Tom Burnaby Part 32

The whole camp was enclosed by a palisade, which Tom judged, from the portion he saw, to be about a thousand yards in circ.u.mference. The palisade consisted of saplings, and was not defended by a trench; but it was at least five feet high, and from his position in the watercourse Tom could see absolutely nothing inside the fence. There was nothing for it, then, but either to wait till darkness had fallen and then try to creep closer and look over or through the palisade, or to give up the attempt to obtain information and return to his men. He was very reluctant to adopt the second alternative, and decided at any rate to remain where he was until it was dark.

He had not long to wait. It was past four before he left his own camp, and it was now nearly six. After remaining for twenty minutes in his place of concealment, until he began to feel numbed by the cold, he ventured to lift his head above the bank. There was nothing between him and the palisade; a red glow from the camp-fires within was lighting, the sky, and over the fence came the noise of hundreds of gabbling tongues. He crept over the bank, waited an instant, and then ran noiselessly across to the palisade, where a few bushes would afford him some cover if anyone happened to look over. Resting a moment, he heard the guttural sounds of talking and laughing on the other side; the negroes were evidently preoccupied with their own concerns.

When a little time had elapsed he got up and peeped over the palisade, and saw crowds of Manyema eating, drinking, gambling about the camp-fires. Beyond them was another palisade defended by a trench, and within this he guessed that the Arabs of the force were camped. Finding that he could obtain no further information except by venturing among the enemy, which was out of the question, he stole back to the watercourse, made his way up it, then under cover of the darkness cut across the country, pa.s.sing within a few hundred yards of the village.

For a moment he thought of going in at the southern gate and arranging for the co-operation of the katikiro and his force in the movements he contemplated, but on consideration saw that to do so might arouse a commotion in the village and awaken suspicion among the Arabs.

Proceeding, therefore, on his way, he saved more than two miles of his former journey, and reached his men about half-past seven. He was then dead-beat, but he had made up his mind what his course of action was to be. Mbutu, he was glad to observe, had not allowed the men to light fires. Giving orders that the men were to continue to rest until half-past eleven, and that unbroken silence must be maintained, he ate ravenously the food provided for him, wrapped himself in the rug Mbutu had carried, and threw himself on the ground to s.n.a.t.c.h a brief sleep.

Long usage enabled him to wake at any moment. At half-past eleven he rose, and ordered Mbutu to go quietly about among the sleeping men and rouse them. In a few minutes they were all on foot, and, looking at them as they stood, bright-eyed, eager, confident, Tom adopted a well-known saying and declared inwardly that they "were ready to go anywhere and do anything".

"Men," said Tom in their own tongue, "the Arabs are encamped beyond the village there. I am going to lead you to attack them. We shall surprise them if you walk silently. There must be no talking, no noise of any kind. The musketeers will leave all their ammunition behind; this will be a job for bayonets, spears, and pikes alone."

His plan was to make a wide detour and come upon the enemy from the north-west, the absence of sentries on that side having convinced him that if they were keeping watch at all it was directed towards the village. It was natural that they should take precautions against a direct sortie without looking for an attack from the quarter in which they had themselves come. Leaving fifty carriers, picked up at the block-houses, to take charge of the food and ammunition, Tom started with his men at a quarter to twelve.

It was pitch dark; the sky was evidently clouded, and the air had a nipping rawness that seemed to forebode rain. Tom was rather anxious about the possibility of keeping the proper direction; but his men were all natives of the district, and the man he had appointed as guide marched on with confidence, finding the way apparently rather by instinct than by the sense of sight. Soon a dull glow on their right, the reflection of the village watch-fires, served as a landmark, and in half an hour they were abreast of it, sufficiently near to hear the occasional howl of one of the village curs, or the lowing of one of the cattle. They marched in dead silence. Now and then a pike would catch in some obstruction, such as a bush, a creeper, a branch of a low tree; once or twice the b.u.t.t of a musket carelessly held struck against an ant-hill or a rock, or a man would trip over a stone and cause a momentary break in the even progress of the column; but not an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n came from the mouths of the men. Tom was proud of the splendid results of the discipline they had undergone, and ready to avouch that under proper training anything could be made of the Bantu negro. On and on they went, the narrow column crawling like a black snake over gra.s.s-land, swamp, and almost bare rock. They pa.s.sed the village, began the ascent to the south of it, skirting the spot where the flourishing banana plantation had once stood, crossed the stream a mile and a half above the village, and then arrived at a point whence they could see the glow from the fires in the Arab camp.

