Chapter XV The Attack upon the Barracoon
More accustomed to seeing fearsome sights than his friend Guilford, the doctor called to him to make all speed and alarm the sentries, to cut off if possible the retreating enemy. Then he took up the head. Superstitious themselves to a degree, it is no uncommon thing for an Arab foe to endeavour to strike a strange terror into the hearts of their enemies by such ghoulish tricks as this. But it had certainly failed in its object for once.
McTavish stroked the cold, hard brow and pressed down the lids on the half-open eyes; and then laid it aside, covering it with a cloth and bushes, so that it might receive Christian burial when they should succeed in finding the body.
When daylight returned there were no signs of an attempt to renew the fight. Indeed, from the outlook station, which was the top of a tall cocoa-nut palm, there was nothing to be seen of the enemy.
Not a sound came from bush or forest except that made by birds or beasts, nor was there any smoke curling up into the now clear air.
Being accustomed from his boyhood to climbing trees, Kep got up into the feathery crown of the palm. The exercise revived him, the fresh air, breathed at this elevated situation, calmed the nerves and brain. The scene all around as far as eye could reach was very impressive, very beautiful; but nearer at hand, near to the palisades and here and there in the bush close beneath, was many a dark spot, that it needed not lorgnettes to tell were the bodies of the slain. He would not let his eyes rest on these. They saddened him, and one should never seek for the sorrow it is possible to avoid.
But was the forest and bush as deserted as it seemed? Well, all knew it was not. Every bush concealed a foe. They were thirsting for blood, and their object in lying hidden was but to entice the British out. These felt thankful, however, in their very souls, that the attack which they knew would be made was delayed.
Meanwhile, there was plenty to do in the camp. The doctor had his wounded to attend to, and those poor slaves were in charge of all.
It was difficult at first to make them understand that they were really free. But they had knocked those galling chains off, and they fed them and talked to them kindly. True, they might not understand the words, but the actions and the tone of the men’s voices were unmistakable.
There were several dead among those poor, unhappy wretches, and these their companions buried. Luckily they found Arab spades and other tools in the barracoon, and hours were spent by the male liberated slaves in attending to the sanitary condition of the whole camp. And much, indeed, it had needed such attention.
The day wore slowly by. Before eventide, despite every attention, despite even the nursing of Kep, no less than five of the wounded men had crossed the bourne whence travellers ne’er return. But the others bade fair to do well.
Meanwhile, they counted the hours that must elapse before poor wounded Bungle could possibly return with relief. At the very shortest another night must pass before he could come—if come he ever would.
Towards sunset it was determined to make a sally, and to bring in the dead for burial. The graves were already dug. They took with them a very large carrying party, consisting of the sturdiest of the freed slaves, under command of a gunner, an old coast hand who could talk a little of nearly all the native languages.
Would the Arabs attack? that was the question. Luckily they did not; and not only was poor Fisher’s body found, but the bodies of every one of the brave fellows.
It was not difficult to understand why the Arabs had refrained from attacking. Their object was to lead to the belief that they had gone. Could they but succeed in enticing the Breezy’s people from the barracoon, then, hampered as they would be with the wounded and the slaves, their victory would be an easy one indeed. It would be nothing less than a massacre.
And sad was the burial scene. The dead were laid out in rows, and before a prayer was said the men were allowed to walk round, to speak to, to apostrophise and bid farewell to their dead chums and messmates. Many of the severely wounded were assisted to the spot where the bodies lay, just that they might say “Good-bye” to “poor Jack” or “poor Bill,” or whatever might be the name of a dead comrade.
Captain Breezy himself read the burial service from memory. He got no further than “We give their dead bodies to the dust,” before stopping suddenly, with choking voice.
Nor was there a dry eye amongst the crew.
But the last sod is laid over the dead. No one will ever disturb them in this lonesome spot, so the burial party come sadly and silently away, and leave them to sleep.
Then fell night and darkness over the forest land.
Would the Arabs now attack?
Extra ammunition was given out, and those of the brave fellows not on watch or doing sentry-go slept beside their loaded rifles, their bayonets fixed and loaded revolvers in their belts.
But all the men that could be shared to watch were hardly sufficient to guard against attack, so the freed men were requisitioned.
And indeed all of these that were strong enough to fight were armed with weapons of some kind; empty rifles to use as clubs, tools of various kinds, and the spare cutlasses that had belonged to those now dead or to the wounded.
Slowly and wearily the night wore away, and I do not think that anyone really slept.
Guilford and McTavish were watching among the wounded, and towards morning the latter had fallen into an uneasy kind of doze, when he was suddenly awakened by Kep himself.
“A negro wants to speak to you, sir.”
Beside the boy Kep, and full in the light of the newly risen moon, stood one of the freed slaves, wildly but silently gesticulating and pointing to a far-off corner of the barracoon.
Something must have happened; in a few minutes the camp was astir, and the men had fallen in, prepared for anything.
The quick ear of the savage had detected the advance of armed men. But whether friends or foes as yet they could not tell. Birds, however, were flying over the camp in dozens, and it was this fact that had told the clever savage that people were approaching.
The British sentries would have taken but little, if any, heed of a sign like this, and the probability therefore would have been that an attack in force would have been made before the men were half awake.
They now lay concealed in the bush, rifles pointed towards the still coming flights of birds.
