IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY.
Jim Dean's face looked ugly when the Portuguese, who was called DaSilva, deliberately thrust the muzzle of a revolver against his chest.
"You confounded disgrace! What are you going to do?" he inquiredspitefully. "You putty-colored dago, do you think you can intimidateme with your theatrical performances? Man, I've looked inside more gunmuzzles that you've ever heard of."
"This, then, is the last the senhor shall have the pleasure ofexamining," answered the Portuguese imperturbably. The insults he wavedaside with his lemon-colored left hand, and he blew out between hislips a serene stream of cigarette smoke.
"The senhor is what you call a fire-eater, is it not? But even with agood appetite it is possible to eat too much. Is the senhor going totake his last meal?"
Da Silva talked leisurely as though he enjoyed the conversation. Helooked carelessly around the trading office, where in orderly confusionlay books and papers containing records of many a cargo of cotton, palmoil, rubber, mahogany logs and the like from the opulent interior. Forthis, the highest trading station on the Bawa River, was the channelthrough which the produce of a vast savage country went to the coast,where cotton goods of pronounced colors went in exchange for lumps ofwild rubber, and where square-face gin or various jimcracks bought somuch oil or kernel.
Jim Dean managed this factory, from which he had to account to a boardof directors in Liverpool for his doings, and for his profits andlosses. Of late there had been losses, for from the wild interior hadcome tales of caravans attacked, of laden canoes cut off, of villages,where stores were accumulated, raided, with rumors and threats of worsethings.
So far as he was personally concerned, this present incident was theapex of the unexpected. He was sitting in his office sweating at hisbooks when three natives, coming in as he supposed on trading business,without ceremony, gripped him in their odorous arms, flung a grass ropeabout him, and trussed him up like a fowl ready for the roast.
A fourth man, Da Silva, had superintended the operation.
"I'd give six months' wages to have a quarter of an hour at handlingyou with bare fists," snapped Dean. "I should hate touching your hidewith my fingers, but I'd do it like I might have to lift a bit of dirtout of my food."
"The senhor makes it no easier for himself," said the Portuguese with ashow of teeth.
"You just put your gun away and give me my hands free and I'll show yousomething," returned Dean spitefully.
The patience of the dago man suddenly came to an end. He withdrew hiseyes from sight of the brown river beyond the veranda, whither they haddreamily wandered, and suddenly set them viciously on the white man.
"I'm going to give you three minutes," he said. "If you are stillacting the fool, then I shall shoot. You know what I want. Down riverat the Bawa factory is a steamer just arrived from a British port.Among her cargo are a thousand rifles, with ammunition. For purposes ofmy own, not unconnected with my desire to be top dog in this portion ofAfrica, I want to get possession of those arms, and to do so I want tosend such a message to the coast as will insure the steamer hurrying upthe river with this part of her cargo aboard. Therefore, you will writeon the company's note paper, in your own hand, something to the effectthat the station is in the extremest danger, that the whole hinterlandis risen, and that unless you have arms and ammunition in plenty sentyou at once, the whole factory and those in it will be wiped out ofexistence. It's a million to one they'll send the steamer up, for itwould be the quickest, and there's deep water all the way. Now, I'lldictate the exact words to you. You won't mind writing it, anyhow,because it's true."
"And when the ship comes up, what then?" asked Dean.
"I make arrangements to acquire the cargo on--well, on easy terms,"answered the half-breed with a smile.
"All right, you disgrace of two continents, you do all the arranging.I'm not in it. You shoot, my friend."
It was quite true that Jim Dean had looked into death's face more timesthan once, but he had hardly been nearer making his exit than duringthe next five seconds; for Da Silva's revolver muzzle was pressed overhis heart and an angry finger was on the trigger. Then the half-bloodhesitated, not because he had either fear or scruples, but becauseDean at the moment was worth more to him alive than dead. He hadgreat ambitions, for the realization of which the cargo of arms wasnecessary, and he could think of no better way of obtaining them thanby using Dean in the way he had indicated.
