Barnio! Barnio!
Down from the forty
From Ilombekabasi,
Dashed in the night,
Sought Elobela,
Cruel Mutela.
Hurroo! Hurroo!
Barnio leads,
After him black men,
Hundreds and thousands,
Sweep like the wind,
Rage like the torrent,
Over the wall.
Hurroo! Hurroo!
Big clouds of smoke,
Forests of flame,
Into the midst,
Barnio! Barnio!
Over the wall,
Into the camp,
Straight for the gate
Barnio rushes,
After him black men.
Hurroo! In the gate
Thousands of black men,
Only one white man,
Cruel Mutela!
Ha! He will never,
Never whip black men,
Never kill women,
Never kill children,
Laugh again never!
Dead is Mutela!
Why do we sing?
Why do we laugh?
Whom do we praise?
Barnio! Barnio!
Lokolobolo!
Friends of Imbono,
Friends of the black men
Of Ilombekabasi.
Hurroo!
Begorra!
CHAPTER XXX
Sinews of War
Barney came back to the camp tired out. Following up the only party that seemed to have cohesion after leaving the fort—a party led by the Belgian sergeant—he had soon found himself left far behind in the race. But his men had done their work thoroughly; they had dispersed the band, few of whom escaped.
"'Twas for this I was born, sorr," said Barney as he gripped Jack's hand. "Sure I'll be a fighter for iver more."
"You did splendidly, old fellow. I knew all was well when I heard your hurroo! But there are five hundred men roaming the country and only a score of able-bodied men in our fort. We must look after that. Get fifty fellows together and send them back under Imbono, Barney."
"And what'll ye be afther doing yourself, sorr?"
"Oh! I'm going down to the river. The job's only half done while that flotilla is intact. I'm going to have a shot at it before the enemy get over their fright. I'll take a couple of hundred men with me. You'll keep a hundred and remove all the stores and ammunition here to the fort; get the women and children to help; you can light the way with flares. When the camp's empty burn it. And look after Samba, Barney; he's here, nearly dead, poor little chap! Mboyo's got him; we'll go and see how he is getting on."
Making their way to the north side of the camp they found Samba laid on the floor of a hut, his father on one side of him, Pat on the other. The dog leapt up excitedly when he saw his master, and invited him with a yelp to come and see Samba. By the light of a torch Barney tenderly examined the boy. He was conscious, and smiled, even though he winced under the gentlest of touches.