CHAPTER VI: Unmasked
Cross Questions--Crooked Answers--The Guide Tells his Story--Rumaliza's Plot--The Coming Fight
It was eight o'clock next morning when Tom opened his eyes and tried to remember where he was. Stretching himself on the narrow camp-bed, the twinge that shot from his calves to his shoulders reminded him of his two days' tramp, and he hoped very sincerely that the force was not to move on at once. Luckily for him his uncle had decided to give the men a rest for a few hours, at any rate until the return of the scouts, who had started at six o'clock. The doctor, coming into the tent soon after nine, insisted on his taking a hot bath, and then spent an hour in massaging him. It was in vain that Tom protested against being coddled.
"Coddled indeed! You've a march and a fight in front of you, and ye'll want the free use of your limbs and all your staying-power, sure."
"A fight!" said Tom eagerly; "d'you think Uncle Jack will let me take part in it, Doctor?"
The doctor smiled grimly.
"I don't know about Uncle Jack, young man, but if you're not in it there will be no fight at all."
Pondering this enigmatical utterance, Tom left the tent by and by and strolled round the camp. Captain Lister met him and greeted him warmly, without a word as to what had brought him, and when he encountered his uncle, who was, as usual, full of activity, yet without a vestige of fussiness, that capital soldier had time to grip his hand and hope he was getting "fit".
The four Europeans were sitting beneath the flap of the tent, eating a late breakfast of roast goat and banana fritters, when Lieutenant Mumford returned with his little body of Soudanese scouts and reported himself. Tom had seen very little of him during the few days he had spent at Kisumu, and then thought he was too dandified and lackadaisical to be of much use on active service. He was therefore somewhat surprised now to hear what a business-like and competent account the lieutenant gave of his movements. He had penetrated, he said, to within two miles of the hills beyond which lay the objective of the expedition. He had met with no sign of the enemy, Arab or native, but had seen many a proof of their depredations in the ruined huts and blackened fields passed on the way. The native populations, sparse in these regions at any time, seemed now to have been either exterminated or carried into captivity. What the guide had said about the nature of the country, and the difficulty of procuring food, was perfectly true; and the scouts had only turned back when they reached the near end of the defile he had mentioned, Mumford considering it useless to spend time in traversing a perfectly open route.
"Very well," said the major. "You'd better get something to eat now, Mumford."
"There's one thing I ought to mention first. We've brought back a native with us, sir--from Visegwe's country, he said. He told us that his village had been raided by Arabs, and himself carried off as a slave and employed as a porter and general hack. His account of how he escaped is rather tall, but I can only repeat what he said. He was marching with the rest of his gang when a couple of rhinoceroses charged the column, and threw things into such confusion that he found a chance to slip away. He was making his way back home when he met us, so I thought it just as well to bring him along in case he could give us some useful information."
"Quite right, Mumford. Send the fellow here. Tom, I suppose that boy of yours is a bit of a linguist, eh? He may as well do the interpreting."
While Lieutenant Mumford was gone to fetch the native, the major took out his map and spread it out on a space cleared on the folding table.
"Yes, I see," he said; "if this native comes from the Arab quarters beyond the Rutchuru, his road homewards would lie across our line of march. He may be useful to us. A strapping fellow, Corney; look at him."
The negro, a finely proportioned young Ankoli, some twenty-five years of age, came up under a guard of Soudanese, who left him standing before the major. In answer to questions, he repeated the story given by Lieutenant Mumford, with some variations which might have been due to Mbutu's capacity for translation. He added that while hiding in the Wutaka hills, with the Kutchuru spread out before him, he had seen the Arabs cross the river and disappear among the hills to the west, retiring no doubt to the distant stronghold whence they made their raids. The man told his story frankly and ingenuously, and answered the major's questions without hesitation. As he described the atrocities committed by the Arabs, his language and gestures were expressive of intense indignation, and indicated that no vengeance could be too terrible for his oppressors.
"Do you know a place called Imubinga?" asked the major quietly, when the man had finished.
At the word, Tom, who was watching him intently, saw his eyelids droop for the fraction of a second. Imubinga! Yes, he knew it; a deserted village a mile or so on the other side of the hills; a capital camping-place, being sheltered by forests trees and well situated as regards water. The major made a rough plan with bits of biscuit and stalks of grass, and asked the native to show him as well as he could the whereabouts of Imubinga, knowing that the African is very clever in thus constructing picture plans. This done, he marked the place tentatively on his map and dismissed the man.
"Gentlemen," he said, when the negro was out of earshot, "the man is a liar--quite an accomplished one. His masters could hardly have chosen a better man for the job."
