The Red Derelict

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

  ROUT.

  Instinctively he put forth a hand. But--he was bound? Not so. He wasbound no longer, which was one strange side of the new development toforce itself upon his returning senses. What had happened? Hisstrained ears had caught a sound as of something or somebody crawlingalong the ground, together with that of subdued breathing. That somebeast of prey had crept in and had seized and slain his guards was hisfirst thought, and now it was about to pounce upon him in the darkness;but the horror of this apprehension gave way to a feeling of reassuranceas he remembered that no beast of prey, or any other animal, could, atthe same time, have relieved him of his bonds.

  Then he heard whispers, and someone touched him. He could notunderstand the burden of what was said, but that he was being pushedtowards the door was unmistakable. In a moment he was outside, and thethrill of a great hope shot through him, with the thought that for somereason or other somebody was contriving his escape.

  The black night air was heavy and still, but delicious after the foetidinterior of the hut. The hand kept a firm grasp of his arm, and heyielded unquestioningly to its guidance. He would have given much tohave understood the import of the whispered words, but that he wasexpected to do something was obvious.

  In this strange way he moved onward through the darkness. He felt,rather than heard, that other presences were moving with him besidesthat of his unseen guide; then a nauseous taint upon the close airrevealed, as in a flash, his whereabouts--they were close to thedreadful slaughter-yard.

  What new horror was this? Was it some fresh act of devilry on the partof his tormentor that he should be brought to this ghastly place in thedead of night; and, when he should reach it--what then? To thisthought, however, again succeeded reassurance. In that event he wouldnot have been unbound. Then happened that which was more reassuringstill. Something was thrust into his hand, something hard and cold.Great heavens! it was a revolver. He was armed now, and with thethought his broken spirits left him. He was armed, and free. Butthrough what agency--and to whom the debt?

  The guiding hand now had brought him to a standstill. Listeningintently, his ears detected the very same sounds which had alarmed himin the darkness of the hut. Then, advancing once more, he stumbled oversomething, and almost fell. The trees had thinned out here, and now hiseyes, accustomed to the gloom, discovered the nature of the obstruction.It was a human body, just slain, and hardly lifeless yet. Then, in aflash, something of the situation dawned upon him.

  He saw now that he had arrived in front of the stockaded enclosure inwhich the captives had been secured. The guards had been surprised andsilently slain, even as those who custodied him in the hut must havebeen, he decided. And--the stockade was now empty. All this he madeout in the darkness; but to what end had he himself been released--released and armed? He was soon to know.

  The first faint suspicion of dawn was lying upon the darkened world.Wagram made out that he was in the midst of quite a numerous band--aformidable one, too. These savages had not quite the stature andphysique of his former enemies, and were less brutal-looking. They werearmed in similar manner--with large spears, axes, and great crookedknives--and now by very graphic signs they proceeded to foreshow theirintentions. This they did with surprising quickness and lucidity.

  They were going to rush the town directly it was light enough, and putevery living being within it to the spear. The white leader,especially, was to be slain, and to that end this other white man hadbeen released and armed. The chances would be equal thus, or bettered,if anything; for they had the advantage slightly in numbers, in takingtheir enemies by surprise, and also in having a white man fighting ontheir side too. All this was explained to Wagram in less time than ithas taken us to set it down, and then the whole force moved stealthilyforward to take up its prearranged position.

  While waiting for the signal to begin, the comic element of thesituation came home to Wagram's mind, and that comic element struck himsuddenly as very comic indeed. Here was he--a man of peace if everthere was one--Wagram of Hilversea, a highly respectable country squire,whose main object in life had been effectively to steward his familypossessions in such wise as to safeguard and ensure the happiness andwelfare of those dependent on him--a man who had never seen a shot firedin anger nor, until he came here, a life taken--now to find himself withthe honours of generalship thrust upon him without a moment's warning--called upon to lead a pack of utterly merciless savages, of whose verynumbers he had no actual idea, and not one word of whose speech he couldunderstand--to lead them in the surprise and indiscriminate butchery ofanother pack of savages, if possible more bloodthirsty, and,incidentally, a fellow-countryman. Of a truth the completetopsy-turveydom of the eternal fitness of things involved by thearrangement struck him as positively Gilbertian. But there was noalternative, for, did he refuse, he knew that he himself wouldconstitute the first victim; and he was tired of the role of victim; hehad begun to realise that he had played it long enough. So he did notrefuse; he asked, by signs, for more cartridges instead.

