The failure of their determined assault had evidently discouraged the enemy, for during the following day they scarcely showed themselves. John was disappointed, however, to find that it had not caused them to break up their camp. The stock of food in the fort was seriously deplenished; but after the spirit the enemy had displayed he felt that the chances of surviving a running fight with them would be small. The notion of slipping away in the darkness again occurred to him, and as he talked it over with Ferrier it suddenly came into his head to make a preliminary night sortie himself, to see how the land lay on the side of the fort remote from the enemy.

"We can carry one of the canoes to that end, lift it over the wall, and launch it without being seen."

"If there are none of the enemy about," said Ferrier. "You remember we saw a party of them cross the river to-day and march in that direction, foraging, I suppose."

"Yes, but we've never seen or heard a sign of them at night."

"That's true."

"And I say, I've another idea. We want food badly: why shouldn't I go out at night with Bill and a few others and shoot something?"

"Are you quite mad, my dear chap? Your shots would bring them on you in no time."

"Of course I shouldn't attempt to shoot anything until we were miles away from the camp. We could cover five or six miles before it was light, and if we take care not to go to windward they won't hear a single rifle-shot. A volley would be a different thing, I grant you."

"I doubt whether the reeds on that side of the pool are thick enough to hide the canoe, and if they discover it----"

"There's no need to hide it," John interrupted. "One of the men can paddle it back, and come for us again when we give you a hail. We shall have to return by night, of course."

"Well, you bowl over my objections one after another, so I suppose you must go. Can't I come too?"

"We can't both leave the place."

"Well, why shouldn't I go and you stay?"

"You see, I understand Bill better than you do, and he'll be the one to find the game. I really think, Charley, this time----"

"Oh, all right!" said Ferrier, interrupting. "This time, and that time, and all the other times!"

"But you fired the boma!"

"Is that to last me for ever?"

"And came to find me, fighting: what about that? Still, if you want to go----"

"Not a bit of it, old man. It's your idea; you go; I'll run over in my mind all the poetry I know and see if I can get a happy thought like Said Mohammed."

Two hours before dawn the canoe was gently lowered by ropes over the wall at the end of the fort opposite the gate. Here, it will be remembered, the slope of the ground immediately beneath the wall was steep, but the island jutted out, in a fairly level spit, for some distance into the pool. John, the Wanderobbo, and five other men were let down in the same way, four of them to accompany John as carriers of any game he might obtain, the fifth to paddle the canoe back when they had landed. The night was very dark; they moved with scarcely a sound; and having gained the further shore John and his companions struck off across country.

John's intention had been to go directly north, but when Bill told him that the banks of the river would be the most likely quarter in which to find game at sunrise, when the animals came down to drink, he resolved to strike off in a north-westerly direction, from which quarter the wind blew, and gain the river somewhere north of the rapids. They marched very quickly, the plain on this side of the river being open, came to the river-bank in about half-an-hour, and then tramped along up-stream, careful not to approach the water too closely for fear of crocodiles. At dawn they were, John thought, at least five miles from the fort, but he decided to go a mile or two farther before beginning operations, to lessen any risk of shots being heard in the camp.

The river wound this way and that, now between level banks, now bordered by steep bluffs thick with overhanging trees. The current was always swift, and John had been conscious ever since the start that the ground was gradually rising. Bill did not stick closely to the river: indeed, that would have been impossible; he sought the easiest way, which led sometimes through scrub, sometimes over stretches of bare rock which tried John's boots sorely, sometimes through patches of woodland: always, however, coming to the river at last. From one elevated position to which they came John looked back and, now that the morning haze had lifted, saw the river serpentining behind him, and in the far distance the pool gleaming in the sunlight, the island and fort a dark spot in the midst.

At last he considered that he had come far enough to be out of earshot from the enemy's camp, and since the nearest village, the abode of the "bad men," was about a day's march to the north-west, he felt that no danger was to be anticipated from that quarter. Accordingly the party of six descended to the level of the river, and Bill began his search for game-tracks. The river here flowed through narrow channels between great boulders of a pinkish rock, the brink being lined with reeds. Before long Bill came upon the spoor of a hippopotamus, and since necessity knows no law, John thought himself justified in following it up, in spite of the technical transgression of the terms of his licence. He was not shooting for sport, he reflected, but for food.

They came at length to a rocky pool. Bill halted, and pointing to an overhanging rock on the other side, drew John's attention to a gentle rippling disturbance of the water. In a moment appeared two red nostrils covered with coarse black hair. John lifted his rifle, but Bill signed to him to wait, and after a few seconds the nostrils sank below the surface: the animal had merely risen to breathe. They all sat down on the bank to await his reappearance. Several times during half-an-hour he showed just as much of himself, and no more. This was tantalizing. Would he never emerge? John's patience at length gave out. He thought that if he could cross to the other side he might get a fair shot at the beast, or at least stir him to movement. Looking down-stream, he saw that some little distance away the surface of the river was broken, which indicated shallow water. He hastened to the spot, and stripping to his shirt, waded across waist deep, climbed the bank, and stealthily crept up until he came directly over the place where the hippo had last appeared.

