when i was a boy in school, i one day ran across a translation of homer's iliad and carried it home and read it afternoons for a week. during those days i lived in the great pictures of the battles on the plains of troy, and though afterwards i had seldom thought of them, they had never quite faded from my memory.

it was far indeed from homer's iliad to an ambush in an african forest; but the fight that ensued when we walked into that hornets' nest of black warriors nevertheless brought homer's story vividly to my mind. the spears, i think, suggested the resemblance; or perhaps the wild swiftness of the fight. first an arrow came whistling through the air and struck one of the men on the throat and went through his neck half the length of the shaft. he spun round, spattering me with dark blood that ran from a severed vein, and went down under the feet of the bullocks without a word. then the bullocks turned, stampeded by the sight and smell of blood, and crowded back upon the sheep and goats, and the porters dropped their burdens and tried to run. o'hara threw up his musket and shattered the skull of a huge black who came at him with a knife like the blade of a scythe, and, himself stooping to pick up the knife, grappled with another and died, shrieking, from a spear-thrust up under the ribs. then one of the porters hurled a bundle at a man who was about to cut him down, and the bundle broke and a shower of yellow gold scattered in front of us, whereupon there was a short, fierce rush for plunder.

[pg 284]

side by side with arnold lamont and gleazen, emptying my pistol into the crowd, i saw out of the corner of my eye that the blacks were cutting their way into the heart of the caravan for slaves and booty.

imagine, if you can, that motley horde which had rushed upon us out of the wood. some, naked except for loin cloths, brandished spears and howled like enraged maniacs; some, in queer quilted armor and helmets with ostrich plumes, clumsily wielded trade muskets; some advanced boldly under the cover of shields and others, ranging through the underbrush, kept up a desultory flight of arrows. it was primitive, unorganized, ferocious war.

"mon dieu, what a spectacle!" arnold exclaimed; then, "now, my friends, quick! to the left! while the thieves steal, we yet may escape!"

up from the mêlée, streaked with blood and dust, now came the trader. "all, all ees gone!" he wailed, and waved his arms and shrieked and stamped and cursed and jabbered on in spanish.

had our enemies been content to delay their plundering until they had killed us all, not one of us would have escaped to tell the true story of that bloody day. but at the sight of a rich caravan and loose gold, the blacks, in the twinkling of an eye, were fighting among themselves.

"quick!" again cried arnold's voice, strangely familiar in the midst of that grotesquely unreal uproar, and as amazingly precise as ever. "quick, gentlemen! it is our only chance."

and with that, he, gleazen, matterson, the trader, abe, and i took to our heels into the bushes. the woods behind the line of the ambush appeared to be deserted. at the foot of a ravine ran the creek. we crossed it by a rude bridge of branches, hastily and silently climbed the opposite bank, and stole off quite unobserved.

[pg 285]

a hundred yards farther on, at the sound of a great thrash and clatter, we dove into the undergrowth and lay hidden while a band of blacks tore past us to the scene of battle. but getting hastily up as soon as they were out of sight, we resumed our headlong retreat.

every bush and tree darkly threatened us. great rocks, deeply clothed in moss and tumbled so together as to form damp holes and caves, at once tempted us by their scores of hiding-places and filled us with apprehension lest natives might have hidden there before us. but as if we were playing the old game of follow-my-leader, we scrambled up and down, and in and out, and always hard ahead, until we again heard before us a rumble of voices and pounding feet, and a second time, desperately, flung ourselves into the undergrowth and lay all atremble while half a hundred naked negroes, armed with bows and clubs and spears, came trotting, single file, like wolves, and passed us not fifty feet away.

as they disappeared, and while we still dared not move, i saw something stir not five english cubits from my face. i caught my breath and stared at the thing. ten feet ahead of it; the leaves and ferns rustled, and twenty feet ahead of it then, twitching, it disappeared. i broke out from head to foot in sweat. unwittingly, we had thrown ourselves down within hand's reach of a great serpent. whether or not newly gorged, and so too sleepy to resent our nearness, it moved slowly away through the quivering undergrowth.

when we had put a mile between ourselves and the plundered caravan, matterson turned with an oath. "poor bud!" he said in his hard, light voice. "at least, we'll hear no more of jujus and devils and king's graves."

gleazen shrugged and turned to the trader. "how far is the river?" he asked.

