Meek's ideas were becoming clarified. As a seaman he knew what a great expenditure of coal was involved in keeping the Raider with steam up, even though the fires were banked. Clearly the Germans had been scouring the neighbourhood for men to work the seam which they had discovered in the cliff side. But he was still wondering what he had to do with all this, when he received a rude shock.
'Another batch for you, Hans,' said Hahn in German to the overseer. 'There 's an Englishman among them as you see. It's almost time to knock off now. Put him in the compound with the rest; we 'll set him at work to-morrow.'
The man grinned. Herding the new batch of prisoners into an enclosure like a sheep pen, adjacent to the mouth of the tunnel, he drew a hurdle across the entrance, and returned to superintend the last operations of the day. Hahn, meanwhile, had descended to the beach and entered the officers' shed.
Meek, of course, had not understood what Hahn had said. Without suspicion of the morrow's destiny, he found himself penned up with half a dozen black men, and felt the indignity of his position.
'Like sheep!' he muttered. 'Like sheep! What would Mr. Grinson say?'
He was no longer beset by fears of being eaten. The natives squatted apart, talking among themselves, and watching their comrades on the ledge. If Meek could have understood their speech, he would have known that they were already suspicious of Kafulu, who had quitted them a little while before. Was it for this that he had enticed them away--to carry heavy baskets of black rock from a dark fearsome hole? How long would it be before they received the firesticks promised them? Their comrades looked unhappy. How quiet they were! How they shrank away when they passed the man with the whip! Where was Flanso?
Presently a whistle sounded below. The men who had empty baskets set them down against the wall of the ledge and stood in line. Those whose baskets were full tipped their contents on to the beach, and joined their fellows. From the mouth of the tunnel streamed the niggers, blinking as they came into the light. Wearily they dragged themselves to their places in the line--silent, cowed, miserable. Among them was Flanso, and at sight of him the six natives in the pen drew in their breath. His cheeks were hollowed; his skin was no longer a glistening bronze, but the dull black of coal dust.
The German counted the men as they formed up. When he had counted twenty-eight he cracked his whip, and the limp nerveless creatures turned to the right and marched into the pen, where they flung themselves down in utter dejection. They scarcely heeded the newcomers; only Flanso started on seeing Meek, and turned upon him a look of agonised inquiry, of which the seaman was unconscious.
A few minutes later four seamen came from below, each carrying two pails. They set these down within the pen, and at a signal from Hans the natives approached one by one, and took their food in their hands. Each man had as much as his two hands would hold of a sort of thick porridge. When Meek's turn came, he shook his head.
'No, it ain't proper,' he said. 'Not for a white man. I can't do it.'