Here Tom halted the men, and quietly told them his plans. The attack was to be made at two points, the north-west and south-west corners of the encampment. Tom himself would lead one body of his men; the other he entrusted to a gigantic negro named Mwonda, who had distinguished himself on many occasions during the siege of the village and in the forest fight. He stood six feet two in height, with extraordinary muscular development and great physical strength. He was absolutely fearless. His besetting sin was a habit of boasting, which, however, was so nave and inoffensive that his mates were more amused by it than irritated. He was accustomed to a.s.sert loudly that he was a pure Muhima, though his features and his whole physical organization proved him to be incontestably one of the Bairo. But his valour was so pre-eminent that no one was hurt when Tom appointed him captain of the pikemen, and his skill with the weapon was unmatched. His pike was several inches longer, and proportionately thicker, than those of the rank and file, and on this night he also carried, slung round his waist, a scimitar taken from an Arab whom he had killed in single fight in the forest. His men had unlimited confidence in him, and Tom had marked him from the first as the ideal leader when any deed of desperate courage not demanding tactical skill was in question.

Half the force, then, was put under Mwonda's command, and he was to lead the a.s.sault from the north-west. It was essential to the thorough success of the plan that the two attacks should be simultaneous, and Tom was for a time greatly exercised as to how the necessary signal could be given when the two bodies were separated by the whole length of the Arab camp. It was important that nothing should be done to give the alarm there, and Tom, to avoid risks, had even left his revolver behind, and carried only a musket. Suddenly he remembered Mbutu's faculty for imitating the cries of animals. Why not make use of that now?

"You can mock the jackal's cry?" he said.

"Oh yes, sah! berrah good jackal."

"Very well."

The cry of the jackal, he thought, would carry farthest, and from its very frequency in those parts would not be likely to arouse special attention. There was just a chance of a real jackal interposing at an unfortunate moment, and thus precipitating matters; but the risk, after all, was slight, and Mwonda would not be likely to make a mistake, knowing from what direction the expected signal should come. This was therefore arranged; Mwonda was ordered to creep as near to the camp as possible, and lead the a.s.sault the instant he heard the jackal's cry.

In case either of the parties were discovered before the signal was given, the resulting commotion in the Arab camp was itself to be the signal for a charge.

Then the march was resumed. Rain had been for some time falling in a steady drizzle, which increased to a downpour as they crept down the slope. Uncomfortable as it was, Tom welcomed the rain, for it completely drowned the dull sound of tramping feet. The scrub grew a little thicker as the ground descended, and the patter of the rain on the leaves, the soughing of the wind through the branches of the trees dotted here and there, produced a sense of uncanniness. Down they went, the bare feet of the men sometimes slipping on a rock, and Tom himself once narrowly escaping a headlong fall into the watercourse he had descended in the afternoon.

Half a mile from the camp he called a halt. The downpour was as steady as ever. There was no sign of sentries. If any had been posted outside the palisade the probability was that they had taken refuge in a small clump of trees some three hundred yards to the south. It all favoured the enterprise, for surely no attack would be expected on such a night.

The very watch-fires inside the camp were well-nigh extinguished, and the absolute silence indicated that the Arabs and their negroes were sleeping beneath their tents, rude huts, and mats. "Now, Mwonda," said Tom in a low whisper, "that is your way. Lead your men as close to the camp as you can, and wait for the jackal's cry. Then you know what to do."

Mwonda grunted a.s.sent. His column filed off, and in the darkness the individual figures could only be dimly recognized at a foot distance by the wisps of light-coloured straw which Tom had ordered them to bind about their left arms to distinguish them from the enemy. Tom hoped that, faint as it was, the glow from the dying camp-fires would make these distinguishing marks of value.

