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

by F. S. Brereton

"A third is here!" shrieked another at this moment, happening to stumble upon the sentry who lay behind the prisoner's hut. "It is Abdul Hamid, who kept watch over our white slave. See," he continued, appearing a moment later, dragging the body towards the watch-fire, "he is dead. Allah has taken him, and the thrust of a sword has sent him to his end. Where are these infidels? Lead us, you who are our ruler, and show us that you have those powers of which you boast."

That the incident which had so suddenly and unexpectedly aroused the village had angered the warriors there was little doubt, for they now came crowding round the Mullah's residence, and forgetting the humble manner in which they were apt to address him, demanded hotly that he should do something in the matter.

"It is a disgrace to our manhood!" cried one of them bitterly. "If these men, whoever they may prove to be, escape us, the tribes who live within touch of our camp will jeer and point the finger of disdain at us, and will speak of us as women, fit only to toil in household work, and handle the staff with which our corn is crushed, instead of shield and spear. Up, then, and lead us in the pursuit!"

That the indignant words had their due effect upon the Mullah was evident, for scarcely had the speaker ended the sentence when the door of the central hut flew open with a crash, and the leader sprang into the firelight, brandishing a sword above his head.

"Ay!" he shouted. "Women we should be, and worse! Dogs, indeed, to let these men get safely away. You have called upon me to show you how to act, and, therefore, stand still now and listen. These are the facts, as I see them. Our brothers are abroad between this and the desert, and it would be a clever fugitive who could contrive to slip between their ranks, even upon a dark night such as this is. It is clear, therefore, that these infidels have turned their faces in another direction. To the river, then! Run down some of you, and see whether a trace of their flight cannot be discovered."

At his order half a dozen of the men who surrounded him turned quickly, and rushing to the watch-fire, each picked up a smouldering brand, and ran off towards the river. By the time they had reached the banks the impact of the air upon the glowing ends of the wood had fanned them into flames, and converted them into excellent torches. Scattering with these in their hands, they proceeded to search every foot of the neighbourhood, and ere long came upon signs which rewarded them for their trouble. Then a shout rang out in the air.

"Silence!" bellowed the Mullah, who had again taken his post upon the top of his hut. "Let every man remain quiet, so that we may hear what is said."

"Our father is right," shouted the man again. "He is a wise leader, indeed, for here are sure signs of the dogs who have disturbed us. Boats are missing from the banks, and by the aid of my torch I can see them on the farther side. Wait while I go over to look further into the matter."

There was a splash as the Somali plunged into the water, and then, as all eyes were turned in that direction, he could be seen swimming sturdily by the aid of one arm and his legs, while with the other he held the flaring stake above his head. About him the stream flashed and eddied, while the light was reflected from a thousand brilliant points, and clearly showed the seething wake which he left behind him. Then, ere he had traversed half the distance, another voice awoke the silence.

"Ha! Here is another boat!" one of the searching party shouted. "I can see it stuck high and dry upon the reef which crosses the river at the foot of the village. It is stranded and empty."