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.



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