Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African HighlandsStrang, Herbert
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Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African Highlands
Strang, Herbert
Africa, East -- Juvenile fiction
But before he could complete the sentence Ferrier was running hard
up-stream. There was a shout from the fort; the raft had been
discovered; the second raft was still to be brought down. John
instantly set the men to load up the first raft. Every movement was
visible to the men in the fort. There were loud shouts; a few shots
were fired; but the range was too long for inefficient marksmen. To
John’s consternation and alarm there came an echo to these shouts from
up-stream. The warriors from the village were evidently within striking
distance. Had they discovered Ferrier? Urging the men to hasten with
the work of loading, he ran along the bank to see whether the second
raft was on the way. Yes; it was sweeping down like the first, and on
the opposite bank a crowd of yelling negroes rushed along, dodging the
trees, and trying to keep pace. Ferrier paid no attention to them, his
whole energy absorbed in his task. John sent a warning shot among the
enemy, and they darted out of sight. The raft leapt and dashed and
jolted down, and in little more than a minute after it passed John it
lay moored beside the other at the shore of the pool.
The men having not yet finished the loading of the first raft, Ferrier
had leisure to observe what the enemy were about. The warriors from the
village, who had marched along the left bank of the river, were rushing
round the northern shore of the pool towards the causeway. It was
impossible to see what they would do when they reached it, and, to judge
by the uproar in the fort, there was more excitement than cool
calculation among Juma’s party. But by the time the rafts were loaded,
the breastworks replaced, and the ropes attached, the enemy’s intention
became clear. Before the rafts were loosed from their moorings and
poled into the gentle current of the pool, a large number of negroes,
with one or two Swahilis, emerged into view from behind the intervening
island, and were seen hastening along the path which led from the
causeway up the bluff.
"They’ve got a good start of us," Ferrier called from the leading raft.
"We must run the gauntlet."
But now that the critical moment had arrived, John was setting his wits
to work. In all the encounters with the enemy hitherto, success had
been gained by the exercise of superior intelligence rather than
superior force. Was there not a chance of outwitting them even now at
the eleventh hour? Could they not be withdrawn from their threatening
position above the gorge? An idea suggested itself: to let the rafts
drift on until they came opposite the fort, and then to change their
direction and pole them across the pool as if with the intention of
landing on the western shore of the island and storming the fort. If
the ruse succeeded, the enemy would rush back and swarm within the walls
again.
John imparted his scheme to Ferrier in a few hurried sentences.
"It’s worth trying," said Ferrier, "but can we get back into the current
in time?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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