The Fire-Gods A Tale of the Congo by Charles Gibson (e book reader pc TXT) 📖

coat.

 

"You shall pay for that!" said he.

 

The slaves cowered at the water’s edge. They were like sheep in a

storm. As for de Costa, he stood there, impotent to help, yet willing

to do so, his hands clasped before him, and shivering from head to foot.

The Arab who had handed over his rifle was smoking a cigarette.

 

"You shall pay for that!" said Cæsar.

 

So saying, he raised his rifle to his shoulder and took long and careful

aim. He was not ten paces from Max. It seemed impossible he could

miss. Still, we must remember that he was unsteady on his feet, that it

was all he could do to stand.

 

There was a flash--a loud report--a quick jet of fire; and Max was

struck in the chest with the cotton wad, and his face was blackened by

the powder. For all that, the bullet had sped past, to bury itself in

the bed of the Hidden River.

 

Cæsar let fall an oath and then re-loaded, ejecting the cartridge case.

That done, he stepped even nearer, and lifted his rifle again.

 

At that moment a double report sounded from the hills, and the

Portuguese gave a kind of gulp and then fell forward on his face, his

rifle still in his hand.

 

 

 

THE FIRE-GODS - CHAPTER XVIII--FREEDOM

 

There are some men who are born to command, who imbue their followers

with confidence, who are masters of the art of managing men.

 

Cæsar was one of these. He had entered the heart of Africa at the time

when the first great explorers were opening up the unknown continent,

and some small knowledge connected with the source of the Nile and the

presence of the Great Lakes was reaching the ears of Europe.

 

For the most part these daring pioneers penetrated Africa either to

shoot big game or propagate the Christian Gospel, or in the cause of

science. Grant, Speke, Mason and Stanley were geographers, explorers

before all else. Livingstone was a missionary; and Cotton Oswell,

Gordon-Cumming and Sir Samuel Baker were hunters of big game. Unlike

these famous men, the Portuguese, who afterwards adopted the name of

"Cæsar," was prompted by purely selfish motives--the acquisition of

wealth.

 

Like every one else, he found the interior overrun by the Arabs, who,

since time immemorial, had exploited the equatorial regions for slaves

for the Greek satraps and the Roman consuls. The abolition of the slave

trade did not affect the regions of the Upper Nile, the Great Lakes and

the Congo. Laws which men chose to make in Europe could in no way

modify or hinder what went on in the equatorial forests. Not only in

Zanzibar, but even in Cairo, there was an open slave market where the

trade continued to flourish.

 

Nothing can speak so eloquently for the virility, the craft and cunning,

of the Arab as the fact that for centuries millions of savage warriors

were held in fear and trembling by a few hundreds of these ruthless sons

of the desert. In quite recent years, when Stanley made his passage of

the Congo and the Aruwimi in search of Emin Pasha, he found Arab slave

stations scattered at intervals throughout the unknown forest, and his

whole expedition must have perished had it not been for the assistance

he received from the Arab ivory hunters in the valleys of the Upper

Congo.

 

In his early days the tall Portuguese had also taken care to be on

friendly terms with the Arabs. He was one who was quick to learn, and

experience taught him two things: firstly, that the Arab will do

anything for profit; and secondly, that once his word has been given he

is one of the most faithful friends in the world.

 

The Arabs employed at Makanda were men whom Cæsar knew that he could

trust. Each was to have his share of the plunder when the slave camp

was broken up and the Portuguese returned to Europe. Until then he knew

they would stand by him, faithful to their promise that he could rely

upon their courage in case of emergency.

 

In the panic that now took place Cæsar must have been captured had it

not been for the heroism of the Arabs. He had been taken by surprise in

open country. There was no escape by way of the quarry, and upon the

hills on the other side of the river was Edward Harden, who, in spite of

the fact that he had said that Crouch was a better shot than

himself--had the clearest eye and the steadiest hand of any man

throughout the length and breadth of Africa.

 

The slaves were distracted. Those who were joined together by chains

ran to the quarry and huddled in a crowd. Those who were free to go

whither they listed ran to and fro, filling the air with their cries. As

for de Costa, he could do nothing but wring his hands and look about him

for some place of safety.

 

Max, by the sheer weight of the slaves with whom he was yoked, was

dragged onward to the quarry. He tried to assure them that there was

nothing whatsoever to fear, but they were incapable of understanding a

word of what he said.

 

In those brief moments it was only the prompt action of the Arabs that

saved Cæsar’s life. The Portuguese had been shot in the chest. He was

unconscious for no longer than a few seconds, and then he struggled to

an elbow.

 

When they saw that their master was alive two Arabs hastened towards him

and lifted him in their arms. Under a perfect hail of fire from the six

rifles on the hills they bore him to a place of safety at the southern

extremity of the lake where a long canoe was moored. They could not

cross at the bridge, since it was immediately under fire from the

granite hills.

