The Fire-Gods Part 14

"You suppose right," said Crouch. "Do you feel able to walk?"

"I think so."

"You don't," said the captain. "There's no hurry." Then he began to think aloud. "If we work up-stream," said he, "we'll be on the wrong side of the river. By now Caesar will have found our canoe. We're not armed; we have no food. There are precisely three ways in which we might die: first, starvation; second, Caesar; third, a buffalo. The first's a certainty. Both of us are too weak to swim the river at Hippo Pool--to say nothing of crocodiles. On the other hand, if we go down-stream, walking will be easy till we get to the mangrove swamp.

Have you got a knife?"

Max felt in his pockets, and produced the article in question. Crouch looked at it.

"That'll do," said he. "With this we should be able to dig out a canoe, and make a couple of paddles. If we don't die at the job, we ought to work our way up to Date Palm Island. As soon as you're ready, we'll start."

"I'm ready now," said Max.

"Then come along," said Crouch.

The mud lay in ridges, which had been baked hard by the sun. Between these the water lay in long pools which, as they progressed farther to the north, became more and more still, less disturbed by the current that issued from the falls. Crouch patted his clothes as he limped along.

"I've lost every blamed thing," said he; "pipe, pouch and baccy, compa.s.s, knife and ammunition."

Max answered nothing. He thought it would not be wise to sympathize.

Crouch was a peculiar man in many ways.

Soon after midday they came to the mangrove swamp; and the crossing of a mangrove swamp is a thing that most African explorers have accomplished.

The roots of the short, stunted trees stand out upon the surface of the water. It is necessary to pa.s.s by way of these, stepping from one root to another; and some knowledge of the art of balancing is utterly essential. If you lose your foothold, you fall into the swamp, and there you are set upon by leeches. Some of these are large--sometimes as large as snails--but the kind generally met with is an animal so small that it can work its way through the eye-holes of your boots.

Once this creature has laid hold upon your skin, and begun to suck your blood, it begins to swell until it has attained the size of a cherry.

At the edge of the mangrove swamp Crouch and Max took off their boots, and hung these across their shoulders. With bare feet they could get a better footing upon the twisted roots of the trees.

For three hours they journeyed through the swamp, which was buried in semi-darkness. It was far darker than the jungle. It is in these swamps that the mosquitoes swarm in myriads, and all the deadly diseases of the country are engendered. To pitch a standing camp in the vicinity of a mangrove swamp, is to court a certain death from malaria or typhoid.

They were weary, faint, and aching in their bones when they came upon the banks of the Kasai. No wonder this had been named the "Hidden River." It joined the great tributary of the Congo in a thousand little streams, all flowing silently through darkness beneath the close-packed trees.

Crouch turned to the right. He had been bearing to the east throughout, and in a little while they were clear of the swamp, on terra firma.

Seating themselves, they put on their boots.

"By Christopher," said Crouch, "I'm weak! I don't fancy making that canoe with a jackknife."

"Nor I," said Max. "But we'll do it."

Crouch laughed.

"We will," said he, but his face was white as a ghost. Then he sat bolt upright and listened. "What's that?" he cried.

Faint in the distance was a gentle, sc.r.a.ping sound, which grew louder and louder as the minutes pa.s.sed. Max at first could not believe the evidence of his ears. He waited expectantly, and at last heard a rippling sound, that was like the laughter of a child. He sprang to his feet, and rushing to the water's edge, looked up-stream, shading his eyes with his hand. It was, indeed, the truth--a long canoe was swinging down upon the tide.

CHAPTER XIII--BACK TO THE UNKNOWN

A minute later they saw that the canoe was manned by six of their own Loango boys, who made the blades of the paddles flash in the sunlight; and, moreover, they recognized the canoe as the one they had left at Date Palm Island.

Max lifted his voice and shouted from the bank. Whereat the boys ceased to paddle, and regarded them amazed. Then, recognizing their masters, they raised a shout in chorus, and drew in towards the bank.

Had these natives desired proof of the omnipotence of the Fire-G.o.ds, they could have wished for nothing more. Had they searched Central Africa from the Equator to the Zambesi, they could have found no two people more wretched-looking and forlorn. Max was utterly exhausted, and so faint that he could scarcely stand. As for Crouch, he might have been mauled by a lion.

One of the boys flung himself upon the ground, then rose to a kneeling position, and lifted his arms as in prayer.

"Master," he cried, "what did we tell you? We warned you of the Fire-G.o.ds! We told you the valley was bewitched! We implored you not to go!"

As the boy ran on in the same strain, Crouch gathered himself together, growing purple in the face. With his tattered garments, which resembled ruffled feathers, he looked like an infuriated turkey-c.o.c.k. And then, without warning, he landed the boy such a kick as lifted him bodily into the air.

"Fire-G.o.ds be hanged!" he shouted. "These are jungle marks. If the valley 's bewitched, it's bewitched by thorns. Look here! See for yourselves!" So saying, he lifted his bare leg, in which the thorns were sticking like so many pins in a pin-cushion. "I've seen the Fire-G.o.ds," he ran on. "You blithering fools, I've taken tea with 'em.

I've doctored one with a dose of medicine, and I've played cards with the other. And I've not done with them, yet--mind that! I'm going back, by Christopher! and there'll be the biggest war-palaver you ever heard of in your lives. Come, get up, and get a move on! But, first, what are you doing here?"

The boys answered that they had come down-stream to shoot hippopotami for food. They said that about a mile farther down the river there was a great gra.s.sy bank where many of these animals were to be found. Crouch ordered them to get back into the canoe, saying that as soon as they arrived at the island he would open a case of supplies--bully beef and sardines, of which the Loango boys cherished the empty tins. Also, he promised that in a day or so he would shoot a buffalo, and they would not want for provisions. There was a certain amount of hippo meat in the canoe, and that night Crouch and Max partook of the same food as the boys. It was not until the afternoon of the following day that they arrived at Date Palm Island.

