CHAPTER XII

A Perilous Journey

Twenty slow, deliberate, and powerful strokes did Denbigh take, then, treading water, he turned his head to see how his companion was progressing.

In that short distance the outlines of the _Myra_ looked vague and distorted in the eddying vapour. Already the swimmers were practically safe from observation, since O'Hara, who was barely three yards away, looked indistinct in his cork-blackened disguise.

A dozen strokes more and the two officers were in the midst of a sluggish, turgid stream, their horizon bounded by banks of mist. Were it not for the moon, that shone dully through the haze, all sense of direction would have been lost. The water was warm and sickly-smelling. An odour like that of decaying flowers in an ill-ventilated room assailed their nostrils.

Once O'Hara gave vent to a partly smothered yell as his naked foot came in contact with a slimy water-logged tree. It was easy to imagine unpleasant things in that modern Styx.

At the sound Denbigh turned.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a whisper.

"Nothing," replied the Irishman. "Carry on."

He was swimming rapidly. His quick strokes betrayed his acute anxiety to traverse the stretch of water in as short a time as possible.

"Steady; don't splash," cautioned Denbigh.

A reply to his admonition came from another quarter, for almost in front of the swimmers rose a huge black object, quickly followed by another. In the semi-light the two men could see that these were enormous hippopotami, distinguish even their thick lips and wire-like bristles, and hear the business-like snap of their formidable teeth, capable of biting the side of a boat and shaking the craft like a terrier does a rat.

The two amphibians were gambolling. So intent were they that the swimmers were unnoticed, but for half a minute after the hippos had passed Denbigh and O'Hara floated motionless, not trusting to swim forward another foot.

At length, after a seemingly interminable space of time, the mangrove-covered shore loomed up against the moonlit sky. The banks, thrown into deep shadow, were invisible, until O'Hara, who was now leading, felt his foot touch the slimy ooze that fringed the shore.

With feelings of relief the Irishman waded to the bank and awaited Denbigh's emergence from the river.

"Thank God," he muttered fervently as Denbigh joined him. "Now, what's the move?"

"Dress," replied his chum laconically.

The two men unfastened their bundles, and proceeded to sacrifice one of their scanty stock of handkerchiefs as a towel. To allow the foetid fresh water to dry on them would be courting a speedy attack of black-water fever.

"We can't see the _Myra_," whispered O'Hara. "How shall we know where to 'kick-off' when we return?"

"Bend that damp handkerchief on to one of the bushes," replied Denbigh. "We'll have to take jolly good care to----"

His words ended abruptly, and he found himself sitting on the soft ground. In order to facilitate the dressing performance he had sat down upon what he imagined to be a log. The "log" promptly lurched forward and overthrew him. It was a healthy specimen of a crocodile.

O'Hara gripped his chum's hand and literally lifted him to his feet. Both men took to their heels, with the now aroused saurian in pursuit. Luckily the animal was not quick at turning, and before it could do so the two subs placed a safe distance between them and their pursuer.

"There may be others," gasped Denbigh, who half-dressed was clutching the rest of his clothing. "The river bank is too jolly risky. I had my doubts about it. We'll cut inland and risk the forest. It's high ground, as far as I could judge when we came up stream. Therefore it ought not to be swampy. What's more, we'll save half the distance."

"And, possibly, take double the time," added O'Hara, who, although willing to risk the unknown perils of the mangrove forest to the partly-known adversities of the river banks, was rather doubtful as to his comrade's skill in navigation on dry land.

They halted in a little clearing to complete their interrupted task of donning their clothes. With their ears strained to catch the faintest suspicious sound, they struggled into their light cotton garments, that at the best of times were ill-adapted to the miasmic night-mists of the East African coast.

"That's better," exclaimed Denbigh cheerfully. "Feel a bit more civilized. We might pass muster as a pair of Christy minstrels. Now, then, a few grains of quinine, and we'll be on the move."

O'Hara's reply was to release the safety-pin of his automatic pistol. Denbigh, who was studying the luminous face of the pocket-compass, smiled grimly.

"Now I'll admit that little toy may come in handy, old man," he remarked. "Since I lead the way, pray be careful how you finger the trigger. Nor'east by east is the ticket."

Before the adventurers had proceeded fifty yards, a rustling sound overhead brought them up all-standing. Some heavy body was moving from tree-top to tree-top with great rapidity.

"Doesn't sound very healthy," whispered Denbigh with a forced laugh. "I think I'll arm myself with a club."

He wrenched at a stout sapling. Instead of the stem coming out by the roots as he expected, it snapped off short. The fractured part tapered to a chisel edge. The wood was hard and close-grained.

"No, I'll use this as a spear," continued the sub. "It makes a nasty weapon to jab an animal with."

