by W E Johns
‘I can believe that,’ answered Biggles. They certainly caused trouble here. That was why I was sent out.’
‘What do you intend to do now?’
‘Having buried this man, who we discovered lying here when we flew over to make sure they had gone, go home. And you?’
‘I shall follow Batoun.’
‘Before he died Ducard told us that Batoun thought he might come back with a stronger party of natives. He was convinced there were diamonds here.’
‘You say they found none?’
‘So Ducard told me, and I see no reason to doubt it. As you have some men with you perhaps you would be good enough to bury him.’
‘Yes. We will do that.’
‘In that case we’ll be moving off.’
‘Before you go, perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me exactly what has been happening here. I shall have to make a report.’
‘With pleasure, monsieur.’ Biggles lit a cigarette, and then, standing on the lonely shore, told the Belgian officer all that had happened since his arrival at the lake, including, of course, the story of the suspected murders at the rest-house which had been the original cause of the investigation.
‘Merci, monsieur. That is as much as I need to know,’ acknowledged the officer. ‘It has been a pleasure to meet you.’
‘As there is nothing more for us to do here we’ll get along home,’ concluded Biggles.
‘Wait!’ cried Ginger, in a voice pitched high with alarm. He pointed.
The fringe of the forest was suddenly alive with spear-armed natives.
‘It looks as if Batoun has come back,’ said Biggles.
‘If they will not listen to reason we shall have to fight,’ exclaimed the Belgian. He rapped out an order to his men, who lined up to receive the attack.
Biggles’ eyes made a swift reconnaissance of the forest. ‘You can’t do it,’ he declared, tersely. ‘There are too many of them. If we stay here we shall all be massacred. I see that devil of a witch-doctor is with them.’
‘There is nothing we can do but fight,’ said the Belgian, grimly, drawing the revolver he carried on his hip.
‘Oh yes there is,’ returned Biggles.
‘What?’
‘We can run away.’
‘Run where? How?’
Biggles pointed to the aircraft. ‘I suggest you tell your men to get on board. We could get out on the lake for a start, to consider the position. If we decide there are too many of them for us to handle we could move on to our rest-house...’
‘I will talk to them.’
‘Talking won’t do any good. Look at them! They’re fighting mad. If we’re going we’d better move or we shall be cut off. I don’t want to lose my plane.’
More natives had appeared, racing along the shore of the lake. One, ahead of the others, hurled a spear.
‘Yes, we had better go,’ agreed the Belgian. ‘We shall not be able to stop them here.’
The entire party started retiring on the plane. They had to finish at a run. To anyone watching it would have looked like a rout. The officer saw his men into the cabin and then got in himself. Biggles and Ginger fired one or two shots from their revolvers to steady the rush and then made a bolt for the cockpit. They were only just in time. The engines came to life and the machine surged out on to the lake with two spears sticking in it, one in the fuselage and the other through the tail.
Biggles did not take the machine far; a little more than a hundred yards; then he throttled back and allowed the aircraft to float quietly on the placid water.
‘They won’t come out after us,’ he told Ginger. ‘They must know all about the crocs. I’ll go aft and have a word with Captain Bourgon. He seems to have bitten off a bit more than he can chew.’
‘So have we, if it comes to that,’ returned Ginger, lugubriously.
CHAPTER 14
A GRIM DILEMMA
BIGGLES found Captain Bourgon looking through a side window at some forty or fifty natives crowding along the shore brandishing their spears.
‘Well, what do you think of them?’ asked Biggles.
‘I do not understand their behaviour.’
‘They’re your people from the Congo?’
‘Yes. Without a doubt.’
‘In which case they’ve invaded British territory.’
‘Boundaries mean nothing to them.’
‘Of course not.’
‘They would not have come all this way from their village but for some powerful influence.’
‘There’s the influence.’ Biggles pointed to a small figure robed in a leopard skin that was dancing about in front of the natives.
‘The witch-doctor.’
‘Yes.’
‘He would not have come here, where there is nothing to be gained, on his own account. He’s working for Batoun.’
‘I know he is.’
‘I don’t see the scoundrel.’
‘I imagine he’s lurking in the background, afraid we might take a shot at him. Having shot Ducard he went off and fetched reinforcements.’
‘But why?’
‘To drive us out. He didn’t want to go. He still believes there are diamonds here. When I say us I mean my party. Until he returned and saw you he couldn’t have known you were on his track. It was a lucky thing for you you didn’t run into him in the forest. You wouldn’t have had much chance against that lot.’
The Belgian officer admitted it. ‘Now I’ve found the man I can’t arrest him,’ he added, with a wry smile.
‘As things are you’d be silly to try. Well, monsieur, they’re your people. What are you going to do?’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Strictly speaking I should ask you to get your tribesmen off British property, but I realize that would not be reasonable, or practicable, at the moment.’
‘If we shot one or two the others may withdraw; but we must, if possible, avoid bloodshed.’
‘Of course. But I’m afraid you’ll have a job to get back to your base without it.’
‘This villain Batoun. If I could see him I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him. He’s the one behind all this mischief.’
