Tom Burnaby Part 5

"And I slept like a top," said the padre, smiling. "What were the noises that disturbed you?"

"Well, there was, for one thing, the squawk of the night-jar, which was unmistakeable; then there was the croak of frogs, only this was louder than our English frogs can manage, just like the sound of a gong beaten slowly. But there was a curious chirping, like a lot of bells very much out of tune jingling at a distance. What was that?"

"That was made by hundreds of cicadas in the reeds."

"Then an owl hooted, and some old lion set up a roar, and then again there came a strange bark I never heard before; it began with a snap, and rose higher and higher in pitch, till it became a miserable howl that gave me the shivers."

"That was the jackal."

"An eerie brute," rejoined Tom. "One answered another until there was a whole chorus of them at it, all trying to howl each other down. But worst of all was a dreadful squeal, just like a baby in mortal pain. I was dozing when I heard that; I became wide-awake with a start, and jumped up, and then remembered where I was. It couldn't have been a baby, could it, Padre?"

"No; it was no doubt a monkey which had climbed down from the branches of some mimosa, and found itself in the coils of a snake. You will get used to that sort of thing if you spend many nights in Uganda. But now, steam is up, I see; we must be off."

"There is one thing that has been puzzling me," said Tom. "Last night you told me we were now in German East Africa. But how is it that you have a French mission in German territory?"

"The explanation is simple. We were here before the Germans. This great lake was discovered by your Captain Speke in 1858, you remember, but it was not until Stanley came here in 1875 that the attention of Europe was really called to Uganda. You have heard, no doubt, of Stanley's famous letter to the _Daily Telegraph_, asking for missionaries to be sent out here?"

"I can't say I have."

"Well, when Stanley came, he found the king, Mtesa, much perplexed about religious matters, and he wrote a letter asking that English missionaries might be sent out to evangelize the people. A friend of Gordon's, a Belgian named Linant de Bellefonds, happened to be here at the time, and he volunteered to take Stanley's letter to Europe by way of the Nile. On the way, poor fellow, he was murdered by the Bari, who threw his corpse on to the bank, where it lay rotting in the sun. An expedition sent to punish the Bari found poor Bellefonds' body, and on removing his long knee-boots they discovered the letter tucked in between boot and leg. It was sent to Gordon at Khartum, and thence to England, and thus it came about that your Church of England mission began its work in Uganda in 1877."

"But how did you come here?"

"Oh, our mission, as I told you the other night, was started by Cardinal Lavigerie at Tanganyika. He thought that France should not be behind England in good works, so he sent some of his White Fathers northward to Uganda, and that is how we came to have a station at Buk.u.mbi."

"What about the Germans, then?"

"After the missionary comes the trader. Your Joseph Thomson was the first to prove what splendid commercial prospects Uganda presented, and then, of course, there was a scramble. It would be too long a story to tell you of treaties and schemes; of the fickleness and treachery of the vicious King Mw.a.n.ga; of Lugard and Gerald Portal and Sir Harry Johnston.

But in 1890 Central Africa was parcelled out among Britain and Germany and the King of the Belgians, and you British, with your genius for colonization, have really done wonderful things. I admire your success; and there is one thing at least in which you and we are quite agreed--we both detest slavery, and the slave knows that whether he flies to the British trader's bungalow or the mission-house of the White Fathers, he is sure of protection."

The day pa.s.sed uneventfully. Tom went down once or twice to relieve the native at the engine, and after what the missionary had told him of the storms that sometimes arose on the lake, he hoped more than ever that the crazy machinery would be equal to the strain put upon it.

About seven in the evening the launch came to the mouth of the Bay of Buk.u.mbi. There was a good deal of sea running, and it took the Father, with Tom's a.s.sistance, more than half an hour before they found, in the darkness, among the tall swishing reeds, a place where they could land.

The task was at length accomplished; leaving Mbutu and the stoker on board, the padre and Tom went ash.o.r.e, and met with a warm welcome from the fathers at the station. They dined and slept at the mission-house, and left early next morning, taking some fresh food on board. Father Cheva.s.se wished to make direct for the Sese Islands at the north-west of the Nyanza, where the White Fathers had another station, but he found it necessary to put in for fuel at Muanza, some two hours' sail from Buk.u.mbi. While he went to visit an acquaintance there, Tom strolled about the station, wondering at the bare and desolate appearance of its surroundings. He learned afterwards that the Germans had cut down the trees and burnt the villages within five miles of their fort--an infallible specific for keeping the country quiet. As he sauntered along he was half-startled, half-amused, to hear a native servant addressing a young subaltern, evidently fresh from the Fatherland, in a queer jargon of broken German. The effect was even more ludicrous than the broken English of Kisumu.