The three officers and Tom looked at the major, waiting in silence for the explanation of this discovery. At this moment Mbutu, who had for some time been showing signs of great excitement, broke in impetuously:
"Black man talk bosh! All one lie. Him no slave not at all! Him big awful liar!"
"Your young man has an emphatic way of expressing himself," said the major; "you had better tell him, Tom, to hold his tongue until he is asked to speak, and in fact to leave us. But he is right. A slave who had been employed in carrying ivory for the Arabs would bear the marks of a collar and fetters. Looking at that handsome Ankoli I failed to find these marks, and suspected the man. You will see now that I framed my questions in such a way as to give him rope, and the way he acted his part and worked up the passion was amazingly clever. But he overdid it, as they always will. What do you make of it all, Lister?"
Now in a scrimmage Captain Lister was a host in himself, but at the council-board he was not fluent. Contentedly pulling at his short brier, all he said was:
"Rummy, eh? What!"
Things had meanwhile been crystallizing in Tom's mind. The ambush had been foremost in his thoughts for many days past; possibly that was the reason why the suggestion came from him. However that may be, it was he who remarked quietly:
"D'you think the pretended slave is a confederate of the guide's, Uncle?"
The major looked dubious. He liked to see every step in the process--all the working of the sum, so to speak.
"Fadl," he said, "just order the guide Munta to step this way."
The major's orderly, a Soudanese more than six feet high, stalked into the camp square.
"Now, Mbutu," called the major, "come here; I want you to stand out of sight in the tent there till I beckon you. By the way, Tom, that dago fellow had a name, I suppose. What is it?"
"I never heard it, Uncle. Mbutu has always called him 'old master' or 'dago man' to me. What was your master's name, Mbutu?"
"Black man call him debbil, sah."
"Never mind what the black man calls him, what do the Arabs call him? What did this guide of ours call him?"
"Call him señor, padrone; one time call him Castro, one time more call him Carvalho; him lot names too many."
"Bedad now," exclaimed the doctor, "it all comes back to me. Carvalho!--of course, 'tis the name of the Portuguese who gave us no end of trouble in Quid Calabar ten years ago. I disremimbered'm entirely; ten years makes a terrible difference in a man, to be sure; though when I saw Tom knock him down there was something in the creature's scowl that seemed familiar. Sure an' I ought to have remimbered his bumps. A desp'rate ruff'n of a fellow, Major. He came to me wance to be stitched up after getting mauled in a drunken brawl, an' I got to know a thing or two about'm. Ah! an' there was wan curious affair he was mixed up in that--
"I'm afraid the story must keep, Doctor; here's the guide."
Captain Lister put down his pipe; Lieutenant Mumford lit a cigarette. The Arab, or rather half-caste, approached confidently and saluted. The major looked up.
"Have you any reason to give," he said quietly, "why you should not be taken out and shot?"
The man stared open-mouthed at the speaker. His face appeared to turn a bronze-green, and his lips twitched. The major was watching him intently.
"I don't--I don't understand, master," he stammered at length.
"Ah! Let us begin at the beginning. Do you know one Castro, a Portuguese, who was in Kisumu for some days before we started?"
The man, with a strong effort of will, had mastered the agitation into which the major's sudden question had thrown him.
"He is going to brazen it out," said that observant officer to himself; and after the slightest perceptible pause, the Arab replied:
"I do not know him, sir."
"Very well."
He beckoned to Mbutu, who had been standing with his face concealed by the flap of the tent. The Muhima came out into the sunlight.
"Do you know this boy?"
Tom saw the Arab's eyelids quiver.
"No--I do not know him, master. I never saw him before."
Major Burnaby turned to the Muhima.
"Mbutu, is this the man?" he asked.
"Him sure nuff, sah; him gib me kiboko."
"The boy lies. I never saw him; I know nothing about him."
"Very well. I shall have to refresh your memory. Fadl, tell Sergeant Abdullah to bring up a firing-party."
There was a strained silence. The Arab looked round apprehensively as six men of the King's African Rifles came up, ordered arms, and stood rigidly at attention.
The major took his watch from his pocket and laid it on the table in front of him.
"I give you five minutes," he said. "If you do not make up your mind to tell the truth within five minutes by my watch--well, you know what'll happen."
The major glanced significantly at the line of Soudanese. He deliberately cut and lit a cigar. Captain Lister had resumed his pipe and was puffing vigorously; Lieutenant Mumford gripped the sides of his seat, and stared; while the doctor was apparently examining the Arab's anatomy with a quite professional interest. To Tom his uncle was appearing in a new light, commanding a new respect and admiration; and as to Mbutu, he was patently overawed by the stern imperturbability of "sah him uncle".
The minutes went by. The silence of the bright morning was broken only by the varied sounds of movement in the camp: the laughter of the Zanzibaris; the clash of a cook's pan; the bleat of a goat led to the slaughter.