Scarcely had he arrived there when the beast heaved its great back, with a convulsion of the water, above the surface a little farther up the pool. In an instant the rifle was at his shoulder: he fired; the hippo gave a snort, and the water around him was agitated as by an immense churn. Quick as thought John fired the second barrel: and the beast rolled over on its side, with a bullet through the brain.

The four porters shouted with delight, and plunged into the water to drag the carcase to the bank with the cords they had brought with them. The current, however, carried it downwards, and wedged it between two rocks so tightly that, when they had tied the cords to the feet, all their hauling failed for a time to dislodge it. John was determined to secure the prey, which would provide two days' food for his whole party, so he stripped off his sole remaining garment and, first spying for crocodiles, swam to the assistance of the men. After ten minutes' hauling the unwieldy body was freed from the detaining rocks and drawn slowly to the bank.

The men immediately set to work to cut it up with their knives. While they were engaged in this task, John resolved to go a little farther in search of more delicate fare for Ferrier and himself. Rolling on the grass to dry himself, he put on his clothes and set off up-stream with the Wanderobbo, instructing the others to retrace their steps slowly so soon as they had tied up their loads. They had proceeded but a short distance when Bill discovered the track of congoni which had recently come down to the river to drink. Following it up, they by and by came in sight of a small herd moving leisurely across the plain to the left. Being to windward of them, it would be impossible to stalk them directly. The only chance of getting a shot was to make a long detour and come upon them from the further side. John's sporting instincts were roused. There was no fear of losing the track of his men, so he struck off with Bill at right angles to the river, and after walking rapidly for half-an-hour in a wide curve, Bill never losing sight of the game, they got ahead of them, and took cover in a clump of trees which the animals must pass if they did not change their direction. They came very slowly, and before reaching the trees swerved somewhat to the right. It was now or never. John took aim at the nearest of the herd, which presented its flank to him. His first shot brought it down: the rest, raising their heads and looking round for a moment, galloped off; and Bill hurried forward with John to cut from the dead beast as much as he could carry.

It was by this time more than an hour since they had left the men; and since it would be at least another hour before they could overtake them, John decided to hurry back as soon as Bill had prepared his load. He was sitting at the edge of the clump of trees, clasping his knees, and watching Bill's deft movements a few yards away, when he heard a slight rustling behind him. Thinking it might be a lion or hyena attracted by the scent of the game, he sprang up, grasping his rifle, only to be thrown on to his back by the onset of near a score of yelling savages. He had no opportunity of defending himself. His rifle had been knocked from his hand and was now in the possession of a tall Swahili, who grinned at him with malicious triumph as he lay on the ground, and ordered the savages to turn him over and tie his hands behind his back. Meanwhile some of the party had dashed after the Wanderobbo, who had fled towards the river at the first alarm. The old man was soon caught; John was hoisted to his feet; and in a few minutes he had the mortification of knowing that he was being marched, a prisoner, in a direction the exact opposite of the fort.

The men were in an ecstasy of delight over their capture. They laughed and jabbered among themselves, but John was unable to recognize the dialect. He could not ask Bill who they were, for the crestfallen old man was kept at a distance from him. His hands also had been tied behind his back. John ventured once to speak to the Swahili, but the only answer was a grunt.

They marched on, with intervals for rest, but without food, for the rest of the day. The country became more and more hilly as they proceeded, but the Swahili, who led the way, was evidently familiar with it. Just before sunset they came in sight of a stockaded village, perched up on a hill, and surrounded by wide well-cultivated fields. The Swahili called a halt while they were still some distance from the stockade, and, leaving his prisoners in the charge of a dozen of the men, went forward with the rest to the gate. There he held a long parley with the villagers, whom John could see thronging the stockade. The Swahili turned several times and pointed towards him, and then the talk began again, with much excited gesturing. John could not guess the meaning of the pantomime; the only thing that was clear was that it had some reference to him. At length, when it was almost dark, the Swahili turned away from the gate and came back to the remainder of his party. Whatever the subject of the discussion had been, the result was evidently satisfactory, for a contented smile overspread the man's swarthy face. He gave a curt order to the men: the prisoners were lifted from the ground where they had been laid, and urged towards the village with ungentle proddings from their captors' spears. They entered the gate and passed through a vast throng of excited people. John was now able to exchange a few words with Bill, who told him miserably that this was the village of the "bad men" who had destroyed the ivory caravan. There was no time for more; the two prisoners were again separated; amid yells from the men and shrieks of laughter from the women John was hustled into a noisome hut, and there left, tired and famished, to chew the cud of bitter reflection, amid the pressing attentions of innumerable pestilent insects.

"Here's a pretty go!" he thought. "I suppose they won't eat me, but what will they do? This Swahili is surely one of Juma's gang, but what is he doing here? If what Bill says is true, there'll be no love lost between Juma and these people. What a precious fool I've been! I wonder if those poor wretches with the hippo meat are collared too? Good heavens! if they get back safe to the fort, I hope Ferrier won't be mad enough to come to the rescue. If he does it's good-bye for us all. Oh! what a fool I am!"

To know one's folly is a stage towards wisdom: many men never get so far.

