Samba: A Story of the Rubber Slaves of the Congo

  CHAPTER XXIX

  Reaping the Whirlwind

  During the inaction of the past two days Jack had been carefullythinking out his plan. Stout-hearted as he was, he felt oppressed bythe difficulties of his position. He had now four hundred men in all;scarcely a hundred of them were armed with rifles, and not more thanfifty were practised shots. How could he hope to dislodge from astockaded camp more than seven hundred, of whom some two hundred andfifty, including Van Vorst's advance guard, were riflemen? It seemedat the best a desperate hazard, but the alternative was worse, andhaving resolved upon his course he rejected all half measures. Somefew of his own men must be left in the fort, if only to prevent apanic; but those must be the minimum--he would need every man he couldmuster. He was staking all on the cast of a die; it would never do torisk failure by timorousness in using all his effective combatantstrength. He would throw his whole available force against the enemyin one supreme effort to break and scatter him.

  The offensive, he knew, counted for much, especially with men who hadnot known defeat. Where he and Barney led he felt sure they wouldfollow. But a check might be fatal. A single well-directed volleyfrom the enemy might sweep his little company of riflemen away, and hisspearmen would then never get to close quarters.

  He gave full weight to all these considerations. But having decidedthat the attempt must be made he devoted long hours of anxious thoughtto the devising of a plan that would give best promise of success. Hehad to do his thinking alone. Barney was a fighter, not a strategist.He could be trusted to strike hard and carry out orders to the minutestdetail; he could not plan or organize. Mr. Arlington and themissionary of course must not be consulted. So that when Barney wascalled into Jack's hut that afternoon, it was to learn particulars of ascheme worked out by Jack alone. When he left it an hour or two later,his eyes were glowing with a new light.

  "Sure 'tis me chance that has come at last!" he said to himself.

  It was two o'clock in the morning. Ilombekabasi was astir. Men andboys were moving this way and that. The night was dark, but by thelight of the small lamps kept burning before a few of the principalhuts it could be seen that every face was tense with excitement and asubdued energy. In one spot congregated the maimed people, armed withsuch weapons as they could wield, for the news that a great movementwas intended had spread in the camp, and every man and many of thegirls and women had begged to be allowed to bear arms. Near thesouth-eastern blockhouse the bulk of the able-bodied men and boys weresquatting, rifles and spears lying beside them. At the gate in thenorth wall stood twenty-five men, the picked men of the corps, the menwhom Lokolobolo had twice led out to victory. There was Lepoko, allsmiles and consequence. There was Makoko, hugging his rifle as thoughhe loved it. There was Lianza of the brazen throat, and Lingombela theman of hard bargains, and Imbono, the prudent chief of Ilola, andMboyo, solemn and silent, thinking of Samba. On the ground lay anumber of bundles and bales, large and small.

  A group approached the gate from Lokolobolo's hut. Lokolobolo himself,and Barnio, as the natives called him, came first, walking slowly sideby side. Behind came Mr. Arlington, his strong features fixedimpassively. At his side was the litter of Mr. Dathan, borne by fournegroes.

  "Is it quite clear?" said Jack to Barney. "You have twenty good menhere, besides another twenty of the maimed who may be of use in anemergency. Batukuno will be left in command. All the rest will gowith you; yes, let the boys go; they can use their knives even if theycannot throw a spear. Get them all paraded an hour before dark, laddermen first. Keep them as quiet as you can. Wait till you hear shots inthe enemy's camp; that will be the signal. Then send your men out,over the stockade by the south-eastern blockhouse; they can scrambledown the slope there. You had better take half of them first and formthem up at the bottom. The rest can follow as soon as they see youmove off. Lead them at the double straight down the hill and flingthem at the stockade. The second party will be just in time to supportyou if the first rush is checked. But there must be no check; wedaren't admit the possibility. This is your job, Barney."

  "Amen, sorr. For the honour uv ould Ireland and the sake uv these poorniggers I'll do me very best."

  "I know you will, old fellow."

