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Updated: June 17, 2025
"On board for your lives!" shouted the captain, and as Guy and Melton dashed over the gang-plank, followed by Momba, a kick from the captain sent it whirling down into the water. Providentially steam was up, slowly the engines started, the screw revolved, and just as the steamer moved lazily out into the harbor, the enraged mob swept to the very edge of the wharf.
Fill and shoot, fill and shoot, never a foot too soon, never a foot too late it was a beautiful exhibition, and only a pity it was not light for her to see it better. We were clear of the river at last; that is, we were in the river's V-shaped mouth, the delta. The south bank extended westerly, two miles or so farther to the sea, and the other bank north-westerly toward Momba Bar.
"Yes, Oko Sam is the chief." "Then Sir Arthur Ashby and Colonel Carrington are close at hand," exclaimed Guy. "And Momba," added Melton fervently. "All may be saved yet." "And was it to Oko Sam your comrades were sold as slaves?" cried Canaris. "Why did you not mention his name before? I could have told you this long ago." "I never thought of it," rejoined Guy. "I gave them up as lost forever.
Sir Arthur sat up against the parapet in a sort of stupor, the three Hindoos were grouped on one side, and Momba mutely followed his master from point to point, as with Guy and the colonel he made the circuit of the housetop. And now for the first time it became evident that the presence of the fugitives on the roof was known.
"I am charged to ask him to pass the word to Captain Blaise," said the Nereid's master, "that an old friend of his lies low of fever into Momba. Captain Blaise would know who. We were putting out of Momba lagoon and I was standing by the rail, when a nigger came paddling up and whispered it. Like a breath of night air it was.
But if it be that the sea will have none of me, and the metalled war-dogs drive me, and spar-shattered and hull-battered I make a run of it to harbor in my old age, I shall come in full confidence of a mooring under your roof, Guy. And who knows that I won't be worth my salt there? You have won her, Guy. I knew you would from that night in Momba when you sat in the stern sheets and laughed.
Their greeting was brief and hasty. "I have work for you, Momba," said Melton. "Something is going on in the town, I don't know just what. You can go anywhere without being suspected. Find out what you can, and then come down to the wharf. Don't return here." The man hastened away at once, and then Guy and Melton started for the shore.
Guy's quick eye observed a big flat stone lying near, a precautionary measure provided by some former governor, no doubt, and, calling on Momba to assist him, he dragged it over the trap. From below came a rush of footsteps and the sound of smashing furniture as the Arabs hurried to and fro in search of their prey.
After his return from Burma, he had been dispatched as war correspondent of the London Post to Suakim, which town was at that time threatened by the Mahdi. Mombagolo, or Momba as Melton now called him, had become his faithful servant, and a week ago, the war-scare at Suakim having subsided, Melton had come to Berbera to write up the great fair for his paper.
There was a half-hour of anecdotes of the Governor of Momba and his son before Cunningham's name was even mentioned; and when the question of him was slipped, so casually was it slipped that I, with senses astretch, did not realize that this must be the sick man at Momba not until the next question was put. "But there must have been something else, Rimmle, between the Governor and Cunningham?"
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