In silence the chums proceeded on their way. It was fair going between the trunks of the palms and mangroves, there being very little undergrowth.

"'Ware mosquitoes," exclaimed O'Hara. "There must be a swamp somewhere about."

A swarm of these pestilential insects were buzzing around their heads, but, possibly owing to the protection afforded by the burnt cork, the mosquitoes did not press home the attack. Fifty yards farther the two men were stopped by a deep morass.

"Edge away to the left," suggested the Irishman. "I think I can hear running water. By Jove! Look at those fireflies. They're simply great."

Denbigh merely grunted. He was in no mood to study the beauties of nature. The marsh meant loss of valuable time.

Half a dozen small deer, disturbed in the act of drinking, came bounding towards them, until, finding themselves confronted by human beings, they stopped abruptly, then tore madly from the newest danger.

"Be careful!" urged Denbigh. "Those creatures have been driven towards us by some animal. Stand by."

Out of the deep shade ambled a huge unwieldy figure. It looked like a giant armed with a club. It was too big for a native: it was an enormous ape.

In a trice Denbigh and his companion dodged behind a tree; but quick though they were, the movement had not escaped the notice of the animal. Uttering a shrill cry, the ape bounded towards their place of concealment.

Denbigh's first impulse was to fly, but calmer counsels prevailed. Dropping on one knee, he held his improvised spear pointed towards the enemy, the butt planted firmly into the ground.

As well might a dog try conclusions with a motor-car. The ape's muscular hand gripped the pole and wrenched it from the sub's grasp, while Denbigh's endeavour to retain his hold resulted in his being thrown prostrate at the creature's feet.

Before the luckless man could realize his position there was a vivid flash and a sharp report, quickly followed by another and another. O'Hara had fired point-blank at the animal's head.

The next instant Denbigh was pinned under the lifeless body of his antagonist, for a chance-directed shot had struck the ape in the eye, and had penetrated the brain.

"Hurt?" asked the Irishman anxiously, as he assisted Denbigh to regain his feet.

"Am I?" asked the sub blankly.

"If you don't know I suppose no one else does," rejoined O'Hara.

"I thought the brute had me that time. Hulloa! where's my compass?"

A prolonged search resulted in the recovery of the precious instrument. Anxiously Denbigh revolved the case; to his intense satisfaction he saw that the luminous card was still sensitive.

"My word!" thought Denbigh, as the two men resumed their way. "Whatever possessed me to take this business on? Idle curiosity and the love of doing something to pass away the time, I suppose. After all, I can't see how we can help our squadron in the slightest. And here are we running the risk of being stranded in a beastly forest, and perhaps being chawed up by some wild animal. Well, we're half-way there, so I suppose we may as well carry on. I won't be the one to suggest chucking up the sponge and making tracks for the _Myra_."

The Irishman's soliloquies were on almost the identical lines, but as neither communicated his thought to the other, the consequence was that they both persisted in their hazardous adventure.

It must have been about one in the morning, when, more by good luck than by good management, the two British officers stumbled upon the clearing on which stood the galvanized iron house that they had noticed when the _Myra_ lay at anchor in the lagoon.

Although no light was visible, there were men within, for the subs could hear the rasping of a file and the sharp whirr of a hack-saw.

"Steady!" whispered Denbigh. "Bear away a little. Remember we're close to the native village. Ten to one there'll be a crowd of dogs about, and our clothes, in spite of ill-usage, are fairly conspicuous against the dark background."

Twice they halted before they crossed a foot-track through the mangrove forest. At the second path, they had to wait until a party of German bluejackets had passed. The men were armed, and were accompanied by a score of blacks, who had been impressed to drag a small field-gun up the hill.

Unsuspecting the Germans went on their way, and the subs, after a safe interval had elapsed, continued their way to the shore.

Suddenly O'Hara gripped his companion's arm and pointed. Fifty feet below them, and at a distance of two hundred yards, was the native village. The huts were wrapped in silence. Only the women and children remained, for the men had been compelled to throw up earthworks to defend the lagoon from the anticipated attack. Outside the village stood two German soldiers armed with rifles and fixed bayonets, their duty being to prevent any of the inhabitants from leaving their huts during the night.

"It's not healthy that way," he whispered. "More to the left, old man. I can hear the surf."

Ten minutes more found them at the edge of the forest, and on the brink of the two cliffs, immediately opposite which the _Pelikan_ had brought up and had fought her brief and unsatisfactory action with the British gunboat.

Bathed in the slanting rays of the moon, which was now on the wane, were the placid waters of the lagoon. Nothing could, it seemed, escape being detected up on that illuminated patch of sea.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Denbigh excitedly. "The _Pelikan's_ cleared out."