Foes
:
The Great White Queen
WHEN we had been several hours upon our hot, tedious journey there arose
a quarrel out of a practical joke played by one native upon the man
walking before him. Quick, hasty words led to blows being exchanged.
Both men were walking immediately in front of me, and I did my best to
quell the disturbance, but either they did not understand me or affected
ignorance of my words, for suddenly one of them raising his spear l
apt
forward upon the other. The man attacked sprang aside and in so doing
left the narrow path, at that spot not more than twelve inches in width,
followed by the would-be assassin.
Next second they sank into the sand, and although loud cries of horror
escaped them, both disappeared into the terrible gulf ere a hand could be
outstretched to save them. Hearing their cries I leant forward, but
before I could grasp either of them the fine sand had closed over their
heads like the waters of the sea, leaving a deep round depression in the
surface. They had disappeared for ever.
The instant death of the two combatants before my gaze caused me to
shudder, and I confess that from that moment I kept my eyes rivetted upon
the strange narrow path by which we were crossing the impassable barrier.
Through three whole days we continued along the Way of the Thousand
Steps, resting at night and journeying while the light lasted. To halt
was even more perilous than to progress, for when we encamped we simply
sat down upon the spot where our footsteps had been arrested, and food
was passed from hand to hand along the line. This latter was somewhat
unsatisfactory, at least as far as I was concerned, for the eatables that
reached me were not improved by passing through the hands of thirty or
forty malodorous negroes. But the fatality that had at first appalled us
had now been forgotten, and everyone kept a good heart. Led by Omar we
were approaching a land hitherto unknown; a country reputed to be full of
hidden wonders and strange marvels, and all were, hour by hour, eagerly
scanning the mysterious horizon.
Across the level sand, swept by winds that parched the lips and filled
the eyes with fine dust, causing us infinite misery, our gaze was ever
turned northward where Omar told us lay our land of promise. The very
last hesitations on the part of our followers had long been overcome. The
African savage is not given to roaming far from his own tract, fearing
capture or assassination at the hands of neighbouring tribes, but such
confidence had the men of Dagomba that if Omar had plunged into the
quicksands they would have followed without comment.
When at Trigger's I had often read stories of African adventure. I used
to fancy myself buried in forest wilds, or eating luncheon upon the
grass, on the edge of a tumbling brook in the shadow of great outlandish
trees; I could feel the juice of luscious fruits--mangroves and
bananas--trickle between my teeth. I had once read in one of the boys'
papers about the daughter of an African colonist abducted by the son of a
West African king who had fallen in love with her; and the ups and downs
and ins and outs of this love drama had opened a boundless vista to my
imagination. But life in Africa contained far more excitement than I had
ever imagined. Death threatened everywhere, and I received constant
warnings from Omar, who gave me good advice how to avoid sunstroke or
ward off the effects of the chill wind that blew nightly across this
wonderful limitless plain.
One evening, when the horizon northward looked grey and mysterious, and
to our left the fiery sun's last dying ray still lingered in the sky,
there was a sudden halt, the cause of which was I afterwards found due to
the sudden stoppage of our leader, Omar. All were eager to know the
cause, until in a few moments an amazing announcement spread from mouth
to mouth along the line.
There were strangers on ahead of us! They were actually traversing the
Way of the Thousand Steps!
Shading my eyes with my hands I eagerly scanned the horizon in the
direction indicated, and there, to my astonishment, saw a long thin black
line. At first I could not distinguish whether it was a file of men or
some inanimate object, but the keen eyes of the savages before and behind
me soon detected its presence, and dozens of voices were in accord that
it was a line of armed men, and that they were moving in our direction.
Instantly it flashed across my mind that whoever they were, friends or
foes, there was not sufficient room for them to pass us upon that narrow
path, and knowing the determination of our followers I wondered what the
result would be when we met. Unable to approach Omar sufficiently near to
converse with him, I watched his face. By the heavy look upon his brow I
knew that trouble was brewing. It was the same look his face wore when we
had been held captive at Kumassi, an expression of resolution and fierce
combativeness.
