“I’ll fight my own battles!” exclaimed the young inventor. “I don’t go much on the police in a case like this, especially foreign police. Well, my camera is all right, so far,” he went on, as he took a look at it, in the compartment where he kept it. “Some one must always remain near it, after this. But we’ll soon start for Africa, to get some pictures of a native battle. I hope it isn’t the red pygmies we have to photograph.”
“Bless my shoe laces! Don’t suggest such a thing,” begged Mr. Damon, as he recalled the strenuous times when the dwarfs held the missionaries captive.
It was necessary to lay in some stores and provisions, and for this reason Tom could not at once head the airship for the African jungles. As she remained at anchor, just outside the city, crowds of Swiss people came out to look at the wonderful craft. But Tom and his companions took care that no one got aboard, and they kept a strict lookout for Americans, or Englishmen, thinking perhaps that Mr. Eckert, or the spy, might try to get the camera. However, they did not see them, and a few days after the receipt of the message from Mr. Period, having stocked up, they rose high into the air, and set out to cross the Mediterranean Sea for Africa. Tom laid a route over Tripoli, the Sahara Desert, the French Congo, and so into the Congo Free State. In his telegram, Mr. Period had said that the expected uprising was to take place near Stanley Falls, on the Congo River.
“And supposing it does not happen?” asked Mr. Damon. “What if the natives don’t fight, Tom? You’ll have your trip for nothing, and will run a lot of risk besides.”
“It’s one of the chances I’m taking,” replied the young inventor, and truly, as he thought of it, he realized that the perils of the moving picture business were greater than he had imagined. Tom hoped to get a quick trip to the Congo, but, as they were sailing over the big desert, there was an accident to the main motor, and the airship suddenly began shooting toward the sands. She was easily brought up, by means of the gas bags, and allowed to settle gently to the ground, in the vicinity of a large oasis. But, when Tom looked at the broken machinery, he said:
“This means a week’s delay. It will take that, and longer, to fix it so we can go on.”
“Too bad!” exclaimed Mr. Nestor. “The war may be over when we get there. But it can’t be helped.”
It took Tom and his friends even longer than he had thought to make the repairs. In the meanwhile they camped in the desert place, which was far from being unpleasant. Occasionally a caravan halted there, but, for the most part, they were alone.
“No danger of Eckert, or any of his spies coming here, I guess,” said Tom grimly as he blew on a portable forge, to weld two pieces of iron together.
In due time they were again on the wing, and without further incident they were soon in the vicinity of Stanley Falls. They managed to locate a village where there were some American missionaries established. They were friends of Mr. and Mrs. Illington, the missionaries whom Tom had saved from the red pygmies, as told in the “Electric Rifle” volume of this series, and they made our hero and his friends welcome.
“Is it true?” asked Tom, of the missionaries who lived not far from Stanley Falls, “that there is to be a native battle? Or are we too late for it?”
“I am sorry to say, I fear there will be fighting among the tribesmen,” replied Mr. Janeway, one of the Christian workers. “It has not yet taken place, though.”
“Then I’m not too late!” cried Tom, and there was exultation in his voice. “I don’t mean to be barbarous,” he went on, as he saw that the missionaries looked shocked, “but as long as they are going to fight I want to get the pictures.”
“Oh, they’ll fight all right,” spoke Mrs. Janeway. “The poor, ignorant natives here are always ready to fight. This time I think it is about some cattle that one tribe took from another.”
“And where will the battle take place?” asked Tom.
“Well, the rumors we have, seem to indicate that the fight will take place about ten miles north of here. We will have notice of it before it starts, as some of the natives, whom we have succeeded in converting, belong to the tribe that is to be attacked. They will be summoned to the defense of their town and then it will be time enough for you to go. Oh, war is a terrible thing! I do not like to talk about it. Tell me how you rescued our friends from the red pygmies,” and Tom was obliged to relate that story, which I have told in detail elsewhere.
