CHAPTER XV. A NATURAL GRAVE.

The single shot from our opponents was quickly replied to by myself and my companions, and we had the satisfaction of seeing half-a-dozen Arabs fall backward from the path and disappear in the soft sand. Instantly the rattle of musketry was deafening, and over my head bullets whistled unpleasantly close. The weapon with which I was armed was old-fashioned, and as I fired it time after time it grew hot, and the smoke became so thick that everything was obscured.

Meanwhile fierce hand-to-hand fighting was taking place between the vanguard of the Arabs and a dozen of our men led by Omar. Fiendish yells and shouts sounded on every side as they hacked at each other with their long curved knives, each fearing to step aside lest he should be swallowed by the sand. Once or twice, as the chill night wind parted the smoke, I saw Omar and our Dagombas struggling bravely against fearful odds. Omar had cast aside his gun and, armed with a keen jambiyah, had engaged two tall, muscular Arabs, both of whom he succeeded in hurling from the path, gashed and bleeding, to instant death.

Those behind him, armed with long spears with flat double-edged points similar to the assegais of the Zulus, were enabled to reach and dispatch several of the Arabs who had lost their guns or discarded their pistols for their knives. Situated as we were on the angle of the secret path the enemy were to our right. Their fire upon us was very hot and effective. Their aim was so true and their bullets so deadly, that very soon fully a dozen of our brave escort had sunk wounded, disappearing in the terrible sea of sand.

Suddenly a noise sounded about me like the swish of the sea, startling me for a second, but instantly I saw what had caused it. The Dagombas had let loose a flight of poisoned arrows upon our opponents.

From that moment their fire became weaker, and time after time my companions, kneeling upon the ground, drew their bows and released those terrible darts, the slightest scratch from which produced tetanus and almost instant death. Each arrow was smeared with a dark red substance, and their deadly effect was sufficiently proved by the manner in which the ranks of Samory's men were soon decimated. Dozens of Arabs, touched by the poisonous darts, staggered unevenly, and falling to earth sank into the unstable sand, while the red flash of their line of muskets visibly decreased.

Around Omar our men pressed valiantly, and several with bows discharged their missiles with fatal effect, sweeping away the Arabs one by one and apparently striking terror into the hearts of the others. Arabs are not so vulnerable by arrows as other people on account of their voluminous robes, which savage weapons seldom penetrate, it being only head, legs and hands that arrows can reach. Nevertheless so full were the quivers of our sable escort, that the flights were of sufficient magnitude to reach the unprotected parts of the Arabs and lay dozens of them low.

One native next me, whose bow had constantly been bent, suddenly received a bullet full in the breast and was knocked backward off his feet by the concussion. So swiftly was he swallowed by the shifting sand, that ere I could glance behind he had already been buried. Of all who fell, not a single body remained, for if they dropped dead upon the path they were pushed aside in the mêlée and instantly disappeared. Again and again our companions sent up their shrill yells and the war-drum was thumped with ear-piercing effect, while opposition shouts rose from our Arab enemies. Still the fight continued as stubborn as it had begun. Omar, with loud shouts of encouragement, fought on with unerring hand, cutting, thrusting and hacking at his opponents until they stumbled to their doom, while across our line of vision where the fire of Arab musketry blazed in the choking smoke, the thin deadly arrows sped, striking our enemies and sweeping them into a natural grave.

Fearing to tread lest I should fall into the terrible quicksand, I knelt and kept up a continuous fire with my musket, shooting into the dense smoke whenever I saw the flash of an Arab gun. It was exciting work, not knowing from one second to another whether the ping of a bullet would bring death. Still I knew that to save our own lives we must sweep away the host of invaders, and, reassured by the knowledge that Omar had met with no mishap, I kept on, heedless of all dangers, thinking only of the ultimate rout of our enemy.

How long the terrible fight lasted I know not. We stood our ground, the majority of us kneeling, engaging the Arabs in mortal combat for, I believe, considerably over an hour. Several times the firing seemed so strong that I feared we should be vanquished, nevertheless the Dagombas proved themselves a valiant, stubborn race, well versed in savage warfare, for the manner in which they shot their arrows was admirable, and even at the decisive moment when all seemed against us they never wavered, but kept on, fierce and revengeful as in the first moments of the fight.

