. Think! Who was it started this parrot-cry, 'D
own withthe slave-trade'? Who was it stopped the raids for ivory, and houndedyour people out of their ancient haunts till they have no rest now forthe soles of their feet? Who was it strewed the sands of Egypt withthousands of your kin who were struggling in Allah's name to rescue thecountry from the Ottoman tyrant? You know who. We have had enough ofthese accursed English in Africa. But for them the Arabs would havebeen masters of the continent from Zanzibar to the Atlantic, fromTanganyika to the Great Sea. Bad enough, the swines of Belgians; butthey can be bought. You can't buy these insolent dogs of English! Willyou be deafened by their barking, and lacerated by their bites? Do you,like a poltroon, throw up the game? If not, let there be no talk ofransom, no faltering; let it be blood for blood, till Africa is our ownagain."

  The Portuguese had waxed more and more vehement, but Tom was cool enoughto look on critically as at an oratorical performance, and he evensmiled the usual British smile at the fervid, unrestrained eloquence ofthe Southern races. De Castro went on in calmer accents:

  "Come, Mustapha, your men will think you afraid to touch a white man ifyou allow this bear's whelp to be bought off. They will say: 'GiveMustapha so many gold pieces, and you may draw his teeth!' My friend,hand the cub over to me. I will make an example of him for hiscountrymen to shiver at!"

  The taunts, even more than the arguments, of the Portuguese had rousedthe cruelty in the Arab's nature.

  "Do as you like with him," he said impulsively. "It will teach them alesson. I can trust you, no doubt, senor," he went on with ahalf-sneer, "not to let him off too easily. As for me, I have no tastefor butchering curs; I prefer to employ others."

  The Portuguese glared for an instant, but, too glad to get thelong-coveted prey into his own hands, he pocketed the affront.

  "So be it. To-morrow's sun will see what shall be done with him.Meanwhile, haul the dog from his kennel. Why give him a comfortablehut? Treat him like the rest."

  The chief nodded. The Portuguese went to the door and called in threeof the usual guard of six.

  "Here, men," he said, "the chief orders you to remove this prisoner.Take him and tie him to yonder tree, and see to it that he does notescape."

  As the men approached, Tom sprang to his feet and prepared to resist anyhandling by the Arabs. At this moment the hakim, who had stood in acorner of the hut, came forward and spoke a few words in the chief'sear. But they seemed only to strengthen the Arab's resolve. He bluntlytold the physician to mind his own business,--that his intervention wasvain. By this time Tom saw that resistance was hopeless; a strugglewould probably end in his being butchered; and while there was lifethere was hope. He suffered himself to be led out. The Portuguesehimself superintended the tying-up, the tree being the stout acaciashading the chief's hut. Eight men were set to watch the prisoner duringthe rest of the night, and with a look of malignant satisfaction in hisevil face, the Portuguese, no longer suspected or distrusted, repaired,a free man, to his own quarters.