While the men fulfilled his orders he mounted his boulder once more, and looked across the field. Away in front, on the knoll whence they had started on their last fatal charge, a band of some twenty turbaned warriors had taken up their position, and in a roughly-formed square stood at bay, to defend their aged chief. All around them surged a throng of Bahima, among whom Mwonda was conspicuous. The Arabs were armed with rifles, and as they grouped themselves closely about Rumaliza they did deadly execution among the assailants. But the cordon was gradually closing around them. Calling one of his men, Tom despatched him with a message to Mwonda.
"Spare all who surrender," he said.
The man hastened on his mission. He delivered the message. Mwonda, with instant obedience at which Tom rejoiced, ordered his men to halt, and in a loud voice, audible at the zariba, called on the Arab chief to surrender. The only answer was a rifle-shot that killed the man by Mwonda's side. With a yell of rage the giant sprang forward at the head of his men. He had obeyed Kuboko; his duty was done; the Arabs gave no quarter, nor should they receive any. Rushing on, heedless of bullets, heedless of the men dropping around him, he forced his way up the knoll, his men pressing on knee to knee. They reached the top; there was a short hand-to-hand fight; then, bursting through the devoted body-guard that encircled the gaunt figure of the chief, Mwonda swung the huge two-handed sword he had taken from the prostrate negro captain earlier in the day, and with one blow cleft Rumaliza to the chine.
Then Mwonda lifted his wet sword towards the sun and shouted; and instantly, from hundreds of voices over that reeking field, rose a vast echo of his cry:
"RUMALIZA IS DEAD!"
CHAPTER XIX: Tom's Armada
On the Trail--A Picked Force--Through the Great Forest--The Last of Mabruki--On the Lake Shore--Building a Flotilla--Floating Forts--The Island in the Lake--Forcing a Landing--A Parley--De Castro Expresses Himself--Preparing for the Attack--Mwonda the Dauntless--Fire and Sword--Rumaliza's House--De Castro's Last Shot
It was now one o'clock in the afternoon. For nine hours Tom and all his men had been afoot, engaged in one of the most arduous struggles that native Africa had known. The great fight so long anticipated was over; the dreaded power of Rumaliza, the centre of the hateful slave-traffic, was broken; Rumaliza himself, with his lieutenant Ahmed and many other of his principal coadjutors, lay on the field, and the shattered remnant of the force that left its distant stronghold in such warlike ardour and confidence was routed beyond hope of rallying. But Tom saw that his work was not yet completed. The fortress in the forest still remained. It was no doubt strongly garrisoned; the fugitives would naturally betake themselves thither; the survivors of De Castro's force and De Castro himself would gather there, and in course of time, though they could never expect to recover their old strength and prestige, they might repair their disaster sufficiently to menace for years to come the security and happiness of the weaker tribes. "I must destroy their scorpions' nest," said Tom to himself wearily; "when shall I see home again?"
He saw that his force was too much exhausted to carry operations further that day. Of less than four thousand men, at least five hundred lay dead and wounded; and their exertions had been so violent and so long-continued that the living and unwounded were fit for nothing but rest. Mbutu and the eight hundred who had so opportunely arrived with him were still apparently keeping up the pursuit, and it was impossible to make any detailed arrangements until they returned. Tom, therefore, sent off a messenger to the village with news of the victory, and with orders to the katikiro to bring up two hundred men with a stock of ammunition. He then went with a few of his body-guard to the Arabs' camp, where their vast horde of slave carriers must now be dealt with.
He found that the slaves, at least five thousand in number, had risen and overpowered their guards, and were working havoc among the effects of their late masters. At Tom's appearance they crowded round him, some of them recognizing him as the prisoner who had escaped months before from the clutches of Mustapha. The poor creatures were wild with delight at the discomfiture of the Arabs, and many of them threw themselves at Tom's feet and vowed that they were his, body and soul, to do with as he pleased. Seeing on them unmistakeable evidences of terrible suffering during their recent march--open sores, mutilated features, scars and weals made by the lash--Tom lost all compassion for the Arabs who had perished in the fight, and was strengthened in his resolve to visit the Arab stronghold and there complete the work he had begun.