The Fire-Gods A Tale of the Congo by Charles Gibson (classic books for 7th graders TXT) 📕

means easy to do.

They could not hope to succeed by day: a surprise would be out of the

question. They would have to advance across the sandy plain that

enclosed the shores of the lake, and they would be shot down, one after

the other, from the loop-holes in the stockade. Their only chance was

to assault the place by night.

That evening they could do nothing. Crouch and the four Fans remained

to keep a watchful eye on the garrison, while Max and his uncle betook

themselves to the kraal, to render what aid they could to the cholera

patients.

A few hours before daybreak de Costa set out for the mountain, with

strict injunctions to return as quickly as possible. It had taken a

whole night for the slaves to realize that they had gained their

freedom, and then, out of the gratitude in their hearts, they readily

volunteered to act as carriers to the white men whenever their services

should be required.

For three days no assault was delivered. The Englishmen and the Fans

confined their energies by day to desultory shooting from the crest-line

of the hills. By night they closed in upon the stockade, to see that

Cæsar made no attempt to escape. Throughout these days most of Max’s

time was taken up in fighting a far more formidable foe than a handful

of Arabs and a wounded Portuguese. With the aid of the few

disinfectants and medicines which Edward had brought from the Pambala

village, he did his best to stamp the cholera out. Those who had died

were buried, and their clothing burnt. The remaining slaves, who had

not followed de Costa, were removed from the kraal and taken to a place

in the hills, where they were told to wait the issue of the siege. A

few deserted to their homes, for they were ignorant people, and had

learnt by bitter experience not to trust the white man. However, the

majority stayed at Makanda, conscious of the debt they owed to the two

Hardens and to Crouch.

It was on the third night that Max decided to burn the kraal to the

ground. Great flames rose high into the air and illumined the crater

through which the Hidden River flowed swiftly on its course.

As the kraal burned the slaves upon the hill-top danced and sang. They

beheld in the spreading fire the burning of their bondage. To them the

red glow that filled the valley and made the barren slopes of the

granite hills stand forth in the night like peaks in fairyland, was the

dawn of happier days. And Max, too, was light of heart. He believed

that that fire would stamp out the pestilence once and for all.

Early in the afternoon on the following day de Costa arrived from the

mountain. He had remained faithful to his promise. Only three slaves

had deserted on the march, and the others were told to join the refugee

camp which had sprung up upon the hill. De Costa was to remain in

charge of the liberated slaves. The majority were Pambalas from the

district, but several had been brought from so far away that they knew

not how to find their way back to their homes.

That night Crouch and Edward decided to attack. They had now a large

supply of ammunition, and Max, who had finished his duties as doctor,

was free to take his place in the ranks.

Max and M’Wané approached the stockade along the river bank from the

south, Crouch and another Fan from the north, whereas Edward and the two

others descended from the hills.

There was no moon when they crept upon the garrison from three sides at

once, moving cautiously forward on hands and knees through the sand.

When about fifty paces distant, each party lay still and listened for

the signal to assault. This was to come from Crouch, who could imitate

to the life the jackal’s howl.

Max and M’Wané, lying close as hares, waited for the signal to come.

They could hear the wild beasts in the jungle, and now and again a

faint, piercing cry, as some animal was seized in the strong jaws of a

leopard or a lion. The great cats were hunting like the white men who

surrounded the stockade.

Then the long-drawn howl of a jackal was lifted in the night, and at

that those seven men sprang to their feet and rushed upon the defence.

The Arabs had been warned. On the instant fire flashed from the

loop-holes. The night was alive with the whistling of bullets, which

dived into the water of the river or flew into the forest to send little

leaves fluttering to the ground, or buried themselves in the trunks of

gigantic trees.

On the east Edward was driven back. Before he reached the ditch one of

his men had been wounded, and there he found it would be certain death

to endeavour to scale the stockade.

Max and Crouch on the other side were more successful. It was the

former who was the first to reach the gate, and endeavour to force it

open. The man who was there on guard put his shoulder to the business,

and for a few seconds a struggle took place the issue of which was

doubtful.

At one time Max had the door ajar, but the man or men on the other side

forced it back inch by inch until it was nearly closed. It was then

that M’Wané came to Max’s assistance; and immediately after, the opening

in the door grew wider by degrees.

Had this affair been fought to a finish, it is beyond question that Max

and M’Wané would have gained the fort, but it was at this moment that

the unexpected occurred. A rapid burst of firing came from the river,

from the northern extremity of the lake. A stream of bullets flew past,

and many splintered the woodwork of the gate which had been the bone of

contention from the first.

To be attacked by night unexpectedly from the rear is an ordeal which

the finest trained soldiers in the world find it difficult to stand. It

was too much for the Fans. Even M’Wané, who was as brave a savage as

any who ever roamed the grassland west of the Lakes, turned on his heels

and bolted.

Max turned round, and on the instant the gate of the stockade was

closed. He had no alternative but to retire, and even that much had to

be accomplished between two withering fires. Five minutes later there

was silence in the valley. The assault had been repulsed.

