Part 11

Our sleep was far more restful than on the previous night. At an early hour we were awakened by Smith, who seemed to be worried about something. I followed him to the door of the house and discovered that he was holding a whispered conversation with a stranger, a young fellow of about eighteen years. As soon as I approached they stopped speaking and I was introduced to the young man, whose name was given as “Hank.”

Suddenly Smith spoke:--

“We might as well tell ’em about it, Hank,” he said. “They’ve got to know it sooner or later. Tain’t safe to get out of this place now. Besides, your horse is used up.”

I glanced in the direction indicated, and saw a horse covered in lather, with drooping head and general dejected appearance. I knew he must have had fearful riding to be in this condition.

“Well, you tell ’em, Jim,” replied Hank. “I reckon we’re here, all of us, to stay awhile.”

“I can’t afford to remain, Mr. Smith,” I said, thinking that the wrecked wagon might be the reason for the conversation. “If the outfit will hold together I think we had better go on as soon as possible.”

Smith looked at me with pitying eyes.

“You may never leave this place at all,” he returned, gravely. “This young man is the only survivor of a massacre, about ten miles from here. ‘Apache Kid’ and his band are, perhaps, at this very moment close to our gates.”

Instinctively I glanced at the gates, and noticed for the first time that heavy timbers were propped against them.

“Not only that, but McGill has disappeared,” continued Smith. “I think he may have gone in search of his pipe. We dare not risk going outside the enclosure, and he must get back as best he can.”

Just then the others of our party and Mrs. Smith, with the babe in her arms, joined us, having begun to realize that something was amiss.

Then Jim began to organize his forces. First he took an inventory of the available arms and ammunition, calling on our party to exhibit such weapons as we had about us.

Next Jim brought out a number of guns. There were three excellent repeating rifles, with several hundred rounds of ammunition, and an old shot-gun, which proved of no value. Next came Jim’s own pet--a beautiful double-barrelled shot-gun. With these were several boxes of ammunition. Last came a motley array of “six-shooters,” a part of which were serviceable and for which there was a limited amount of ammunition. Two hand-axes and a small affair for chopping firewood were counted as weapons for close quarters.

The whole lot was delivered into the care of Mrs. Smith, who was instructed to load the guns and arrange the ammunition conveniently on a table brought from the house.

At odd moments the good woman was assembling quantities of food, so that, in case of an attack, prolonged or otherwise, we might have her services at the ammunition.

Meanwhile Hank had been sent to the top of the house, which had a low, flat roof, where he was keeping close watch with a pair of field-glasses. He called to Jim that he believed he had discovered McGill in the topmost branches of a tree, a long distance up the canyon. It appeared that he was making signals, for we soon discovered that he occasionally waved a white handkerchief, and he appeared to be trying to draw our attention to something to the south.

Presently Hank reported that McGill was climbing down the tree, and in a moment he was running down the road towards the house as fast as his long legs would carry him. Jim prepared to open one of the gates.

Just then a shot rang out, followed by others. We could hear McGill coming full tilt. Jim opened the gate a little way and reported that a band of Indians were in close pursuit of the Scotsman.

A moment later, breathless and exhausted, McGill flung himself through the open gate, which was speedily secured behind him.

As quickly as possible Jim ran a rough wagon out of a shed and placed it alongside of the wall. It was evident now why this latter had been built high and strong; the reason for placing the wagon beside it, however, was not yet evident to us.

Soon we heard the rush of a score of Indian horses, the whoops and yells of their savage riders, and the crack of their rifles.

Their shots did no damage, however, but were sufficiently accurate to cause Hank to dodge behind the stone chimney, whence he dropped over the edge to the ground.

There was a savage onslaught upon the immense heavy gates, but they held firm, being well braced by the timbers. So far not a sound had escaped us, and it was evident that the Indians were chagrined that they had not made a greater impression.

For a few moments we could hear them in consultation before the gates, and presently a voice called out in broken English.

To this no reply was made, nor was any evidence of life vouchsafed from our side.

“Now, boys,” whispered Jim, “get ready. They’re going to show their heads in a minute--just over there, near the wagon. That is the easiest place for them to look over, and I have tried to make it look more inviting. So look alive and each pick his game. Don’t miss, or there’ll be trouble.”

Next moment five ugly Apache heads bobbed up over the wall simultaneously. They were evidently so sure that the place was unprotected that four of them, in their enthusiasm, clambered half-way on top of the wall before they became aware of the reception that had been planned for them.

The volley that followed their appearance was almost like one shot, and the four most daring red-skins received the bullets intended for them. Two were killed instantly, and partly hung over the wall as they doubled up; two others, mortally wounded, slid off the wall and were dragged away by their companions. The less venturesome got away with a whole skin.

