"The levers now, my lads!"

They perched themselves on the saddle-seats, and at the clanking of
the levers the beautiful craft slipped swiftly up-stream.

Then out of the dark there rose the mournful howl of a jackal,
almost instantly replied to by a similar call at a distance.

"The chief calling to his jackal," said Mr. Hume. "Thank Heaven, he
has got away. Now I will let him know we are also off;" and he, too,
gave the jackal hunting-cry.

Back out of the darkness came the chief's exultant war-cry, and on
it a furious shout from the village, followed by the discharge of a
rifle, and the rolling alarm of a war-drum. Then shone out the glare
of torches at the river bank, and a savage yell announced that the
men had discovered the injury done to the canoes.

One of the purchases made in London had been a lamp with very fine
reflectors. This Mr. Hume fixed on a movable bracket within reach of
his arm as he sat at the wheel, and when the lights at the village
faded astern, he lit the lamp, in order to thread a passage by its
light through the dark waters. As the noise of shouting, the
drumming, and the report of fire-arms died down, other sounds
reached their strained hearing--the booming of the Congo bittern,
the harsh roar of a bull crocodile, and the cries of water-birds.

Then Venning laughed--a little short nervous laugh. "We have done
it," he said.