"You have half a minute," said the major suddenly.
"I know nothing, master, nothing at all," replied the guide, his lips quivering.
There was again silence. Then the major rapped his hand on the table.
"Now!" he said. "What have you to say?"
"I know nothing about it, nothing about it!" persisted the man.
"I've no time to waste," said the major curtly, replacing his watch. "Sergeant, take him away."
Two of the tall Soudanese laid their hands on the guide's arms. He wriggled out of their grasp and flung himself on the ground. They seized him again, assisted by their comrades; and, struggling desperately, crying continually: "I know nothing about it, know nothing about it!" he was carried away. Tom's heart was in his mouth, and Mumford had sprung up in his excitement. Captain Lister still smoked on placidly; while the major's lips were grimly set as he watched the man's contortions. He had been borne but a few yards when his writhing suddenly ceased.
"Don't take me away, don't take me away!" he shrieked. "I will tell, I will tell!"
At a sign from the major the Soudanese returned to the tent, and the wretched man stood before him, thoroughly cowed, and trembling in every limb.
"You will tell! Perhaps you are wise. You will tell me everything from the beginning. Mind, I make no promises; but it is your only chance!"
The major dismissed the Soudanese, and the man began in a low faint voice to tell his story. It was as follows:--
About two miles before reaching Imubinga, the path led across a mountain stream some ten feet deep and thirty wide, spanned by a native bridge. The river had cut a deep ravine between two high hills, and its steep banks were covered with dense forest growth, huge trees crowning the summit. The bank at which the expedition would first arrive had been unequally worn away, and some two hundred and fifty feet above the stream, almost overhanging the bridge, was a prominent bluff, projecting, as the guide put it, like the nose from a man's face. This had been the scene of a memorable incident during the invasion of the district by the Baganda some fifty years before. As a force of Baganda were crossing the bridge, a number of tree trunks, previously felled, had been rolled over the edge of the bluff, and crashing down upon them had killed many outright, and thrown the whole force into such confusion that it fell an easy prey to the enemy. The Baganda were massacred almost to a man. This incident had passed into the traditions of the country; warriors sang about it round their camp-fires, and mothers crooned their babies to rest with the song of "The Ambush by the Bridge".
The same plan was to be pursued now. In the fifty years which had elapsed since the earlier ambuscade, trees had again grown to maturity on the headland. Some of these had been felled, and the moment was to be seized, when half the column had crossed the river, to roll the trunks down upon the bridge. The Arabs, meanwhile, and their Manyema warriors, divided into two bands, one up and the other down stream, would be lying concealed in the forest sufficiently far from the bridge to avoid the British scouts. When the logs had been hurled down, and the troops were in confusion, a signal was to be given from the summit of the bluff; the Arabs were to emerge from their hiding-places, and make a simultaneous attack on the force hemmed in between them. They reckoned that the rear part of the column, deprived of the support of those who had already passed over the bridge, and encumbered with the baggage, would be as sheep in their hands. These having been disposed of, the first half, left without any reserve of ammunition and food, could be dealt with at leisure.
"Jolly good scheme!" remarked Captain Lister admiringly, between two puffs, when the man had finished his story.
"They must think we're pretty green, sir," said Lieutenant Mumford, unable to conceal his scorn of such tactics. Captain Lister eyed him for a moment, but said nothing. The major was drumming on the table, looking thoughtfully at the guide, while the doctor waved a handkerchief to keep off the flies.
"That is the truth, is it?" said the major at last. "And you were sent to help me to find the way! I have heard of worse schemes. But how did you expect to escape?"
The Arab shifted his feet uneasily.
"Not that that matters. But I should like to know a little more. I am not marching against the Arabs; why are your friends so concerned about our operations against a native chief? What is the motive? Tell me that."
Relieved that the major's interrogation was no longer so uncomfortably personal to himself, the guide went on with his narrative.
Far away in the west, he said, beyond Imubinga, beyond the Rutchuru and the hills, in the heart of the Congo forest, his friends had a stronghold, so well hidden that the forces of the Congo Free State had never succeeded in finding it. Even if they had found it they would have failed to take it, for the place was absolutely impregnable. To this fortress a remnant of Arab dealers in ivory and slaves had retired when the power of Hamed ben Juna, more commonly known by the natives' nickname, Tippu Tib, and his lieutenants was broken by the Belgian forces, and there they still pursued their vocation by stealth, their spies marking every movement of the Free State officials, their allies drawing the enemy off when he came dangerously near. In the course of some years they had amassed a huge store of ivory, and collected some thousands of slaves, some of these latter being employed in tilling the soil and supplying their captors with the necessaries of life; while others were traded away for ivory to the cannibal tribes of the middle Congo. It was, however, becoming increasingly difficult to elude the Free State authorities, and the circle of their traffic was gradually narrowing. The old chief Rumaliza, whom the Belgians supposed to have died in the forest after the capture of Kabambari, was still alive, looking with alarm at the prospect of having to feed his horde of slaves without any chance of a profitable deal. Hemmed in by the British, German, and Free State territories, which were all being brought rapidly under effective control by the respective European administrators, he foresaw inevitable ruin, soon or late. He was anxious, therefore, to realize his wealth and retire to the coast, and in pursuance of this aim he had resolved on one final coup, a last expiring effort of the slave-trade. His plan was to form a huge caravan, transport all his slaves to the coast, and ship them to Arabia.