It seemed, indeed, as if this river would hold its mysteries to the end.

They had heard weird legends of the Fire-gods from savage lips, dressed

up in all the blandishments of fancy. They had thought the problem

solved in the slave gangs and ruby mine, but here was another mystery

unsolved.

While Max was engaged in his struggle at the gate, the sharp eye of

Captain Crouch had seen a long canoe glide out from the darkness where

the river penetrated the jungle. Before he had had time to give warning

of its approach, the occupants of the canoe had opened fire. When he was

asked to explain it, Crouch could not do so. They knew the course of

the river from the Makanda to the rapids. The canoe could be nothing

but a phantom. At daybreak no sign of it was to be seen.

At first their suspicions rested upon the unfortunate de Costa. But

they discovered from the natives that that night the half-caste had not

left the refugee camp; indeed, he had actually been seen asleep whilst

the assault was in progress. The natives had nothing to gain by

defending a man who so recently had been one of their tyrants; and

besides, it was not in the nature of de Costa’s disposition to conduct a

daring attack at dead of night.

Throughout that day they kept a watchful eye upon the stockade.

Everything appeared as usual. They could see the white-robed Arabs

moving about between the huts, and they subjected these to long-range

rifle-fire from the hills. Cæsar’s yellow flag still floated on the

wind from the flagstaff before his hut.

The three Englishmen went about their business--cleaning their rifles,

cooking, or attending to the wounded Fan--sullenly, as if ill-pleased

with the world in general, speaking only when spoken to, and then in

monosyllables.

The truth was not one of them liked to own that they had been worsted.

Their attack had proved unsuccessful. That in itself was sufficiently

annoying; but, what made matters worse, was the fact that they could not

explain how the catastrophe had come about.

An hour before sundown they sat in silence at their evening meal. They

were obliged to feed thus early, because it was necessary that at

nightfall they should take their places around the stockade to prevent

the Arabs breaking out in the night. The little sleep they got in those

days they were obliged to take by day, when it sufficed for one of their

number to watch the enemy’s movements in the stockade.

Suddenly Crouch drove the knife with which he had been eating into the

earth.

"I can’t make it out!" he cried. "I’ll give credit where it’s due; the

man ’s clever as a monkey. What do you say?" he broke out in a

different tone of voice. "Shall we attack again to-night?"

"Yes," said Edward; "certainly."

That was the way in which the mind of the big man worked. He thought in

monosyllables. He was not like Crouch, who had a thousand reasons for

everything, who was always eager to explain. With Edward Harden it was

either Yes or No, and generally the former.

"Look here," said Max, "I propose we go about it in another manner. Last

time I undertook to reconnoitre the enemy’s position I made a fool of

myself, and was captured."

"You did very well," said Edward.

"I don’t think so," said his nephew. "At any rate, with your

permission, I should like to try again. I suggest that we surround the

stockade as we did last night, but that I am allowed to go forward

alone. After all, I’m the youngest and most active of the party, if we

exclude M’Wané and his friends. I believe I can creep up to the wall

without being heard. I am sure I can vault the stockade. As soon as I

am inside I will fire at the first man I see, and when you hear that

shot you must endeavour to rush the gate."

Crouch knocked out his pipe on the heel of his boot.

"Bravo," said he. "There’s no question you should meet with success. If

you get into the fort--as you think you can--you’ll take their attention

from the gate, and we ought to join you in a few seconds even if the

canoe appears on the river. Still, it’s a big risk you’re taking; I

suppose you’re aware of that?"

"Quite," answered Max.

Thus was the matter settled; and soon afterwards darkness descended, and

day turned to night in the course of a few minutes, for there is no

twilight on the Line.

They took their places in silence under cover of the darkness, and then

waited in patience and suspense. They had agreed upon midnight as the

hour.

Max, lying upon his face in the sand which still retained much of the

warmth of the day, followed the hands of his watch, which he was just

able to see in the starlight. Never had he known time pass more slowly.

Even the second-hand seemed to crawl, and he was certain that the

minute-hand never moved the thousandth part of an inch. And yet, at

last the hour arrived. He knew that on the other side of the stockade

both Crouch and his uncle were ready to advance. Rising softly to his

feet he put his watch in his pocket.

On hands and knees he crawled forward to the ditch. He had decided not

to encumber himself with a rifle. His revolver was loaded in his

holster. He reached the ditch in safety, and there paused to listen.

There was no sound within the fort. The night was still as the grave.

Summoning his courage he rose once more to his feet, and laid hold with

both hands upon the sharpened points of the stakes which formed the

enclosure. Then, taking in a deep breath, he sprang, swinging himself

on high, and landed on his feet on the other side.

A second later he stood with his revolver in his hand, glancing in all

directions, ready to fire at sight. It was then that he stood in

momentary expectation of a swift and sudden death. However, no shot was

fired.

Seeing that he had entered the stockade and was yet undiscovered, he

hastened into the shade of the nearest hut, and there knelt down