For some time he could only hear the shouts and yells. He kept the water up to his chin and continuously splashed his face in the endeavour to slacken the efforts of the mosquitoes. The cries approached. He saw men outlined against the stars and then some gleams of lanterns. Something stirred ponderously near to him. It might be a crocodile, but he dared not move. The figures seemed to stay on the top of the bank for hours. He remained rigid, expecting a swirl of water and teeth.
Suddenly a spurt of flame shot out above him and was followed by a fusillade of shots in the direction of up river. Had they spotted Mungongo or were they merely letting drive at a bush or the spirits in general? The latter was most probable. The water swirled near to him. All his will power was required not to leap frantically for the bank. Yet a crocodile would be far more merciful than those black devils. Again a swirl and something passed close to him at high speed. Probably an otter scared by the firing; at any rate it was not a crocodile. The lights and figures on the bank disappeared.
Shots rang out again, and were followed by a wild outburst of yelling. Birnier began to wade for the bank, continually splashing water at the mosquitoes which were so thick that they reminded him of the bayou Lafourche in far-off Louisiana. Crouching, [pg 113] he waited on the edge of the bank to listen. The corporal might have had enough sense to post men in the grass. Yet he might be too fuddled to think of that, and no native would willingly stay there in the dark, unless under white discipline. Voices still muttered, but they sounded as if from the camp. Had they given him up for the night, relying on the chance that if he had not been taken by a crocodile they could trail him in the morning? Probably.
Birnier squatted in the water, ready to plunge back, until he was sure they were in camp. Then as cautiously he crawled up the bank. Through the scrub with his uninjured eye he could make out the figures around the yellow of the fire which had gone down considerably. Now what would they do? He could hear the mumble of the corporal’s voice. Would they be sufficiently sobered to be ready for the chase in the morning? Birnier did not think so with that case of brandy there; the corporal would not, at all events. There was a scream of pain and the chatter of women’s voices.
Was the corporal punishing the sentry for having let the prisoners escape, or were they beginning to fight among themselves? The latter was improbable, as non-commissioned officers are usually chosen from petty chiefs and the men under them, as far as possible, from their own village. Had they captured Mungongo or one of the others? Birnier listened again. Another scream was stoppered to a groan.
“Devils!” muttered Birnier. Lying flat to watch the grass and shrub tops against the stars, he gave the frog croaks arranged, at intervals of ten seconds. About five minutes later he saw some grass tops quiver [pg 114] unnaturally. He croaked again. Came a whisper:
“Is it thee, Infunyana?” (a name given in reference to Birnier’s gold fillings).
“Aye.” A dark form glided towards him. “Where are the other men?”
“I know not. I told them as thou hadst told me to do. When thou didst give the sign, I fled and plunged into the river.”
“Thou wast not frightened of the crocodiles?”