With our volley pandemonium seemed to break loose; the red-skins let out a yell that fairly chilled us to the bone. Jim called us to seek shelter at the rear of the house.

We were none too soon, for a terrific fire was poured into the enclosure by the Indians, who were taking haphazard shots towards us, without putting their heads into jeopardy.

Presently we discovered that one lot of the savages were trying to burrow under the gates, and were indeed making some headway. Jim seemed to be everywhere at once, using his shot-gun as his sole means of defence. The moment a hand was seen in the growing excavation under the gate he let drive with his shot-gun, and another Indian was out of commission.

I remember I kept a sort of mental tally of the fallen. Hank had told me that there were about twenty-three in the band, so I calculated: “Four dead on the first attack on the wall; one shot through the hand, under the gate. Balance to their credit--eighteen.”

Just then we received an unexpected shock. We saw a curl of smoke rising above the gates; the savages were piling brush against them, to which they had already set fire. This was a serious matter, which even Jim had not calculated upon. He ordered us to lie low while he took a look round.

I was so interested to know what he would do that I could not resist the temptation to put my head around the corner of the house, and this is what I saw.

Jim crept on hands and knees towards the wagon which we had placed against the wall. In a moment he had reached it, shot-gun in hand, and silently and slowly raised himself into it, gradually straightening out with his head and arms just above the wall. Then, quick as a flash, he took aim. There was a crash--or rather a double crash, for he had fired both barrels--an awful yell from the Indians, and he was speeding back to safety.

One savage, braver than the rest, took a quick shot at him. The bullet did no harm to Jim, but came near being fatal to me, for I had been so intent on watching him that I now found that I had unconsciously stepped into the open.

Instead of bolting for shelter, I had but one thing in mind--to check up the account and see how many “good” Indians there were and how many bad ones.

Consequently, in a moment--foolhardy as it may seem--I was on the wagon, peering over the wall, taking account of the dead and wounded at the gates.

Although Jim’s shot-gun had done fearful execution, there were but two who appeared to be actually dead.

Just then something struck me in the face, a hand grasped me from over the wall, and I felt myself being dragged over, into the arms of the “Apache Kid” himself! Several other savages were running to his assistance. All that I can recall is that I thought my last hour had come, and struck out blindly with my fists, clinging, as best I could, to the wall with my legs.

I am not an experienced boxer, but I had the advantage over my assailant, for I was uppermost.

Things seemed to be going badly with me, however, for I felt my hold on the wall gradually weakening.

Just at that instant I heard a rush behind me. I was so done up that I could only think of more Indians, but in reality it was Levy, Hank, and Jim coming to the rescue.

I was grasped from behind and felt that I should be pulled to pieces. I let out with my fists with renewed vigour, and landed such a fierce tattoo on the face of my captor that he involuntarily sought to protect his face with his hands, whereupon Levy, Hank, Jim, and I fell into a confused heap over the side of the wagon.

It was a few minutes before they restored me to my senses, and I found myself with clothing half torn off, covered with dust, and generally bruised.

My first words were:--

“Two killed, three wounded badly; net balance thirteen. That number is unlucky. We’ll win!”

“What in the name of common sense are you talking about?” asked Bates, who was bending over me.

“Well, there were twenty-three Indians when we started; we killed four at first shot, three at the second, and two at the third, besides wounding three beyond present help. That leaves thirteen, doesn’t it?”

We were recalled to a sense of our peril by the sound of breaking timbers. The gates were being forced!

Through the chinks we could see the Indians working industriously with a battering-ram, improvised from the trunk of a tree. At any moment the gates might fall, and we knew there would be little hope for us once the red-skins gained an entrance.

Jim now sent his wife inside the house for better protection. The little babe had, up to this time, been peacefully sleeping on the bed, which must now be used to barricade the door of the house. Consequently, the little fellow was disturbed as his mother moved the huge affair against the opening, and he, too, added to the din of the engagement.

“Now, gentlemen,” said Jim, “we’ve got to make a last stand. The gates will be down in a minute; they have been greatly weakened by the fire. Every one of you to the roof!”

Up to the roof we climbed as a last resort. I think we all realized the gravity of the situation.

We stretched ourselves flat, weapons in hand, and waited. It seemed ages. We could hear the cries of the infant mingled with the sobs of the distracted mother. Bates, who had an abominable voice, tried to sing a hymn. Smith told him to be quiet--the situation was trying enough without his music.

Presently there came a crash--the gates were down. In rushed the red-skins, a fearless crowd. There were just thirteen; I counted them.