Soon, however, we moved along again, eager to ascertain who were the
strangers who knew the secret supposed to have been jealously guarded by
the great Naya and her son, and for over an hour pressed forward at a
quicker pace than usual. Fortunately for us the sunset lingered long away
to our left, for by its light we were enabled to see the men approaching,
and before it died out to distinguish, to our amazement, that they all
wore white Arab burnouses and were armed to the teeth. In point of
numbers they were quite double the strength of our little force, but we
knew not whether they were friendly or antagonistic.
This point, however, was at last cleared up by Omar himself, who, just as
it was growing dusk halted, and, turning towards me, shouted in English:
"Scars, are you there?"
"Yes," I answered. "What's up?"
"Those devils in front! Can't you see their banner?"
"No," I answered. Then remembering that he had always possessed a keen
vision, I added: "Who are they?"
"Some of Samory's men, evidently in flight," he answered. "On seeing us
they raised their banner, and are, it seems, determined to cut their way
past us."
"But where have they been that they should know the secret of the
Thousand Steps?" I inquired astounded.
"I'm quite at a loss to understand," he replied puzzled. "The only
solution of the mystery seems to be that Kouaga has, by some means,
obtained knowledge of the secret way, and has directed a marauding force
thither. Evidently they have been defeated by the guardians of Mo, and
the remnant of the force--a strong one, too--are retreating, flying for
their lives."
"How do you know there has been fighting?" I enquired.
"Because I can just detect near the banner two wounded men are being
carried."
"Then we must fight and wipe them out," I said.
"Easier said than done," he answered. "But it means life or death to us."
On they came in single file, nearer every moment, and soon I also could
see the dreaded banner of the Mohammedan sheikh Samory. Near the
flag-bearer were several wounded men being carried in litters, while the
white-robed soldiers carried long rifles and in their sashes were
pistols, and those keen carved knives called jambiyahs. At first our
natives, believing that they were friendlies, went forward
enthusiastically, determined to drive them back with banter, there not
being room to pass, but very soon Omar ordered another halt, and turning
towards us, cried in a loud voice in his native tongue:
"Behold, O men of the Dagomba! Yonder are the fighting men of Samory, who
times without number have raided your country, killed your fathers and
sons, and sold your wives and sisters into slavery in Ashanti. They have
endeavoured to enter Mo by the Way of the Thousand Steps, but being
defeated by the guardians of our border are flying towards their own
land. We too must fight them, or we must perish."
The air was immediately filled with fierce howls and yells. The
announcement that these men were the hated slave-raiders of Samory caused
an instant rush to arms. Loud cries of revenge sounded on every side,
spears were flourished, knives gripped in fierce determination, and those
who had muskets made certain that their weapons were loaded. The air was
rent by shrill war shouts, and the great drum with its hideous
decorations was thumped loudly by two perspiring negroes who grinned
hideously as they watched the steadily marching force approaching.
"Courage, men of the Dagomba," sounded Kona's voice above the din. "Sweep
these vermin from our path. Let not a single man escape; but let them all
be swallowed by the Sand-God."
"We will eat them up," cried half-a-dozen voices in response. "Our spears
shall seek their vitals."
"Guard against their onward rush," cried Omar. "They will seek to throw
us off the path by a dash forward. Thwart them, and victory is ours."
Ere these words had left our leader's lips, the air was again filled by
the wild clamours of my dark companions, and as we had halted just at a
point where we would be compelled to turn at right angles, we remained
there in order to attack the Arabs as they advanced.
The sun's glow had faded, dark clouds had come up on the mystic line
where sand and sky united, and dusk was creeping on apace when the
enemy, sweeping forward, shouting and gesticulating, came within gunshot.
From their van a single flash showed for an instant, followed by the
sharp crack of a musket, and a bullet whizzed past Omar, striking one of
the natives a few yards away, passing through his brain and killing him
instantly.
A silence, deep and complete, fell for an instant upon us. In that
exciting moment we knew that the fight must be fiercely contested, and
that, unable to move scarcely an inch from the spot where we were
standing, the struggle must be long and sanguinary.