They came in sight of the end of the path, and were met by a few shots from the Arabs there assembled, who then retired in apparent trepidation. At the same time the Arabs stationed to the north opened a brisk fire on the Bangala's right flank, to which they replied vigorously, but ineffectively, for the grass was too high to allow them to see the enemy or take careful aim. The commandant, at the head of the column, ordered a halt, and was amazed now to hear shots in his rear. The Arabs posted on the crosspath had begun to fire on the rear of the slender column. Fearing for his transport, which he had left under a small guard at the edge of the swamp, the commandant made the fatal mistake of ordering a retreat. His men turned about and began to run back. Meanwhile the Arabs behind them had come from their place of concealment and taken up their position at the crossways on both sides of the path, and those at the other end, who had pretended to retire, returned in brisk pursuit. Caught between two fires, the Bangala were thrown into a panic. The commandant was hit, and speared as he lay; his men, paralysed with fright, either stood until they were shot down, or plunged into the swamp and met their death in the ooze.
Mustapha, with grim exultation in his face, then swept down upon the feebly-defended transport. The Bangala, after firing one shot, threw down their arms and begged for mercy. They were given a choice between instant death and slavery; and in the upshot, when the Arab chief continued his journey westward, he was richer by the whole of the Belgian baggage and a slave-gang of twenty Bangala, with as many more negro carriers.
Tom in his litter had been sent forward with Mahmoud the physician and the Arab baggage. At the sound of firing his heart leapt with the thought that it was perhaps his uncle who had overtaken the Arabs. The watchful hakim observed his excitement, and dashed his hopes with a shake of the head. At that moment a slug, shot from who knows where, dropped within a yard of Tom's litter. The Arab started and let fall an exclamation in German.
"Do you know German?" asked Tom eagerly in the same language. He felt quite friendly towards the grave hakim with the high narrow forehead and the long straggling beard.
"Yes, a little," said the Arab in surprise. "I lived a long time in Bagamoyo, when the Germans first came, and I have learned to speak a little in their infidel tongue."
"I can't tell you how glad I am. I've been longing to have someone to talk to now that I am getting better. Who is firing away over there?"
"Belgians."
"Oh!" Tom looked glum, and the Arab's lips wore a queer little smile.
"You may give up hope of rescue," continued the Arab. "We are miles and miles away from your friends, and they would never find you."
"What am I to expect, then? Better shoot me at once--if they think of keeping me as a prisoner."