Several days passed, and Tom and his friends spent a pleasant time in the African village with the missionaries. The airship and camera were in readiness for instant use, and during this period of idleness our hero got several fine films of animal scenes, including a number of night-fights among the beasts at the drinking pools. One tiger battle was especially good, from a photographic standpoint.
One afternoon, a number of native bearers came into the town. They preceded two white men, who were evidently sportsmen, or explorers, and the latter had a well equipped caravan. The strangers sought the advice of the missionaries about where big game might be found, and Tom happened to be at the cottage of Mr. Janeway when the strangers arrived.
The young inventor looked at them critically, as he was introduced to them. Both men spoke with an English accent, one introducing himself as Bruce Montgomery, and the other as Wade Kenneth. Tom decided that they were of the ordinary type of globe-trotting Britishers, until, on his way to his airship, he passed the place where the native bearers had set down the luggage of the Englishmen.
“Whew!” whistled Tom, as he caught sight of a peculiarly shaped box. “See that, Ned?”
“Yes, what is it? A new kind of magazine gun?”
“It’s a moving picture camera, or I lose my guess!” whispered Tom. “One of the old fashioned kind. Those men are no more tourists, or after big game, than I am! They’re moving picture men, and they’re here to get views of that native battle! Ned, we’ve got to be on our guard. They may be in the pay of that Turbot and Eckert firm, and they may try to do us some harm!”
“That’s so!” exclaimed Ned. “We’ll keep watch of them, Tom.”
As they neared their airship, there came, running down what served as the main village street, an African who showed evidence of having come from afar. As he ran on, he called out something in a strange tongue. Instantly from their huts the other natives swarmed.
“What’s up now?” cried Ned.
“Something important, I’ll wager,” replied Tom. “Ned, you go back to the missionaries house, and find out what it is. I’m going to stand guard over my camera.”
“It’s come!” cried Ned a little later, as he hurried into the interior of the airship, where Tom was busy working over a new attachment he intended putting on his picture machine.
“What has?”
“War! That native, whom we saw running in, brought news that the battle would take place day after tomorrow. The enemies of his tribe are on the march, so the African spies say, and he came to summon all the warriors from this town. We’ve got to get busy!”
“That’s so. What about those Englishmen?”
“They were talking to the missionaries when the runner came in. They pretended to have no interest in it, but I saw one wink to the other, and then, very soon, they went out, and I saw them talking to their native bearers, while they were busy over that box you said was a picture machine.”
“I knew it, Ned! I was sure of it! Those fellows came here to trick us, though how they ever followed our trail I don’t know. Probably they came by a fast steamer to the West Coast, and struck inland, while we were delayed on the desert. I don’t care if they are only straight out-and-out rivals—and not chaps that are trying to take an unfair advantage. I suppose all the big picture concerns have a tip about this war, and they may have representatives here. I hope we get the best views. Now come on, and give me a hand. We’ve got our work cut out for us, all right.”
“Bless my red cross bandage!” cried Mr. Damon, when he heard the news. “A native fight, eh? That will be something
I haven’t seen in some time. Will there be any danger, Tom, do you think?”
“Not unless our airship tumbles down between the two African forces,” replied our hero, “and I’ll take care that it doesn’t do that. We’ll be well out of reach of any of their blow guns, or arrows.”
“But I understand that many of the tribes have powder weapons,” said Mr. Nestor.
“They have,” admitted Tom, “but they are ‘trader’s’ rifles, and don’t carry far. We won’t run any risk from such old-fashioned guns.”
“A big fight; eh?” asked Koku when they told him what was before them. “Me like to help.”
“Yes, and I guess both sides would give a premium for your services,” remarked Tom, as he gazed at his big servant. “But we’ll need you with us, Koku.”
“Oh, me stay with you, Mr. Tom,” exclaimed the big man, with a grin.
Somewhat to Tom’s surprise the two Englishmen showed no further interest in him and his airship, after the introduction at the missionaries’ bungalow.
