Challis opened dazed eyes upon a scene that bewildered him, and for a few moments he could not account for the pains that gripped all his limbs. Remembrance stole back into his reviving consciousness, and gradually he became aware of the meaning of what he saw.
The zariba had been demolished. At one side of what had been his camp a number of horses were tethered. In the centre his Hausa boys were busily packing the baggage, much more rapidly than Challis had ever seen them doing it before. The reason of their haste was easily discovered. Over them stood a circle of negroes, who urged them with fierce cries and drawn swords. The camp had fallen into the hands of an enemy.
And it was not long before Challis guessed who this enemy was. Only one tribe in this part of Africa, so far as he knew, rode horses. These men must be Tubus from across the Yo—the ruthless brigands who were the terror of the country. It could hardly be doubted that these were the men who had raided the village, and left only too clear proofs of their merciless ferocity.
Apparently there had been no fight at the zariba. The Hausas, armed though they were, had succumbed without a struggle. The truth was that, in disobedience to Challis's order, some of the men had left the camp, and been pounced on suddenly by the enemy. As they fled back to the zariba, their comrades dared not fire for fear of hitting them, and the swift onset of the horsemen had made resistance hopeless.
Aching all over, Challis struggled to his feet. Immediately a hand was laid upon him from behind. He noticed that his wrist was bleeding, and taking out his handkerchief, he began to wind it round the wound as his captor pushed him towards the centre of the camp. And then from behind the horses there came forth a huge negro, taller than he by six or seven inches, with massive shoulders and muscular arms.
The giant's face broke into a grin as he approached the Englishman. He uttered some words which Challis did not understand, but which seemed to have in them the ring of triumph.
"I have caught you, white face!" was what he said.
As to the white man all negroes seem at first alike, so to Goruba Challis at this moment appeared to be the man with whom he had wrestled at dawn of day.
He spoke again, addressing Challis; then, recognising that he was not understood, he called for one of the Hausas to come and interpret. Kulana came up, and keeping his eyes averted from Challis, he translated what the big man said.
"What are you doing in this country?"
Challis quickly made up his mind to give no information, trusting that he might at least save Royce from his own fate. He refused to speak. The next question puzzled him, but confirmed him in his resolution.
"What were you doing in my fort?"
Though he made no reply, it was plain that he showed his surprise in the expression of his face, for Goruba looked hard at him, and seemed to be in some puzzlement himself. Then the negro's harsh features darkened with anger. He flourished his sword.
"Dog! This will make you speak!" he shouted.
Challis looked at him, without quailing, and did not flinch when the sword was flashed across his eyes. His courage seemed to impress Goruba, who laughed, spat on the ground, and giving an order to his men to keep guard over the prisoner, walked away with Kulana into the midst of the sweating Hausas.
What he had failed to elicit from the Englishman his threats soon extracted from the carriers. He learnt that there was another white man, who had set out on the previous afternoon for a village to the north, to buy provisions. He chuckled on receiving this information. There was little doubt what village the white man he had met in the fort was bound for. He chuckled again. The white man was no doubt on his way back to the camp. It would not be difficult to waylay him.
The work of packing was completed. Goruba ordered the Hausas to mount their loads. Their rifles, with Challis's, were in the possession of his men. When all was ready, the Tubus leapt to their saddles, and the whole party set off northwards, Challis being tied to the saddle of one of the horses.
Often on that march Challis's blood boiled as he saw how his men were treated, and knew his helplessness to defend them. The Tubus urged them with whips, sometimes with the points of their swords. The wretched Hausas, some of whom were weak with sickness, panted along under their loads, striving to keep pace with the impatient horsemen. They dared not even groan, for a murmur brought the lash on their shoulders. When Challis protested through Kulana, explaining that the men were ill, Goruba only grinned and mocked him.
By-and-by, however, it became apparent to Goruba that the men were incapable of further marching. The slave-driver is usually callous enough as to the fate of his victims; he will watch them with unconcern growing weaker and weaker, see them drop in their tracks, sometimes kill them in sheer rage at their inability to keep up. But Goruba did not wish to lose these men. They were themselves valuable. They bore valuable loads. It would be a mistake to over-drive them. In the afternoon, therefore, some hours earlier than a march is usually ended, he gave the order to halt. The Hausas laid down their burdens, and threw themselves on the ground in utter exhaustion.
Challis himself was in little better case. He had not been given a load to carry, but he had felt himself growing weaker and weaker as the day wore on. Though his wound was not serious, he had lost some blood, and was enfeebled by the shock and the bruises he had suffered in the trampling. When he lagged on the march, the man to whose saddle he was fastened prodded him in the back with the point of his spear. His own sufferings, and the sufferings of his men, made him realise with new force the horrors of slave-driving, which, in spite of all efforts to crush it, still exists in parts of the dark continent.
It was therefore with inexpressible relief that he welcomed the order to halt. The place chosen for camp was the crest of a slight undulation. The soil was sandy, and hot from the beating of the sun upon it all day. There were a few scrubby bushes dotted around, but no grass. Nor was there a stream in which the marchers could bathe their burning feet.
The Tubus fetched water from a small water-hole near by. They made a meal of the provisions carried in their wallets. The Hausas consumed the last of their food.
Challis was forced to ask permission to open one of the tins of preserved meat which formed part of the men's loads. The Tubus gathered round him, and watched with childish curiosity as he cut the tin open. They were mute with astonishment when they saw what it contained. They hardly allowed Challis time to take from it sufficient for his supper, before they began to quarrel about the ownership of the tin.
Goruba, hearing the noise, came and settled the matter by swallowing the rest of the meat in two or three great gulps, and taking the tin as a present for one of his wives.
Challis was too tired and weak to care what was done. There was no bed but the hot dry sand; but after eating a little he stretched himself on the spot assigned to him in the centre of the encampment, and forgot his sufferings for a time in a troubled sleep.