Gradually, when Omar's voice had been heard a dozen times urging us on to sweep every invader from our path and not to let a single man escape, we found our enemy's fire slackening. The smoke, moved by the sand-laden wind that swept across the plain each night after sundown, became less dense, and at last we realized that the tide of battle had turned in our favour, and that we were conquerors.

Then, loud fierce yells rose from the Dagombas and with one accord we struggled to our feet. Each with his hand upon the shoulder of his companion in front we moved cautiously forward, shooting now and then as we went. But the reply to our fire was now spasmodic, and we were convinced that only a few of the Arabs survived.

For some minutes we ceased the struggle and moved forward, but suddenly, to our amazement, a long line of muskets again blazed forth upon us, committing serious havoc in our ranks. We were victims of a ruse!

This aroused the anger of the Dagombas, who recommenced the fight with almost demoniacal fierceness, and as the van of both forces struggled hand-to-hand, we found ourselves slowly but surely gaining ground until half an hour later we were standing upon the path where our enemies had stood when they had attacked us, and of that long line of Samory's picked fighting-men not a single survivor remained.

We had given no quarter. All had been swallowed in that awful gulf of ever-shifting sand. When we had thoroughly convinced ourselves of this we threw ourselves down upon the narrow pathway, and slept heavily till dawn.

When I awoke and gazed eagerly around, I saw that although a number of our men were wounded, their limbs being hastily bandaged, yet few were missing. Of our enemies, however, all had either fallen wounded, or had been hurled from the secret path and overwhelmed by the sand.

A high wind constantly blew, and I noticed that this kept the grains of sand always in motion, thus preventing the surface from solidifying. Waves appeared every moment, ever changing and disappearing in a manner amazing. At one moment a high ridge would be seen before us, appearing as a formidable obstacle to our progress, yet a moment later it would be swept away by an invisible force.

The rosy flush of dawn had been superseded by the saffron tints that are precursory of the sun's appearance when we moved forward again on our cautious march. Our companions, though far from fresh and many of them seriously wounded, were all in highest spirits and full of their brilliant victory. It had indeed been a gratifying achievement, and now, feeling that at least their gods were favourable to their journey, they pushed forward with eyes scanning the far-off horizon where lay the mysterious realm.

During our march that day, Kona, the headman of the Dagombas, on account of three men behind me having fallen in the fight, occupied a place immediately at my rear, and thus I was enabled to hold conversation with him.

"It was a near thing, that fight last night," he exclaimed in the language that Omar had taught me. "But our arrows wrought surer execution than the Arab bullets. The desert-dwellers are no match for the forest-people."

"No," I answered. "Your men are indeed brave fellows, and are entitled to substantial reward."

"I have no fear of that," he said. "The great Naya is always just. She stretches forth her powerful hand to protect the weaker tribes, and smites the raiders with sword and pestilence. What her son promises is her promise. Her word is never broken."

"Have you ever seen her?" I inquired.

"Never. Our king once saw one of her messengers who brought the royal staff and made palaver. To us, as to all other men outside her country, she is known as the Great White Queen."

"Tell me what more you know of her?" I urged.

"Very little," he answered. "In every part of the land, from the great black waters to the Niger and far beyond, even to the sun-scorched country of the Maghrib, her fame is known to all men. She is rich, mighty and mysterious. Her power is dreaded throughout the forests and the grass-plains, and it is said that in her wrath her voice is so terrible that even the mountains quake with fear."

"By what means do her fighting-men come forth from her unapproachable land?" I inquired, remembering that we were travelling by the secret way known only to herself and Omar.

"I know not," he replied. "The manner in which the hosts of Mo appear and disappear have, from time immemorial, formed a subject of speculation among our people. That they have appeared on the Ashanti border and sacked and burned many towns in retaliation for some outrages committed by the Ashantis upon our people is well-known, but by what route they came or returned is a mystery. Some say they came like flocks of birds through the air; others declare that they can transfer themselves from one place to another and become invisible at will. Neither of these theories I myself believe, for I am convinced that between the land of Mo and the Great Salt Road there exists a secret means of communication, so that the armies of the Naya can appear so suddenly and unexpectedly as to escape the vigilance of their enemy's scouts. Many are the battles they have fought and great the slaughter. In the slave-land of Samory they engaged twelve moons ago the pick of the Arab army, and defeated them with appalling loss. It is said, too, that they carry some of the strange guns made by your people, the white men."

