CHAPTER XXIV

A VICTORY

Waiting in the darkness, looking down on the camp of the kidnapping Africans, Joe, Blake and the sergeant, and the blacks with them, listened for the echoes of the shots that would tell of the beginning of the attack. C. C. Piper and Mr. Duncan, with about half of the porters and Chako, were in the second party.

“I wonder what will happen,” asked Blake, “when the firing begins?”

“There’ll be one grand rush,” said Joe, “and it will be up to us to make it a worse one. The more we can demoralize them the better it will be for us.”

“That’s right,” agreed the sergeant. “Get ’em wild, so they don’t know what’s happening, and we can rush in there and make our rescues. I hope we shall be able to save some of the missionaries’ friends as well as your sister and Mr. and Mrs. Brown, Joe.”

“I hope so, too. Lucky we got here before they began their so-called religious ceremonies--these kidnappers.”

“That’s right. Chako said they might start to-morrow, though. We’re only just in time.”

“And it will soon be to-morrow,” spoke Blake, softly. “It will be daylight in a short time.”

They looked down on the camp. Here and there a sentinel fire could be seen burning dimly, but even the guards had gone to sleep, it seemed, for none could be observed pacing about. It was as the messenger had said--they all slept heavily toward morning.

“They ought to be there by this time,” said the sergeant after a long pause. “I wonder if anything could have happened to----”

He was interrupted by several shots that echoed through the night. The darkness, over on the far side of the camp, was cut by several jagged splinters of flame.

“There they go!” cried Blake.

“Now for the fireworks!” sang out his chum.

Once more came a burst of rifle fire from the other attacking party.

“Let ’em go!” shouted the sergeant.

The scene was now one of confusion. The blacks in their camp, suddenly awakened by the volleys, were rushing about, yelling at the top of their voices. They could not imagine what was going on. A few shots came in return--shots from old-fashioned muskets that did no harm.

Then, with a mighty roar, a big skyrocket shot over the African camp, scattering fire and sparks and colored balls in its train. It was followed by several others; Roman candles, and then several other forms of pyrotechnics, set off by Blake and Joe, shot through the darkness.

The effect was startling. The blacks who had started to run away from the rifle fire, harmless as it was, for the shots were directed into the air, were met by the rain of sparks from the aerial bombs and other pieces of Fourth of July ordnance the moving picture boys touched off. There was considerable noise, too, for some of the pieces burst with loud reports.

“How are you making out, Joe?” called Blake from the place where he had stationed himself--a sort of clearing behind a clump of mimosa trees.

“Fine and dandy. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m all right. I’ve set off a lot of those big skyrockets. Say, they’re peaches! Did you see how they burst?”

“I should say yes! One nearly went off before I was ready for it--too short a fuse. I got ready to run.”

“That’s right. Here goes for one of those bombs! I’m glad we had these things with us.”

“So am I!”

For a time the chums could not speak to each other, though but a short distance apart, for the noise of the fireworks was almost deafening. The jungle was lighted up with the hues of many-colored fires, and the wild beasts were thrown into a panic by the unusual demonstration.

There sounded the deep-voiced defiance of distant lions, which died away to be replaced by the shrill laughing-like sound of hyenas that were always hanging about, slinking around to see if they could not make a meal off what some stronger or more brave beast had killed.

Then would come the chatter of monkeys disturbed at their slumbers, or the scolding of parrots or other birds of the dense forest. It was as though the morning sun had unexpectedly risen and called into life all the inhabitants of the jungle.

Mr. Duncan came running up to where Joe and Blake were stationed, and, in the glare of a bursting rocket, they saw that his face was blackened with powder.

“Have you seen her, Joe?” he gasped. “Did you get a sight of her?”

“No, Dad,” replied the brother of the girl they had come so far to rescue.

“Did you, Blake?”

“No, Mr. Duncan. But it’s so dark, and we aren’t quite near enough to the camp yet. We’ll get her all right, never fear.”

“Oh, boys, I can’t help being worried. It means so much to me. Think how I would feel if those natives--those Africans--should turn against her at this last minute and----”

Mr. Duncan was so affected that he could not go on.

