Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African Highlands

by Herbert Strang

Scarcely had he arrived there when the beast heaved its great back, with a convulsion of the water, above the surface a little farther up the pool. In an instant the rifle was at his shoulder: he fired; the hippo gave a snort, and the water around him was agitated as by an immense churn. Quick as thought John fired the second barrel: and the beast rolled over on its side, with a bullet through the brain.

"The hippo gave a snort, and the water around him was agitated as by an immense churn."

The four porters shouted with delight, and plunged into the water to drag the carcase to the bank with the cords they had brought with them. The current, however, carried it downwards, and wedged it between two rocks so tightly that, when they had tied the cords to the feet, all their hauling failed for a time to dislodge it. John was determined to secure the prey, which would provide two days' food for his whole party, so he stripped off his sole remaining garment and, first spying for crocodiles, swam to the assistance of the men. After ten minutes' hauling the unwieldy body was freed from the detaining rocks and drawn slowly to the bank.

The men immediately set to work to cut it up with their knives. While they were engaged in this task, John resolved to go a little farther in search of more delicate fare for Ferrier and himself. Rolling on the grass to dry himself, he put on his clothes and set off up-stream with the Wanderobbo, instructing the others to retrace their steps slowly so soon as they had tied up their loads. They had proceeded but a short distance when Bill discovered the track of congoni which had recently come down to the river to drink. Following it up, they by and by came in sight of a small herd moving leisurely across the plain to the left. Being to windward of them, it would be impossible to stalk them directly. The only chance of getting a shot was to make a long detour and come upon them from the further side. John's sporting instincts were roused. There was no fear of losing the track of his men, so he struck off with Bill at right angles to the river, and after walking rapidly for half-an-hour in a wide curve, Bill never losing sight of the game, they got ahead of them, and took cover in a clump of trees which the animals must pass if they did not change their direction. They came very slowly, and before reaching the trees swerved somewhat to the right. It was now or never. John took aim at the nearest of the herd, which presented its flank to him. His first shot brought it down: the rest, raising their heads and looking round for a moment, galloped off; and Bill hurried forward with John to cut from the dead beast as much as he could carry.

It was by this time more than an hour since they had left the men; and since it would be at least another hour before they could overtake them, John decided to hurry back as soon as Bill had prepared his load. He was sitting at the edge of the clump of trees, clasping his knees, and watching Bill's deft movements a few yards away, when he heard a slight rustling behind him. Thinking it might be a lion or hyena attracted by the scent of the game, he sprang up, grasping his rifle, only to be thrown on to his back by the onset of near a score of yelling savages. He had no opportunity of defending himself. His rifle had been knocked from his hand and was now in the possession of a tall Swahili, who grinned at him with malicious triumph as he lay on the ground, and ordered the savages to turn him over and tie his hands behind his back. Meanwhile some of the party had dashed after the Wanderobbo, who had fled towards the river at the first alarm. The old man was soon caught; John was hoisted to his feet; and in a few minutes he had the mortification of knowing that he was being marched, a prisoner, in a direction the exact opposite of the fort.

The men were in an ecstasy of delight over their capture. They laughed and jabbered among themselves, but John was unable to recognize the dialect. He could not ask Bill who they were, for the crestfallen old man was kept at a distance from him. His hands also had been tied behind his back. John ventured once to speak to the Swahili, but the only answer was a grunt.

They marched on, with intervals for rest, but without food, for the rest of the day. The country became more and more hilly as they proceeded, but the Swahili, who led the way, was evidently familiar with it. Just before sunset they came in sight of a stockaded village, perched up on a hill, and surrounded by wide well-cultivated fields. The Swahili called a halt while they were still some distance from the stockade, and, leaving his prisoners in the charge of a dozen of the men, went forward with the rest to the gate. There he held a long parley with the villagers, whom John could see thronging the stockade. The Swahili turned several times and pointed towards him, and then the talk began again, with much excited gesturing. John could not guess the meaning of the pantomime; the only thing that was clear was that it had some reference to him. At length, when it was almost dark, the Swahili turned away from the gate and came back to the remainder of his party. Whatever the subject of the discussion had been, the result was evidently satisfactory, for a contented smile overspread the man's swarthy face. He gave a curt order to the men: the prisoners were lifted from the ground where they had been laid, and urged towards the village with ungentle proddings from their captors' spears. They entered the gate and passed through a vast throng of excited people. John was now able to exchange a few words with Bill, who told him miserably that this was the village of the "bad men" who had destroyed the ivory caravan. There was no time for more; the two prisoners were again separated; amid yells from the men and shrieks of laughter from the women John was hustled into a noisome hut, and there left, tired and famished, to chew the cud of bitter reflection, amid the pressing attentions of innumerable pestilent insects.

"Here's a pretty go!" he thought. "I suppose they won't eat me, but what will they do? This Swahili is surely one of Juma's gang, but what is he doing here? If what Bill says is true, there'll be no love lost between Juma and these people. What a precious fool I've been! I wonder if those poor wretches with the hippo meat are collared too? Good heavens! if they get back safe to the fort, I hope Ferrier won't be mad enough to come to the rescue. If he does it's good-bye for us all. Oh! what a fool I am!"

To know one's folly is a stage towards wisdom: many men never get so far.