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The Floating Press - Herbert Strang

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116 pages

English

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Working under the pseudonym "Herbert Strang," English authors Charles James L'Estrange and George Herbert Ely paired up to pen a series of enduringly popular adventure stories intended for younger readers. Tom Willoughby's Scouts is a timeless action-adventure tale that will appeal to thrill-seeking readers of all ages.

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Adventure (Guyana)

Adventure

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juin 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775459996
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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TOM WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTS
A STORY OF THE WAR IN GERMAN EAST AFRICA
* * *
HERBERT STRANG

*
Tom Willoughby's Scouts A Story of the War in German East Africa First published in 1919 ISBN 978-1-77545-999-6 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter I - Tanganyika Chapter II - Partners Chapter III - The Voucher Chapter IV - Trapped Chapter V - A Friend in Need Chapter VI - Mwesa's Mission Chapter VII - Tom Seizes the Occasion Chapter VIII - Reinecke Returns Chapter IX - A Delaying Action Chapter X - A Breathing Space Chapter XI - Tom's New Allies Chapter XII - The Deserter Chapter XIII - Hunted Chapter XIV - The Trail Chapter XV - The Back Door Chapter XVI - Drawn Blank Chapter XVII - A German Offer Chapter XVIII - A Good Haul Chapter XIX - Beleaguered Chapter XX - Raising the Siege Chapter XXI - Willoughby's Scouts
Chapter I - Tanganyika
*
Among the passengers who boarded the Hedwig von Wissmann at Kigoma onLake Tanganyika, one June day in 1914, there were two who engaged moreparticularly the attention of those already on deck. The first was atall stalwart man of some fifty years, with hard blue eyes, full redcheeks, a square chin, and a heavy blond moustache streaked with grey.He stepped somewhat jerkily up the gangway, brought his hand stiffly tohis brow in response to the salute of the first officer, and was led bythat deferential functionary to a chair beneath the deck awning.
The second presented a striking contrast. Equally tall, he was slim andloosely built, with lean, sunburnt, hairless cheeks, a clean upper lipthat curved slightly in a natural smile, and brown eyes that flashed alook of intelligent interest around. He walked with the lithe easymovements of athletic youth, turned to see that the porter was followingwith his luggage, a single travelling trunk and a rifle case, andsatisfied on that score, picked up a deck-chair and planted it forhimself where the awning would give shade without shutting off the air.
Both these new arrivals wore suits of white drill, and pith helmets; butwhereas the elder man was tightly buttoned, suggesting a certain strain,the younger allowed his coat to hang open, showing his soft shirt andthe cummerbund about his waist.
The gangway was pulled in, a seaman cast off the mooring rope, and thevessel sheered off from the landing-stage with those seemingly aimlessmovements with which a steamer, until she is well under way, responds tothe signals from the bridge. In a few minutes the Hedwig von Wissmann was heading southward down the lake, on her three-hundred-mile voyage toBismarckburg.
The younger of the two passengers lit a cigarette and unobtrusively tookstock of his fellow-travellers. The tall man before mentioned wasalready puffing at a long black cigar, and a steward, with markedservility, had placed a glass of some lemon-coloured liquid on a tableat his elbow. Beyond him four men of middle age, also provided withcigars and glasses, were playing cards, not in dignified silence, likeSarah Battle of immortal memory, but with a sort of voracity, and avoluble exchange of gutturals. Sitting apart, smoking a dark briar pipe,sat a grizzled and somewhat shabby passenger who, though the brim of hispanama was turned down over his eyes, had nevertheless watched and drawnconclusions about the two strangers.
"H'm! Public school—nineteen, perhaps—griffin—nice lad—clean," hisdisjointed thoughts ran. "T'other fellow—Potsdam—goose step—beerbarrel—don't like the breed."
For a while he sat smoking, giving a little grunt now and then, and nowand then a glance at the young Englishman. Presently he heaved himselfout of his chair, tilted back his hat, and waddling a few steps, plantedhimself with legs apart in front of the youth.
"Harrow or Rugby, sir?" he said without preamble.
"Neither, sir," replied the other with a smile. "I was at quite anobscure grammar school—not a public school in the—well, in the swaggersense."
The old man's grey eyes twinkled.
"H'm!" he ejaculated. "Don't get up." He took a chair that stoodfolded against one of the stanchions and drew it alongside.
"Name, sir?"
The youth looked into the face of his questioner, saw nothing butbenevolence there, and thinking "Queer old stick!" answered—
"Willoughby—Tom Willoughby."
