"Respectfully, sir, that is against the grain. I go where honour calls. Never say die. I gird up my loins and follow into thick of the fray."
"All right. Just as you please. Keep close to us, that's all."
"I will stick closer than a brother, sir."
Some few minutes past ten o'clock, under a sky whose blackness was scarce broken by the stars, John and the Wanderobbo led the way out of the camp, each carrying a bundle of dried grass. Immediately behind them marched Said Mohammed, then Coja and the rest of the men in single file, Ferrier bringing up the rear. They moved silently, and the half-dozen men left behind in the camp, peering out through the boma, neither saw nor heard them when the last man was a dozen yards away.
John did not try to find the track of his former journey. It was too dark to see it. Bill might have discovered it by his wonderfully keen sense of touch, but there was no need. All they had to do was to march due west until they struck the stream; then to hug its bank until they arrived at the elephant grass.
It was slow work, and not without its anxieties for the white men. Every now and then John heard a gulping sound behind, and knew that some one was afraid. Once or twice he halted. The men's hard breathing spoke of terror rather than effort. At such times he passed down the line, speaking quietly to reassure them; then, returning to the head, he bent to the ground and struck a match under his hat, to check the course by his pocket-compass, and went on again. Once there was a rustling sound upon the left hand, and the scared negroes made clicks with their mouths, and some would have run had not John, in a fierce whisper, called to them to stand, and asked whether they feared an antelope.
They came at length to the stream, the gurgle of its waters making a pleasant music in John's ears. Half the journey was done. So that he might not come to the stream near the enemy's camp he had directed his course somewhat south of his former line; and it was a long march up-stream before they came to the elephant grass. John avoided the brink, for fear of lurking crocodiles. Once he almost stumbled upon a hippopotamus asleep in the sedge, and thought it lucky he was at the head of his men, whom the snort of the beast, as it rose and shambled away into the darkness, might have infected with panic. He heaved a sigh of relief as he came at last to the tall, thick grass standing high above his head. Halting, he passed word down the line to tread even more cautiously and in even deeper silence, trusting that the rustling which could scarcely be avoided would, if heard in the camp, seem to the enemy only the sound of animals moving in the grass. Then he went on again.
Peering out through the screen, he presently saw a dull glow some distance to the right. There lay the camp; within the boma fires were burning. Once more the party halted, and John, moving stealthily, sought Ferrier to consult with him.
"I'm going to set fire to the boma," he said in a whisper. "When you see the flames, fire off all your rifles and lead the men at a rush for the camp. They can shout then like the army of Gideon. We're north-west of it; they'll be startled out of their sleep, and rush for the gate on the south-west; at least I hope so."
"You'd better let me fire the boma, John. You'll lead the men better than I should; they know you best. Besides, it's my turn."