[pg 286]

"mebbe one mile—mebbe two."

"do you, sir, know the road?" arnold asked.

the trader nodded and spread his hands as if in despair. "know heem? i know heem, yes! t'ree, ten, fifty time i come with slave and ivory and hide—now all gone! forty prime slave all gone! ev'ytheeng gone!"

gleazen grunted.

"let us go to the river," said arnold.

"heem reever go by town," wailed the trader. "heem beeg town! walls so high and strong!"

"ah, that is another matter," said arnold. "but let us go forward at all events. we may, for all that we can tell, strike the river below the town."

so forward we went in the darkness, and a slow, tedious journey it was, particularly for abe and me, who helped matterson along as best we could; but we avoided the town by the sound of drumming that issued from behind its walls, and having helped ourselves to fruit from the patches of cultivated land that we passed, we at last emerged from the darkness of the woods into the half light of a great clearing, and saw a vast, black, living surface on which strange lights played unsteadily. it seemed unbelievable that it really could be the same river that we had left so long ago,—in the sense of all that had happened, so very long ago,—and yet i knew, as i watched gleazen and matterson, that it must be the same. the black, swift current recalled to my mind the toil that we had expended in coming so far to so little purpose. in which direction the creek lay that we had entered on our way to the ill-fated hut, i had not the remotest idea; but i looked a long time downstream toward the mission.

bearing around in a rough half-circle, we worked slowly down the bank, until the walls of the town itself were before us, at a safe distance.

[pg 287]

"our boat," said matterson, grimly, "is fifty miles away."

"wait here," said i. "there'll be canoes under the town. i'll get one."

gleazen made a motion as if to go himself, but arnold shook his head. "no; let joe go first. he will learn where the canoes are, and do it more quietly than we."

they all sat down by the edge of the water, and, leaving them, i went on alone. it took all the courage i could muster; but having rashly offered, i would not hesitate.

for one thing, it gave me time to think, and in a sense i desired to think, although in another sense it came to me that i was more afraid of my own thoughts than of all the walled towns in africa. the living nightmare through which we had passed had left me worn in body and mind. that uncle seth, upon whom once i had placed every confidence, should have died so tragic a death, now brought me a fresh burst of sorrow, as if i realized it for the first time. it seemed to me that i could hear his sharp yet kindly voice speaking to me of little things in our life at topham. i thought of one episode after another in those earlier days, some of them, things that had happened while my mother was alive; others, things that had happened after her death; all, things that i had almost forgotten long before. my poor uncle, i thought for the hundredth time—my poor, poor uncle!

then suddenly another thought came to me and i straightened up and stood well-nigh aghast. by the terms of my uncle's will, of which more than once he had told me, all that had been his was mine!

the river silently swept down between its high banks, past me who stood where the waves licked at my feet, past the black walls of the town, which stood like a sentinel guarding the unknown fastnesses of the continent of[pg 288] africa, past high hill and low gravel shoal and bottomless morass, past pawpaw and pine palm and mangrove, to the mission and the sea.

there i stood, as still as a statue, until after a long time i remembered my errand and, like one just awakened, continued on my way.

i found a score of canoes drawn up on the beach under the town, and very carefully placing paddles by one that was large enough for our entire party, i cautiously returned to the others and reported what i had done. together we all slipped silently along the shore to the canoes, launched the one that i had chosen, and with a last glance up at the pointed roofs of the houses and the sharpened pickets of the stockade, silently paddled, all unobserved, out on the strong current and went flying down into the darkness.

it had been one thing to row up stream against that current. it was quite another, and vastly easier, even though three of us were entirely ignorant of handling such a canoe, to paddle down the swift waters of midstream. exerting always the greatest care to balance the ticklish wooden craft, which the blacks with their crude adzes had hewn out of a solid log, we sent it, even by our clumsy efforts, fairly flying past the trees ashore; and as it seemed that we had struck the river many miles below the creek where we had left our boat, we had hopes that the one night would bring us within striking distance of the open sea. indeed, i found myself watching every point and bend, in hope that the mission lay just beyond it.

estimating that daylight was still two hours away, we drew in shore at gleazen's suggestion, to raid a patch of yams or plantains.