"H'm! Not Bob Willoughby's son, by any chance?"
"My father's name was Robert, sir."
"Takes after his mother, I suppose," the old man murmured to himself,but audibly. "Hasn't got Bob's nose. I knew him," he went on aloud."Saw in The Times he was gone: sorry, my lad. Haven't seen him since'98, when I was in Uganda. Haven't been out since; wanted to run roundonce more before I'm laid on the shelf. Going to Rhodesia, I presume?"
"No: only as far as Bismarckburg: my father was interested in some landon the edge of the Plateau."
"German land, begad!"
"Well, you see he was partner with a German: went equal shares with himin a coffee plantation seven or eight years ago."
"H'm! Why didn't he stick to mines?" said the old gentleman in one ofhis audible asides. "And you step into his shoes, I suppose?"
"Not exactly, sir. He left his property to my brother and me jointly.We decided that Bob—he's twenty-four—had better stick to thecommission business in London, and I should come out and learn planting,or at any rate see if it's worth while going on; the plantation hasnever paid, and it's lucky for us we don't depend on it."
"Never paid in eight years? It's time it did. What's your Germanpartner about? I'm an old hand; my name's Barkworth, and I was a friendof your father. My advice is, if your coffee hasn't paid in eightyears, cut your losses and try cotton."
"It may come to that; that's what I'm out to discover; but my brotherthought it at least worth while looking into things on the spot with Mr.Reinecke—"
"Curt Reinecke?" said Mr. Barkworth abruptly.
"Yes."
"I know him—or did, twenty years ago. He's your partner. H'm!" Heblew out a heavy cloud of smoke. Tom looked at him a little anxiously.
"Mr. Reinecke has had a lot of bad luck, sir," he said. "He was alwayshoping the tide would turn, Bob suggested that he might be incompetent,but my father had complete confidence in him."
"Reinecke incompetent! Bosh! He's clever enough."
There was something in Mr. Barkworth's tone that caused Tom to say—
"I've never met him myself, and I should really be glad of anyinformation, sir. You see, it's rather awkward, dealing with a man oldenough to be my father, I mean, and—"
"Yes, of course. Reinecke is a clever fellow; I've nothing against him,but I recommend you to go carefully. I don't like him, but then I don'tlike Germans."
"I can't say I do," said Tom. "I spent a year in Germany. But I've meta few jolly decent chaps, and seeing that my father thought so highly ofMr. Reinecke—"
"You're predisposed in his favour. Naturally. Well, keep an open mind.Don't be in a hurry to decide. That's an old man's advice. I'm nearlyseventy, my lad, and the older I get the more I learn. With people,now—there's the man who falls on the neck of the first comer, andwishes he hadn't. There's the man who stiffens his back and freezes,and then finds that he's lost his chance of making a friend. Don't belike either: 'prove all things'—and men—'and hold fast to that whichis good.' H'm! I'm beginning to preach: sure sign of dotage.—Youhaven't seen a view like that before."
It was indeed a new and an enchanting experience to Tom Willoughby, thisvoyage on the vast lake, or inland sea, that stretches for four hundredmiles in the heart of equatorial Africa. Looking eastward to the nearershore, he beheld a high bank richly clad with forest jungle, fringed andfestooned with lovely creepers and climbing plants. Below, the bluewaters, tossed by a south-east breeze, broke high upon a wilderness ofrugged rocks; above, masses of cloud raced across the green heights,revealing now and then patches of bare brown rock, now and then themisty tops of distant mountains. The coastline was variegated withheadlands, creeks, and bays; southward could be discerned the boldmountainous promontory of Kungwe. Here and there Arab dhows with theirtriangular sails and the low log canoes of native fishermen hugged theshore; and birds with brilliant plumage glittered and flashed as theydarted in and out among the foliage or swooped down upon the surface insearch of food.
Tom feasted his eyes on these novel scenes until a bugle summoned thepassengers to luncheon. He would have found it a slow meal but for hisnew friend. They were placed side by side at some distance from thecaptain, the intervening seats being occupied by the Germans. Theplanters talked shop among themselves, and Tom was amused at theobsequious gratitude they showed to Major von Rudenheim, the newlyarrived German officer, when he dispensed them a word now and then, as aman throws a bone to a dog. The major had the place of honour next thecaptain, whose bearing towards him was scarcely less deferential.Through the meal the two Englishmen were almost ignored by the rest.Afterwards, however, when the planters had returned to their cards andMajor von Rudenheim and Mr. Barkworth had both disappeared, CaptainGoltermann came up to Tom where he sat alone on deck.
"Fine country, Mr. Villoughby," he said pleasantly. "I hope you likezis trip."
"Thanks, captain, it's quite charming; but I'm not what we call atripper."
"So! It is business, not pleasure, zat bring you? But zer