the steam whistle was swamped instantly in the roar of a blasting
volley. Not many of the shots hit--for the African is not a
marksman--but the right effect was gained. The blacks in the canoe
ducked and flinched; they were for the moment quite demoralized; and
before they could man their paddles again, the stern-wheeler's stem had
crushed into their vessel, had cut a great gash from one side, had
rolled it over, and then mounted the wreck, and drove down stream across
the top of it.

A few more angry shots snapped out at the black bodies swimming in the
yellow water. "Hold up, there," Kettle ordered, "and let them swim if
they can, and chance the crocodiles. They've got their gruel. Load up
now, and get ready for the next."

He turned the launch again, and stood across the stream down the
strung-out line of canoes, occasionally making feints at them, but
ramming no more for the present. They all fired at him as he passed
them; indeed, a wild, scattered fire was general from all the fleet; but
his log armor protected him from this, and he steamed grimly on, without
returning a shot.

At the furthermost end of the line he turned sharply again, and ran down
the last canoe, just as he had run down the other; and then he
deliberately started to drive the whole fleet together into one solid
flock. He had the speed of them, and with rifle fire they could not
damage him, but for all that it was not easy work. They expected the
worst, and made desperate efforts to scatter and escape; finally, he
drove them altogether in one hopeless huddle--cowed, scared, and tired
out; and then he brought the stern-wheeler to a sudden stop just above
them, and made Clay shout out terms in the native tongue.

They were to throw all their weapons overboard into the river. They did
it without question.

They were to throw their paddles overboard. They did that also.

They were to tie all their canoes together into one big raft. They
obeyed him there, too, with frenzied quickness.

He took the raft in tow and steamed off down river to the headquarters
Free State post of the Upper River. He was feeling almost complacent at
the time. He had shown Commandant Balliot what he was pleased to term a
quick way with rebels.

But Commandant Balliot, whose life had been saved, and army disarmed and
brought back from rebellion in spite of himself, was not the man to let
any vague feeling of gratitude overweigh his own deep sense of injury.
He was in