“Now, Dad, you don’t want to think anything like that!” exclaimed Blake, heartily. “We’ll scare these fellows so they won’t know where they’re at. Come on here! Help Blake and me set off some of these fireworks. We’ve got more than we can handle!” and he thrust into his father’s hand a torch used to ignite the fuses.

“That’s the way to talk to him!” said Blake, in a low voice. “Keep him occupied. Then he won’t think so much about your sister. I think she’s safe--don’t you, Joe?”

“I hope so.”

“Oh, she must be. Why, it was all quiet when we stole up, and we’ve been so busy ever since that they haven’t had time to rush off with her to another part of the jungle. They must think this is a shower of meteors, or something like that.”

“I hope they do,” murmured Joe, as he brought up another rocket from the box where the supply was kept.

The shooting of the pyrotechnics was kept up for some time longer. Then C. C. Piper, who had been industriously letting off bombs and Roman candles, seemed to beat his own energetic record. For there was a great burst of fire from where he had stationed himself, and then his voice was heard to call:

“Help! Come here! I’m getting shot!”

“What is it?” yelled Joe.

“Come here and you’ll see! I guess I must have--” his voice was drowned out in a burst of noise that sounded like the letting off of strings of firecrackers.

Guided by the glare and brightness, Joe and Blake rushed through the jungle to where their old friend had stationed himself. As they reached him they saw him rushing about in the midst of a lot of sparks, while all about him balls from Roman candles shot in various directions.

“What is it? What is it?” cried Blake.

“I dropped a match in a box of fireworks!” yelled Mr. Piper. “They’re going off!”

“I should say so,” agreed Joe.

As he spoke a skyrocket that must have been lying on the ground, or some flat surface, shot over his head with a whiz and a roar.

“Look out!” yelled Blake. But he need not have spoken, for Joe ducked instinctively and the rocket, colliding with a tree, burst with a loud report and a shower of fire.

Then came another, so close to C. C. that the actor’s clothes were set ablaze.

“Gee whiz!” cried Joe. “This is the limit!”

“Help! Help!” cried Mr. Piper, vainly endeavoring to beat out the flames.

Blake, seeing the danger, ran to a pool of water, and filling his hat, dashed the liquid over the man. The spray served to put out the flames, and Mr. Piper, beating out the last remaining sparks with his hands, tossed some damp earth on the smouldering box of fireworks.

“That’s over, anyhow!” he remarked with a sigh of relief.

“Come on!” yelled Joe. “One last volley and I think we’ll have ’em on the run!”

Then the native porters set up shouts of triumph. They were answered with wild yells of fear from the kidnappers. The shooting redoubled in its sound and glare.

“Give ’em all we have!” yelled Blake, as by the flare of the rockets he saw the mass of natives huddled in the centre of the village, too terrified to move.

“All we have--that’s right!” echoed Joe, as he sent another aerial bomb aloft. “It’s now or never.”

The fusillade was greeted with a chorus of groans and yells. Then there burst out a blaze from the centre of the village.

“One of the huts is on fire!” cried Blake. “The sparks have caught on the thatched roof!”

“And it’s the king’s, too!” yelled Joe. “Come on, or the other huts may catch--the ones where Jessie and the missionaries are. Come on!”

“Go ahead!” cried Sergeant Hotchkiss. “I guess we’ve got ’em on the run!”

And so they had. Endeavoring to escape from the fire of the guns on the south, the Africans had rushed to the north, there to be met with the fusillade of skyrockets and Roman candles. It was too much for their superstitious natures. They might stand a human assault, but the fire from heaven was too much.

With howls of fear they rushed off to one side--off into the jungle, deserting their village. Men, women and children fled, leaving their captives to those who had come to rescue them. It was a complete victory.

“Come on, Dad!” shouted Joe, as he and Blake rushed into the deserted native village, several huts of which were now ablaze. “We’ll get Jessie!”

“Jessie! Jessie! Where are you?” cried the anxious father. “We have come to save you!”