  They grip hands, looking into each other's eyes. This may be theirlast good-bye. One long hand-clasp, one moment of tense emotion, then,clearing his throat, Jack gives an order to his men. They stoop totheir bundles, then file quietly out of the gate. Each man has apackage to carry, such a package as forms part of every white man'sbaggage in Africa: one a trunk, another a gun-case, a third a canvasbag, others bales of various kinds. Two strong negroes at the end ofthe line bear, slung on ropes, a package, strangely shapeless, and toall appearance particularly heavy.

  The last has gone out into the darkness. Then Jack turns once more.

  "Good-bye, Mr. Arlington."

  "Good-bye! Success to you."

  "Good-bye, Mr. Dathan."

  "God help you, my dear lad," says the missionary.

  Then Jack too leaves Ilombekabasi, and the darkness swallows him up.

  Towards dusk on the following evening, a party of twenty-five carrierswere marching through the forest in the direction of Elbel's stockadedcamp. In the midst were four men carrying a litter. They followed thepath leading from the river--the path along which Captain Van Vorst hadcome a few days earlier. For some time they had been shadowed by anegro bearing the arms of a forest guard. They paused for a fewmoments to rest, and the negro, apparently satisfied by hisobservations, came up and accosted them.

  "You are the servants of Mutela?"

  "Yes, that is so. Has Mutela arrived?"

  Mutela was the native name for Van Vorst.

  "Oh yes! He came two or three days ago."

  "Are we on the right road?"

  "Certainly. The camp is but a little way beyond us. I will lead youto it. You have heavy loads."

  "Ah! Mutela is a man of riches. He has many pots, and many bottles,and very many coats for his back. And guns too; see, here is hiselephant rifle. Mutela is a great hunter; a great man of war."

  "True, he is a great man of war. Yesterday he killed a woman in thefort of the Inglesa. I saw it. I laughed; we all laughed; it was sofunny! But who is in the litter?"

  "A white officer. Oh yes! He is as great a man of war as Mutela. Buthe is sick; white men so easily turn sick! And he sleeps, although itis a rough road."

  "Aha! It is a pity he is sick. Mutela will be sorry. Mutela is goingto kill all the men in the Inglesa's fort. Lokolobolo they call him.Aha! we shall see how strong he is! See, there is the camp yonderthrough the trees."

  When the party were still within some yards of the gate, the scout gavea hail. It was answered by a negro whose face appeared just above thestockade. By the time the leading men reached the gate it had beenthrown open by one of Elbel's European subordinates, and a crowd ofnegro soldiers and hangers-on was collected to witness the entrance ofthe white officer and Mutela's baggage.

  Lepoko, who had led the file, deposited his bundle just inside the gateand burst into a roar of laughter, holding his sides and bending hisbody in uncontrollable mirth. He was soon surrounded by a crowd ofnegroes, to whom he began to relate a very funny story; how Ekokoli,the daring Ekokoli, had mounted a crocodile's back just below therapids, and had a splendid ride. The comical story set the thronglaughing in chorus, and they begged to hear it again. Meanwhile, therest of the carriers had filed in with their burdens, the litter hadbeen set down, and the white officer, though so sick, stepped out quitebriskly to greet the Belgian, whose attention was divided between thelaughing negroes and his guest. At the same time the four bearers drewout from the litter a rifle apiece--for a sick man rifles surely madean uncomfortable couch!--and also half a dozen objects which to a manof Ilombekabasi would have looked suspiciously like fire-balls. Fromthe packages which lay near the gate each of the other carriers with asingle pull abstracted a Ma
user or an Albini; while the two men who hadstaggered along at the end of the line under the weight of a clumsyheavy bundle dropped it in the gateway with a thud that suggested thefall of a rock rather than a carrier's ordinary load. It lay againstthe gate, preventing it from being closed.