Giving Mwonda's column a few minutes' grace to make the extra circuit towards the north-west, Toms force began to creep silently towards the camp. Slowly, cautiously, nearer and nearer they drew; so cautiously that Tom, leading the way, stumbled over a man huddled half-asleep in a blanket on the lee side of a bush. With a half-cry the man sprang to his feet, but as quick as thought Tom flung out his right fist, and stretched him on the sodden ground. Before he could rise again, or Tom could interfere, two Bahima flung themselves on the body, and only a faint gurgle told that their fatal knives had done their work. Tom felt a pang as he realized that one poor creature had gone to his account; he was not yet case-hardened to the terrible realities of war. But he did not falter; a life taken meant perhaps hundreds of lives saved, and never was war waged in a more righteous cause.

The column was now only four hundred yards from the camp. Yard by yard it crawled along, the squelching of the men's feet on the ground being smothered now by the heavy patter of rain on the palisade and the huts.

Suddenly a stifled cry in the distance, far on his left, followed inside the palisade by a sentry's call, told Tom that Mwonda's column had not been so fortunate as his own.

"Now!" said Tom to Mbutu, who had kept close at his side all the way.

Instantly the blood-curdling jackal's howl undulated through the drenched air. The men sprang forward, with never a yell or cheer, a quick grunt alone proclaiming their excitement. With a rush they gained the stockade, scrambled up and over, Tom never knew how, and while the startled enemy were still pouring half-dazed out of their shelters, and hurrying up by twos and threes towards the palisade, Tom's men were among them. The Arabs in their long burnouses were distinguishable even in the murk; their dependants formed only a blacker patch. Between the outer and inner stockades there was no real attempt at resistance, the men rushing hither and thither in wild confusion, not knowing which way to turn, many being without arms, others endeavouring in vain to fire muskets with damp powder. The Bahima, now yelling and whooping, ran among them, cutting them down by scores, and the cries of the wounded were mingled with the exultant shouts of the attackers.

Rushing towards the inner stockade, Tom met with a more determined resistance. The Arabs within that had had time to recover from the first shock, and to seize their arms. They made for the side on which, judging by the clamour, the a.s.sault was being made. A few shots were fired, at random, for no aim could be taken; but still the storming-party surged on. The foremost of them fell back from the higher palisade, and Tom himself narrowly escaped a blow from a scimitar which, if it had fallen, would have concluded his career there and then.

But Mboda fortunately interposed his pike, which was cut clean in two just above the head. Before the Arab could recover himself a second pikeman had run him through. This gave Tom enough time to secure a foothold on the top of the stockade; the next moment he was over on the inside, laying about him doughtily with his clubbed musket. He was speedily joined by several of his men, who lunged and smote at the ma.s.s of Arabs before them. There was the remnant of a large fire still smouldering in the centre of the s.p.a.ce. Driven back on to this, the combatants sent a shower of sparks into the air, and a flame shot up from the still unconsumed wood, throwing its light full in the face of Tom's immediate opponent, a pike's distance from him. In the features, distorted with rage, Tom recognized those of his old enemy De Castro.

The recognition was mutual. With a snarl of hate the Portuguese flung his heavy pistol full at Tom's head, and, changing his sword from his left to his right hand, followed up the throw with a desperate cut. Tom ducked his head; the pistol struck with a dull crack on the skull of the man behind; with the stock of his musket he parried the cut and sprang forward at his enemy. Other warriors were crowding round, and in the press there was no room to swing the weapon; all that Tom could do was to prod heavily with the barrel. De Castro started back, but he failed to escape the force of the blow altogether; it took him in the midriff and doubled him up like a hinge. The surging movement of the throng carried Tom past and out of reach, and though he wrestled his way through and hunted high and low for the Portuguese, he saw him no more.

