o land near, where we
might have beached the dhow and scattered. It was an hour before our
advantage of position dawned on us, and all the while the launch
approached us leisurely. She had plenty of fuel; the wood was piled
high above her gunwale in a stack toward the stern; but those on board
her seemed to take more pleasure in contemplation of our
defenselessness than in speed. She steamed twice around us slowly
before closing in; and then we made out Schillingschen's hairy shape,
leaning against the cord-wood with a rifle between his hands.

"Shoot him! Shoot him, by Jiminy!" urged Coutlass, but Fred was not so
previous as that. We were not yet on the defensive. We counted five
rifles, in addition to Schillingschen's protruding above the launch's
side, and we all took cover in the hope either that they might decide
we were not the dhow they waited for, or else that they might come very
close out of curiosity. For Fred had a plan of his own. Rifle in
hand, he crawled under the hot tarpaulin and lay flat on the reed deck,
Will crawling after him to snatch the rifle in case Fred should be hit.

"Steer straight toward 'em!" Fred called to me, as soon as it was
evident that the launch did not intend to pass us by. "Keep headed
toward them!"

That was not easy in the light wind, until Schillingschen tired of
staring at us and gave an order to the engineer. Then they laid the
launch broadside on to our bow at about two hundred yards' range, and
without a word of warning opened fire on us from all six rifles,
Schillingschen devoting his first attention to myself at the helm.

Our lone rifle cracked in reply, but they could not see Fred and did
not guess where to shoot in order to search him out. They came no
nearer, but circled slowly around us, only Schillingschen's bullets
appearing to come anywhere near the target, until a yell from below
showed what their real plan was and I understood why the sail was not
ripped and no bullets whistled overhead. They were shooting
through the planking of the dhow, endeavoring to massacre the helpless
crowd below, and no doubt to sink her and drown us as soon as she was
full enough of holes.

A wounded Nyamwezi came scrambling on deck, spouting blood from his
neck and crazed with fear. He jumped overboard and tried to swim
toward the launch, but one of the Germans hit him in the head at the
third shot and he disappeared. Then one of Schillingschen's elephant
bul