A Mêlée in the Forest
"Mbutu," he cried, "and you, Sadi, come with me and capture that big fellow. Now, one, two, three--with me, boys!"
Giving his rifle to Mbutu he sprang forward, revolver in hand, followed by the Muhima and a huge Somali private, who had been laying about him doughtily with his rifle clubbed. The chief saw the three speeding towards him, and like a gallant warrior stayed to face his foe. The Somali, leaping with tremendous strides, was the first to get to close quarters. With his clubbed rifle he beat down the bayonet of one of the Arabs and stretched him upon the ground; but it was his last stroke, for the chief made a lunge forward, and with his keen blade pierced him to the heart. He fell against Tom, knocking his helmet off his head, and out of his hand the revolver with which he had just accounted for one of the chief's body-guard. Quick as thought Tom pounced on the fallen man's rifle, and was erect again just in time to beat off the descending scimitar. It was now a desperate hand-to-hand fight, bayonet against sword. The red beams of the setting sun caught the curved blade as it swept about Tom's head and body, but not for an instant did his keen eye falter. Following his opponent's every movement, and grasping the rifle firmly with both hands, he parried thrust and beat aside lunge, ready to strike home if he saw the hair's-breadth of an opportunity. Now the lessons of the sergeant-major at school bore good fruit; and if that officer could have seen the flower of his cadet corps bearing himself so manfully in this fierce duel, he would have owned himself content.
All this time Mbutu, agile as a cat, had been desperately engaging the two remaining Arabs, determined to prevent them from going to the chief's assistance, and burning to pay off old scores upon the kindred of his former persecutors. The level rays of the sun, coming from behind his back, dazzled his opponents' eyes, so that they had much ado to elude the thrusts of his bayonet. At length he got within the guard of one of them, and wounded him in the sword-arm. As they fought they had edged close up to where Tom and the Arab were still in deadly conflict. With indomitable pluck the wounded Arab stooped, picked up his sword with his left hand, and before Mbutu, now hotly engaged with the last man, could interpose, the Arab smote at Tom from below with a stroke which wounded his defenceless head, and he fell to the ground. That same instant, Mbutu ran the fourth man through the body, and, turning to despatch the wounded Arab, received a deep cut from the chief's sword in his right shoulder.
Only Tom's fallen body, impeding the Arab, saved the Muhima from a second desperate blow. The blood-stained scimitar was raised to strike a third time, when a distant bugle rang out. The chief's arm was stayed in mid-air; he gazed eagerly over Mbutu's head into the forest. No British troops were to be seen; but the Arab, after a moment's irresolution, appeared to decide that the bugle-call was the signal for another advance, and fearing to be cut off entirely from his friends, he turned and disappeared among the trees. Mbutu, however, had recognized the notes of the recall, and wondered what he was to do. He bent down to examine his master's prostrate body. Finding that he still breathed, he tried to lift him, but loss of blood from his wound and his own fierce exertions had exhausted him, and he laid Tom gently down, feeling anxious and distressed. A minute's consideration showed him that he must follow the retiring troops and bring assistance. He started at once in the gathering darkness, but being weaker than he had supposed, he could walk but slowly. It was more than half an hour before he reached the British lines, just after Lieutenant Mumford had rejoined the major, who had set his men to form a strong zariba. To the major's anxious enquiry for Tom, Mumford replied that, having seen him go off to the right and not return, he had taken it for granted that he would come into touch with the main body. At this moment Mbutu staggered up. In faint, laboured tones he explained what had happened, and begged that a party might be sent at once to bring his master in.
The major gave a gasp of relief when he heard that his nephew, though wounded, was still alive.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed. '"Now to find him before it is quite dark."
The major himself, with twenty men, accompanied Mbutu in search of his master. The Muhima nearly fainted as he started, and Dr. O'Brien, giving him some brandy and hastily bandaging the torn shoulder, declared that he too must go in case of "evenshualities". The party hurried off, and went as quickly as Mbutu's condition permitted, supported as he was between Fadl and Abdullah. With native sureness he led them, as the sun set across the river, straight to the spot where he had left his master. It was just light enough to see several human forms strewn upon the trampled grass. Mbutu bent down to examine the bodies, and the little party shivered as the long whine of a jackal came swelling up from the distance, waking its echo from the rocky escarpments of the river. The Muhima went swiftly from body to body, then uttered a forlorn and heart-broken cry.
"Not here! not here!" bewailed.
Major Burnaby and the doctor both stooped in consternation. There were five bodies. One was that of Sadi the Somali, the rest were Arabs. Tom was no longer there!