Long Odds

by Harold Bindloss

It would have been a difficult task in the daylight, for the Palestrina rolled wickedly and the long slopes of water lapped to her rail, but they accomplished it in the dark, and when the big boat hove up beneath them dropped into her one by one. They had a few Accra and Liberia boys for the paddles, but not enough and white seamen perched among them on the froth-licked gunwale as they reeled away on the back of a swell. It swept them out from the steamer, and let them drop into a black hollow while the negro at the steering oar yelled as another dark ridge hove itself aloft behind them. They drove on with this one and several others that succeeded it, careering amidst a turmoil of spouting froth that boiled round the high, pointed stern, and there was spray all about them, stinging their eyes and in their nostrils, when at last the beach was close at hand. They could not, however, see it. There was nothing visible now but a dim filmy cloud, out of which came a thunderous rumbling that has its effect upon the stoutest nerves, for there are probably few men who can listen to the crashing charge of the great combers on an African beach quite unmoved, especially if it is their business to face them in the dark.

Desmond glanced astern a moment when the sable helmsman shouted, and then resolutely turned his eyes ahead. He had seen all he wished to, and it was with vague relief he felt the boat rush upwards under him, for that waiting in the hollow was not a thing one could bear easily. She went forward reeling, half-buried in tumbling foam, twisting in spite of the gasping helmsman in peril of rolling over, and out of the spray and darkness the dim line of bluff came rushing back to them. Then there was a crash that flung half of them from the gunwale, and the boat went up the beach with a seething white turmoil washing over her, until they swung themselves over and clung to her waist-deep in the wild welter when the sea sucked back. Straining every muscle they held her somehow, and a voice rose strained and harsh through the din.

"Where are those—rollers, boys?" it said.

Somebody produced them, and gasping and floundering they ran her up with another comber thundering out of the darkness behind them, and then flung themselves down breathless and dripping on the hot sand. Desmond let them lie awhile, and then leaving the negroes behind, the white men clambered up the face of the bluff. After that they stumbled amidst loose sand and tufts of harsh grass that now and then cut through their thin duck garments and twined about their legs, but they plodded on steadily, and when morning broke had made about a league which was, all things considered, excellent traveling. With the daylight, however, came the rain that beat the soil into a pulp and filled the steamy air. The grass they found in places bent beneath it, and the water flowed about their feet. Still, they held on, drenched, and bleeding from odd scars and scratches, until there broke out dazzling, blistering sunshine which in a few minutes sucked the moisture from their clothing.

Then Desmond, who had heard that littoral described as dry and parched, bade them lie down in the scanty strip of shadow behind a clump of thorns, and a twinkle crept into his eyes as he glanced at them. They were already freely plastered with mire. A few of them had sporting rifles—he carried one himself—and bandoliers, while some of the rest had the gig's ash stretchers, and one a big pointed iron bar, but he fancied they would scarcely pass for a big game expedition. For one thing, they had no carriers. Desmond desired only men who could be relied upon to say as well as do what he bade them, for he could without any great effort foresee that he might have to grapple with more than physical difficulties. He let them lie for half an hour, and then the rain came and drove them on again.

"He fancied they would scarcely pass for a big game expedition."—[Page 242.]

They floundered through it all that afternoon, lay down in wet sand when the sudden darkness blotted out the misty littoral, and rose with the swift dawn, cramped and wet and aching, to plunge into a thick white steam. There was a muggy warmth in it which relaxed their muscles and insidiously slackened the domination of their will. They wanted to lie down, and wondered vaguely why they did not do so, for there are times when man's resolution melts out of him in that land, and nothing seems worth the trouble of accomplishing. Still, they went on, and evening found them wearied in body and limp of will, as well as very wet and miry, on the edge of a belt of thorny vegetation amidst which there wound a native path. They slept beside it as best they could, and went on again for two more days under scorching sunshine until at last they reached a ridge of higher ground. There were a few palms on the crest of it, and they lay down between them amidst a maze of thorny vines.

Darkness was creeping up from the eastwards when Desmond sat poring over a section of a large-scale chart which had proved to be a reasonably accurate guide to the physical features of that littoral. The elevation of which the ridge formed a portion was duly marked, as was the creek they had cautiously waded through, and not far away there stood another rise which might be made out from a steamer's bridge. The dots that ran through them both indicated Ormsgill's path. He was a man who, at least, endeavored to provide for contingencies, and he had for Desmond's benefit plotted out the last stages of his march to the coast. The latter, however, remained in unpleasant uncertainty as to when he would arrive, which, in view of the fact that a handful of dusky troops were in all probability not very far away, was a question of some consequence.

When darkness swept down he posted two sentries and then lay down near the smoldering cooking fire. The strip of rubber sheeting he spread beneath him did not make a very efficient mattress, but worn-out as he was he fell asleep in spite of the mosquitoes, and so far as he could afterwards ascertain the men he had left on watch in due time did the same. When he awakened there was a half-moon in the sky, and a faint silvery light shone down upon the ridge. He could see the palm shafts cut against it darkly in delicately proportioned columns, and the ebony tracery of their great curved leaves. Now and then a big drop that fell from them splashed heavily upon the straggling undergrowth, but save for that everything was very still. The fire was red and low, but the smell of wood smoke and hot wet soil was in his nostrils. He was wondering drowsily why he had awakened when he fancied that a shadowy figure flitted behind a palm, and turning cautiously he reached out for the rifle that lay by his side. As his hand closed upon it another figure moved towards him quietly. The moonlight fell upon it and his grasp relaxed on the rifle as he saw that it was dressed in tattered duck. He scrambled to his feet, and Ormsgill stopped a pace or two away.