"Ochone! Ochone!" exclaimed Barney. "'Tis the divil's own work, sorr. His poor flesh is wan jelly. By all the holy powers, if I catch that murdering ruff'n uv a fellow, that Elbel—— And I've no ointment at all at all. Bedad! but now I remimber Mr. Arlington has a whole docthor's shop in wan uv his traps, and if he hasn't got boracic ointment among his stuff, sure I'll think a mighty deal less uv him. 'Twill take a month or more, sorr, to heal all the wounds on this poor body; but we'll do it, plase God! and make a man of him yet."
"He dies, O Lokolobolo?" said Mboyo, looking up yearningly into Jack's face.
"No, Barnio says no. He is very ill, but in a month he may be well, and Barnio says he is going to make a man of him."
"Bolotsi O! Bolotsi O!" cried the negro, slapping his thighs. "N'dok 'olo aiyoko!"[[1]]
He laughed and clapped his hands like a child.
"It was Pat that showed me where Samba was," said Jack to Barney. "Nando was tied up in a hut with him—he must have been captured with dear old Uncle—and the wretch saved himself by burning his ropes through and left Samba to perish in the flames. Pat dragged me to the spot."
"The darlint is worth his weight in gold," cried Barney delighted. "That's twice he has saved Samba, sorr. Black men and white men are brothers, or ought to be, and there's niver a doubt that dogs are cousins at the very least. And beggin' your pardon, sorr, I'll take a pleasure in kicking Nando whin I get a look uv him. 'Tis a little military discipline he needs, to be sure."
"You can give him that in the fort. And by the way, you'll find a lot of rifles here; the enemy either hadn't time to get hold of them or else threw them away. Arm some of our spearmen; they can tell the muzzle from the stock at any rate, and if any attempt is made to rush the fort they could do a good deal of damage at close quarters. And keep scouts out. We don't know the exact whereabouts of Van Vorst's main body, and it won't do to risk anything. But I hope you won't have any trouble."
Bidding Barney farewell, Jack called up Makoko and Lingombela, and sent them out with orders to discover the exact position of the flotilla, and to return at daybreak. An hour afterwards, with a hundred and fifty picked spearmen, sixty rifles, and a body of carriers with food for three days, he began a night march to the river. He himself was unable to walk. His wound was becoming more and more painful, but he had said nothing about it to Barney, being resolved not to spare himself while anything remained to be done to complete his work. Four men, relieved at frequent intervals, carried him in the litter of which he had made such effective use to gain an entrance to the enemy's camp. This time, he thought with a smile, there was no pretence about it.
He guessed that Van Vorst's flotilla would be found about half way between Ilola and the spot where Mr. Martindale's canoes had been hidden. It was one day's march across country, a much longer distance by the river. For some hours he followed the path on which his uncle and he had been escorted by the Askari. The recollection of that march brought sad thoughts to his mind. Lying in the litter amid his men, as the column wound its slow way along the forest track, the red glare of their torches throwing weird shadows around, he had plenty of time for melancholy reflections. The incidents of his uncle's last days were burnt into his memory. He remembered the drawn, wasted features, now pale with exhaustion, now bright with the hectic flush of fever; the quick uneasy breath; the slow labouring voice. He remembered the tale of persecution and wrong. More than all he remembered the earnest, passionate words in which the dying man had bequeathed to him the cause of the Congo natives, and besought him to use his utmost strength on their behalf. "Dear old Uncle!" he thought; "I am trying to do what you would have wished me to do. I can't do much; this is only a small corner of the plague-ridden country; how many thousands of poor people are without even such help as I can give! But it will be something if only the few hundreds in Ilombekabasi can regain and keep a little of their former happiness; and Uncle would be pleased; he is pleased, if he knows."