  These, after some difficulty, were found him. The revolver was a largeand thoroughly business-like weapon, but very rusty. He hoped it was inworking order; and even then the worst of it was he had not had muchexperience of revolvers, and would have greatly preferred adouble-barrelled shot gun. Then he insisted, by signs, in being furtherarmed with one of their axes and a large knife.

  He was under no hesitation as to his course. He would fight, and fighthis uttermost, for the freedom which Heaven had restored to him, and,incidentally, on behalf of those who, all unconsciously, had beenHeaven's instruments in such restoration. His captivity, and therevolting circumstances and sights almost daily attendant on it, hadchanged him in some way--had certainly hardened him. These people, forwhom and with whom he was to fight, had a cause, for as it grew lighterhe recognised among them several of the captives he had seen fastened upwithin the stockade, while all were of the type of the man he himselfhad freed from the slaughter-block at the imminent risk of his own life;whereas, on the other hand, these cannibal murderers were a type ofhumanity of which the earth might well be rid. And the white man--hisfellow-countryman, his arch-tormentor--what of him? Well, him, too, hewould kill without hesitation if they met in fight; for he was far worsethan the black fiends over whom he exercised ascendency. If ever amurderer deserved death it was this white renegade, who boasted that thelives which he himself had seen him take were as nothing beside thosewhich he had taken, and that under every circumstance of more thanbarbarian atrocity. Yes; he would kill him in self-defence if they met.

  At this tense, psychological moment this man of refinement andphilanthropic instincts found time to marvel at his own completereversion to first principles. Here, surrounded by savages, he seemedto have gone back to the savage too in the longing and eagerness forbattle which had come upon him. How much more of the experience whichhad been his of late would suffice to turn him into as complete a savageas the renegade yonder?

  Then of what followed his mind grasped but the smallest conception. Aseries of ear-splitting whistles, a roar and a rush, and he was withinthe town, borne onward with the rest. The attack was made absolutelywithout method or order, and no pretence to generalship. It was theonslaught of a wild animal--a surprise and a spring. He saw the black,naked, spiky-headed forms surge from the huts, to be received upon thebroad spears of the assailants. In this way quite half the inhabitantswere destroyed before they had time to realise that they had beenattacked.

  So eager and engrossed were the said assailants with slaughter that theyseemed hardly to remember his presence. The vibration of whoops andyells was deafening, stunning, in the pearly dawn. But the scenes ofbutchery and bloodshed oppressed Wagram's senses no longer. For now hewas in the thick of the fight, and every nerve was strained to take careof himself. What if his "followers" ruthlessly slaughtered every livingthing that showed?--here was he, with a cloud of spiky-headed f
iendsdriving at him with their broad-headed spears. Down they went, three ofthem, one after another, for in the heat of battle the coolness ofdiscernment had come upon him, and he was consistently holding hisweapon straight and aiming low. Then he whirled round just in time todown a large and nimble cannibal who was within an ace of transfixinghim between the shoulders with a broad spear. But still they closedup--and yet, and yet, could not quite. There was a look on this man'sface now which reminded them of him up there, and before it--and hispistol--they at heart quailed.

  Still reserving his last fire, knowing he would have no time to reload,he uttered a loud shout, and with axe uplifted he charged forward to cuthis way through the opposing horde. It was death--to all appearance;but here again the very hopelessness of it saved the situation, for themoral effect of the terrific appearance of this man of peace forced intoaction, his tall stature and irresistible Berserk rage, was too much.They gave way before it, before him and the whirling weapon, but--ingiving way one more fell.

  He had reached his allies now, not before some of them, taking him inthe heat of the turmoil for the white renegade, had narrowly missedspearing him. Upon the latter's quarters was the main attack nowdirected.

  It had been a singularly silent conflict, silent because, except for thefew shots he had discharged, the crash of firearms was absent. Ofwhooping and whistling, of the death shriek, and yelling appeals to theslayers there had been plenty, and now the assailed in a mad rush hadfallen back upon the white man's quarters. There, if anywhere, wouldsafety lie, reasoned the doomed wretches, quite two-thirds of whosenumbers had been slain. Upon them, pressing them hard, came theirruthless and avenging foes, encouraged, invigorated by the utter absenceof any sign of the terrible white man. And they were now almost uponhis house. Could it be that he was away? Already they gloated inimagination upon the rich spoils they would find there. His slaves theywould massacre as some sort of revenge for his repeated and ruthlessraids upon them, when--what was this?

  "Pop-pop-pop! Pop-pop-pop!"

