Biggles and the Black Raider

by Capt. W. E. Johns

  The two natives, to his alarm, now began to cast about as if looking for tracks. Then, rounding some bushes, they saw the fire which, although Ginger had stamped it out, was still smouldering. Crouching, spears ready instant use, they advanced towards it. What happened after that Ginger did not know, for some trees coming between them, hiding them from view, gave him an opportunity to remove himself from a locality that had become one to be avoided. Moving quickly but carefully in order to leave no track he hastened into the nearest cover, and still keeping a watchful eye on the bamboos, carried on towards his objective.

  It was a nervous, uncomfortable walk. He could see nothing, hear nothing, to account for it but he could not shake off a feeling that he was not alone, that something was likely to happen at any moment; and his nerves became taut as a result. He stopped often to peer ahead, and to look behind him. In particular he feared that the natives he had seen might be expert enough to follow his footsteps, although he had put his feet down with the greatest care. He wondered where the men were, and what they were doing. He almost wished that he could see them. A peril that can be seen is often less disturbing than the one that is suspected, but remains unseen. However, he made progress, and in rather more than an hour had covered what he judged to be about three miles, without encountering anything more dangerous than a warthog.

  He should now, he estimated, be opposite to the place to which Biggles had referred. He had no proof of this. The bamboos were too tall, and he was too close to see over them. All he could see was the edge of the green bamboo belt. For a moment he considered checking his position by climbing some distance up the hill behind him; but he soon abandoned the idea because it would take time, and he did not want to keep Biggles waiting longer than was absolutely necessary. The alternative was to climb a tree, although he was not sure that this would give him enough elevation.

  Deciding that it would not take long to put the matter to the test he chose a tree, parked his equipment at the foot of it, and went up. From the top a glance told him all he needed to know. He was at the right place. The bamboo swamp was a mere three hundred yards or so across, with a fringe of brown elephant- grass, on the far side. This was not all he saw. Out in the open, sitting on a knoll beyond the elephant grass was Bertie, evidently waiting for him to appear.

  In his delight Ginger nearly let out a hail: but the recollection of the two natives checked, him, which as events turned out was a fortunate thing.

  Descending the tree with some haste he picked up his gear and started blithely on the last lap of his journey, confident that his troubles were at an end. Whether or not the secret road continued on through this narrow part of the swamp he did not know, although he imagined that it did. But now that he was within sight of home, so to speak, he did not give the matter serious consideration.

  In the light of what happened he felt that he should have done; felt that he should have acted on the assumption that the two natives he had seen were not alone. Their furtive manner made it almost certain that they were members of the Elephant's gang, in which case it was unlikely that they would be far from the main body. However, at the time, in his haste to get back to Biggles he gave no thought to this but plunged into the tangle of vegetation determined to put it behind him in the shortest possible space of time.

  The going, he found, was not easy. For one thing the ground was softer than he expected. At one point, the lowest part of the swamp, he found himself in sheer bog in which he sank to the knees, with the result that he got very hot and angry. But presently the ground began rise a little, so that there was some drainage, and the going became. firmer. He stopped to mop his streaming face before making his final effort.

  He was about to move on when, from somewhere ahead of him, there came a sound that caused him to freeze in his tracks from shock, so unexpected was it. It was a human voice, pitched in a sort of husky whisper. For a moment, wondering if he had heard aright, he stood motionless, heart palpitating, listening for a repetition of the sound. None came, but he thought he detected a rustle as if something or someone, was moving. This

  threw him into a state of indecision. He did not feel like going back. Nor, for that matter, did he feel like going on. But as he could not remain where he was he decided that the thing to do was find out what was ahead of him, if it could be done without taking any outrageous risks. Very slowly, therefore, and taking infinite pains not to make a sound, he went forward, parting the bamboos gently with his hands and peering ahead before taking each step.

