Part 36 (1/2)
At last there was a soft splas.h.i.+ng and he could dimly see them wade into the river. Their disputes were over, and they were going across in haste. Then the foremost of them plunged into a belt of mist, and for several minutes he watched their comrades press onwards from the tall gra.s.s and reeds. The water was gleaming faintly now, and they looked like a long black snake crawling through the midst of it until the filmy haze shut them in. At times a shouting came up through the splas.h.i.+ng and crackle of undergrowth. In the meanwhile the tail of the straggling column still winding down the side of the gorge was steadily growing plainer, and the haze commenced to slide and curl upwards in long filmy wisps, until at last Ormsgill scrambled to his feet with every nerve in him thrilling. The ringing of a bugle rose from beyond the river and was answered by another blast apparently from the rise behind him.
Then the splas.h.i.+ng ceased suddenly, and there was for a few moments a tense and almost intolerable silence, during which he stood still with one hand clenched until a clamor rose from the midst of the river, and he heard the dull thud of a flintlock gun. It was answered by a clear ringing crash of riflery, and then while the flintlocks and Sniders joined in, thin pale flashes blazed amidst the reeds and in the sliding mist. This lasted for, perhaps, a minute or two, until it became evident that the rebels were splas.h.i.+ng back again. Ormsgill could see them streaming out of the mist, and as he watched them another patter of riflery broke out upon the higher ground behind him.
A bugle rang shrilly, and he fancied he heard a white man's voice calling in the bush. Then looking round as one of the boys touched him, he saw that his guards were no longer there. They had evidently fled and left him to s.h.i.+ft for himself. He stood a minute considering, with the boys clamoring about him, and then made up his mind. The rebels were streaming back up the gorge, and it seemed to him just possible that if he separated himself from them he might slip away un.o.bserved in the press of the pursuit. Once across the river he might still reach the coast.
Calling to the boys he set out at a stumbling run, and for awhile skirted the ridge of bluff. The rebels were too intent on their own affairs to trouble about him, even if any of them noticed him, which appeared very doubtful. He struck the river half a mile below the spot where the negroes had attempted the crossing, and plunged in with the boys still about him. He could see them clearly now, and the bush showed sharp and black against the sky. There was a desultory patter of riflery behind him, but except for that he could hear very little, and he pushed on with the water rising rapidly to his waist. It was as much as he could do to keep his feet, for the stream ran strong. Then one of the boys clutched him and held him up, and for the next few minutes they struggled desperately in a swifter swirl of current until the water sank again suddenly, and he stood, gasping, knee-deep in the yellow stream, looking about him.
It was broad daylight now, and he could see a steep bank clothed with thick bush and brushwood close by. There was a little hollow in it up which the mist that still drifted about the river was flowing, and calling to his boys he headed for it. Nothing seemed to indicate that there were any troops in the vicinity. They floundered dripping through a belt of tall gra.s.s, and were clambering up the slope when one of the boys laid a wet hand upon his arm and the rest stood still suddenly. Ormsgill felt his heart beating a good deal faster than usual, though he could see nothing but trees in front of him. He was on the point of pus.h.i.+ng on again when a voice came out of the sliding haze.
”Stand still,” it said sharply in Portuguese. ”We will shoot the first who stirs.”
Ormsgill made a sign to the boys, and in another moment several black soldiers appeared among the trees. A white sergeant in very soiled uniform moved out from among them and stood surveying him with a little sardonic grin.
”There are half a dozen rifles here,” he said. ”You surrender yourselves?”
Ormsgill made a little gesture. ”Senor,” he said, ”it is evident that we are in your hands.”
The man beckoned him to come forward with the boys, and a few more black soldiers who rose out of the undergrowth closed in on them.
Ormsgill turned quietly to the sergeant.
”You have been too much for the bushmen,” he said. ”Who is commanding you?”
”Dom Clemente,” said the sergeant. ”He has trapped those pigs of the forest. That is a wonderful man. You will wait here until I can send you to him. Whether he will have you shot I do not know.”
In spite of this observation he appeared a good-humored person, and presently offered Ormsgill a cigarette. The latter, who sat down near the sergeant and smoked it, waited until a patrol came along, when the black soldier in command marched him and the boys through the undergrowth, and at length led him into the presence of Dom Clemente.
He sat in state at a little table, immaculate in trim white uniform, with two black men with rifles standing behind him. Another white officer and a dusky interpreter who stood close by had apparently been interrogating a couple of rebel prisoners. They squatted upon the ground gazing at the white men with apprehension in their eyes. Dom Clemente made Ormsgill a little formal salutation, and then leaned back in his chair.
”This meeting reminds me of another occasion when you were brought before me, Senor and you were then frank with me,” he said. ”I might suggest that candor would be equally advisable just now. I hear that San Roque has fallen, and it appears that you were there. I must ask you to tell me in what capacity.”
”As a prisoner in the hands of the rebels,” said Ormsgill.
Dom Clemente nodded. ”It is on the whole fortunate that I think one could take your word for it,” he said. ”You are desired to tell us what happened at San Roque.”
Ormsgill did so quietly, though he said as little as possible about his own share in the proceedings, and afterwards answered the questions the other officer asked him until Dom Clemente turned to him again.
”It seems that Dom Erminio has, at least, acquitted himself creditably in this affair,” he observed. ”All things considered, I do not know that one has much occasion to be sorry for him. Dom Luiz, too, went down beside his gun. Well, that is, after all, what one would have expected from him.”
Then he made a little gesture. ”You will understand that there are matters which demand my attention, and I may have something more to say later. In the meanwhile you will give me your parole. The boys will be looked after.”
Ormsgill pledged himself to make no attempt at escape, and was led away to a little tent where food was brought him and he was told he was to stay. He realized that Dom Clemente had struck the rebels a crus.h.i.+ng blow, one from which there was little probability of their recovering, but what was being done about the pursuit he did not know, though he fancied that a body of troops had crossed the river. Still, that did not greatly concern him, and worn-out and dejected as he was he was glad to fall asleep. It was evening when he awakened as a black soldier looked into the tent, and a few minutes later Dom Clemente came in and sat down in the camp chair the soldier had brought.
Ormsgill sat on the ground sheet, heavy-eyed, tattered, and haggard, and waited for him to speak.
”I shall go on to-morrow when more troops come up, and you will come with us. There are matters that require attention yonder,” he said.
”In the meanwhile I have had the boys you brought down interrogated, and the story they tell me is in some respects a fantastic one. It is, I fancy, fortunate for your sake that I am acquainted with several facts which seem to bear it out.”
Ormsgill was a trifle astonished, but Dom Clemente smiled. ”It is,” he said, ”advisable that one in authority should hear of everything, but it is not always wise that he should make that fact apparent. One waits until the time comes--and then, as was the case this morning, one acts.”
He spread out one slender, faintly olive-tinted hand and then brought it down upon the table closed with an unexpected sharpness that was very expressive.