"a man," he said arrogantly, but with truth, "can't go forever on an empty stomach."

[pg 289]

luckless venture that it was—no sooner did the canoe grate on the beach than a wakeful woman in a hut on the bank set up a squealing and squalling. as we put out again incontinently into the river, we heard, first behind us, then also ahead of us, the roll of those accursed native drums.

to this very day i abhor the sound of drumming. it has a devilishly haunting note that i cannot escape; and small wonder.

we swept on down the current, but now, here and there, the river-banks were alive with blacks, and always the booming of drums ran before us, to warn the country that we were coming. once, as we passed a wooded point, a spear flew over our heads and went hissing into the water, and i was all for putting over to the other bank. but arnold, who could use his eyes and ears as well as his head, cried, "no! watch!"

all at once, under the dark bank of the river, there was screaming and splashing and floundering. the torches that immediately flared up revealed what arnold, and now the rest of us, expected to see, but they also revealed indistinctly another and more dreadful sight: on the shore, running back and forth in great excitement, were many men; but in the troubled water a negro was struggling in vain to escape from the toils of a huge serpent, which was wrapping itself round him and dragging him down into the river where it had been lying in wait.

to me, even though i knew that that very negro had been watching for a chance to waylay us, the sight of the poor fellow's horrible death almost overcame me.

not so with matterson and gleazen.

with a curse, matterson cried, "there's one less of them now." his light voice filled me with loathing.

and gleazen softly laughed.

[pg 290]

on down the river we went, with flying paddles, and round a bend. but as we passed the bend, i looked back, and saw coming after us, first one canoe, then two, then six, then so many that i lost all count.

how far we had come in that one night, i had little or no idea; but it was easy to see by the attitude of those who knew the river better than i, that the end of our journey was close at hand. glancing round at our pursuers, gleazen spoke in an undertone to matterson, and both they and the trader studied the shore ahead of us.

"a scant ten miles," gleazen muttered; "only ten miles more."

i felt the heavy dugout leap forward under the fierce pull of our paddles. the water turned away from the bow in foam, and we fairly outrode the current. but fast though we were, the war fleets behind us were faster. by the next bend they had gained a hundred yards, by the next, another hundred. we now led them by a scant quarter of a mile, and if gleazen had estimated our distance rightly, they would have had us long before we could reach port. but suddenly, all unexpectedly, round the next bend, not half a mile away, the mission sprang into sight.

there it stood, in the early morning sun, as clean and cool and still as if it were a thousand miles away from africa and all its wars.

"give me your pistols," arnold cried; and when we tossed them to him and in frantic haste resumed our paddling, he coolly renewed the priming and one by one fired them at our pursuers.

that the negroes had a gun we then learned, for they retorted by a single shot; but the shot went wild and the arrows that followed it fell short, and our pistols cooled their eagerness. so we swept in to the landing by the mission,[pg 291] and beached the canoe, and ran up the long straight path to the mission house as fast as we could go, while the black canoemen paused in midstream and let their craft swing with the current.

the place, as we came rushing up to it, was so quiet, so peaceful, so free from any faintest sign of the terrible days through which we had passed, that it seemed as if, after all, we had never left it; as if we were waking from a troubled sleep; as if we had spent a thousand years in the still, hazy heat of that very clearing. the face in the window, the opening door, only intensified that uncanny sense of familiarity.

the door opened, and the man we had seen before met us. his eyes were stern and inhospitable.

"what?" said he. "must you bring your vile quarrels and vile wars to the very threshold of one whose whole duty here is to preach the word of god?"

"those," cried arnold, angry in turn, but as always, precise in phrase and enunciation, "are hard words to cast at strangers who come to your gate in trouble."

"trouble, sir, of your own brewing," the missionary retorted. "what you have been up to, i do not know. nor have i any wish to save your rascally necks from a fate you no doubt richly merit."