Nearly a whole hour passed. The moon was high and the night very clear. Now and then a wild and uncanny scream was heard far away in the forest depths; but whether it proceeded from man or beast no one could tell.
A whole hour! Yes, and what an interminable time it seemed to be.
But list! Beyond the palisade there are sounds now. Ay, and shouts too; and next moment, between them and the moonlight, they could see the whole top of the barricade covered with yelling Arabs.
But the men had their orders, and not a shot was fired on these.
They were allowed to leap inside.
Mercy on us, what an end was theirs! The freed men caught them almost before they had alighted, and the wild screams and demon shouts told of the fearful tragedy that was being enacted.
But another row of devil Arabs lines the palisades, and now rifles speak out. Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop. It is one continuous rattle, and as fast as the Arabs scale the height, just as fast do they fall; while those who succeed in leaping down are quickly seized upon and butchered by the very men to whom they had dealt out such fearful treatment in their far-off peaceful land.
Worsted for a time, the Arabs withdrew, after making several attempts to carry the barracoon by storm.
But that they would return ere long right well those Breezies knew.
Although the Arabs had fired volley after volley, yet, strange to say, they had not in this attack a single man wounded, so well did they keep to the bush and so steady was their fire.
All the Arabs that fell into the hands of the blacks were slain; indeed, they were almost rent limb from limb, and it was with the greatest difficulty Captain Breezy succeeded at last in preventing the freed men from expending their fury on the mutilated corpses, which they even bit and tore with their teeth, till, dancing there in the moonlight, they looked more like devils incarnate than human beings.
There was but little chance that the enemy would attack again at the same place, so a little black slave was sent up the tree, instructed to signal whenever the foe was approaching, and point out his position.
They found they had still about seventy rounds of ammunition left per man, but, as this would not stand a long siege, orders were given not to throw way a single shot.
The next attack was made about half an hour before sunrise, and a sudden determined and terrible one it was.
The first the Breezies knew of its commencement was from a fusillade delivered from the bush. Although such splendid swordsmen, the Arabs are not good marksmen, and their rifles are usually bad. In this case it appeared they had determined to make sure. Not fewer than twenty rifles must have been aimed at the cocoa-nut palm, hidden in which was our little black sentry.
Next moment his body fell at their feet with a dull and awful splashing thud, the sound of which could never be forgotten.
The Arabs attacked about five minutes after, and from a side of the barracoon—so wily were they—that the white men fancied they would never attempt to scale.
Before they had fired two volleys they were over the palisade, not in scores but in hundreds apparently. One more rifle volley was filed, then the Breezies advanced at the double to meet the foe.
I cannot describe that terrible mêlée. The charge of those sword-armed Arabs seemed like “the shock of Hell” that Scott speaks of in Marmion.
Sword in hand, McTavish was in it. He was stunned very early in the engagement by a blow from something, he knew not what, and fell between two dead men, namely, an Arab whom Kep’s sword had gone clean through, and a freed slave that the Arab had cloven to the chin.
When the surgeon recovered consciousness and looked up, the tide of battle had rolled away from him. Strangely enough, as he gazed for a few moments, still confused and bewildered, at the fearful fight that was raging, a passage from Scott kept running in his mind and memory—
They close in clouds of smoke and dust,
With sword-sway and with lance’s thrust,
And such a yell was there,
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon this earth,
And fiends in upper air.
While he was staggering to his feet, a sound fell upon his ears that told him they were saved. It was the rolling, rattling sound of a maxim gun.
The Arabs heard it too. Next minute the great gate of the barracoon was burst open, and not twenty bluejackets, but fully a hundred came pouring in. That brave British cheer, as the bluejackets came rushing onwards, cutlass in hand, was the signal for the enemy’s flight.
Seeing the gate open, they made a slight détour, which was but a feint; then rushed madly for the opening.
Outside was the maxim gun!
Does not that one little sentence tell a tale. That maxim gun! How awful its voice. How deathlike its rattle!
Well, the battle was won.
Did they extend mercy to the retreating Arabs? Not very much, I fear. In fact, the freed slaves took up the chase, and in the bush completed the deadly work the maxim gun had begun.
Right faithfully and well had poor Bungle done his duty. But, poor fellow, it was noticed at once he was not among the new comers, who consisted chiefly of men from the other cruiser under the command of the first lieutenant, a larger vessel than the Breezy.
Kep hastened to inquire about his little friend.
“He arrived at the place where you left your gun and boats,” was the reply, “almost dead. He had only time to tell your fellows that assistance was sorely needed and that they must take the gun and follow your trail, when he fainted. Your men came off to our ship, and here we are.”
“But the boy is not dead?” Kep asked anxiously.
“I fear that by this time he is.”
“Why, Guilford, who is this?” said McTavish next minute, for as they walked slowly towards the tent they came across the corpse of a richly-dressed Arab, who, the doctor felt certain at first, was Abdularram himself.
Guilford only laughed. “That’s the general.” he said. “And I guess he’s only waiting patiently to be buried.”
“Who killed him? Guilford, you did!”
Guilford only laughed again, but said nothing.
It took them two whole days to reach the coast with the wounded and slaves, and very anxious Kep was to know the fate of Bungle.
They arrived at the creek safely at last, and here a temporary camp was formed and fortified, in which to house these freed slaves until an opportunity came to ship them off to Zanzibar.