John groaned, and shook his head and body in a vain attempt to get rid of his persistent visitors. He tried to release his arms, but failed. At last, exhausted by fatigue and want of food, and resigned to the stings he could not avoid, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Next morning, as soon as it was light, he was taken out of the hut, his arms were unbound, and he was given a bunch of bananas, which he ate ravenously, surrounded by a chattering, grinning crowd of villagers, men, women, and children, who watched him curiously, making what he felt to be very personal remarks. He looked around for his companion in misfortune, but could not see him. He made signs that he was thirsty, and a girl brought him a gourd of a sweetish-bitter liquor, which he drained at a draught, and felt so silly that he wondered if he was drunk. Then there was a great shouting, and the men went away. On their departure the women drew nearer, touched his clothes and his bandolier and ran back giggling, pointed to his fair skin where his shirt was open at the neck, whereat he blushed and they shrieked. One sportive damsel tugged at the leather watch-chain attached to his belt, and screamed when his silver watch came out of its fob. He thought with a kind of fuddled amusement that he might impress them by letting them hear it tick, and when one came and tried to pull his hair, he held the watch to her ear, and she fled away screeching.

What was going on? he wondered. There was a great stirring in the village. A man passed, and John saw that his face was hideously daubed with white, and his head surrounded with the skin of some animal. He carried a spear. Others similarly attired and armed came by. He got up to watch them more closely, and the spectators fell back and made a wide circle about him. Beyond them, in the centre of the village, men were thronging together. It flashed upon him in a moment: they were forming a war-party. The Swahili had come to enlist their aid. What inducements he had held out could only be guessed. Probably he had told them that a white man with great treasure was at their mercy. "Poor old Charley!" thought John: "it'll be a miracle if he isn't overwhelmed." For one mad moment he thought of making a dash to the gate, only to realize that he would never reach it alive. He groaned aloud, and the wretched little urchins around mocked him, booing with vast enjoyment.

Then he saw the Swahili approaching with the chief in all his war-paint. They stood opposite him, talking loud and fast, with many gesticulations. They were growing angry: what were they disputing about? The Swahili pointed in the direction of the fort: the chief shook his head and shouted. Could they be discussing whether to take him with them or leave him behind? With all his heart he hoped they would decide for the former course: he might perhaps escape from them when they approached the fort. But no: presently the Swahili sullenly gave way: John guessed that he felt that numbers were against him. What was his fate to be? Was he to be held as a hostage for the due fulfilment of promises held out? He could not tell. It was clear that he was to be left in the village.

The muster was complete. Amid a tremendous clamour the war-party moved towards the gate. With a sinking of the heart John guessed at their number: there must be three or four hundred. They marched out, the Swahili among them, leaving two of his party evidently to keep a watch on the prisoners--or the prisoner, for where was Bill? They had of course recognized him as a Wanderobbo: had they butchered him at once? No: there he was, at the entrance of a small hut thirty yards away. John took courage at the sight of him. If he was spared, it must be because, being employed by white men, he might have some commercial value. It occurred to John now that Juma, the prime mover in these machinations, would probably stop short of the actual murder of a white man, and might hold him to ransom. But this did not relieve his anxiety about Ferrier. The young Canadian would certainly not yield without a struggle, and in that struggle he might well lose his life.

The two men left on guard tied his hands again and took him back to his hut. John made them understand by signs that he did not wish to be cooped up in its foetid atmosphere, and they let him sit at the entrance, standing close by with their spears. He saw now that he was at the highest part of the village, overlooking a vast expanse of the lower country. There was the war-party, already a dark blot amid the green. He could see the river winding its way for miles and miles over the plain, until it became little more than a silver streak in the sunlight. Was it his fancy, or did he descry in the far distance the island like a black spot on a silver plate?

Suddenly he remembered that he had in his pocket the little mirror with which he had signalled to Ferrier on the march from the farm. Perhaps he could signal to him now--tell him of his plight, and warn him of the reinforcement of the enemy. The warning would be of little use to him, for he could not materially strengthen his defences; but it would at least show him the folly and the impossibility of attempting a rescue. Neither his guards nor the villagers would understand what he was about. He took the mirror from his pocket. The group of onlookers who had never left him came nearer: what was this piece of solid water that the msungu held?

A woman approached him shyly: he held the mirror up to her; she caught sight of a black smiling face with sharp-filed teeth, and ran away in consternation, screaming that it was a devil. As she stood explaining the marvel to her friends, John threw a flash among them: they covered their eyes, and flew like the wind. Then he turned the glass towards the fort, and began to make tentative flashes. The guards watched him, curiously, stolidly; what was the msungu doing? Again and again he caught the sunbeam, and turned the mirror this way and that. For a long time there was no answer: he feared the signal had not been seen. Still he persevered. The guards had ceased to pay any attention to him. At last he thought he saw a twinkling point of light. Yes: there it was again: Ferrier was flashing back. Then he began to spell out his message--

"Prisoner: large war-party coming towards you. Good luck!"

And presently, with much difficulty, for Ferrier's watchcase was a poor instrument, he read the answer. He could not be sure of it, but it seemed to be--

"Poor old chap! Never say die."