“Now, gentlemen, let ’em have it,” called Jim, in a low tone.

Well, we did let them have it; there was no mistake about that. There was a blaze from the rifles, Jim’s shot-gun, and the revolvers, and we all pumped lead as fast as we could.

When the smoke cleared a little we looked below. There were eight red-skins as dead as ever they could be. Three more were crawling away on all fours, seriously wounded.

This left two on my record unaccounted for. We soon spied them making off over the little hills towards Brick Dust Canyon as fast as their legs could carry them.

One of them was “Apache Kid,” the leader. He got off with a whole skin, but I’ll wager that he had some marks about his face.

When we got down from the roof we could no longer hear Mrs. Smith or the babe, and feared they had been killed by stray bullets. Repeated calls failed to bring response.

When we forced an entrance we found her in a dead faint, lying on the bed beside the infant, who was chewing his fist and chuckling as if in great glee.

Woman-like, Mrs. Smith deferred her swoon till all danger was past.

To the delight of McGill, his miserable briar was recovered that day by Jim, who said he did not want the well spoiled, otherwise he would have left it there.

“Shot-gun Jim”--for that is how he is always known now, on account of his fearful execution with his shot-gun, for it was he who really saved the day--has never been troubled by Apaches since. He still insists on living in that forsaken spot, forgetful of the terrible scenes of carnage and danger he has passed through, working at a copper mine which he discovered up beyond Brick Dust Canyon.

BY S. F. MARTIN, LATE OF THE ROYAL NIGER COMPANY’S SERVICE.

The modestly-told story of a daring deed. At a time of great anxiety, when England and France were on the verge of conflict in Africa and the powerful Mohammedan native States were watching for an opportunity of throwing off the yoke of both countries, Mr. Martin was District Agent of the Royal Niger Company at Borgu. He was instructed to secure reliable information as to what was happening in the turbulent robber kingdom of Kontogora, and he obtained it by the hazardous expedient of disguising himself as a Haussa and, taking his life in his hands, penetrating right into the enemy’s capital. His adventures during this journey are set forth below, though the narrative contains barely a hint of the strain of the ordeal or the awful fate that would have befallen the author had his real identity been suspected.

Towards the latter end of 1898, before the conquest of Nigeria, I was placed in charge of the interests of the Royal Niger Company, Chartered and Limited, in the Borgu district of the Niger Territories. My instructions, amongst other things, were to watch events, political and otherwise, and to report the same to head-quarters.

It was a time of great stress and no little peril to our West African Empire, for not only were the various races of the Territories in a state of unrest and hostility to the white man’s domination, but at that period we were also at loggerheads with the French, whose troops were encroaching on our frontiers from all sides, necessitating a special field force being formed, under Colonel (later General Sir Frederick) Lugard, to deal with the situation. The native Mohammedan States, seeing this, thought to take advantage of the crisis to the detriment of both nations.

The most turbulent of all these native States was Kontogora, a town lying to the eastward of the Niger River. At the time of which I write there were British troops at Jebba, Leabba, Boussa, Roffia, Gomba, Lafagon, and Illa, as well as smaller garrisons scattered about, all on the Niger. There was a strong force also at Zaria, a large town away to the east, some distance south of Kano. The French were prowling about in between.

It being reported that Kontogora was preparing to take up arms, I determined to find out the facts of the case for myself, as, if this State seriously intended causing trouble and gained any successes against us, the whole Mohammedan Empire was sure to rise to a man, and it would be difficult for us to hold our own, to say nothing of expelling the French. My orders were to remain in Boussa, but, having weighed the pros and cons very carefully, and decided that it would be well within the spirit, if not exactly the letter, of my instructions to take the action I intended, I determined to find out in person how far this rumour was true and how great the danger really was to our Imperial interests. I had mastered the Haussa tongue, the prevailing language of those regions, and could hold my own easily with the Haussas themselves, my natural aptitude for picking up tongues standing me in good stead. Consequently, without informing anyone where I was going, beyond leaving word that I was off on a shooting trip, on the night of the 17th of November, 1898, I dyed myself from head to foot a deep brown, arrayed myself in very shabby Haussa clothes, and set off, with my guide, Mama, for Kontogora. I took the name of “Abdu Maidowda”--Abdu the dirty. All carriers in Haussaland take nicknames, given them by their masters or companions. It is seldom that a white man ever knows the real names of his servants.