  In a few minutes his worst fears were realised. Just in front of him the bamboos thinned, and there, crossing his path, running lengthways down the swamp, was the secret road. But it was no longer deserted. It was animated with black bodies, at least a score of them, a few carrying rifles but the majority armed with spears. They were moving about quickly and silently under the hand signals of an enormous African who, in ostrich-feather head-dress and leopard-skin kaross, could only be the Elephant himself. Ginger could not see his face. His back was towards him, as was the case with most of the men, who were being lined out on the far side of the track. At that moment Ginger could have shot the man quite easily, and he was to wish later that he had done so.

  It did not take him long to work out what was happening. Cetezulu knew what he himself knew; that Bertie was sitting just beyond the fringe of the swamp. Taken by surprise, he would be an easy victim. The others were no doubt there, too, equally unprepared for an attack. The Mosquito could not be far away. Cetezulu, moving with his gang along the track, had probably seen it land. Indeed, had he been within a mile he could hardly have failed to do so. It must have been Cetezulu who, seeing smoke, had sent two men to investigate. So thought Ginger.

  These thoughts went through his head in a flash, throwing him into a state of agitation that can easily be imagined. It was obvious that he would have to do something, and quickly. What could he do? His first idea was a warning shot and then run. But that, he realised, be sheer suicide. The Elephant's men would, be on him before he could get clear of the swamp. He would have no chance at all. He might shoot one or two but the end was inevitable.

  His next plan, he thought, was a better one. It would convey the necessary warning to Bertie, yet give him an opportunity to conceal himself until the others took a hand, as he was sure they would. In a moment he had turned about and was retracing his steps at a speed which, a. short while before, he would have thought impossible. His great fear now was that the Elephant would launch his attack before he could sound the alarm.

  Panting with excitement and exertion Ginger got clear of the swamp and raced for the tree from which he had made his reconnaissance. Dropping everything except the rifle, which he slung on his shoulder, he went up the tree in a-way that would have done credit to a monkey. Reaching a convenient crutch he threw a leg over it and looked out. His relief was great when he saw that Bertie was still there, in the same position. He was obviously unaware of what was going on within a hundred yards of him. For the rest, nothing had changed.

  Unslinging his rifle Ginger pushed a cartridge into the breech, took quick aim at a spot a few yards to Bertie's right, and pulled the trigger. The shock had the desired result. Indeed, it nearly defeated its object, for it kicked up a spurt of dust much nearer to Bertie than Ginger intended, striking the ground within a yard of him. However, it succeeded in its purpose, and the speed with which Bertie moved would in different circumstances have brought a smile to Ginger's face.

  Snatching up the rifle that had lain beside him, Bertie sprang to his feet, and holding the weapon ready for use backed quickly behind the knoll. Other movements caught Ginger's eye. Algy came into sight, running, some distance farther along the swamp. Biggles sprang into view from a group of trees some way back. Looking hard, Ginger could just make out the Mosquito parked in the shade of them.

  He hoped, and expected, that this would be the end of the affair. Cetezulu, he thought, seeing that his surprise attack had failed, would withdraw. Th
is did not happen.

  The thing may have gone too far. Possibly some of the Elephant’s men took the shot to be the signal for attack. At all events, from the far edge of the swamp where they must have been waiting burst a ragged line of natives. Yelling, they charged up the slope of the knoll that Bertie had chosen for a look-out. Shots cracked. A native pitched headlong. The others ran on. Ginger was appalled by the speed of all this, for it began to look as if Biggles might be overwhelmed after all. Bertie and Algy were both retiring on the aircraft, but the pursuit was swift, and Ginger did not see how the Mosquito could be started up and get clear before it was attacked.

  What followed held him tense with surprise as well as anxxiety. Clearly, it was the result of some quick thinking on Biggles's part. Ginger could hear him shouting, although to what purpose he did not know. Apparently the others understood. Biggles sprang into the cockpit of the machine. Bertie and Algy, perhaps fifty yards ahead of the nearest native, ran straight to the tail unit, put their shoulders under it, and lifted. This of course brought the Mosquito into flying position with its fuselage parallel with the ground. Another instant and its four Browning machine guns were streaming flame as they swept the ground in front with a hail of lead. The effect of this was instantaneous, and not surprising. Most of the natives turned and fled back to the swamp—those that were able to. A few swerved to one side, either to get out of the line of fire or to force home their attack from the flanks; but Bertie slewed the machine round to cover the threatened direction and a short burst was sufficient to cause them to change their minds. That was really the end business as far as the actual fighting was concerned. It was also nearly the end of Ginger.

