In the grip of the Mullah: A tale of adventure in Somaliland

by F. S. Brereton

"And now comes my time," said Jim to himself. "I'll slink away from here in the opposite direction from those fellows, and carry out the first part of my undertaking. The night is very dark, and suitable for the work. But it is very still, and the fall of a paddle in the water, the mere splash of a hand as one lifts it to swim, will be heard a long distance away. That being the case, I must float across, propelling myself by kicking out with my legs beneath the surface. Now here goes!"

Leaving the dense band of darkness, which seemed to cling to the walls of the store-house, he crept stealthily away into the night, and, taking a narrow passage which ran behind the huts, quickly placed some hundred yards between himself and the Mullah's dwelling. Then, having waited again to listen, he turned at right angles and made his way across the wide open street towards the river-bank. As he walked, feeling his way carefully before him, for the darkness was great, the ground shelved away, at first by degrees, and then more suddenly, till, happening to pause for a moment, he heard the gentle wash of water just in front of him.

"The river," he said to himself; "and now for a boat. There are several lying hereabouts, and I ought to have no difficulty in finding one."

Again he went on his knees in the mud and mire, and groped his way along by the water's edge. Soon his hand came into contact with some object, and running his fingers along it, he speedily satisfied himself that it was one of the native craft. In fact, it was a dug-out canoe, patched here and there with scraps of goat-skin, and provided with some half-dozen paddles of native workmanship, which lay on the bottom.

"I've an idea," said Jim suddenly, pausing beside the craft as a thought occurred to him. "We arranged that I should take one of these boats over, but from that it would appear that very few had had a hand in the rescue of the prisoner. Now, why should I not take half a dozen? Tie them by their head-ropes together, and then ferry the whole lot across. When I reach the other side, I'll detach one of the half-dozen, and run it up against the bank so securely that it will not be carried away by the river; then I'll land and stamp about in the mud till the whole place is marked by footprints. When that is done, I'll go elsewhere till I've got rid of all the craft, and then I'll return and go on with the other portion of my work. Yes, it sounds to me very plausible, for when they discover that their prisoner is gone, the Somalis will catch sight of six stranded boats far sooner than they will of one, and, what is of far more importance, they will think that quite a force of men has been in the village during the night, and will promptly despatch all their available followers to the far side of the river. That will be good for us, for the smaller the number we have to deal with the better."

Groping carefully about in the darkness, Jim found that three of the native craft lay side by side, and within a very short period he had loosely knotted the head-ropes together. Then he crawled still farther along the river-bank, and having discovered another, pushed it silently into the water and embarked. To grasp a paddle and use it to pole the boat along was a simple matter, and in this way, using every care to avoid making a splash, he sped silently along, till a gentle grating told him that the prow had come into contact with the stern of another craft. Five minutes later he was returning with three canoes, allowing the stream to float them noiselessly along beside the bank. When he reached the spot at which he had left the others, he stepped into the river, and, wading towards them, tied the whole six together.

Standing upright in the central one of his half-dozen captures, he thrust the paddle over the stern, and, working it as a ferryman often does when sculling with a single oar, he gradually crossed the stream. Soon the gentle sound of bending rushes fell upon his ear, and he knew that he was at his destination. Detaching one of the head-ropes, he pulled the canoe well on to the bank, and then trudged backwards and forwards in the soft earth, stamping it with the imprint of his sandalled feet in all directions. Not content with that, he walked through a patch of long grass which fringed the bank, flattening the blades and leaving obvious tracks. There was no need to go still farther, for a long stretch of rocky and hard soil ran away from the river, and upon this nothing but the hoofs of horses would have made any impression.

Six times in succession did he repeat the process, and then, having satisfied himself that the signs upon the bank were ample, he embarked again and pushed off, allowing the stream to carry him where it liked.

"There is a white line farther down," he said to himself, peering through the darkness; "and I remember that from the store-house we could see a spot where the water was broken and tumbled. If possible, I shall jam this boat among the rocks, and then it will look as if it had broken loose from the farther bank. Ah, here we are!"

Before starting out he had been careful to wrap his revolver and ammunition in the long strip of calico which usually did service as a head-covering, and this he had tied firmly in position with the weapon at the crown of his head and the knot beneath his chin. Certain, therefore, that there was no danger of damaging them by immersing them in the water, he slipped over the edge of the boat at once, and, swimming beside it, directed it towards the centre of the white line which he had observed. Soon his hand came into contact with a large boulder, which was covered with slippery moss, and upon the upper edge of which was a jagged indentation.