With the stolidity of their race the Britishers did not show any surprise, as, some time afterward, they strolled down toward Tom’s big craft, after supper, and looked it over. Soon they went back to their own camp, and a little later, Koku, who walked toward it, brought word that the Englishmen were packing up.
“They’re going to start for the seat of war the first thing in the morning,” decided Tom. “Well, we’ll get ahead of them. Though we can travel faster than they can, we’ll start now, and be on the ground in good season. Besides, I don’t like staying all night in the same neighborhood with them. Get ready for a start, Ned.”
Tom did not stop to say good-bye to the Englishmen, though he bade farewell to the missionaries, who had been so kind to him. There was much excitement in the native town, for many of the tribesmen were getting ready to depart to help their friends or relatives in the impending battle.
As dusk was falling, the big airship arose, and soon her powerful propellers were sending her across the jungle, toward Stanley Falls in the vicinity of which the battle was expected to take place.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE NATIVE BATTLE
“By Jove, Tom, here they come!”
“From over by that drinking pool?”
“Yes, just as the spies said they would. Wow, what a crowd of the black beggars there are! And some of ’em have regular guns, too. But most of ’em have clubs, bows and arrows, blow guns, or spears.”
Tom and Ned were standing on the forward part of the airship, which was moving slowly along, over an open plateau, in the jungle where the native battle was about to take place. Our friends had left the town where the missionaries lived, and had hovered over the jungle, until they saw signs of the coming struggle. They had seen nothing of their English rivals since coming away, but had no doubt but that the Britishers were somewhere in the neighborhood.
The two forces of black men, who had gone to war over a dispute about some cattle, approached each other. There was the beating of tom-toms, and skin drums, and many weird shouts. From their vantage point in the air, Tom and his companions had an excellent view. The Wizard Camera was loaded with a long reel of film, and ready for action.
“Bless my handkerchief!” cried Mr. Damon, as he looked down on the forces that were about to clash. “I never saw anything like this before!”
“I either,” admitted Tom. “But, if things go right, I’m going to get some dandy films!”
Nearer and nearer the rival forces advanced. At first they had stared, and shouted in wonder at the sight of the airship, hovering above them, but their anger soon drew their attention to the fighting at hand, and, after useless gestures toward the craft of the air, and after some of them had vainly fired their guns or arrows at it, they paid no more attention, but rushed on with their shouts and cries and amid the beating of their rude drums.
“I think I’ll begin to take pictures now,” said Tom, as Ned, in charge of the ship, sent it about in a circle, giving a general view of the rival forces. “I’ll show a scene of the two crowds getting ready for business, and, later on, when they’re actually giving each other cats and dogs, I’ll get all the pictures possible.”
The camera was started while, safe in the air those on the Flyer watched what went on below them.
Suddenly the forward squads of the two small armies of blacks met. With wild, weird yells they rushed at each other. The air was filled with flying arrows and spears. The sound of the old-fashioned muzzle-loading guns could be heard, and clouds of smoke arose. Tilting his camera, and arranging the newly attached reflecting mirrors so as to give the effect as if a spectator was looking at the battle from in front, instead of from above, Tom Swift took picture after picture.
The fight was now on. With yells of rage and defiance the Africans came together, giving blow for blow. It was a wild melee, and those on the airship looked on fascinated, though greatly wishing that such horrors could be stopped.
“How about it, Tom?” cried Ned.
“Everything going good! I don’t like this business, but now I’m in it I’m going to stick. Put me down a little lower,” answered the young inventor.
“All right. I say Tom, look over there.”
“Where?”
“By that lightning-struck gum tree. See those two men, and some sort of a machine they’ve got stuck up on stilts? See it?”
“Sure. Those are the two Englishmen—my rivals! They’re taking pictures, too!”
And then, with a crash and roar, with wild shouts and yells, with volley after volley of firearms, clouds of smoke and flights of arrows and spears, the native battle was in full swing, while the young inventor, sailing above it in his airship, reeled off view after view of the strange sight.
