His plan of defence was to post twenty men on the cleft at the north end of the nullah, in case the enemy should again attempt an entrance by the "back door," and to employ all the rest in the nullah itself. Seventy men were told off to hold the first line--the barricade and the trenches on the flanks; the remainder, in support, were to man the communication trench, which led to a fold of the cliff face about a hundred and fifty yards in the rear, and gave complete cover from enemy fire.
Waiting for critical events always puts a strain upon even the stoutest-hearted. A schoolboy dreads the interval between the "call-up" and the headmaster's thrashing more than the thrashing itself. The soldier in the trenches knows more of the agony of fear when he awaits the word of command than when he is actually going "over the top." As day followed day, and no message came through the chain of scouts, Tom found constant activity the only sedative for his overstrung nerves.
Two little incidents relaxed the tension. One morning, just as he was leaving his hut, he heard a terrible shriek from the lake side. Rushing forward, he saw, near the brink, a woman waving her arms frantically, and calling to a little toddling child, who was wading in the shallow water towards a bright flower a few yards away. In an instant Tom saw the cause of the mother's agitation. Just beyond the glowing blossom, a few inches above the surface, lay what appeared to be a log of greenish wood. Tom sprang into the water, caught up the child, and darted back; and the seeming log sank with a gurgle and disappeared. Crocodiles had been rarely seen since the occupation of the nullah; apparently they had been scared away by the noise of so many people, which, however, had now lost its terrors for them. Tom gave the child back to his grateful mother, and, using one of the few phrases in the Wahehe tongue that he had picked up, bade the woman be careful.
It was in the afternoon of the next day that one of the messengers, sent out more than a week before, returned: the other was never seen again. The man was very proud of his success, and exhibited a small brass rod given him as a reward by the m'sungu in Abercorn. Tom was more interested to learn whether he had brought an answer to his message, and the negro produced from his loin-cloth a small dirty envelope. Tearing it open, Tom took out the still dirtier folded scrap of paper, which he recognised at once as a leaf from his own pocket-book. One side bore his message, now almost illegible; on the other he read the few words--
Hold fast.
T. Burnaby, Major.
"He's short of paper, I suppose," Tom thought; he learnt later that in the army a superior officer writes his reply to a communication from a subaltern on the back. "But he might have said a little more. Doesn't promise anything. Cold comfort, Major Burnaby. Yet it is comfort after all. He wouldn't say 'hold fast' if he didn't think there was a chance. Still, I'm glad I sent a second message: hope he gets it."
Towards ten o'clock on the fifth morning after the interview with Major von Rudenheim, Tom was superintending work on the parapets of the trenches when a message came from the nearest of his scouting posts. From hill to hill had been shouted the news that a large column of white men, askaris and porters, was marching along the Neu Langenburg road from the direction of Bismarckburg.
"At last!"
Tom's exclamation had something of relief, from the strain of suspense; something of anxiety, for what was to come. It was not certain, of course, that the nullah was the enemy's objective, but he must act as if it were. Within a few minutes every man had gone to his allotted post.