"On the whole, I think shooting would be too sudden," he said. "If yourefuse to do as I say I will invent a method of putting you out of thisworld of misery that will give you the longest dose of pain that ahuman body can stand. Savvy?"
Jim Dean did understand. Da Silva had in the hinterland an unsavoryreputation for a ferocity that, rumor said, stood at nothing, and hewas credited with one or two dark doings in the back no-man's land thatwill not bear repeating.
He lighted another cigarette, and with malicious deliberation hedetailed the manner in which he would inflict death on the other whichhad something with a slow fire in it and added refinements, and thenhe retired to make arrangements for the exit, as he termed it, leavingDean under the guard of one negro.
These circumstances set Dean thinking furiously, and after a while hedecided that though a death by torture might be picturesque, therewould not be much common sense in submitting to it when there was a wayout, which, though humiliating enough, might yet afford him anotherchance. With his life he might get the game into his own hands--withdeath was the end of the game.
"All right," he said. "You've got the bulge on me this time. Just freemy hands, and I'll write what you say."
Da Silva dictated with his finger on the trigger of his weapon, and themuzzle of it somewhere between Dean's shoulder blades.
* * * * *
Macfarlane, manager of the coast factory on the Bawa River, ran acrossthe strip of sun-scorched beach and tumbled into a dugout boat ofcottonwood, and with a speed that indicated he was handling mattersof great urgency, he pushed the boat out into the yellow stream andpaddled for all he was worth toward the rusty tramp steamer which layin mid-river. Lettering under her stern indicated the double fact thatshe was classically called the _Athena_, and that she hailed fromLiverpool. An inspection of her decks would have shown that in themidday heat her crew were resting. The steam winch sizzled, the dripfrom a steam pipe falling on the hot iron deck almost dried before ittouched the plates, the heat rose from the iron hull as from a stove;there was probably not a bearable spot in the ship.
Macfarlane came up the ladder in a hurry, and he mounted to the chartroom on the little bridge deck with a speed that made some eyes openin surprise. Captain Bingham, who was reclining on a locker dressed inpajamas open at the chest, looked mild surprise at the agent's hurry,when the latter thrust into his hand a somewhat crumpled piece of paperand bade him read it.
"A nigger has just brought it," he said. "Dean, our man up the river,is in danger. In fact, you might say more. The whole back of thecountry is in danger. There's a rising in progress, and the first thingthey'll attack is the upper factory, that being the sign and token ofwhite aggression. Their cry is the black man's country for the blackman, which may be all right, only we're white men, and we're here, andwe want to keep on our trade. Now, I shouldn't be surprised if thereisn't some one at the back of all this. There's a brainy, unscrupulousbeggar called Da Silva, who's Portuguese. He's got some sort of acrack-brained notion of a black republic with himself as president, andincidentally owner of our factories and trading posts. He's been in thehinterland for the last six months to my knowledge, and up to no good,I'll stake my swizzle stick. If this trouble is Da Silva's palaver, youcan bet it's going to be a jugful, and the thing in such a case, orany other like it, is to blow the froth off it early. Strike a blow atonce. Here's Dean writing in a hurry saying that while he has men he'sno arms worth reckoning, and that practically the fate of the wholecolony depends on his having enough rifles and a
mmunition in his handswithin twenty-four hours."
"You're making me hotter than I was," breathed the skipper of the_Athena_. "What do you want? I'm not an advice merchant."
"If you'll read what Dean's written you'll see he says that if I haveany arms, the best way is to charter the best steam craft I can puthands on, put the stuff on it, and send her upstream. Now, there are adozen cases of rifles in your hold, which were going into Portugueseterritory. They haven't been unloaded yet, see?"
"I can see you are going to put me in for something that my ownersdon't reckon on," said Bingham with a laugh, opening the jacket of hispajamas, and throwing out his broad chest.
"I reckon your owners value the trade on this bit of coast," saidMacfarlane dryly. "It means losing it all if Dean doesn't get his guns.And there's a twenty-foot channel all the way upstream."
