“The rifles are for my braves,” he said, again speaking slowly; “the small gun,” pointing to the revolver, “is for Umhleswa. Will the chief give it now?”
Wyzinski hesitated, and for a few moments seemed plunged in thought.
“Take it,” he said at length frankly, as he placed the coveted weapon in the hands of the savage. “Take it, but remember that at a chief’s belt two such weapons should hang; the second will be yours when we reach the Zambesi.”
Umhleswa looked the speaker full in the face, slowly nodding his head three times, then once more pointing to the sky.
“Let my white brethren be ready when the moon rises,” he said, as he stalked away proudly; perhaps the only native in that part of the country possessed of a revolver.
“Do you think he will keep his word, Wyzinski?” asked Hughes, when the conversation was translated to him.
“He is sure to do so,” replied the missionary, “simply because it is his interest.”
“Then the best thing we can do is to be in readiness. There are many things we must leave behind,” returned Hughes. “The moon will rise in two hours.”
Entering the hut once more, and as they fervently hoped for the last time, they set about their preparations, no easy task, when out of the scanty materials, all of which had been deemed necessary a short time since, the greater part were to be left behind. They were still busy, when a body of men gliding out from among the huts by twos and by threes, assembled at the entrance, one of their number signing to its tenants to follow. Carrying their rifles in the hollow of the arm, their pistols at their belts, they cast one look round the interior of the hut which had served them so long as a home, and stepped out into the night.
The moon was just rising over the mountain range, the night was quite still, save when from time to time the cry of the jackal could be heard from the plain. In the native kraal all slept, and the party, consisting of fifteen men armed with assegais, and commanded by the same brave who had conducted them from their camp at Gorongoza, moved silently away the moment the white men joined them. Avoiding the kraal, they shaped their course to the north, travelling as swiftly as they could through a country densely covered with forest. Game seemed to grow more scarce as they neared the end of their journey; and, except for necessary purposes, it was little sought after, the object of all being identical, namely, to strike the Zambesi as soon as possible. This they at length did, though the forest growth impeded their progress so much, that it was only on the evening of the ninth day after leaving the country of the Amatonga that they reached its banks. Under the shade of the high hill of Baramuana a small tent was pitched, not larger than that used by the French soldier, and known by the name of tente d’abri. A fire burned fiercely in front of it, and close by ran the Zambesi, a fine broad stream flowing towards the sea, between banks covered with reeds of luxuriant growth. Beyond the river a level plain, broken by forest-land, and in the distance the blue outline of a high mountain range.