ffee, "there's
something going on there."

The clamour grew louder and louder till it seemed to fill the skies with
a concentrated noise of curses and shrieking. Distinct from it, as it
were, I heard shouts of alarm and rage, and then came the sounds of
gunshots, yells of agony and the thud of many running feet. By now
the light was growing fast, as it does when once it comes in these
latitudes. Three more minutes, and through the grey mist of the dawn
we saw dozens of black figures struggling up the slope towards us. Some
seemed to have logs of wood tied behind them, others crawled along on
all fours, others dragged children by the hand, and all yelled at the
top of their voices.

"The slaves are attacking us," said Stephen, lifting his rifle.

"Don't shoot," I cried. "I think they have broken loose and are taking
refuge with us."

I was right. These unfortunates had used the two knives which our men
smuggled to them to good purpose. Having cut their bonds during the
night they were running to seek the protection of the Englishmen and
their flag. On they surged, a hideous mob, the slave-sticks still fast
to the necks of many of them, for they had not found time or opportunity
to loose them all, while behind came the Arabs firing. The position
was clearly very serious, for if they burst into our camp, we should
be overwhelmed by their rush and fall victims to the bullets of their
captors.

"Hans," I cried, "take the men who were with you last night and try
to lead those slaves round behind us. Quick! Quick now before we are
stamped flat."

Hans darted away, and presently I saw him and the two other men running
towards the approaching crowd, Hans waving a shirt or some other white
object to attract their attention. At the time the foremost of them had
halted and were screaming, "Mercy, English! Save us, English!" having
caught sight of the muzzles of our guns.

This was a fortunate occurrence indeed, for otherwise Hans and his
companions could never have stopped them. The next thing I saw was the
white shirt bearing away to the left on a line which led past the fence
of our _boma_ into the scrub and high grass behind the camp. After it
struggled and scrambled the crowd of slaves like a flock of sheep after
the bell-wether. To them Hans's shirt was a kind of "white helmet of
Navarre."

So that danger passed by. Some of the slaves had been struck by the Arab
bullets or trodden down in the rush or collapsed from