"If we can keep in it--I know. This old craft is no mud plugger. Still,with more cargo out of her she'll swim a bit higher. I'll just rouseup that crew of mine. And you get your boats around sharp, because I'mgoing to make that cargo buck."
Thereafter came a continual roar for many hours of both fore and aftsteam winches, and the way the cargo was vomited out of the _Athena's_hold was a pretty good record for that river mouth.
Half an hour before sunset the _Athena's_ anchors broke mud, and withher plimsoll and the red streak of her watermark high up out of thebrown wash, she started nosing her way up against the current. Thenight fell suddenly like the quick closing of shutters, and from theriver and the dank vegetation on its banks rose the mist that spelledfever and sickness. There was a ladling out of quinine that night toall hands. Macfarlane took a double dose. This river with its sickeningsmell of crushed marigolds, where the mangroves threw hideous twistedroots into the slime, and noisome creatures sprawled in the gloom, hada breath of poison.
"I'm hanged if I don't think," said the agent, as he took his seconddose of quinine wrapped in a cigarette paper, "that we'd be better offwith Da Silva in possession and us at home. I'm homesick. And this isWest Africa. My stars! listen to the splashing of that crocodile!"
The skipper swore softly when a little shiver went through the hull."That's the bottom," he said. "That deep channel may be there, but ittakes keeping in. Now, if you take my tip, you'll get those shooters ofyours unpacked. Your man may want a few in a hurry. Gosh! there's thebottom again. It'll be no soft thing if we get stuck, either for us oryour man." But they went up the waterway in safety till dawn came, whenCaptain Bingham breathed more freely.
"All the same, I'm not enjoying myself," he said. "The salt sea is adashed sight more to my liking. How much further is it?"
"We shall strike it this evening," said Macfarlane. "If we had beencrows we could have got there in one-third the distance. This riverwinds about some."
It was the long, roundabout journey that the vessel had to go whichenabled the plotter, Da Silva, to get news of her approach, and of thesuccess of his plans, for the native runner, who had in the first placeconveyed the letter, forced from Dean, by way of direct forest paths,went back the same way, carrying promise of immediate assistance.
Therefore the half-blood went on with his arrangements. To begin with,he sent runners out to various villages both near and distant, whencefighting men could come. He sent word that for each man there wouldbe a rifle and cartridges, and that the war to regain the black man'scountry for the black man was ripe to commence. And then he constructeda simple, unsuspicious arrangement for trapping the ship that wasnosing her way up the river.
Four hundred yards down from the strip of sun-baked beach in front ofthe trading factory the river was divided by a lush, swampy island intotwo channels. The near one was the only practicable way, and this hecarefully filled up by dropping a couple of giant cottonwoods from thebank into it. The parts of the trees above the water lopped off tilltheir presence was inconspicuous, and so came about as he intended thecatching of the _Athena_ like a jackal in a trap.
Going many miles at half speed, more miles at dead slow, the oceantramp, making her uncertain way up this muddy channel into the heart ofAfrica, did not arrive within sight of her destination till close onmidnight.
"We're close now," Macfarlane was saying. "Why not give a tootle on oursiren just to buck up Dean, and give his enemies a shiver if they arenear?"
Bingham got hold of the string, but with the first stabbing of thetropic night by the shrieking whistle there came a sudden shiverthrough the ship, a violent scraping, and a bumping on the plates belowwater. The siren stopped short, and the telegraph handle was suddenlydragged over to full speed astern while Captain Bingham said things.The propeller swirled up whirlpools of mud, and cast up enough crushedmarigold smell to choke them; but the ship did not move, and CaptainBingham let his soul go out in bitterness.
"We've got to wait till daylight, anyhow," he said finally. "We'refast, and we can't do anything till we can see what's holding us."