Tom's next impression was of a different kind. Turning into a narrow thoroughfare off the main street, he came face to face with a German captain in full uniform, swaggering along with elbows well stuck out, and two inches of moustache stiffly perpendicular, militant and aggressive. There was very little room to pa.s.s. The path was narrow; on one side was a wall, on the other a muddy road very badly cut up by cart-wheels. It was clearly an occasion for mutual concession. But the German does not go to Africa to make concessions, Tom was obviously a civilian, and, by all the rules of the German social system, beyond the pale of military courtesy. To the German officer it was as if he were not there. The captain came on with the rigid strut of an automaton, taking it for granted that Tom would efface himself against the wall.

But he had failed to recognize that the civilian was not a German.

Seeing that a collision was inevitable, Tom conceded the utmost consistent with self-respect, and stiffened his back for the rest.

There was a sharp jolt; the automaton, inflexibly rigid, swung round as on a pivot, clutched vainly at Tom for support, and subsided into the mud.

"Sorry, I'm sure," said Tom blandly. "Hope you're not hurt. The path is narrow."

White with anger, the German sprang to his feet, and, with the instinct of one not long from Berlin, laid his hand on his sword. But the tall figure walking unconcernedly on was unmistakeably that of an Englishman, and the angry captain scowled ineffectually at Tom's back, and made a hasty toilet before starting to regain his bungalow by the less-frequented thoroughfares.

The padre was vexed when Tom told him of the incident.

"It was Captain Stumpff," he said, "commandant of the German station at Fort Bukoba near your frontier. He has no love for you English, and now he will like you less than ever. Not that his friendship is worth much.

He is a boor, and a terror to the natives. The Germans are so much hated that the natives about here call them Wa-daki, 'the men of wrath', and well they deserve the name. Even the Portuguese are mild by comparison, and that is saying a good deal. Now as regards our journey, as we have been delayed at Muanza longer than I antic.i.p.ated, I propose to steer straight across instead of hugging the sh.o.r.e. The weather is fine, and we shall save time in that way."

The launch went ahead at full speed, pa.s.sing within about half a mile of the wooded island of Kome. Tom again found plenty of use for the field-gla.s.s, watching the myriad water-fowl of all descriptions that haunt the reedy sh.o.r.e of the lake. The air was beautifully clear, and if his mission had been less urgent Tom would have dearly liked to explore some of the creeks, fringed with tropical vegetation, that run up seemingly for miles into the land.

Gradually, however, they left the sh.o.r.e behind, and in a few hours the coast-line was but a hazy fringe on the horizon. They were by this time well out on the Nyanza, and the padre noticed with concern that the sky toward the north-east was a.s.suming a leaden hue. The wind had freshened from the same quarter; the surface of the lake was changing; white-tipped waves came rolling up on the starboard side. In a few minutes, as it seemed, the sky became black; and then, with a sudden gust, a terrific storm of rain burst over the boat, drenching Tom and the missionary to the skin. The wind blew with ever-increasing force, sweeping the rain in sheets before it; the sea was being lashed to fury, and big waves broke with a swish over the deck. It was all that the men could do to keep their feet. Mbutu, perturbed both in body and mind, clung desperately to the handrail of the companionway; the native stoker was beside himself with terror, and in no condition to execute an order even if he could hear it above the tumult of the gale. The padre, wholly occupied with the wheel, shouted to Tom to keep an eye on the engine. Creeping across the deck, Tom made the best of his way below, with some difficulty closing the hatch above him. Just as he secured the hatch, a huge sea broke over the vessel, carrying away deck-chair and camp-stool, snapping the stanchions of the awning as though they were match-wood, and sweeping the ruins into the sea, among them the rifle which Tom had stood against the gunwale.

Having tumbled rather than run down the companion-way, Tom staggered to the engine and examined the gauge. He thought it possible to crowd on a little more steam, and as there was no chance of consulting the missionary, on his own responsibility he flung more logs on the fire.

Meanwhile the boat was rolling and pitching terribly; every moment a heavy thud resounded as a wave broke on the deck; and Tom could hear the straining of the rudder as the missionary strove to keep the vessel's head to the wind.

The fight had gone on for an hour or more, when all at once the screw ceased to revolve; there was an escape of steam; and Tom knew that what he had for some time been dreading had at last occurred. The engine had broken down. Reversing the lever he clambered on deck, and saw by the expression in the padre's face that he knew what had happened. The downpour had ceased, but the wind was still blowing a furious gale, and, with no way on the boat, the rudder was useless.

"What is to be done?" shouted Tom in the padre's ear.

"Nothing. We are bound to drift; we are already driving towards the sh.o.r.e. Heaven send we miss the rocks!"

Both men clung to the wheel, and watched anxiously as the launch, shuddering under the waves that struck her in close succession, drew nearer and nearer to the sh.o.r.e. Tom could already see the foaming breakers rolling wildly against a huge rock that loomed up a hundred yards ahead. A few seconds more, and he expected the keel to strike.

