John groaned, and shook his head and body in a vain attempt to get rid of his persistent visitors. He tried to release his arms, but failed. At last, exhausted by fatigue and want of food, and resigned to the stings he could not avoid, he fell into an uneasy sleep.
Next morning, as soon as it was light, he was taken out of the hut, his arms were unbound, and he was given a bunch of bananas, which he ate ravenously, surrounded by a chattering, grinning crowd of villagers, men, women, and children, who watched him curiously, making what he felt to be very personal remarks. He looked around for his companion in misfortune, but could not see him. He made signs that he was thirsty, and a girl brought him a gourd of a sweetish-bitter liquor, which he drained at a draught, and felt so silly that he wondered if he was drunk. Then there was a great shouting, and the men went away. On their departure the women drew nearer, touched his clothes and his bandolier and ran back giggling, pointed to his fair skin where his shirt was open at the neck, whereat he blushed and they shrieked. One sportive damsel tugged at the leather watch-chain attached to his belt, and screamed when his silver watch came out of its fob. He thought with a kind of fuddled amusement that he might impress them by letting them hear it tick, and when one came and tried to pull his hair, he held the watch to her ear, and she fled away screeching.
What was going on? he wondered. There was a great stirring in the village. A man passed, and John saw that his face was hideously daubed with white, and his head surrounded with the skin of some animal. He carried a spear. Others similarly attired and armed came by. He got up to watch them more closely, and the spectators fell back and made a wide circle about him. Beyond them, in the centre of the village, men were thronging together. It flashed upon him in a moment: they were forming a war-party. The Swahili had come to enlist their aid. What inducements he had held out could only be guessed. Probably he had told them that a white man with great treasure was at their mercy. "Poor old Charley!" thought John: "it'll be a miracle if he isn't overwhelmed." For one mad moment he thought of making a dash to the gate, only to realize that he would never reach it alive. He groaned aloud, and the wretched little urchins around mocked him, booing with vast enjoyment.
Then he saw the Swahili approaching with the chief in all his war-paint. They stood opposite him, talking loud and fast, with many gesticulations. They were growing angry: what were they disputing about? The Swahili pointed in the direction of the fort: the chief shook his head and shouted. Could they be discussing whether to take him with them or leave him behind? With all his heart he hoped they would decide for the former course: he might perhaps escape from them when they approached the fort. But no: presently the Swahili sullenly gave way: John guessed that he felt that numbers were against him. What was his fate to be? Was he to be held as a hostage for the due fulfilment of promises held out? He could not tell. It was clear that he was to be left in the village.
The muster was complete. Amid a tremendous clamour the war-party moved towards the gate. With a sinking of the heart John guessed at their number: there must be three or four hundred. They marched out, the Swahili among them, leaving two of his party evidently to keep a watch on the prisoners--or the prisoner, for where was Bill? They had of course recognized him as a Wanderobbo: had they butchered him at once? No: there he was, at the entrance of a small hut thirty yards away. John took courage at the sight of him. If he was spared, it must be because, being employed by white men, he might have some commercial value. It occurred to John now that Juma, the prime mover in these machinations, would probably stop short of the actual murder of a white man, and might hold him to ransom. But this did not relieve his anxiety about Ferrier. The young Canadian would certainly not yield without a struggle, and in that struggle he might well lose his life.
The two men left on guard tied his hands again and took him back to his hut. John made them understand by signs that he did not wish to be cooped up in its foetid atmosphere, and they let him sit at the entrance, standing close by with their spears. He saw now that he was at the highest part of the village, overlooking a vast expanse of the lower country. There was the war-party, already a dark blot amid the green. He could see the river winding its way for miles and miles over the plain, until it became little more than a silver streak in the sunlight. Was it his fancy, or did he descry in the far distance the island like a black spot on a silver plate?
Suddenly he remembered that he had in his pocket the little mirror with which he had signalled to Ferrier on the march from the farm. Perhaps he could signal to him now--tell him of his plight, and warn him of the reinforcement of the enemy. The warning would be of little use to him, for he could not materially strengthen his defences; but it would at least show him the folly and the impossibility of attempting a rescue. Neither his guards nor the villagers would understand what he was about. He took the mirror from his pocket. The group of onlookers who had never left him came nearer: what was this piece of solid water that the msungu held?
A woman approached him shyly: he held the mirror up to her; she caught sight of a black smiling face with sharp-filed teeth, and ran away in consternation, screaming that it was a devil. As she stood explaining the marvel to her friends, John threw a flash among them: they covered their eyes, and flew like the wind. Then he turned the glass towards the fort, and began to make tentative flashes. The guards watched him, curiously, stolidly; what was the msungu doing? Again and again he caught the sunbeam, and turned the mirror this way and that. For a long time there was no answer: he feared the signal had not been seen. Still he persevered. The guards had ceased to pay any attention to him. At last he thought he saw a twinkling point of light. Yes: there it was again: Ferrier was flashing back. Then he began to spell out his message--
"Prisoner: large war-party coming towards you. Good luck!"
And presently, with much difficulty, for Ferrier's watchcase was a poor instrument, he read the answer. He could not be sure of it, but it seemed to be--