  Lepoko was already telling his story for the second time. Elbel'sofficer, about to speak to the sick white man, who had just stepped outof the litter, suddenly hesitated, wheeled round, and with a loud cryof alarm rushed toward the centre of the camp, where, in a large tent,Elbel was at that moment regaling Captain Van Vorst with a dinner thatdid much credit to his native cook. His cry passed unnoticed by thedelighted negroes whom Lepoko was so humorously entertaining. But nextmoment they choked their guffaws, and, without waiting for the end ofthe story, scampered with more speed than grace after their whiteofficer towards Elobela's tent. What had startled them? The sick manfrom the litter, after one hasty glance round, had suddenly fired intothe air the rifle he bore. And the carriers who seemed so tired and soglad to lay down their burdens had all at once sprung into feverishactivity. Dividing into two parties they had disappeared behind thehuts nearest to the stockade on each side of the gateway, and if thehubbub had not been so great, an attentive listener might have heardsundry scratches that ensued upon their disappearance. But there wasno one to hear. The garrison of the camp were rushing still towardsthe centre with loud cries; the carriers and the sick officer were nolonger to be seen; and what was this? Clouds of smoke, thick, acrid,suffocating, were floating on the south wind from the huts towardsElobela's tent.

  And now the camp was in an uproar. Mingled with the yells of alarmwere distinct cries, "Mutela!" "Elobela!" "Lokolobolo!" And amid allthe din came ever and anon the sharp piercing bark of a dog.

  Monsieur Guillaume Elbel, of the Societe Cosmopolite du Commerce duCongo, had just opened a second bottle of Madeira for the delectationof his guest Captain Van Vorst, of the Congo State Forces. The dinnerhad been a good one; the Captain had praised his cook, the best cook onthe Congo; and Monsieur Elbel was in better humour than he had beensince the arrival of the State troops. He was even pleasantly boastingof the coming triumph at Ilombekabasi, and discussing what they shoulddo with the Englishman after they had caught him, when sounds fromoutside so startled him that he poured the wine on to the tableclothinstead of into the glass, and interrupted himself with the suddenexclamation--

  "What's that?"

  He snatched up a rifle and hurried out, followed more slowly by hiscompanion, who had seen too many camp quarrels to be greatly alarmed bythis sudden outbreak. Elbel at first could distinguish nothing in theconfusion. The short dusk of a tropical evening was already becomingdarkness, but he could see that crowds of men were pouring out of thehuts, rushing, hustling, in a state that was very like panic. And apungent smoke saluted his nostrils; it was drifting in great whorlsnorthwards over the camp, and surely behind it he saw here and therelittle red flashes of flame.

  Who had fired that shot which had so shaken Monsieur Elbel's hand? Hedid not know; it had been a single shot; surely the camp could not beattacked, for other shots would have followed long before this. Butthe moment he appeared outside the tent a volley rang out, and Elbelsaw that it was fired by his own men into the midst of the smoke. Hewas hurrying across the camp to inquire into the meaning of all thiswhen a volley flashed from the other direction--from the very heart ofthe smoke. Shrieks proclaimed that some of the shots had told."Fools!" cried Elbel, "don't you see they're screened by the smoke,whoever they are? What's the good of firing when you can't take aim?Curse that dog! I can't hear myself speak!"

  Another volley flashed from the smoke. Men were dropping on everyside; there were wild rushes for cover. Soon the central space wasdeserted, and the panic-stricken garrison fled for shelter behind thehuts on the north side of the camp. While Elbel and Van Vorst wereshouting themselves hoarse in a vain attempt to stem this tide offlight, the sergeant who had opened the gate had rushed to the northside, where Van Vorst's contingent were quartered, and hastily got theminto some sort of order, together with those of Elbel's men who, havingtheir huts on that side, has been less affected by the sudden alarm.Dividing the company of about a hundred men into two parties, he sentthem skirmishing forward in the spaces between the huts towards theenemy he supposed to be approaching on the east and west.

  That enemy, however, was not approaching. Jack had fired the huts andthrown the camp into confusion; his little party was not strong enoughto turn the confusion to utter rout. Its smallness would be perceivedif he led it into the open; his was a waiting game. The wisdom of hispolicy was soon proved. A sharp volley came from the men whom theBelgian sergeant had got together. Jack heard the man beside him groanheavily and fall to the ground; then he himself felt a stinging burningpain below the left knee. He called to his men to keep within cover,and hastily bound a handkerchief about the wound. And now the winddropped, and the smoke which had hitherto screened his movementsfloated upwards. A scattering volley from the enemy reduced his bandby two more men. The State troops were working round on each side ofhim; and the red glare from the burning huts was lighting up the wholecamp. It would soon be seen how small his little company was; then onedetermined rush would annihilate it.