The missionary was alive to their imminent peril. Cutting loose a light mast, he hurried with it to the port side, and just as a wave smote the vessel on the other quarter, lifting it almost on to the rock, he thrust out the mast and pushed with all his might. Tom gave a gasp of relief.

The vessel shaved the rock by a hand's-breadth, and sped past. A second later it was brought up with a sudden jerk, plunged forward a few yards, and then came finally to a stop.

"We are on a sand-bank," cried the padre. "If the storm continues we shall be broken up in half an hour."

"Can't we do anything, sir?" asked Tom.

"Nothing but trust to Providence."

Happily, not many minutes after the launch had grounded, the wind began to lull, and by the time it was dark had entirely fallen. With the suddenness characteristic of storms on the Nyanza, the force of the breakers rapidly diminished, the sky cleared, and the stars came out.

"I'm going down to see what's wrong with the engine," said Tom, dripping wet as he was. Fortunately he found a candle and dry matches. He struck a light and crept into the machinery. Ten minutes' examination showed him that the strain had loosened the valve connecting the steam-pipe with the cylinder, so that the pressure was inadequate to move the piston-rod. He had sufficient experience to know that he could repair it well enough to stand for a day or two. Coming out again he ordered Mbutu and the stoker, now recovered from their fright, to bale out the water that had shipped below; then he stripped off his clothes and wrung them out, dressed himself again, and set about his task.

By this time it was eight o'clock in the evening. The padre, having dried his clothes as well as he could, went below to see if he could lend Tom a hand; Tom thanked him, but said he thought he could manage by himself, and suggested that the missionary might order Mbutu to prepare some supper. In about three hours Tom came on deck tired and dirty.

"It's done, Father," he said. "The old thing's patched at last. It will stand till you get back to Port Florence, I think."

"Well done, Mr. Burnaby!" returned the padre. "It is wonderful good luck that I had such a skilful engineer on board."

"Well, you see, I had some experience in Glasgow," said Tom modestly.

"And then the chief engineer on the _Peninsular_ showed me all over his engines, and taught me a lot. Shall we fire up to-night?"

"No, I think we'll lay by till morning and get what sleep we can. Then I hope with the dawn we shall be able to run off the sand-bank. I have made some cocoa, and I am sure you must be hungry."

Tom was so fatigued that as soon as he laid his head down after a good meal he fell asleep. Five hours slipped by like twenty minutes, and then he was awakened soon after daybreak by a loud snorting bellow that seemed to shake the vessel. Bounding on deck he found the padre already there, looking with dismay at a crowd of hippopotamuses sporting in their lumbering way among the rushes. The animals appeared to have just discovered the launch, and to have decided that it was an intruder into their domains, to be summarily ejected, for one great bull lifted his thick snout and, furiously bellowing, charged. The impact stove in a plank just above water-line, and lifted the vessel half out of the water. The stoker yelled with terror. Mbutu s.n.a.t.c.hed up the mast that had proved of such good service the day before, while the padre looked anxious. There were no arms on board, and Tom bitterly regretted that he had not left his rifle below instead of keeping it with him on deck.

Suddenly an idea struck him. Placing his hand on the funnel he found, as he had hoped, that the engine-fire was alight. He ran below, picked up a length of hose he had noticed coiled near one of the bunkers, fixed one end to the exhaust-pipe, and hurried back to the deck, carrying the nozzle end with him. Instructing the stoker to turn on the c.o.c.k at a signal, he went into the bows and saw the hippo preparing for a second charge. Shouting to the stoker, he pointed the hose full at the eyes of the gigantic beast; a stream of boiling water issued from it, and the hippo, bellowing with pain, plunged off the bank with a force that shook the vessel, and lumbered away. His companions watched him for a few seconds with a look of dull amazement, and then, taking in the situation, stampeded after him.

"The enemy retires in confusion," said Tom, laughing.

"A capital idea of yours," said the missionary. "I confess I was really somewhat alarmed. After all, I believe the brute has helped us. I fancy he shifted us a little off the bank. Put on the steam, and let us see if we can move."

Tom went below and pressed the throttle. The vessel did not stir.

There was not sufficient depth of water. Hurrying on deck again he asked the padre to push from the stern with the serviceable mast; and after a few minutes' hard shoving at various places, he had the satisfaction of feeling the launch move an inch or two forward.

Returning below he started the engine, and ten minutes later the boat slid off the sandbank into deep water. Fortunately no harm had been done to the bottom. The engine worked well, though Tom did not venture to put it at full speed after the strain of the previous day. Skirting the western sh.o.r.e, the vessel pa.s.sed Bukoba in the afternoon, and about five o'clock arrived at the mouth of a river emerging into the lake through dense forest.