 

Then followed a race--a race for the stockade. Harden, Crouch, and the

four Fans appeared upon the crest-line, and thence came down into the

valley with a cheer.

 

In the meantime, the Arabs so plied their paddles that the canoe shot

across the lake like a dart, dividing the water at the prow into two

long feathery waves. When they sprang ashore, a little above the place

where the Englishmen had landed on the day they first came to Makanda,

M’Wané, who was leading the attack, was not fifty paces distant.

 

The Fan chieftain dropped upon his knees to fire, and missed. And a

moment later the door of the stockade was closed.

 

M’Wané retreated no less hastily than he had come, with the bullets

flying at his heels, splashing in the sand. Halfway up the slope he met

Edward Harden striding forward, rifle in hand.

 

"Too late!" he cried. "Master, why did not the white wizard teach me to

shoot like you?"

 

Edward smiled, and placed a hand on M’Wané’s shoulder.

 

"You’ll have another chance all right," said he. "They’ve shut

themselves up in a trap."

 

By this time Crouch, who had already given up the chase, had descended

to the suspension bridge and crossed to the quarry. There the first

person he set eyes upon was de Costa.

 

"Hands up!" he cried. And at the word de Costa threw up his arms

pleading for mercy.

 

Crouch looked about him, and heard Max’s voice calling for assistance.

And at that, of his own accord, de Costa took a bunch of keys from his

pocket and offered them to Crouch. They were the keys of the iron

collars of the slaves.

 

A few seconds later every slave was free. They could not at first

realize what had happened; and then, one man, more intelligent than his

fellows, grasped the truth, and picking up the chain which had been

fastened to his neck for many months hurled it into the river.

 

Max told his story in a few words. He explained how he had been

captured, and showed Crouch the rubies.

 

Crouch turned to the half-caste. "Will you throw in your lot with us?"

he asked.

 

"I am ready to do so," said de Costa. "I would have told you all that

night when Cæsar found you in the hut."

 

"I have some reason to believe that to be true," said Crouch. "I hold

to my original promise. Stand by us to-day, and I’ll take you down to

the Coast. You must see that the game’s up for Cæsar."

 

De Costa intimated that he was only waiting to receive orders.

 

"Very well," sad the captain; "you probably have some authority over

these poor brutes of slaves. I suppose you can speak their language?

Tell them they are free. Explain to them that they owe their liberty to

us, and ask them to lend us a helping hand. Select a party of the

strongest, and take them yourself to the village on the mountain. There

you will find our ammunition and stores. Bring them here as quickly as

you can, and don’t forget the medicine chest. We must lend what help we

can."

 

"Where am I to find you?" asked de Costa.

 

"Here," said Crouch. "There are only seven of us, and we can’t spare a

man. We shall need every rifle we’ve got to capture the stockade."

 

"I will do my best," said de Costa.

 

"I trust you will," said Crouch. Then, his face lit up, and his only

eye looked the half-caste through and through. "By Christopher," said

he, "if you fail me, I’ll hunt you down! All Africa won’t be big enough

to hold you. I’ll search the country from the Zambesi to the desert,

and I’ll find you in the end."

 

He said these words with his teeth clenched, and his great chin thrust

forward. The little half-caste quailed before his glance.

 

It was then that there came a burst of firing from the north. Crouch

stiffened in every limb.

 

"There!" he cried, "the band’s begun to play."

 

Max followed him for a little distance, then remembered that he had left

his rifle on the hill-top. De Costa looked about him, bewildered.

Events had happened in such swift succession that he felt that the whole

thing might prove a dream from which he would presently awaken. Then he

called the slaves together. They obeyed his word from force of habit;

and though there was nothing now to prevent them taking to the hills,

they followed him meekly into the kraal.

 

 

THE FIRE-GODS - CHAPTER XIX--THE PHANTOM CANOE

 

That firing was the beginning of the siege of the stockade of Makanda,

which lasted for seven days. Edward Harden had approached too near, and

had drawn fire from the Arabs who manned the walls. The firing was

answered by the Fans, who were somewhat over-eager to try their

new-found strength. Shots were exchanged until nightfall, when the

three Englishmen gathered together to discuss their plan of campaign.

 

They had every reason to believe that Cæsar himself had been put out of

action--at least for a day or so. As far as they knew, the garrison

consisted of six or seven Arabs. The two sides were therefore equal in

strength, but the advantage lay with the defenders, who were strongly

entrenched, whereas the attackers had no cover nearer than the hills.

 

They knew that the stockade was well provisioned, and it would take

months for the garrison to be starved into submission. Their only

chance was to take the stockade by