‘Apparently he knows that, which is why he’s keeping in the background. How about shooting the witch-doctor? When the men see he’s not invulnerable they may lose their confidence and go home.’
‘I would prefer not to have shooting until we are forced to it for self protection.’
‘Please yourself, monsieur, but I would have thought that time had already come. I have nothing to fear because I can fly away any time it suits me; but for you it is a different matter. How are you going to get home?’
‘I don’t know. Naturally I did not come out prepared for anything like this.’
‘Well, there doesn’t seem much point in sitting here. Your friends ashore obviously intend to stay there. May I make a suggestion?’
‘Certainly.’
‘It is that we go to the rest-house and have some lunch. That will give those silly blacks time to think over what they’re doing. Later, when they’ve let off a little steam, we could come back, and you might be able to talk some sense into them.’
‘I think that is a good plan. As things are I could not get away without shooting, which could have serious repercussions elsewhere.’
‘I would say that is exactly what Batoun is reckoning on. He knows you’ll be reluctant to take strong action. He has no such qualms. That’s where he has the edge on you. I’ll tell my friend in the cockpit to start taxiing towards the rest-house. It’s not really necessary to take off. We’re a bit overloaded anyway, and the machine might not unstick on this flat surface.’
Biggles went forward, gave Ginger the order and returned to the cabin. The volume of noise from the engines increased and the aircraft began to move in a direct line towards the rest-house.
What followed was something neither Biggles nor his new acquaintance had taken into consideration. It had been assumed that the bla
cks would remain where they were, content with having driven Biggles and the Belgians away. It came as something of a shock, therefore, when the tribesmen started racing along the shore trying to keep pace with the machine presumably with the intention of preventing the men in it from coming ashore.
Biggles frowned. ‘This is going to be more difficult than I expected,’ he muttered.
‘What will you do?’
‘I’m thinking about it.’
‘What is the difficulty? If we go on to the rest-house, should these people attack you there you would be justified in defending yourself. With the men you have there we should be able to hold the place.’
‘I wasn’t thinking about that. We’re in no particular danger. Neither are you for that matter. If necessary I could take you and your troops to the opposite side of the lake and put you off there.’
‘What is the difficulty, then? All these foolish people could do would be to burn the rest-house, which would be no great loss.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve forgotten something, monsieur le capitaine.’
‘What have I forgotten?’
‘There are some more people for whose safety I must hold myself responsible. The Zinns. I couldn’t evacuate all of them. When these crazy devils on the bank get to the village, in the mood they’re in they’re likely to kill everyone in it and burn the place to the ground. Not that the village itself matters overmuch. No doubt the Zinns could soon build another. It’s the people I’m thinking of.’
‘I do not see how you can do anything about that.’
‘I shall have to do something. I can’t leave the wretched people to perish. Armed only with fish spears they couldn’t even put up a fight. As I see it we have two courses open to us. The first is to land at the village, which we could reach before the enemy, and make a stand there.’
‘That would mean shooting.’
‘Very much so. The second plan would be to land at the village and tell the Zinns to run to the rest-house. If a fight is forced on us we shouldn’t have much difficulty in holding the place. I have two friends there. We have weapons and ammunition, enough to hold out for some time, anyway.’
‘They could keep you penned in for a long time.’
‘I could send the machine to Nabula for help.’
‘Very well, monsieur. We are on your ground. It is for you to decide. If we can end this matter without serious casualties I shall be glad. When these people who are causing the trouble are at home they are not really bad. A little wild perhaps. Even now without Batoun and the witch-doctor they would probably listen to reason.’
‘Then the sooner we shoot that pair of ruffians the better,’ said Biggles, grimly, and went forward to the cockpit.
‘The blacks are following us along the bank,’ he told Ginger.
‘So I see.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘Tell the Zinns to make flat out for the rest-house. We can make a stand there should these idiots on the bank be determined to start a rough house. If the Zinns stay where they are they’re all likely to get their throats cut.’
While speaking Biggles had taken over the controls, and turning the bows towards the village, where the Zinns could be seen about to start more fishing, opened the throttle until the keel of the Gadfly was no more than grazing the water. Actually, he did for a moment leave the water as an object surfaced in front of him. It turned out to be a crocodile, which disappeared with a swirl as the machine flashed over it at a height of about three feet.
Biggles did not comment on the incident. ‘This is where we need Charlie,’ he said, as he raced on. ‘We may have a job to make the Zinns understand what’s happening.’
In the event, two minutes later, this did not turn out to be too difficult, chiefly owing to the unexpected intelligence of Grandpa coupled with the frantic signals of Biggles, who jumped out of the machine as soon as it was in shallow water and splashed his way ashore shouting and waving his arms. This alone was enough to start a general alarm. When he pointed in the direction of the approaching danger it caused a stampede. After that the difficulty was to get the harassed natives to run in the right direction. But Grandpa, shrieking like an ape in a passion, soon grasped the situation, and presently Ginger, watching from the machine, had the satisfaction of seeing the whole tribe streaming along the shore in the direction of the bungalow.
‘What a life,’ panted Biggles, as he scrambled back into his seat.
