Then, looking towards the horizon, he saw the ruddy horn of the moon emerging. Ten minutes passed; he could see dimly the outlines of the trees.
"Now!" he whispered, with an outward calm that gave no clue to his intense emotion. The sixteen men heaved at the ropes; the balks of timber fell; the weight of water falling on the unsupported hatchway drove it inwards; and in ten seconds more the torrent swept with a dull roar into the cavern. Then, with a crash that seemed to shake the cliff to its foundations, the enormous mass of loose rock hiding the mouth of the cavern was driven over the edge. Even above the roar and splash rose the cries of the hapless men beneath, and then from each end of the camp came, as though in mocking answer, the exultant shouts of the warriors hastening to assail their foe. A few rifle shots rang out, but the rush of the Bahima was irresistible. They were famished, they were fighting for their lives and liberty, and, dashing down the slopes to north and south, they fell without mercy or respite upon their shaken foes.
Demoralized, leaderless, unarmed, the Arabs and Manyema below were rushing hither and thither like scared sheep, unable to act, unable to think. The force in the plantations above, catching the panic, scattered at the first onslaught of the Bahima, who, with spears and knives and every kind of weapon, were strewing the ground with dead. One little group, holding close together under their leader, came rushing across the path of the Bahima chief at the head of his men. Barega lifted his spear to strike, but the Arab leader, at four paces' distance, fired his pistol at him point-blank, and he fell. The next instant the Arab was transfixed with a dozen spears, but the gallant chief, shot through the breast, had fought his last fight. His men rushed on, pursuing the enemy with savage cries, and the chief, lifting himself painfully upon his elbow, saw that he was alone. A few seconds later, Tom, his task on the bluff finished, came hasting with Mbutu and his sixteen men to assist in the fight. Many bodies lay scattered prone on the ground, but among them he saw one man in a half-sitting posture.
Tom heard the faint cry, started, and turned aside. He had but just time to grip the outstretched hand; then Barega heaved a sigh and died. Tom stood looking down at his dead friend, for, during the months they had been so strangely thrown together, he had come to look upon the simple, heathen African as a true friend. Thoughts of what he owed to the negro passed through his mind; he felt deeply sorry that Barega was never to enjoy the fruits of the victory for which they had worked together. "Poor fellow!" he murmured; then, gulping down the lump in his throat, he went on.