"your words are inclusive," i cried.

"they certainly include you, young man. if you would not be judged by this company that you are keeping, you should think twice or three times before embarking with it."

"father!" said a low voice.

my heart leaped, but i did not turn my head. down the river, manned by warriors armed to the teeth, came more canoes of the war. behind them were more,—and more,—and still more.

[pg 292]

"come, come, you sniveling parson," gleazen bellowed, "where are your guns? where's your powder? come, arm yourself!"

the man turned on him with a look of scorn that no words of mine can properly describe.

"you have brought your dirty quarrel to my door," he said in a grim, hard voice. "now do you wish me to fight your battles for you?"

steadily, silently, the canoes were swinging inshore. i saw negroes running into the clearing. on my left i heard a cry so shrill and full of woe that it stood out, even amid the ungodly clamor of the blacks, and commanded my attention.

the man stepped down from the porch.

"this," he said, turning, "is a house of peace. i order you to leave it. i will go down and talk with these men myself."

"you'll never come back alive!" matterson cried, and hoarsely laughed.

at that the missionary, john parmenter, merely smiled, and, afraid of neither man nor devil, walked down toward the river and fell dead with a chance arrow through his heart.

there was something truly magnificent in his cold courage, and gleazen paid him almost involuntary tribute by crying, "there, by heaven, went a brave man!"

but from the door of the house the girl suddenly ran out. her face was deathly white and her voice shook, but as yet there were no tears in her eyes.

"father!" she cried, and ran down the path, where occasional arrows still fell, and bent over the dead man.

"come up, you little fool," gleazen shouted. "come back!" then he jumped and swore, as an arrow with a longer flight than its fellows passed above his head.

[pg 293]

the canoes were drawing in upon the shore, very cautiously, deliberately, grimly, in a great half-moon, and more of them were arriving at every moment.

i leaped from the porch and sped down beside the girl.

"come," i cried, "you—we—can do nothing for him."

"is it you?" she said. "you—i—go back!"

"come," i cried hoarsely.

"don't leave him here."

i bent over and lifted the body, and staggering under its weight, carried it up into the house and laid it on the couch in the big front room.

all this time the noise within and without the mission was deafening. the blacks on the river were howling with fury, and those ashore, who had not already fled to the woods, were wailing in grief and terror. gleazen and arnold lamont had joined forces to organize a defense, the one raving at the arrant cowards who were fleeing from first sight of an enemy, while the other turned the place upside down in search of arms. and still the blacks on the river held off, probably for fear of firearms, though there were indications that as their numbers grew, they were screwing up their courage to decisive action.

the girl, suddenly realizing the object of arnold's search, said quietly, "there are no weapons."

arnold threw his hands out in a gesture of despair.

"if you wish to leave," she coldly said, "there is a boat half a mile downstream. you can reach it by the path that leads from the chapel. no one will notice you if you hurry."

"then," i cried, "we'll go and you shall come with us."

gleazen spoke to the trader in spanish.

abe guptil was beside me now and arnold behind me. we three, come what would, were united.

[pg 294]

a louder yell than any before attracted our attention, and matterson, who stood where he could see out of the window, called, "they're coming! run, neil, run!"

at that he turned and fled, with the others after him.

i stopped and looked into the girl's gray eyes.

"come!" i cried, "in heaven's name, make haste!"

i had clean forgotten that the dead man by whom the girl was standing was her father; but her next words, which were spoken from deepest despair, reminded me of it grimly.

"i will not leave him," she said.

"you must!"

"i cannot."

"what," said i, "would he himself have had you do?"

her determination faltered.

"come! you cannot do anything more for him! come."

she shook her head.

"then i shall stay," i said.

"no," said she, and i saw that there was a change in her manner toward me. "you will go and i—i—"

then she whistled and cried, "paul! paul!"

the great black fantee servant whom i had seen with her in the canoe on that day when first we met, appeared suddenly.

"come," she said.

i now saw that arnold lamont was running back to the door of the room.

"quick!" he called. "mon dieu, be quick!"

he stepped aside and let her go through the door first.