In a matter of seconds the aircraft was again cutting a groove in the mirror-like face of the lake as it sped on towards the bungalow, where Algy and Bertie could be seen standing on the beach, wondering no doubt what all the fuss was about, since from where they stood the danger could not be seen. Charlie was there too, bandaged, sitting near the verandah on an empty oil drum.
Biggles did not wait for questions. ‘There’s a small army of Congo negroes coming up the side of the lake and they’re bent on mischief,’ he said trenchantly. ‘The Zinns are coming this way to escape.’ He turned to Charlie. ‘How are you feeling? Are you able to walk?’
‘Yes, bwana.’
‘Then go to meet the Zinns and tell them what’s happening. They don’t know. I couldn’t explain. Tell them to hurry. We haven’t too much time.’
‘Yes, bwana.’ Charlie tottered off.
Biggles walked back to Algy and Bertie who with astonishment were watching the Belgians come ashore. He introduced the officer and in as few words as possible explained the situation. ‘We should be able to hold our own but I’m worried about the machine,’ he went on. ‘We daren’t risk losing it, as probably we should if we left it standing in the open. It won’t go through the gateway into the compound. Even if it would we’d lose it if these lunatics set fire to the place. There’s only one thing to do. Algy, take it out on the lake. A couple of hundred yards will be enough. Watch what happens. If the flare-up seems to be getting really serious fly flat out to Nabula and fetch help if there’s any available. Tell the R.M. what is happening.’
‘Okay.’
‘Take a rifle with you. If there’s a pitched battle you may be able to take a hand by picking off one or two of them. I’m still hoping it won’t come to that. If they’ll stop long enough to listen Captain Bourgon may be able to do something about it.’
‘Right.’ Having collected the .303 rifle Algy walked briskly to the aircraft.
‘Where are you going to put all the Zinns, old boy?’ Bertie asked Biggles.
‘In the compound. There’s nowhere else. We couldn’t get them all in the bungalow. Even if we packed the women and kids in they’d only be in the way. Here they come now.’
‘True enough—true enough.’
Biggles turned to Captain Bourgon. ‘Here we are, monsieur. You understand the position as well as I do. These people who look like attacking us are your subjects so you must do as you think fit.’
‘I understand you perfectly, monsieur. I will place my men in a position of defence. When the enemy arrives I shall do my best to point out the folly of what they are doing.’
‘Thank you. I shall leave that to you.’
‘We’d better be doing something ourselves,’ suggested Ginger.
‘You take the ten-bore and stand by. I’ll see about getting the Zinns under cover.’
The wretched natives were now arriving, strung out in a long line, Charlie making the best of his way with them. Biggles turned them into the compound. When they were all in, and no more in sight, he turned a worried face to Ginger. ‘This is a nice how-do-you-do,’ he growled. ‘I was hoping to be away by now. But there was nothing else for it. We couldn’t just abandon the Zinns—nor Bourgon, if it comes to that. I see the advance guard of the enemy coming so we’d better take up our positions. Bertie, you take the left. Ginger, on my right. Keep close, both of you. Charlie, you take charge of the Zinns and prevent anything like a panic if there’s shooting. Here’s a revolver for you. Shoot anyone who tries to get into the compound.’
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br /> The Congo tribesmen advanced in a mob, shouting and raising the dust as they came, and certainly presenting an alarming spectacle.
Captain Bourgon walked forward slowly to meet them. Biggles shouted to him to come back but the words were ignored.
‘My gosh! He’s asking for it,’ called Ginger.
‘He’s not short of pluck, anyway,’ said Biggles. ‘It’s the right thing to do, for, after all, they’re his responsibility, not ours; but I’m afraid it’s a wasted effort. It’s that infernal witch-doctor who’s egging them on.’
Captain Bourgon stopped, legs braced, facing the enemy. He raised a hand. He carried a revolver in a holster, of course, but nothing more.
A few of the men in front hesitated, but then, at a howl from the witch-doctor, came on again. A spear was thrown but it landed short. Captain Bourgon, seeing that he was likely to throw his life away uselessly, began backing towards the bungalow.
‘They’ll kill him,’ snarled Biggles. ‘Here, take this rifle, Ginger, and lend me that gun.’ He snatched the weapon, and running out to Bourgon ‘browned’ the enemy with both barrels. The range was too long for the pellets to kill outright, but from the cries they must have stung pretty hard. Apart from that the shots caused a pause which gave Biggles and Bourgon a chance to get back to the bungalow.
‘You gave them every chance,’ declared Biggles. ‘You couldn’t do more.’
‘It’s that witch-doctor,’ said Bourgon. ‘I shall have to shoot him. Have you seen anything of that half-breed, Batoun?’
‘No. I’ve been watching for him. If I see him I shall shoot him.’
Captain Bourgon took a rifle from one of his men. He half raised it in the direction of the witch-doctor, prancing some sixty or seventy yards away. He waited. A minute passed. Then he got his chance. The witch-doctor stood still to look at the bungalow. The rifle cracked. He spun and sprawled headlong. He lay where he had fallen. Bourgon calmly handed back the rifle to the man from whom he had taken it. He then ordered his men to fire over the heads of the attackers.
The rifles crashed in a ragged volley.