Read Tom Burnaby: A Story of Uganda and the Great Congo Forest Page 2

  _A belt of matted woodland. At the edge, three Belgian officers, inlight uniform and white topee, lying prone, and peering cautiously outthrough glasses. Before them, a wide clearing, with a mud-walled townin the midst, and huge forest-trees beyond. Behind, a few scorestalwart Bangala, strewn panting on the ground. Over all, the swarmingsunlit haze of tropical Africa._

  _The gates stand open; peace reigns in Kabambari. But what is peace inKabambari? Some hundreds of negro slaves are tilling sorghum in thecultivated tract outside the stockaded walls. Their chains clank asthey move heavily down the field, dogged by an Arab overseer armed withrifle, scimitar, and whip. The pitiless sun, scorching their bentbacks, blackens the scars left by the more pitiless scourge._

  _In the copse there is a whispered word of command; the negro soldiersspring silently to their feet, line up as best the broken groundpermits, and then, at the heels of their white officers, charge out intothe sunlight. No yell nor cheer, as they dash towards the open gate;the overseer, ere he can give the alarm, is bayoneted while his fingeris on the trigger; the slaves, listless, apathetic, have scarcely timeto realize their taskmaster's doom before the thin line has swept pastthem and through the gates. Then there is a sudden sharp crackle ofmusketry; cries of startled fear and savage triumph; and by ones andtwos and threes, turbaned figures pour out of the far side of the town,a scanty remnant of the Arab garrison. One by one they drop as theycross the open; only a few gain the shelter of the forest. The heirs ofTippu Tib are broken and dispersed. The struggle has been long, theissue doubtful; but now, after years of stern fighting, the great Arabempire, founded upon murder, rapine, and slavery, is scattered to thewinds. One thing only is wanting to make this last victory complete.Rumaliza, the Arab commander, Tippu Tib's ablest lieutenant, has escapedthe net. Whether to live and build anew the dread fabric raised by hislate chief; or whether to die in the gloomy depths of the Great Forestby starvation or disease, or by the poisoned arrow of the Bambute--whocan say?_