"You mean Maxims," I said.

"I know not their name, nor have I ever seen one," he answered. "I have heard, however, from a Sofa who fought against the English in the last war, that the weapons are so light that a man can easily carry one, and that when fired they shed streams of bullets like water from a spout. A single gun is equal to the fire of two hundred men. Truly you white men possess many marvels."

"Yes," I said, smiling at his unbounded admiration for the weapon. "But is it not strange that the Naya should also possess similar marvels?"

"No. Everything is strange in the land of the Great White Queen. It is said to be a country full of amazing mysteries. Many are the extraordinary stories related by my people of the wonders of Mo; wonders that we shall ere long witness with our own eyes."

"What are the stories?" I asked, keenly interested. "Tell me one."

"There are so many," he answered, "I do not know which one to tell. One, however, will illustrate the awe with which the Naya is regarded, even by the powerful Prempeh, King of Ashanti. A story is current that one day, many moons ago, the King had ordered a great 'custom' to take place in Kumassi. War had been declared against the Queen of the English, and in order to obtain the good graces of the fetish a thousand slaves were ordered to be sacrificed. All was ready and the king sat upon his stool awaiting the decapitation of the first victim, when suddenly there swept down from above a large white dove, which, after circling for a moment above the monarch's umbrella, perched upon the edge of the execution bowl. The executioner swept it aside with his ready sword, but in an instant, by some invisible power, the broad-bladed weapon fused and melted as if in a furnace, while the executioner himself, struck down as if by lightning, fell upon his face stone dead. Still the dove remained where it had perched with its head turned towards the ruler of the Ashantis. A second executioner, ere it was discovered that the first was dead, struck at the bird with his hand, and he too, as well as a third and fourth, were similarly smitten with death. 'It is an evil omen!' the people cried, and Prempeh, his eyes rivetted upon the white, innocent-looking bird, trembled. Suddenly, one of the sages at the king's right hand cried: 'See, O Master! It is the Great White Queen, the ruler of Mo! She taketh the form of a dove when she seeketh the destruction of her enemies!' Then spake the dove, saying: 'Yea, O hated king who sheddeth the blood of the innocent and exalteth the guilty. The sacrifice of victims to the fetish shall not avail thee, for I, Naya of Mo, tell thee that thy downfall is at hand, and thine enemies the English will press their way from the great sea, bridge the Prah, and cut a road across the great forest to this thy capital, where thou shalt make abject submission to their head-man and shall be carried into degrading captivity by them. Thy treasures shall be seized, the tombs of thy fathers shall be opened and desecrated, thy fetish-trees shall be cut down and thy slaves shall revel in thy palace. And it is I, in my present form, who shall guide the white men unto their victory.' The king, dumbfounded at these ominous words proceeding from the beak of a bird, rose to retort, but ere a word left his mouth the dove spread its wings and flew away northward in the direction of the land we are now approaching."

"That's merely a tale," I observed, laughing at this latest illustration of the African's belief in the impossible.

"Of course. You asked me for one of the stories told by our people," Kona said. "I have told you one."

"Do you believe that this Great White Queen is invested with such extraordinary power that she can cause herself to be invisible, and while bringing destruction to her enemies, assist her friends?" I asked.

"I know not what to believe," he replied in honest bewilderment. "So many are the tales I have heard that I find it impossible to believe all, and have ended by disbelieving most. Many of the men with us firmly believe at this moment that the Naya, invisible, is at our head guiding her son across the Way of the Thousand Steps, and that to her our victory last night was due. Our fate lies in her hands."

"Well," I answered, amused, "it matters not who leads us so long as we enter the promised land. At any rate we could have no better nor more trustworthy guide than he who is at our head."

Next second, a loud cry from Omar attracted our attention.