"Poor old chap! Never say die."
[CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH--Shooting the Rapids]
The curiosity of the villagers was lulled after a time, and they went about their usual occupations. The few men left lolled and loafed and played at knuckle-bones: the women went into the fields and returned loaded with vegetables. John found that he was not to be ill-treated; he was given food when the villagers had their meals, and nobody molested him. The guards dozed near by. But when night came it was clear that the men had had orders to watch him strictly. He was bound both hand and foot and taken into the hut, the two men remaining with the evident intention of keeping him company through the night. Before he entered he saw that Bill was not held of so much account. He too was bound, but to all appearance he was left to himself: indeed, the hut assigned to him, half in ruins, was so small that there would scarcely have been room in it for another occupant.
John's discomfort this night sprang less from the insects, to which he had become inured, than from the proximity of his guards. Armed with spears, they did not trouble to keep awake, and he soon had proof that snoring is not, as Ferrier had suggested, an accomplishment only of civilized races. They might have been trumpeters! He lay oppressed in the hot stifling air. Deep silence reigned in the village.
Escape! Why not try? The gate would be unguarded: the negro never keeps watch unless he is on the war-path, and even then very slackly. If he once gained the outside, he would have at least some hours in which to make good his flight. His guards might wake; they might or might not discover that he had gone; if they did miss him, it would be contrary to their instinct and their custom if they pursued him in the dark. There was Bill to be considered: he must not be left behind. But the first thing was to rid himself of his bonds, and that would be no easy matter.
Lying still to think out his plan, he saw a chance. All was hushed, but for the tempestuous snores. It was pitch dark. The guards lay together near the entrance. With careful movements he rolled and edged and wriggled across the floor until he knew that he was within a few inches of the men. Then, groping with his bound wrists, he sought for a spear. He touched it, grasped it, drew it gently towards him. It resisted: the guard was lying half upon it. He pulled it again: the snoring ceased with a sudden snap, and John thought it was all over. But there was a grunt; the man turned heavily on his side; and the music began again. The spear was now freed. By careful manoeuvring John got the head between his knees, and holding it fast, began to saw the thongs that bound his wrists. The weapon was sharp: the strands parted; he rubbed the skin to relieve the smarting pain, and then, with two sharp cuts, released his ankles.
He stood erect and listened. Only those horn-blasts at his feet. He peered through the entrance. The darkness without was scarcely less than within. Carefully, and with a shiver of apprehension, John stepped over the two stretched forms, in nervous terror lest he should plant a foot on one of them. He gained the entrance, glancing warily to right and left, and stepped into the open, snuffing greedily at the cool air. The village was asleep, calm as the stars twinkling overhead.
The tumble-down hut in which Bill lay was thirty yards nearer to the gate. Four huts intervened. John crept round to the back of them and stole along on tip-toe. He came to the fifth hut, which was separated from the fourth by a passage a yard wide. Groping down this, he reached the entrance, and after another look round, put his head within. All was silent. Perhaps the Wanderobbo tribe did not snore! He called the man's name softly.
"Bwana!" whispered Bill.
In a trice John was beside him. In ten seconds he had cut the ropes. In twenty both were at the back of the hut. Now Bill took the lead. He plunged into a banana plantation behind the line of huts, and made his way swiftly towards the stockade. They came to the gate: it was unguarded. Being merely a sort of strong hurdle of thorn, held in position by a few logs, its removal was easy. They passed out, and lifted the gate back to its former position, though, of course, they were unable to fasten it. They then ran across the stretch of trodden grass outside the village, down the hill towards the river.