  Less than four minutes had passed since he entered the gate; it seemedan age. Would Barney never come? Why was he delaying? Surely he hadheard the signal shot; surely by this time he must have seen the ruddyglare! The enemy were regaining confidence; their cries of alarm werechanged to yells of defiance. Elbel and Van Vorst had taken command,one on each side; each was steadily moving down from the northernstockade towards the gate. Barney, Barney, will you never come?

  Hark! What is that? The cries of the enemy are suddenly drowned in ababel of yells behind them. They halt, amazed; Van Vorst shouts anorder; the men wheel round and dash northwards, leaving only a few towatch the rear. The Belgian sees now the meaning of this daringscheme. What has he to gain by routing the little band behind? Beforehim is pandemonium; a whole host must be upon him; here is the dangerto be met.

  But he is too late! "Lokolobolo! Lokolobolo!" Two hundred voicesroar the name. And Lokolobolo himself sees a portion of the northernstockade black with moving figures, and rifle barrels, spear heads,gleaming red in the light of the flaming huts. Towards him rushes thegreater part of the garrison, their first fright trebled. These guardsof the forest can fight unarmed despairing rubber collectors, but theirhearts are as water when the villagers prove to be men. Let the men inuniform, the clad soldiers of Bula Matadi, fight if they will; this isno place for forest guards; the gate! the gate!

  Van Vorst's handful of more disciplined men present a bolder front tothe enemy. But it would need many times the number he can muster tobreak the wave of exultant warriors now swarming over the stockade.There is Barney! Jack sees him drop to the ground, brandishing in onehand a rifle, an ancient cutlass in the other. "Hurroo! hurroo!" heshouts. A second, no more, and then the crest of the wave breaks overthe stockade into the camp.

  "Barnio! Lokolobolo!" With a great roar the men of Ilombekabasifollow their leader. They are already sweeping the garrison likesea-wrack before them, when another wave comes tumbling behind, theshrill cries of boys mingling with the deeper shouts of the men. See,they come, furiously, irresistibly! And who is this? A tallwhite-clad figure springs over with the movement of a hurdle-racer. Itis Mr. Arlington himself, stirred for the nonce out of his habitualcalmness, caught up and carried away in this roaring current.

  The enemy fire once, then, though Van Vorst may rave and storm, theyturn their backs and flee helter-skelter for the gate. "Lokobololo!Barnio!" The tempestuous war-cries pursue them. Struggling, yelling,they converge to the narrow gateway. It is jammed, wedged tight withhuman forms, squeezed by the presence of the frantic crowd behind intoa solid mass of feebly struggling wretches lost to all consciousnessbut that of a great fear. The weaker men fall and are trampled todeath; t
he stronger push and pull, and scramble over the fallen, madwith fright. Some win through or over, and rush with blind haste intothe forest. Others, despairing of escape by that one constrictedoutlet, climb the palisade. Some impale themselves on thesharp-pointed stakes, and, hapless benefactors! serve as gangways fortheir comrades who follow.

  Seeing the utter rout of the enemy, Jack had already ordered his men tocease fire. His end was gained; he had no lust for useless slaughter.But although Makoko and Lingombela and the rest with him loyallyobeyed, nothing could check the storming party. They heard nothing,saw nothing, but the enemy in front. Not one of them but had a father,or mother, a wife or child, to avenge--a ruined home, a blasted life.As well attempt to bridle the whirlwind as this infuriate flood. Onand on they pressed, past the spot where Jack held his men in leash;and as they ran they shot and stabbed, yelling "Barnio! Lokolobolo!"And as they were accustomed to receive no mercy, so now, in this hourof retribution, they gave none.