"Oh, come now!" exclaimed the major at this point, "that must be nonsense. It's close on a thousand miles to the nearest point of the coast, and your friends are not fools enough to imagine that they could make a slave run without having us upon their tracks."
Then the guide proceeded to unfold a plot at which his younger hearers held their breath, and even the major himself, old and seasoned hand as he was, could scarcely restrain an exclamation of astonishment. The Arabs, said the man, had in their camp a number of deposed Banyoro and Baganda chiefs, whose conduct had been such as to preclude any chance of their regaining their position while the British occupation continued. These men, having nothing to lose and everything to gain, had established communications with every Mahomedan in Uganda and Unyoro who was known to be disaffected. At a given signal the latter were to rise; and the signal was to be the defeat of a British column. Where the defeat was to take place had not been disclosed to the disaffected in Uganda, lest the plot should be divulged. It had been perfected by the Portuguese during his stay in Kisumu. It was known that only a weak British force was available for operations in the southern part of the Protectorate. A small native chief was to be persuaded to revolt, and it was hoped that the affair would be regarded as of so little consequence that only a handful of troops would be employed to crush him. The revolt had taken place as arranged, but owing to Major Burnaby's energy the punitive column was stronger than the Arabs had anticipated. Still, with a numerical advantage of two to one, without counting their native allies and dependants, the Arabs were not so much disheartened as to abandon their plans. They confidently expected that the ambush would result in the annihilation of the British force. The news was to be conveyed to the scattered conspirators with the rapidity with which news always flies through native Africa; a picked force was to seize rail-head, after overpowering, or at least harassing, the small garrisons at Entebbe, Kisumu, and other military stations, and, if possible, to foment a general rising among the populace. Taking advantage of the confusion, the Arabs, with their satellites, were to run the slaves by forced marches to the western shore of the Nyanza, carry them over in canoes, and thence for a hundred and fifty miles along the railway, and then make for a spot on the coast of Italian Somaliland, whence they could ship them to Arabia.
"'Faith, I would like to examine the cranium of the man who devised that crazy scheme!" cried the doctor. "He must be's mad's a hatter!"
The major was in no mood to indulge in quips with Dr. O'Brien. His mind was wholly concentrated on the task which had opened before him. He sat silent and abstracted, seeming even to have forgotten the presence of the traitor. Recovering himself in a moment, he said quietly:
"Go away. You will be kept under arrest for the rest of the march; see to that, Mr. Mumford. When we are through with this business I'll consider what's to be done with you. Take him away. There's the other man now," continued the major, when the guide had been removed. "It is just worth while to see if his story corroborates the one we have just heard. Fadl, fetch the captured slave."
It was short work with him. A rumour had already run through the camp that the guide was in trouble, and the Ankoli wore an anxious look when he came up. The major told him in one sentence that his friend Munta had confessed; and the man at once volunteered to unbosom himself. His story differed from the other merely in ornaments. To the major's enquiries he replied that the Arabs were about nine hundred and fifty strong, and their allies rather more than a thousand. Many of the former were armed with Mausers, smuggled in through German East Africa. The rest of them had Sniders and other obsolete rifles ("Good enough in forest fighting" was the practical remark of Captain Lister), while the Manyema for the most part had only very old muskets in addition to spears.
"That rings true," said the major. "Has he anything more to tell?"
"Him say true, all berrah much," said Mbutu, who had interpreted. "Eberyfing told; know no more."
"Very well Fadl, take him and tie him up. Gentlemen, it is now past eleven o'clock. We will strike camp and be off in about an hour. We have, it appears, between five and six miles to go. That will take us full two hours. If the story we have heard is true--and for myself, strange as it is, I have no doubt about it--we shall have no difficulty in locating these Arabs. We shall fight at three; that will leave us three hours of daylight. That will suffice, I think. Lister, I should like a word with you."
"That means tactics, I suppose," said the doctor. "Well, while you're talking, I will tache Tom to help me pick up the pieces. Come along, my bhoy."