Meanwhile things were happening ashore. For three days Jim Dean hadsweated, a prisoner in his own office. He had seen little of Da Silva,one big negro, who smoked black cigars all day long, and wore anautical cap, being his guard. The black seemed to possess the facultyof infinite wakefulness. If he ever slept he did not seem to. Hiseyes were always open, dreamily watching the smoke from his tobacco.Dean thought and thought, and produced nothing. The negro was twicehis size, armed and wakeful. He, while not trussed up, had the areaof his activity circumscribed by a thong fastened round his waist andmade fast to the floor. The odds were too great for any effectivedealing with the situation, until by accident he alighted on a smallpossibility of at least freeing himself. And with freedom of movementmuch was possible. He wriggled on the floor.
A prick in the calf of his leg betrayed the point of a nail stickingup in the floor. He altered his position so that he could get a bendof the thong against the nail point, and then he tried gently rubbingit, or rather letting the nail peck at the hide. There was not muchstrength in the nail, so that the operation had to be done with care;but it was done ultimately, and when there fell on Dean's surprisedears the fragmentary shriek of the steamer's siren he was both readyand able to go!
He fell on the negro as though a steel spring propelled him, and hebowled him over, and hammered the black head on the floor before thebrain inside the woolly skull had awakened to what was happening. Itwas a thick skull, but the blow was in proportion, and the big bodyrolled over on the floor.
Possessing himself of the black's revolver, sheath knife, and belt, andthe nautical cap to save his head from thorns, Dean slipped out fromthe veranda and down into the garden.
But this had not been done without some noise, and as Dean ran awaytoward the gate of the inclosure, he heard voices in the darkness,and cries of warning and alarm. The door of the inclosure was fast.Precious moments were wasted unbolting it. By the time he was fleeingacross the strip of beach he knew he was pursued. He ran along thewater's edge as far as he could till the thick brake of mangroves,which succeeded the beach, prevented him, for they grew right to theedge of the water, and the giant twisted roots snaked far out into thevery slime of the river itself.
He struck into the thick mass of vegetation, away from the river, butkeeping as near parallel to the bank as he could. Ropes of pricklycreeper held him again and again. Boughs of sickly sweet blossomsdashed against his face, and to force his way through the tangled massof greenery he had to slash out with his knife at almost every step.Then he made for the river bank again.
He could hear the pounding of the ship's propeller, and he rightlyguessed she was struggling to get free from the trap that she had gotinto. He came out upon the river bank and picked his way through thesprawling roots of the mangroves. He sank knee-deep into the slime,then he made a plunge and bore out into the river. He could see thesteamer scarce a hundred yards away, and he put his best work into hisswimming, not the less because he knew there were crocodiles in thewater.
He had not covered more than half the distance when h
e heard the soundof paddles no great way off. He looked over half a shoulder, and hesaw a dug-out canoe shoot from the shore with half a dozen paddles atwork. He swam till every muscle and sinew ached with the strain. Hetore through the water, and grasped a rope that hung over the catheadof the _Athena_, thirty yards ahead of the pursuing canoe. He was overthe edge of the forecastle just as the canoe came below. A momentlater, with the water dripping from him, he had turned, and was firingat the black heads that sprang up above the cathead. A short spearplunged at his head, and stuck quivering into the forecastle planks;but two big splashes followed his shots, and there came a discordantchorus of yells from below, that a moment later was broken into by adeep-throated cry of inquiry from the bridge.
"You are trapped, that's all," answered Dean, taking aim at theretreating canoe.
"Gad, is that Jim Dean?" Macfarlane came running forward. "Have you hadto swim for it at the finish? Are we too late with the arms?"
"No, you're just in time," said Dean, watching the effect of his shot,"that is, if you have some men who can use them."
"You said you'd got plenty."
"I'd better own up," said the young man, "although it hasn't a pleasanttaste in my mouth. I wrote that letter at Da Silva's dictation with apistol at my head. There was likewise a pleasant alternative of beingspitted over a slow fire. He wants this cargo himself. Odds are on itthat we shall get an attack before dawn."
"Then, by the great James, we'll have some handshakes ready for them,"declared Captain Bingham. "Now, you just loosen out some of our cargo,Mr. Macfarlane."
