"You have half a minute," said the major suddenly.
"I know nothing, master, nothing at all," replied the guide, his lips quivering.
There was again silence. Then the major rapped his hand on the table.
"I know nothing about it, nothing about it!" persisted the man.
"I've no time to waste," said the major curtly, replacing his watch. "Sergeant, take him away."
Two of the tall Soudanese laid their hands on the guide's arms. He wriggled out of their grasp and flung himself on the ground. They seized him again, assisted by their comrades; and, struggling desperately, crying continually: "I know nothing about it, know nothing about it!" he was carried away. Tom's heart was in his mouth, and Mumford had sprung up in his excitement. Captain Lister still smoked on placidly; while the major's lips were grimly set as he watched the man's contortions. He had been borne but a few yards when his writhing suddenly ceased.
"Don't take me away, don't take me away!" he shrieked. "I will tell, I will tell!"
At a sign from the major the Soudanese returned to the tent, and the wretched man stood before him, thoroughly cowed, and trembling in every limb.
"You will tell! Perhaps you are wise. You will tell me everything from the beginning. Mind, I make no promises; but it is your only chance!"
The major dismissed the Soudanese, and the man began in a low faint voice to tell his story. It was as follows:--
About two miles before reaching Imubinga, the path led across a mountain stream some ten feet deep and thirty wide, spanned by a native bridge. The river had cut a deep ravine between two high hills, and its steep banks were covered with dense forest growth, huge trees crowning the summit. The bank at which the expedition would first arrive had been unequally worn away, and some two hundred and fifty feet above the stream, almost overhanging the bridge, was a prominent bluff, projecting, as the guide put it, like the nose from a man's face. This had been the scene of a memorable incident during the invasion of the district by the Baganda some fifty years before. As a force of Baganda were crossing the bridge, a number of tree trunks, previously felled, had been rolled over the edge of the bluff, and crashing down upon them had killed many outright, and thrown the whole force into such confusion that it fell an easy prey to the enemy. The Baganda were massacred almost to a man. This incident had passed into the traditions of the country; warriors sang about it round their camp-fires, and mothers crooned their babies to rest with the song of "The Ambush by the Bridge".