  As Jack made his way towards the gateway, hoping to do something toensure quarter for the fleeing wretches, he caught sight of a figurecrawling painfully forth from a burning hut. At one moment herecognized the man and the man him.

  "Nando!" he cried.

  "Sabe me, massa!"

  "Getaway to the other end. Wait for me there. Any other men in thehut?"

  "No, massa, no! only me!"

  But as he turned to run Jack heard the bark which ever and anon hadstruck his ears during these full minutes, and felt a tug at his coat.The cloth, already tattered, gave way; but Pat caught his trousers,then ran a little way ahead, then back again, then once more towardsthe burning hut. Tearing off his coat, Jack wrapped it round his headand dashed in. The smoke was so dense that nothing could be seen savehere and there spurts of flame. Scarcely able to breathe he flunghimself on the ground and began to grope round the right of the hut.By and by his hands touched a human body, and then the shaggy coat ofthe terrier. Lifting the body in both arms he staggered with it to theentrance, guided by the dog's barks. He gasped and drew long breathswhen once again he came into the open air; but as he laid his burdenupon the ground he stumbled and fell beside it, sick and dizzy.

  Samba rescued from the burning hut]

  He was unconscious but for a few moments. When he came to himself andsat up, he saw that Samba lay in his father's arms. Mboyo was sobbing,rocking his body to and fro, murmuring endearing words. Pat wasstretched beside him, his eyes fixed on Samba, his ears pricked forward.

  "He dies, O Lokolobolo!" said Mboyo piteously, seeing Jack rise.

  "No, no! Get water! Take him to the other end of the camp. I willcome to you when I can."

  Jack hurried off. Many of the huts were blazing; now that the fire haddone its part it must be checked, or the stores and ammunition whichwould be invaluable in Ilombekabasi would be destroyed. Collectingsuch of the men as had not dashed out of the camp in pursuit of theenemy, Jack set them to beat out the flames where they could, and todemolish one or two of the still unburnt huts that were most in dangerof catching fire. Luckily the wind had dropped; there was little riskof sparks or cinders flying through the air.

  Then he set some of the boys to make torches, and by their light hesurveyed the camp. He shuddered as he passed over the scene of thedisastrous flight and pursuit. The forms of dead and wounded layscattered over the ground. He ordered Nando and other of Mr.Martindale's carriers who had been left in the camp to attend thewounded as well as they were able, and sternly forbade the despatchingof those of the enemy who were still alive but unable through injuriesto escape. Then he went towards the gate. It was with a shock that hesaw, amid the black bodies crushed to death in the gateway, thewhite-clad form of Van Vorst. In that terrible struggle for precedencethe white man's skin had not saved him. But he was the only Europeanleft in the camp; Jack looked for Elbel and his subordinate; they werenowhere to be seen.

  Complete darkness had settled over the country, and put a stop to thepursuit. Jack's men began to return, at first in ones and twos, by andby in groups that grew larger as the night drew on. They came laughingand singing; once more Elobela, even aided by Mutela, had been beatenby Lokolobolo. What a night it was for the men of Ilombekabasi! AndBarnio!--was it not Barnio who had led them to the stockade with thatwild war-cry of his? They must not forget Barnio! and Lianza made asong as he marched back to the camp:

  Barnio! Barnio! Down from the forty From Ilombekabasi, Dashed in the night, Sought Elobela, Cruel Mutela. Hurroo! Hurroo! Barnio leads, After him black men, Hundreds and thousands, Sweep like the wind, Rage like the torrent, Over the wall. Hurroo! Hurroo! Big clouds of smoke, Forests of flame, Into the midst, Barnio! Barnio! Over the wall, Into the camp, Straight for the gate Barnio rushes, After him black men. Hurroo! In the gate Thousands of black men, Only one white man, Cruel Mutela! Ha! He will never, Never whip black men, Never kill women, Never kill children, Laugh again never! Dead is Mutela! Why do we sing? Why do we laugh? Whom do we praise? Barnio! Barnio! Lokolobolo! Friends of Imbono, Friends of the black men Of Ilombekabasi. Hurroo! Begorra!