CHAPTER XIX
A HEAVY LOSS
“Bless my battle axe, but this is awful!” cried Mr. Damon.
“War is always a fearful thing,” spoke Mr. Nestor. “But this is not as bad as if the natives fought with modern weapons. See! most of them are fighting with clubs, and their fists. They don’t seem to hurt each other very much.”
“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Damon. The two gentlemen were in the main cabin, looking down on the fight below them, while Tom, with Ned to help him change the reels of films, as they became filled with pictures, attended to the camera. Koku was steering the craft, as he had readily learned how to manage it.
“Are those Englishmen taking pictures yet?” asked Tom, too busy to turn his head, and look for himself.
“Yes, they’re still at,” replied Ned. “But they seem to be having trouble with their machine,” he added as he saw one of the men leave the apparatus, and run hurriedly back to where they had made a temporary camp.
“I guess it’s an old-fashioned kind,” commented Tom. “Say, this is getting fierce!” he cried, as the natives got in closer contact with each other. It was now a hand-to-hand battle.
“I should say so!” yelled Ned. “It’s a wonder those Englishmen aren’t afraid to be down on the same level with the black fighters.”
“Oh, a white person is considered almost sacred by the natives here, so the missionaries told me,” said Tom. “A black man would never think of raising his hand to one, and the Englishmen probably know this. They’re safe enough. In fact I’m thinking of soon going down myself, and getting some views from the ground.”
“Bless my gizzard, Tom!” cried Mr. Damon. “Don’t do it!”
“Yes, I think I will. Why, it’s safe enough. Besides, if they attack us we have the electric rifles. Ned, you tell Koku to get the guns out, to have in readiness, and then you put the ship down. I’ll take a chance.”
“Jove! You’ve been doing nothing but take chances since we came on this trip!” exclaimed Ned, admiringly. “All right! Here we go,” and he went to relieve Koku at the wheel, while the giant, grinning cheerfully at the prospect of taking part in the fight himself, got out the rifles, including his own.
Meanwhile the n
ative battle went on fiercely. Many on both sides fell, and not a few ran away, when they got the chance, their companions yelling at them, evidently trying to shame them into coming back.
As the airship landed, Mr. Damon, Mr. Nestor, Ned and Koku stood ready with the deadly electric rifles, in case an attack should be made on them. But the fighting natives paid no more attention to our friends than they did to the two Englishmen. The latter moved their clumsy camera from place to place, in order to get various views of the fighting.
“This is the best yet!” cried Tom, as, after a lull in the fight, when the two opposing armies had drawn a little apart, they came together again more desperately than before. “I hope the pictures are being recorded all right. I have to go at this thing pretty much in the dark. Say, look at the beggars fight!” he finished.
But a battle, even between uncivilized blacks, cannot go on for very long at a time. Many had fallen, some being quite severely injured it seemed, being carried off by their friends. Then, with a sudden rush, the side which, as our friends learned later, had been robbed of their cattle, made a fierce attack, overwhelming their enemies, and compelling them to retreat. Across the open plain the vanquished army fled, with the others after them. Tom, meanwhile, taking pictures as fast as he could.
“This ends it!” he remarked to Ned, when the warriors were too far away to make any more good views. “Now we can take a rest.”
“The Englishmen gave up some time ago,” said his chum, motioning to the two men who were taking their machine off the tripod.
“Guess their films gave out,” spoke Tom. “Well, you see it didn’t do any harm to come down, and I got some better views here.”
“Here they come back!” exclaimed Ned, as a horde of the black fellows emerged from the jungle, and came on over the plain.
“Hear ’em sing!” commented Tom, as the sound of a rude chant came to their ears. “They must be the winners all right.”
“I guess so,” agreed Ned. “But what about staying here now? Maybe they won’t be so friendly to us when they haven’t any fighting to occupy their minds.”
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 175
