The River of Darkness; Or, Under Africa Read online

  CHAPTER III.

  THE ARAB'S WARNING.

  For a little while the British officer and the British newspapercorrespondent could do nothing but stand off to look at each other, andthen embrace again as though it were hard to believe that it was not alla dream.

  The Arabs and negroes had drawn to one side, and the big savage waswrathfully inspecting the body of the leopard.

  "Come," said Melton, plucking Guy's arm, "we will find a quiet placewhere we can talk in peace."

  The crowd made way for them, but before they had taken half a dozensteps the big Arab staggered forward and seized Guy by the hand.

  "You brave man," he cried. "Makar never forget."

  He kept on with many protestations of gratitude until Guy tried towithdraw in embarrassment.

  "Wait," said the Arab. "Come along. Me tell you something."

  He fairly dragged Guy back to the entrance of the tent where none couldhear, and bending low he whispered in his ear:

  "Berbera no place for Inglis man this day. Better go away, quick. Heedwhat Makar tell you. Now go."

  He fairly pushed Guy from him, and the latter, joining Melton, who hadwitnessed the scene with the greatest curiosity, led the way out intothe street.

  A curious crowd followed them closely for some distance, and not a wordwas spoken until they had turned off into a side avenue lined with lowmud buildings.

  "Now," said Melton quickly, "I need not tell you, my dear fellow, what apleasant surprise this meeting has been, but all explanation must bedeferred to a more suitable time. You have made a friend and an enemytoday, for Makar Makalo is the most powerful Arab in the whole Somalicountry, while that big negro is Oko Sain, the head chief of all theGallas who dwell two hundred miles back from the coast. What did Makartell you?"

  Guy repeated the Arab's warning, and Melton stood for a moment in deepthought.

  "I suspected as much," he said finally. "Never before have there been somany Arabs and Somalis from the interior at Berbera. Only yesterday acaravan of two thousand camels arrived from Harar in the Galla country.Something is wrong, I have felt certain, and now Makar confirms myfears."

  A glimmering suspicion of the truth flashed over Guy's mind at thisjuncture, but he hesitated to speak.

  "Now then," continued Melton, "this can mean nothing but a massacre. Theonly soldiers in the place are about sixty of the Bombay infantry, whowere sent down here from Zaila, and as for the fortifications, they arenothing but a few mud walls. There they lie yonder," and he pointed toan English flag floating over the house-tops some distance away.

  "We are only wasting time here," he added. "We'll look about a littleand then I'll decide what to do. I don't want to raise any false alarm."

  They turned back to the main avenue. The crowds still surged up anddown, and the tumult seemed as harsh and discordant as ever, but theplace had nevertheless undergone a change since they had left it a shorttime before. Little bartering was going on, and but few Arabs andSomalis were to be seen. Those on the street were mostly harmlesstraders from Aden and Cairo.

  "What has become of all the Arabs?" asked Guy.

  "That is just what I want to know," said Melton; "I'll soon find out,though. Walk as fast as you can now, Chutney, and look as unconcerned aspossible."

  Melton led the way down the street for a little distance, and, turninginto a side passage, soon stopped before a low, one-story building.

  A dark-skinned fellow clad in ordinary Egyptian costume stood in thedoorway, and with a cry of surprise Guy recognized Mombagolo, Forbes'trusty savage servant, who did much good service for them when they werein Burma together.

  Their greeting was brief and hasty.

  "I have work for you, Momba," said Melton. "Something is going on in thetown, I don't know just what. You can go anywhere without beingsuspected. Find out what you can, and then come down to the wharf. Don'treturn here."

  The man hastened away at once, and then Guy and Melton started for theshore.

  "I won't give any alarm at the garrison," said Forbes, as they hurriedalong. "I'll wait till Momba reports. I don't suppose anything iscontemplated before nightfall at the earliest, and, as the troops arescattered, it would only precipitate matters if I should have themcalled in."

  The last bale of goods was being unloaded from the steamer when theyreached the wharf. The captain and officers were smoking cigars againstthe rail, and catching sight of Guy, the former called out:

  "Don't forget now. Six o'clock sharp."

  Guy nodded, and followed Melton to one side, where the two sat down on abale of cotton. Melton briefly explained how he came to be at Berbera.After his return from Burma, he had been dispatched as warcorrespondent of the London _Post_ to Suakim, which town was at thattime threatened by the Mahdi.

  Mombagolo, or Momba as Melton now called him, had become his faithfulservant, and a week ago, the war-scare at Suakim having subsided, Meltonhad come to Berbera to write up the great fair for his paper.

  Then Guy, in his turn, simply stated that he had stopped off on his wayto India to execute a commission at Zaila. He made no reference to thedispatches, feeling doubtful whether it would be proper or not, for agovernment secret is a thing of weighty importance.

  The conversation drifted to their perilous adventures in Burma, and thetime passed on unheeded.

  At last Melton glanced up.

  "Do you observe how quiet it is?" he exclaimed. "And look! There are butfew people in sight."

  It was indeed quiet. A dead, oppressive calm had settled on the sea; nota breeze rustled, not a ripple broke the glassy surface of the water,and from the town, instead of the loud babel of cries, came only a lowmurmur like a distant waterfall. A strange calm indeed, the calm thatserves as precursor to the unseen storm.

  Suddenly, with startling abruptness, a rifle-shot broke the silence withits shuddering echoes. Guy and Melton sprang to their feet. Theofficers on the steamer crowded to the rail, up in the town dark figuresran to and fro, a soldier in bright uniform was seen speeding toward thegarrison, and now plunging madly toward the wharf came a white cladfigure, pursued by a howling group of Somali warriors, who brandishedlong spears and daggers. A shot from Melton's pistol brought them to asudden halt, and Momba, for it was indeed he, ran a few paces and fellbreathless at his master's feet.

  "What fiendishness is this?" shouted the captain furiously, from thedeck of the steamer.

  Momba staggered to his knees.

  "The Arabs!" he cried. "They are coming--they have rifles--thePortuguese--he broke open long boxes--and handed out guns--Makar's menall have them--the Somalis have them--they have plenty shells----"

  Guy ground his teeth.

  "The infernal scoundrel!" he cried. "So that's what those long boxes ofhis contained!"

  "You mean Torres?" exclaimed Melton. "I know the villain. He is apartner of Makar Makalo's. But come. We must fight our way to thegarrison."

  Alas! too late! Bang--bang, bang--bang, a fusillade of rifle-fire rangout from the town, hideous yells of triumph mingled with cries ofdespair and agony, and over the garrison walls floated a constantlyincreasing cloud of white smoke. The firing deepened, and a hoarse yellarose as the English flag, shot from its staff, fluttered down into thecurling smoke.

  "They are murdering the garrison!" cried Melton.

  He grasped a revolver in each hand, and would have gone madly forward,but at that moment a louder tumult burst forth close at hand, andswarming down the crooked street, curving in and out through the tentsand heaped-up stalls, came a fierce and frantic horde of Arabs andSomalis, waving rifles and spears, and yelling like ten thousand fiends.

  "On board for your lives!" shouted the captain, and as Guy and Meltondashed over the gang-plank, followed by Momba, a kick from the captainsent it whirling down into the water.

  Providentially steam was up, slowly the engines started, the screwrevolved, and just as the steamer moved lazily out into the harbor, th
eenraged mob swept to the very edge of the wharf. In futile rage they letfly showers of spears and a scattering rifle-fire that pierced andshattered the woodwork of the vessel, but fortunately without effect,for every man had got safely below.