  He had his rifle snuggled into his shoulder hoping to catch sight of the Elephant, and so he did not notice that the Mosquito had been swung back to cover the swamp. Either by accident or design, Algy and Bertie dropped the tail just as Biggles fired a final burst. The bullets, sweeping low, over the tops of the bamboos, sprayed the area beyond, some of them slashing chips from branches of the very tree in which Ginger was ensconced. Dropping his rifle, he went down the tree even faster than he had climbed it, and made haste to get behind trunk. And there he squatted, weak from reaction, while silence settled over the scene.

  Presently he heard the Mosquito start up and take off, to fly up and down, sometimes over the swamp and sometimes beyond it, as if Biggles were trying to locate the blacks. He thought he heard gun shots above the roar the motors, but he was not sure. As he expected, Biggles failed to find anything, and after a little while he heard the machine go down in its original position.

  Controlling his impatience, Ginger sat still for about half an hour to give the situation a chance to settle; or, to be more precise, to give Cetezulu and his gang a chance to remove themselves from the locality. After what had happened he did not think the Elephant would try more charging tactics; nor would he linger within range of machine guns. Ginger kept close watch on his side the swamp, but seeing no movement of any sort he rose at last to his feet, and with some trepidation, rifle at the ready, set about the passage of the bamboos.

  With what care he approached the secret road can be imagined. But there was nobody on it, so he crossed quickly, and pressing on, emerged from the elephant-grass just in time to prevent Biggles and Bertie from entering it a little lower down, to look—as they presently explained—for his dead body.

  "Are you all right?" was Biggles anxious greeting.

  "Right as rain," answered Ginger.

  "D'you know what's happened here?"

  Ginger looked pained. "Do I know? Have a heart! I started it."

  "You started it!"

  "Too true I did."

  "Why?"

  "Because there seemed to be a fair chance of Berttie being turned into a pincushion."

  "How did you start it?"

  "By rattling the pebbles near Bertie's elbow with a bullet."

  "Did you do that?" cried Bertie in a shocked voice.

  "I did," confessed Ginger. "I tried to warn you."

  "I'd have you know, my lad," said Bertie seriously "you thundering nearly hit me."

  "I aimed about ten yards to the right of you."

  "Then the sooner you put in some target practice, the healthier it will be for the rest of us. Yes, by Jingo," declared Bertie "you made me drop my eyeglass. Luckily it fell on the grass."

  "If I hadn't popped off that shot you wouldn't be needing one by now," Ginger told him indignantly. "If that's all the thanks I get for—"

  "All right, stop talking rot," broke in Biggles. He looked at Ginger. "Was the Elephant in that bunch?"

  "He was."

  "Did you see him?"

  "I think so. At any irate there was a big negro all dolled up with feathers, lions' tails and leopard-skins. It must have been the Elephant."

  "Smart guy;" sneered Bertie. "He was too smart to charge with his pals. He sat back while they did the dirty work."

  "Where were you all this time?" demanded Biggles, addressing Ginger.

  " Up a tree."

  "Doing what?"

  "With the place crawling with cannibals, what d'you think I was doing—making daisy chains?"

  Biggles smiled. "Okay. You look about all in. Let's get back to the machine and talk about it."

  "What about the casualties?" enquired Ginger, looking round.

  "The enemy took them with him, to save leaving evidence lying about, I imagine," answered Biggles. "He's welcome to them. It saves us a lot of trouble. The Elephant is the man I want. By the way; did you see which way they went? I know they disappeared into the swamp but I didn't see a movement, afterwards. I could see no sign of them from the air."

  "I'll tell you why you couldn't see them when I've had a drink and found somewhere to sit," promised Ginger. "I don't mind telling you that what with storms, gorillas, savages and what have you, I've had enough to go with."