* * * * *
The expected attack came about half an hour before dawn, when thewhite mists at the river edge were thickest. Half a dozen big canoesfilled with men shot out from the banks. There were one or two firearmsamong them, but these were discharged at too great a range for savagemarksmen, and they did no more than emphasize the alarm, though thatwas not needed, for watchful eyes had kept a careful lookout on the_Athena_ all night.
"They'll be monkeys, and a bit over, if they climb up here," observedMacfarlane; for the ship with no cargo in her stood high out of thewater, but the attack had been arranged by a brain. The first canoe toreach the vessel's side wasted, for savages, little time in shoutingand brandishing spears, but straightway made casts with looped lengthsof grass rope, and before the defenders were quite up to the move halfa dozen black bodies were swarming up toward the mizzen chains.
Shots accounted for three, but the other three got up to the rail,and it was an ugly fight before accounts were settled. Each canoe wassupplied with these ropes, which were cast with amazing skill, andwherever there was the slightest hold or projection there was a ropequickly looped over, and a black body swarming up the next instant.Axes and cutting knives hacked at them, but many a savage got aboard,and there were gashes and spear thrusts in plenty among the crew of the_Athena_ when dawn broke.
The affair finished just as the sun slipped up over the trees, with thecanoes, such as had men to propel them, paddling away to the shore,while two others drifted downstream, with only dead and wounded men inthem. The daylight showed half a dozen blacks, either dead or badlywounded, on the ship's decks, and the second engineer lying on thefidley with a gashed head and wounded thigh.
"And there's ane de'il ah hae made prisoner after a vera bonny fecht,"said the Scotch bosun. "Ah'm thinking he's no' a'together a nigger. Thescoondrel's a bit tae yellow."
They found the dago, lying on the main deck, panting and furious,clothed only in a loin cloth, with half a dozen of his own grass ropesaround him.
"Sae ye're the captain o' this dirty crood, air ye?" observed the bosuncritically, as the half-blood lay there swathed in the grass rope.
"Mon, ye started something outside yere weight. But perhaps ye'll beuseful. When we've had a bite o' something tae eat, we shall want a fewhondy niggers tae chop awa' the trees we've rinned upon, and mebbe yecan whustle up a few."
But while they were snatching a hasty scrap of food, the prisoner,unwatched for a few minutes, managed to partly wriggle out of the rope,and to crawl toward an open sally port.
They heard him splash over the side, and a moment later, as they sawhim swimming, in spite of rope-encumbered legs, he was seen to suddenlyturn over in the water and to cast a look of fear back at them. Thenext moment he gave a shriek, and sank from sight. A little eddy in thebrown water showed only for a moment where he had disappeared.
"A crocodile," said Dean with a shudder. "And I swam over there myselflast night. Poor beggar. When you're ready I should like to go ashore.I expect my office will be a bit upset."
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4--Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the "Comet."
5--Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot.
6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On the High Gear.
7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto.
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9--Motor Matt's Air Ship; or, The Rival Inventors.
10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot.
11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady.
12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Cast Away in the Bahamas.
13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest.
14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the "Hawk."
15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the "Grampus."
16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters.
To be Published on June 14th.
17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos.
To be Published on June 21st.
18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon.
To be Published on June 28th.
19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn.
To be Published on July 5th.
20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys.
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Transcriber's Notes:
Added table of contents.
Italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=.
Retained some inconsistent hyphenation from the original ("dugout" vs."dug-out").
Page 1, expanded oe ligature in "manoeuvre" to oe; ligature retained inHTML edition.
Page 2, removed unnecessary quote before "The ready."
Page 3, "Cura?oa" is probably a typo for "Cura?ao" but has beenretained in case it is an archaic spelling.
Page 11, corrected typo "hapened" in "anything happened to thesubmarine."
Page 21, corrected typo "Ferrall" in "I can spell you, or Mr. Ferral."
Page 22, corrected "let go of Dick" to "let go of Matt."
Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under The Amazon Page 18