Far to the left a lion roared, and John heard his companion utter the strange gulping sound which in the negro indicates fright. A night journey in these wilds was a perilous undertaking. They had one spear between them, a paltry weapon if they should be pounced upon by some beast of prey. There was just enough light from the stars to enable them to choose the opener ground, avoiding bush and trees in which wild beasts might lurk. They moved fast, for John had set his heart on reaching the neighbourhood of the fort before dawn. There were few able-bodied men left in the village, but these would turn out in the morning as soon as the escape was discovered, and scour the surrounding country. This was reason enough for haste, but there was another. If they did not succeed in entering the fort before daylight, it would probably be impossible until the following night. The attack in all likelihood had not yet been made; the villagers would scarcely attempt it after their long march; John's whole mind was set on standing by Ferrier's side when the assault came.
On they went, running when the ground permitted. Every now and then John had to stop for Bill's sake, the poor old man, weakened by terror and hunger (John discovered afterwards that he had had no food all day), being unequal to the pace. Presently, in descending too rapidly a sharp declivity, John slipped and sprained himself. When he started again every movement was painful. To go at any great speed was now impossible. Still he pushed on, grudging every lost minute of the night.
He could not tell what the time was; it was too dark to see his watch. His pain grew worse at every step, and though he limped along gamely, he had at length to confess himself done, and sank to the ground. His distress of mind was as great as that of his body. Was he doomed to fail? As he crouched miserably in the grass he heard the swirling of the river close at his right hand. He would go to it and bathe his aching legs. Bill expostulated: there were sure to be crocodiles; but John would not be gainsaid. He dragged himself towards the river, and sat down to rest on a small tree-trunk which had apparently been washed ashore. In the faint light he saw others dotted about. An idea flashed upon him. Could they make a raft? Bill had never heard of such a thing: John did not know if there was a word for it. But he made him understand that he was to collect some of the smaller logs, and then to lash them together with strands of the creeping plants which grew in abundance around. It was hard work and slow in the darkness, John himself being unable to move freely; but at length something in the semblance of a raft lay beside him. Rising with difficulty, he helped Bill to carry it the few yards to the water; then, peering around for crocodiles, which they would hardly have seen if any had lain there, they launched the raft and managed to scramble on board, each carrying a branch to steer with. The current was swift; there was no need for paddling; and thus, perched precariously on their crazy craft, they floated down the stream.
At times they heard movements on one bank or the other. Once they heard the horrid snap of a crocodile's jaws. A little farther on the raft bumped against something; there was a swirl of water, and John went hot and cold at the suspicion that they had collided with a hippopotamus. The current bore them past in safety, to his inexpressible relief; one heave of the monster's body would have turned them over.
So they went on, how long John could not tell. The darkness seemed to be lifting: from the banks came sounds of awakening life: where were they? The river was flowing more swiftly; it was racing; and John suddenly realized with a gasp that he had entered the rapids at the head of the pool. With frantic movements of the paddles they tried to steer into the bank; but the current was too much for them; the lumbering craft was swept along at ever quickening speed; they were helpless. Dropping their paddles--the spear was already gone--they held on for dear life to the lashings. Some of them snapped: one of the outer logs was wrenched away; the raft whirled round, and every moment John expected it to break apart and hurl them into the race. Still he clung on with convulsive grip. Bill was flat on his face with his hands over the edge. On they went, jerked and jarred, until with startling suddenness they were shot over a rock, and found themselves floating on the pool.
The raft was almost in pieces, but it floated more slowly towards the island. John's relief at finding himself and his companion yet alive was dashed by a new anxiety. Dawn was glimmering in the sky. If they were not rescued they would float through the pool to the longer and even more dangerous series of rapids at the further end. They might be seen by the enemy on the bank. He could not swim to the fort; his whole body was stiff and racked with pain; his limbs would fail him. The raft was drifting past the fort; very slowly, for it was no longer in the middle of the current; but being without anything to serve as a paddle, the two could do nothing to check its steady progress towards the lower rapids. There was only one chance. He called to Bill to shout at the top of his voice, and putting two fingers to his lips, he blew a shrill whistle which no white man would fail to recognize. In a moment there came an answering whistle from the fort. Dimly he saw figures at the wall. He shouted: a cheery cry answered him: and in a few moments he saw Ferrier and four men lug a canoe to the gate and put off to the rescue.
But the whistle and the shouts had been heard by the enemy, who were already astir. John could not yet see them, but he heard their yells, and knew that they were swarming towards the pool.
"All right, old man, we've got the start of them," cried Ferrier, as the canoe rapidly approached.
It was a race between the canoe and the current, between the rescuers and the enemy. A shot rang out: a flight of arrows hissed into the water. The raft was drifting within range of the enemy; but in the half-darkness and against the background of wood on the shore the small floating object offered but an indifferent mark. Had the day been even a few minutes older the occupants of the raft would have stood a poor chance against the arrows, to say nothing of the rifles, of the crowd that could now be seen flitting like shadows round the margin of the pool. The greatest source of alarm, however, was not the imperfect shooting of the enemy, but the rapids to which the raft was drawing ever nearer. Weakened as it was by its passage of the upper rapids, it was inconceivable that it could survive the second and far more formidable strain. The rush of the water could already be heard; the movement of the raft was perceptibly quickening. Would Ferrier arrive in time? And if he did overtake the raft, would he too not run a fearful risk of being drawn into the stream and hurled along in utter helplessness? The shouts from the shore redoubled in volume; arrows flew more and more thickly; and John had almost yielded to despair when the canoe shot up alongside at an amazing pace. Some one grasped the raft; the crew backed water with all their might. Bill plunged into the water and scrambled on board the canoe.
"I can't move; I've ricked myself," cried John. "You must lug me in."