They did not expect Edward Harden for some days. He was still forcing his way towards the Kasai by way of the portage. In the meantime, not only were they glad enough of a rest, but this was altogether essential.

It took Crouch some days to rid himself of the thorns which had attached themselves to his skin. He refused all medical a.s.sistance from Max; and the wonder of it was, that the wound in his thigh was healing rapidly under his "Bull's Eye treatment." This was wholly incomprehensible to the young medical student, who beheld the theories he had studied at hospital, and on which he had placed such store, dissipated to the winds. In all probability, the fact was that Crouch had such firm belief in his own remedy that his cure was an example of "faith healing"; it is generally admitted in these days that "att.i.tude of mind"

affects the health and can even bring about organic changes, for better or for worse. At any rate, in three days he was sufficiently recovered to set forth into the forest of rubber trees on the right bank of the river in search of the buffalo he had promised the boys. Max--although on this occasion he remained in camp--had by now completely recovered his strength.

There were few things they carried with them to the Hidden River of which they had not duplicates at Date Palm Island. Crouch had been able to secure a new suit of clothes, tobacco and another pipe. As for rifles, both Edward and Crouch were experienced explorers, and knew that if a fire-arm was lost or broken, they could not buy a new one in the heart of Africa. They had therefore equipped themselves with a battery of several rifles, including Remingtons, Expresses and Winchester repeaters, besides several shot-guns and revolvers.

On the evening of that day, when he was expecting Crouch's return at any moment, Max walked to the northern extremity of the island. When there, his ears caught the sound of a shot in the forest, on the left bank of the river.

Now, since Crouch had landed on the other side, there could be no question as to whence came this shot; and in a few minutes Max had run to the canoe, jumped in and paddled to the bank. There, he picked up his rifle and fired twice into the air.

Almost immediately his two shots were answered, and there came a second answer--from Crouch on the northern bank. A quarter of an hour later, Max, who had hastened forward on the line of the portage, had grasped the hand of his uncle, who was amazed to see him.

Crouch returned at nightfall. He had killed his buffalo, far in the interior of the forest, and the following morning the boys set out to cut it up. That night the three friends were seated around the camp-fire on Date Palm Island. Edward's journey had been uneventful, except that one of his Fan attendants had been mauled badly by a wounded leopard.

It was Max who related the story of all that had happened since his uncle left Hippo Pool. The big man listened in silence; and when the story was ended he said nothing, and never once did he look at Crouch.

He knew the captain far too well to thank him. With old friends who have been through thick and thin together, who have stood side by side throughout many a danger, words are at a discount--a kind of mutual understanding exists between them that makes conversation a sheer waste of time. Still, though Edward said nothing, Max knew well enough that he thanked the little, wizened captain in his heart, and was conscious of the debt he owed him.

They remained on the island for another week, and it took them all that time to persuade a dozen of the boys to accompany them upon the portage in the capacity of carriers. It was only on the understanding that they would not be asked to embark upon the dreaded river of the "Fire-G.o.ds"

that, at last, they consented to go.

Indeed, this time, they had no intention of advancing as far as the river. They proposed to follow the portage to Observation Creek, and thence to strike up-stream, due south, until they found a suitable camping-ground. Here they would establish their base, sending the boys back to the island with orders to wait for their return.

The Loango boys could be trusted; most of them had faithfully served either Crouch or Edward in the past. Besides, they were a thousand miles from their home, and dared not make the pa.s.sage of the Congo by themselves, because of the hostile tribes that, in those days, abounded to the east of Stanley Falls. When Crouch and Edward Harden were on the river their reputation went before them; their friends came forth to meet them--grinning cannibals with necklaces of monkeys' teeth suspended round their necks, and little else besides by way of clothing--and their enemies, those who had broken their faith with Harden or fallen foul of Crouch, deserted their villages and took to the jungle, to let the two great white men pa.s.s, whose fame had reached to the very heart of the continent, and who, it was said, were spoken of even by the pigmies who lived in the dark, unknown country west of the Lakes.

When they set out with their carriers for Observation Creek, the three Europeans were sanguine of success, and even the four Fans (the one who had been injured by the leopard had been left behind on the island) shared their expectations. The riddle of the valley was yet unsolved.

The Portuguese still guarded well his secret. In his fortress by the river, encompa.s.sed upon every hand by the dark, inhospitable jungle, he had every reason to think himself secure. Moreover, he had cause to believe that both Max and Crouch were dead--the former drowned at the cataract, the latter lost in the jungle. Half the victory is gained when one can take one's adversary by surprise. Caesar had lost Gyp, his most accomplished scout. He might patrol the river, but he would find no trace of the Englishmen from Makanda to the rapids. He might search their old camp at Hippo Pool, where he would find, perhaps, a box of ammunition, cooking utensils and a few days' provisions--to say nothing of Crouch's case of gla.s.s eyes--but he would gain no clue to the fact that his enemies had returned to the valley.

From their base camp on Observation Creek they had decided to move up-stream towards the mountain. They hoped to make friends with the natives of the Pambala village that M'Wane had seen in the distance.

Thence they could approach Makanda from the east.

Each time they traversed the portage progress was more easy. It was no longer necessary to cut a way through the thickets with bill-hooks and axes, and to "blaze" the trees. Besides, they were now familiar with the road, knew where to look for water and the bitter roots of wild manioc, or ca.s.sava--from which tapioca is manufactured--and upon which, to a large degree, they were obliged to subsist in the jungle. Also they no longer carried a canoe.