  A rapid, knocking sound. Half-a-dozen of their foremost went down.Again that ugly knocking. Down went more. The terror-strickenbarbarians halted, dazed. Glaring up at the stockade they could justdiscern something flash as it moved to and fro, could see a little jetof smoke with each knocking detonation; but what they could not see wasthe terrible face behind the Maxim as its owner worked his deadly meansof defence, grinning in cold and devilish glee. They could not seethis, but they could see their own numbers falling like grass before thescythe with every deadly "pop-pop-pop" of this awful unseen power.Their exultation had turned into blind panic now, and with yells ofdismay they broke and fled.

  He within laughed. Then, not leaving his weapon, he called to his ownfollowers to start in pursuit, and to bring in as many as they couldcapture alive.

  But before this order could be carried out dense volumes of smoke camerolling across the open, together with the roar and crackle of flames.By some means or other the town had been fired; and, indeed, therein laysafety for the panic-stricken runaways. But for the delay thus causednot one would have escaped.

  Their flight was now simply headlong, and for anybody but himself notone of them had a thought. As during the fight there had been nosystem, nothing organised, so now there was no attempt at rally, nobodyto give any order. Owing to the same lack of system Wagram had not beenable to make his way to the forefront of the attack, and well, indeed,for him that he had not. Now, seeing his "followers" whirl by in awild, headlong panic, he quickly decided that it was time to go too. Hemight stand some chance that way, but by remaining here he was doomed.So, taking advantage of the rolling smoke clouds, he, though not withoutdifficulty, at length gained the adjoining forest in the direction takenby his late allies.

  But of them there was no sign. He looked around eagerly, wildly almost,but bootlessly. There was no sound save that of the recent turmoil,growing fainter and fainter behind as he continued his flight--no signof any human presence. He was in an utterly unknown and tracklesswilderness--alone.

  Alone, without food or water, and no knowledge how or where to procureeither, no knowledge, even, of what direction to take; in truth, thefugitive was in pitiable case.

  The one redeeming feature of the situation lay in the fact that he wasno longer unarmed. He had a revolver and several cartridges, a largeknife and an axe, the bloodstains on which latter proved that he hadwell known how to use it, and woe-betide whoever should attempt hisrecapture. He would sell his life, if necessary, and die fighting.

  But in the silent gloom of the trees no sign of human enemy reached eyeor ear. The real enemy was likely to prove hunger or thirst--andagainst such weapons were powerless. Instinct moved him to continue hisflight as far as possible from the scene of his recent trials; andfurther, on no account to lose his head and wander wildly, as so manyhave been known to do when the full sense of being lost, and the fullweight of the awful solitude, is borne in upon them. When he could seeit he pitched his course by the sun, and travelled due west; too often,however, he could not see it, for the tall tree tops met overhead, andtrailing masses of undergrowth shut out everything.

  And, indeed, there was everything in the situation to render itappalling, particularly to an imaginative man. The silence and thesemi-gloom, the very tree trunks and boughs taking on weird andfantastic shapes, the sense of being shut in, the sudden quiver of anetwork of close foliage, as though some beast of prey or colossalserpent were about to rush upon him from behind it. At such times, too,he would recall the devil-sacrifice he had witnessed within the fetishenclosure, when the victim had been drawn by an irresistible fascinationto his doom, and would start back in horror, as though to avoid themysterious weapon flashing forth to transfix him.

  Night would soon be here. All the long day he had travelled on, and nowthirst had more than begun to assert itself--hunger had not troubled himmuch. He sank to the ground exhausted--only to spring up again. Theground was alive with black ants of a peculiarly vicious kind. No resteven there--and the incident reminded him as to his possible fate in theevent of succumbing to exhaustion. He stood a good chance of beingdevoured alive by clouds of venomous and voracious insects.

  And yet, and yet--he could not stagger on for ever.

  Suddenly an instinct of danger started him on the alert, causing him toforget his exhaustion for a time. Something--somebody--was followinghim.

  There was no doubt about it. Turning quickly, a dark shadow glided,then disappeared behind a tree trunk.

  Facing this he thought, and thought hard. He was certain that it wasthe figure of a man--that probably meant danger. On the other hand, thenative might prove friendly; and certain it was that unless he fell inwith somebody who could show him where to obtain the barest necessariesof life, and that within the next few hours, his own doom was sealed.Accordingly he called out, making vehement signs of peace byostentatiously laying down his weapons on the ground in front, thoughholding himself in readiness to snatch them up again if necessary. Itanswered. The unknown stepped from his place of concealment andadvanced with something like a grin on his face. He began talkingvolubly, then drew a hand across his throat, at the same time pointingback over his shoulder; and Wagram stared, then stared again. Yes; hewas certain now. He had thought to recognise the other somewhat, andnow he was sure. It was the man he had rescued from the block in thecannibal slaughter-yard.