We tramped all that night, and next morning stopped at a small village in the midst of farmlands in the N’gaski Kingdom. The whole country hereabouts was bitterly hostile to the white man’s _régime_. The state of unrest was manifest everywhere; people went armed to their work in the fields, as raids from neighbouring towns seemed to be of frequent occurrence. Although the various native kingdoms were quite at one with regard to their hatred of the white man, yet amongst themselves they were always warring and raiding for slaves--the big towns bullying the smaller villages. The main cause of this was the heavy slave tribute levied by the Sultan of Sokoto--the great head of the Moslem Church in the Sudan--on all his vassal States.

Having rested for a few hours, we set out again about midday. It was fiercely hot as we trudged through the guinea-corn fields that stretched for miles all around us, and the heat, striking down from the fiery sun, that hung directly overhead, made me dizzy. I staggered along at times in a kind of hot, sweltering day-dream--seeing things that did not exist, and thinking the most absurd thoughts. Once I called a halt at a well of very dirty water, flung myself down on my hands and knees, and bathed my head and neck for several minutes, Mama looking on amused. The people in the fields were gathering in the corn in feverish haste, but every now and then they paused long enough to question us as to our destination and whence we came. We invariably told the same tale--we were travelling to Kontogora from Illorin.

It must have been about 4 p.m., judging by the sun, when, on that second day out, we topped a rise of rocky ground and came face to face with the head of a caravan of some thirty people, with a large number of goats, coming from the westward. There were several women on donkeys, ten armed men on horseback, and the balance consisted of carriers. As we stood watching them the caravan halted and one of the horsemen came prancing up to us with a great flourishing of his spear. He asked us, very roughly, whence we came and whither we were bound. Mama answered that we were from Illorin, whither we had taken loads for a rich merchant from Kano, and were now bound for Kontogora, where we hoped to obtain work, as we understood that the Emir was preparing for war on the white man. He then asked our questioner if we might not join his caravan, and if he would let us carry a load each in return for our food. At this we were taken before the head of the party, who proved to be an enormously fat woman. With a wave of the hand she gave her consent, and we were forthwith enlisted in the line of coolies.

We pushed on that afternoon to some farmhouses, where we halted for the night. The fat lady took up her abode in the headman’s hut, and we carriers wandered about to find quarters for ourselves. For the most part we slept in the open, beneath a great tree growing outside the entrance to the headman’s compound. Mama and I had no intention of losing sight of our companions, as we did not wish to let slip this excellent chance of getting in to Kontogora, which was also the destination of the caravan, without danger of possible discovery. The farm people were good enough to give us food and drink, and also supplied us with plenty of firewood.

After sitting around the fire for a short time, we coolies one by one curled up on our mats (each carried a small grass mat) and, with our feet to the fire, slept the dreamless sleep of the utterly weary.

Next morning I was awakened by Mama shaking me by the shoulder. My clothes were wet with dew, and I commenced to shiver with cold, cursing myself in my sleepy condition for being so foolish as to put myself in such a perilous predicament.

As I arose and stretched myself I beheld silent forms passing to and fro, and signs that the world was awakening became increasingly evident. Then fires were lit and breakfast cooked; but not before we had washed our eyes, mouth, and hands, uttering a few words from the Koran the while. After partaking of boiled guinea-corn and soup, we espied the fat lady preparing to mount her donkey, and, securing our loads, took our place in the column that began to form up. Soon we were once again trudging through the open country on our way to Kontogora.

All along the route I was struck with the apparent haste with which the people were gathering in the corn. Our companions told us that the Seriki (King) of Kontogora was preparing to wage war on the white man, and had ordered his people to get in all their corn at once.

The day before we entered Kontogora we were overtaken by a raiding party, who were returning to that place with their spoil--about twenty young girls and women, as well as several little children--all tied together, each having one wrist made fast to the neck, across the chest.

Their captors were Fulehs and Haussas, on horseback, armed with swords and spears, and one or two with guns. Some of the poor captives looked terribly emaciated, and could hardly get along. I saw one woman get a slash of a hippo hide whip across the face, that sent her reeling to the ground, with a great gash on her forehead. The incident stopped the whole column for a few minutes, as the woman was fastened to her fellow-prisoners by the neck, and, when she fell, prevented them from advancing. The whip was then applied freely in all directions. The chief of the band ordered the wounded woman’s squirming comrades to pick her up and carry her, but they were unable to do so, being too utterly worn out, I could see. They were coated in dust from head to foot, and the perspiration trickling down their naked skins and mingling with the dust made the poor things appear a sorry sight. The band had, apparently, captured them at some far-distant spot, and must have brought them along at a great pace, judging by the rate they were going when they overtook us.

Furious at their inability to pick the woman up, the ruffian in command raised his spear and plunged it three times into the body of the prostrate woman. He followed this up by actually trampling her under his horse’s feet, while I groaned in an agony of horror and impotent rage at the ghastly spectacle.