[CHAPTER X—When All was Still]
Among the native troops was a man who was not dressed in uniform, who was tattooed from head to foot, and who wore upon his head an abundance of coloured feathers. They learned afterwards that he was a medicine or "fetish" man—and "fetish worship" is the curse of the Dark Continent, from Ashanti to the Zambesi. The medicine-men, who profess to practise witchcraft, are far more powerful than the majority of the native kings. At their bidding innocent people are often put to death, which enables them to use their powers for bribery and corruption.
In the centre of the ravine, immediately below the place where the two boys were hiding, the officer in command called a halt. When the men had fallen out and released their packs from their shoulders, the witch-doctor addressed them in an excited, high-pitched voice. Neither Harry nor Braid could understand a word of what he said, but his grimaces and gesticulations were so expressive that they could have no doubt that he was performing some kind of religious ceremony.
It was evident that the party intended to pitch their camp in the ravine, for several men under the command of one of the non-commissioned officers set about collecting wood with which to make a fire.
The boys knew not what course to take. Their first inclination was to take to their heels, seeking refuge in the forest. Then they remembered that if they did this there would be small chance of their being found by Cortes, who had promised to return to the ravine. As silently as possible they crawled on hands and knees to the hollow tree, and hid themselves in the trunk.
There they remained for hour after hour. From that position they were just able to see into the gorge. The party had split up into three groups: the German officers sat alone; the European noncommissioned officers formed a ring around a smaller fire; whereas the natives were congregated around the fetish-man.
Peter Klein sat like a figure of stone, a sentry with bayonet fixed standing over him. His lips were bloodless, his eyes staring, his face like that of a ghost. From time to time the Germans looked at him and laughed. For all that, they repeatedly offered him food; but he refused to eat, though now his hands had been unbound.
After a while many of the men disposed themselves for sleep, lying down upon the bare rocks about the embers of the fire. The officer in command—a stout major with a bristling moustache—gave orders that the prisoner's hands should again be bound. Whereupon a sergeant propped the prisoner up, with his back to the side of the ravine, making it perfectly plain—even to the boys who could not understand the German language—that, if he endeavoured to escape, they would not hesitate to kill him.
The sentry was not posted for the night on the side of the ravine on which were the two boys, but on the other side, overlooking the valley to the east. It was apparently from this direction that the Germans seemed to fear for their safety.
Harry thought the matter out. If the two brothers were alive, he could not think why they had not returned. It was now past one o'clock, and Cortes had said he would be back certainly before twelve.