  "What you really need, old boy, is a bath," murmured Bertie sadly. "You may not have noticed it, but you positively stink."

  "You should be glad I'm here for you to notice it," returned Ginger grimly. "But for me, you wouldn't be able to smell anything by this time. If you don't like my aroma, go and carry on with your sun-bathing."

  They reached the trees. Algy was there. Biggles produced a flask of coffee. Ginger threw himself on the ground and drank deeply. "That's better!" he sighed.

  "Now tell us about it," requested Biggles. "You can take your time. There's no great hurry. Algy, keep an eye on those bamboos, in case the Elephant decides to have another go at us."

  Sitting in the shade, Ginger narrated all that had happened to him since he put Mishu down at Latonga.

  "Jolly good show, old boy!" murmured Bertie, when he concluded. "No joke bumping into a gorilla, no, by Jove!"

  "What's the next move?" Ginger asked Biggles. "It's a pity about the Auster," murmured Biggles, "but there, these things will happen. I don't see that we can do anything about it. All we can do is go back to Kampala."

  "Why Kampala?" Ginger looked surprised.

  "What else can we do?"

  "How about keeping the Elephant on the trot?"

  "Where?"

  "In the bulrushes."

  Biggles shook his head. "Waste of time. What you may not realise is, that bamboo belt stretches for close on two hundred miles. In places it's over ten miles wide. We're only on

  the southern end of it here. We might rattle it with lead for a month without hitting anything. No. Our best chance is to watch the other end. The Elephant is still heading north. He's bound to come out somewhere. When he does we'll be waiting. But we'll talk more about when we get home. Let's go."

  CHAPTER 8 DEATH INTERVENES

  For the next few days patrols were maintained over the zone north of where Cetezulu and his followers had disappeared. In particular, watch was kept on the end of the bamboo belt; but it was all without result. The Black Elephant might have sunk into the swamp for all the signs there were of him. Yet
, as Biggles remarked, there was nothing surprising about this. Indeed, it was only to be expected, for not only was there unlimited cover, but the Elephant was merely employing the tactics in which, from long practice, he had become expert; tactics which had enabled him for so long to defy retribution. For even in Africa the law has a long arm.

  Ginger flew up to Latonga to see if Mishu had any news. But the Masai was not there, and had left no word of his whereabouts. Ginger waited all day but did not see him. Simmonds appeared to have departed. At all events, he was not at the Rest House.

  Biggles spent a good deal of time studying the map, marking off the estimated day's march of the Elephant, if he were still heading northwards. This, of course, could give only the roughest possible idea of Cetezulu's position, but it was the only method available. Biggles reckoned that the gang, if it had carried on at its usual speed, must have reached Lake Albert, which forms the boundary between Northern Uganda and the Belgian Congo. On the Belgian side, the country between the lake and the Blue Mountains was such that air reconnaissance was really a waste of time. The Elephant, Biggles opined, was in it; in which case nothing could be done until he broke cover at the north end, where the Albert Nile, which rises at the lake, flows into the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan. He said he was considering moving the base to Juba, in order to be nearer the suspected area, which would save a certain amount of flying time.

  At this juncture an event occurred which, while not directly affecting the operation, threw the whole party into a state of gloom, which smouldered into anger, and had the effect of an added incentive to maintain the hunt to the bitter end no matter how long it might take. As Algy put it, it made the matter a personal one.

  What happened was this.

  Bertie and Algy had just come in from a dawn patrol in the Mosquito—they had been looking for the enemy's cooking-fires—and they were all standing on the airfield talking the matter over, when there appeared from the north an aircraft which was quickly- identified as a Puss Moth of pre-war design. It landed and took on some fuel. All this was so commonplace that nobody paid much attention; but presently, when the occupant—the pilot was flying solo—came walking briskly towards them, they paid more attention, thinking it might be someone they knew. It turned out to be a stranger, a young man of about twenty, keen-eyed, alert, and the very picture of health. He introduced himself as Bruce Allan of Edinburgh. He was a member of the University Air Squadron.