The native counted the days off on his fingers and thought for a moment. Then he stretched out his hands and lifted his ten fingers into the air four times in succession.
“It is so many days, perhaps more,” he said. “I cannot say. The days were so much alike. We lived in terror of our lives, for the enemy were on the river and about the mine. We hid in the forest, living on yams and plantains. Then the chief fell sick, and for a little while I thought he would die. But he recovered, and bade me go down the river with this scrap of linen. He lies there near the creek, chief.”
“Yes, but that does not explain how you managed to make this journey,” interposed our hero. “How did you obtain the boat?”
“I stole it. At night I crept through the forest close to the water, till I came to the camp of the enemy. Then I searched and found a boat. After that I fled, and the chief knows what happened. He saved my life.”
It was a simple tale of escape, and there was nothing wonderful about it. The incidents of it escaped the minds of the hearers at once, for their thoughts were turned to Meinheer Van Somering, lying there in the forest, struck down with the all-prevailing fever, no doubt.
“Of course we shall go up-stream and take him back to the coast,” said Dick, promptly. “But first we must find out something about the enemy. It would never do to be caught in a trap. Tell me about the Ashantis,” he went on, addressing the native. “Where are their camps?”
“There are two on the river,” was the answer. “From the first I stole the boat, and the second, which is lower down, discovered me as the dawn came.”
“Then they would certainly discover us,” said Jack, when Dick had explained matters to him. “We should find ourselves in a regular hive, and that would not be very pleasant. Mind, Dick, I don’t want to discourage this idea of rescue; still, we must think of the men. Could we run up in the launch without being seen and followed?”
A vigorous shake of Dick’s head was the answer. “We should be discovered as sure as eggs. Then they would put a fleet of boats on the river and follow. Their guns would attract the attention of their comrades higher up, and, well—I couldn’t expect such good fortune again as befell Johnnie and myself on a former occasion. Frankly, to run the launch up under, such circumstances would be madness.”
There was silence for some minutes amongst the group gathered about the cabin, the throb of the miniature engine alone breaking the silence of the river. A difficult question had to be settled, and the longer the two young Englishmen stared at the strange missive written, or scratched rather, upon the dirty strip of linen, the greater did the difficulty become. It was clear to both that, however big the stake, however important the life to be rescued, they had no right to risk the safety of the whole of the launch’s crew, and there would be risk if they went. More than that, the attempt to ascend, with the certain information that there were two camps on the banks of the river, would be madness, and deserving of the utmost censure.