"Take the rudder," he shouted to me,
"take her into the middle of the stream and keep the sail
Full." It
occurred to me that perhaps a position underneath the bamboo staging
might be more healthy than one on the top of it, exposed to every
microbe of a bit of old iron and what not and a half that according
to native testimony would shortly be frisking through the atmosphere
from those Fan guns; and moreover I had not forgotten having been
previously shot in a somewhat similar situation, though in better
company. However I did not say anything; neither, between
ourselves, did I somehow believe in those Fans. So regardless of
danger, I grasped the helm, and sent our gallant craft flying before
the breeze down the bosom of the great wild river (that's the proper
way to put it, but in the interests of science it may be translated
into crawling towards the middle). Meanwhile Obanjo performed
prodigies of valour all over the place. He triced up the mainsail,
stirred up his fainthearted crew, and got out the sweeps, i.e. one
old oar and four paddles, and with this assistance we solemnly
trudged away from danger at a pace that nothing slower than a Thames
dumb barge, going against stream, could possibly overhaul. Still we
did not feel safe, and I suggested to Ngouta he should rise up and
help; but he declined, stating he was a married man. Obanjo
cheering the paddlers with inspiriting words sprang with the agility
of a leopard on to the bamboo staging aft, standing there with his
gun ready loaded and cocked to face the coming foe, looking like a
statue put up to himself at the public expense. The worst of this
was, however, that while Obanjo's face was to the coming foe, his
back was to the crew, and they forthwith commenced to re-subside
into the bottom of the boat, paddles and all. I, as second in
command, on seeing this, said a few blood-stirring words to them,
and Obanjo sent a few more of great power at them over his shoulder,
and so we kept the paddles going.
Presently from round the corner shot a Fan canoe. It contained a
lady in the bows, weeping and wringing her hands, while another lady
sympathetically howling, paddled it. Obanjo in lurid language
requested to be informed why they were following us. The lady in
the bows said, "My son! my son!" and in a second more three other
canoes shot round the corner full of men with guns. Now this looked
like business, so Obanjo and I looked round to urge our crew to
greater exertions and saw, to our disgust, that the gallant band had
successfully subsided into the bottom of the boat while we had been
eyeing the foe. Obanjo gave me a recipe for getting the sweeps out
again. I did not follow it, but got the job done, for Obanjo could
not take his eye and gun off the leading canoe and the canoes having
crept up to within some twenty yards of us, poured out their simple
tale of woe.
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