Their attention having been taken up by Tom's force, which was the first to reach the stockade, the Arabs had not noticed, until it was too late, that they were also threatened from another quarter. Mwonda and his men, clambering over the palisade at the north-west side, found themselves almost unopposed, and, sweeping away the few Manyema in the interval between the two stockades, fell upon the rear of the Arabs in the inner circle. Mwonda himself, by sheer weight and impetus, bore down everyone who tried to make head against him. Nothing could withstand the impetuosity of the charge. Taken thus between two yelling hordes, the Arabs made no further resistance. They fled for their lives, a.s.sisted in their escape by the rain and darkness which had so much contributed to their downfall. Scrambling pell-mell over the stockade on the eastern side, they rushed madly away, and became aware that the village a mile before them was astir; shouts were coming faintly on the air. Fearing that still another force was approaching to fall upon them, they swung round to the north in twos and threes, a hopelessly broken force; and falling, stumbling, crashing through mud and bush, over the streams, into the swamps, they ran headlong, fear pressing hard at their heels.

"Measure for measure!" said Tom to himself grimly. Many and many a time, he made no doubt, had panic-stricken negroes fled from their oppressors in the same way. It was a turning of the tables. The measure the Arabs had meted was being indeed measured to them again, and Tom rejoiced in the thought that just retribution was at last falling on men by whom human life had been held so cheap.

Within the captured camp the victors were panting, laughing, shouting in their glee. The rain had no power to damp their spirits. Cries of "Kuboko!" rang through the air, and a new war-song was composed on the spot. It was past two o'clock in the morning; the rain was beating down more heavily than ever; and Tom ordered the men to see to the few wounded of his force and to do what they could for their wounded enemies before seeking shelter for themselves. He despatched a messenger at once to the village to give the katikiro information of what had happened, and fifteen minutes after the man had started, the shouts of thousands of voices were distinctly heard, as they raised their song of rejoicing.

CHAPTER XVIII

The Great Fight

Rumaliza takes the Field--Exit Mabruki--Tom checks a Rout--Mbutu Protests--The Great Zariba--Coming to Grips--Beaten Off--The Second Attack--Tom in the Breach--Rumaliza's Last Charge--The Eight Hundred--Nemesis

When morning broke in cold and mist, the scene showed how complete had been the surprise of the camp, and how one-sided the fight. More than two hundred men lay dead and wounded within the two stockades, and Tom's heart bled as he realized how helpless he was to do anything effectual for those whose wounds were serious. His own losses had been very slight; many of the men had nothing but insignificant bruises and cuts to show, only a few had been killed. All the equipment of the camp, and a large quant.i.ty of arms and ammunition, had fallen into his hands, forming a very welcome addition to his resources. He estimated that the captured rifles and muskets would enable him to arm nearly six hundred men.

With the morning light came the katikiro with a hundred of his men. He was wild with delight at the discomfiture of the Arabs' scheme, and furious with rage at the trick played upon him, which, but for Tom's vigilance and energy, would probably have succeeded only too well.

Despatching three hundred men in pursuit of the Arab force, with orders to bring back what prisoners they could, Tom led the katikiro aside and questioned him on the extraordinary mistake he had made. Msala said that, on the evening of the day on which Kuboko started for the forest, a messenger had come into the village from an Arab force two marches away demanding its surrender.

"I cut off his head," said Msala simply.

Tom started, but the moment was not opportune for a reprimand.

"What happened then?" he asked.

"Nothing. I posted sentries as you bade me; nothing happened."

"Where was Mabruki?"

"He heard the man's message and saw me cut his head off, and he said he would go into the fields and search for herbs and charms to keep the village safe."

"And you let him go?"

"What could I do, master? Mabruki is a strong man, and the people would have grumbled if I had not let him go on such a good errand."

"Always a moral coward, Msala," said Tom to himself. "Well, what then?"

"He came back at dead of night with his herbs. Next day came the messenger from you, showing me the rag with the mark. I sent him back to you. I did not wish to send him, I thought he was tired, but Mabruki said send him, for he would know the way, and would tell you himself that his errand was fulfilled."

"I sent no messenger; that man never reached me. Go on."

"Then I sent the second message to say how weak I should be without the eight hundred. I did not tell Mabruki, for I thought he would be offended."

"No doubt."

"And then I sent the eight hundred men to the burning mountain, as you bade me. And that is all I know till I saw the Arabs coming from the north and making their camp. I was ready to fight. I sent off another messenger to you; but you came, O Kuboko, and you have smitten them like hares."

"I do not understand it yet. Where is Mabruki now?"

"I left him burning gra.s.s in honour of your victory."