The Rupa Book Of Great Escape Stories

by Ruskin Bond

  I would be the same too, I thought, if I had another month of this hell, and my determination to escape at once became the stronger by reason of that pitying look on Smith's piteous face. It was now or never, three words which kept me awake for hours that night while my tired, bruised body was crying out for sleep.

  Miller came to me early the next morning and told me to get hold of as much food and ammunition as possible. He would do the same, he said. He suggested that sunset would be the best time to go off—whenever darkness fell—and I agreed with the proposal, my heart beating the faster at the mere thought of it.

  Straightaway I set about the task he had given me, and in all managed to gather thirty rounds of ammunition, two tins of fish, one tin of bully beef, and one ring of bread. The cartridges I secreted about my body, the food and my water-bottle I put into a haversack, and then began the most difficult task of all—awaiting the coming of darkness.

  Never had there been a longer day than that. Sunset seemed to be hours and hours later than normally. But at last it came, and Miller and I lowered ourselves over the wall of the fort in the short spell of darkness which preceded the rising of the moon.

  We lay in the sand for a minute, scarce daring to breathe, but the gloomy silence that enfolded the fort reassured us that we had not been seen, and then we nudged one another and pointed to the guard stationed twenty yards or so from where we lay.

  I will draw a veil over the happenings of the next ten minutes or so. But I will satisfy your curiosity to some extent by saying that Miller lost his knife and that the butt-end of my rifle became wet and sticky to the touch; also that the German sergeant who had hated me did not hate me any longer.... He ceased to hate any one in that fateful ten minutes, for a well-thrust knife penetrated his black, foul heart and he died. He died! ... Also, a night guard who violated the best traditions of the Legion by asking a question before pressing trigger paid dearly for his breach of duty. He, too, died. But his was a more honourable death than that which we gave the sergeant.

  We were free. We were free. WE WERE FREE!... And we lost no time in putting as much distance as possible between ourselves and the fort. We covered fully twenty miles that night, I warrant. Indeed, I think twenty-five miles would be a more accurate estimate.

  Fear as well as hope gave speed to our feet, and dawn came much sooner than we wished. We had nothing to guide us on our way, of course, except the twin-mountains away to the east, and although these were not visible to us at all—it required daylight and the extra height of the fort-tower to bring them into view—we knew we were heading in their direction, and the north star looked down on us and gave its ready assistance.

  We halted at dawn and began to look around for a hiding-place. Daylight travelling would have been madness, we knew, bringing with it the certainty of discovery, and eventually we found a small cleft between two huge pieces of rock, into which we squeezed ourselves with right goodwill. Here we had our first meal, washing it down with a small drink. Water would be as scarce as diamonds before long, we knew, and from the very first we agreed on 'iron rations' for the whole of the journey.

  Immediately the little meal was over, we tossed a coin to ascertain which one of us would sleep while the other kept watch. Miller won, and at once lay down as best he could in our cramped quarters, while I sat at the entrance to the aperture with the rifle over my knees. We had only one rifle with us, I would like to mention, and throughout the night had taken turn about of carrying it, a practice we continued on subsequent stages of the journey. We had at first thought of carrying a rifle each, but had given up that plan on account of consideration of weight. Two rifles would be more of a hindrance than a help we had eventually agreed.

  My position at the entrance to the cleft in the rocks allowed a view in only one direction, but months of outpost duty had taught me to 'see' with my ears as well as with my eyes, and I had no fear that any one could come within appreciable distance of our hiding-place without my hearing them.

  I had been sitting for roughly half an hour when the whole of my body developed an extraordinary itchiness. No sooner did I scratch my arms than my legs began to itch. Then the itch spread to my feet, my hands, my breast, my head. I looked around, irritated and puzzled, and to my intense disgust saw that the cleft in the rocks was simply swarming with little red ants—thousands and thousands of them. They were on my boots, my legs, my arms, my head—they were everywhere— and I could feel lumps rising all over my body.

  I turned to Miller to find out what he was thinking about this surprise assault, and could not resist a smile when I saw him simply smothered in ants; but he was sound asleep, and knew nothing whatever about the new enemies we had made. The half-humorous, half-serious thought went through my mind that he might be eaten to death if he were allowed to sleep throughout this mass attack, and I gave him a prod with my foot which awoke him very quickly. He gazed around for a second or two, no doubt wondering where he was, then when he spotted two hundred or three hundred ants patrolling his arm, the look which came to his face was comical in the extreme. Most of them had had a bite at him, I reckon, for he began to throw his clothes off as quickly as if his life depended on the speed with which he became naked. I soon followed his wise move, and for the next thirty minutes we were exceedingly busy in clearing ourselves of that section of the ants' army which had found its way into our clothes.

  The cleft in the rocks was the home of these ferocious little insects, it seems, and naturally enough they resented our straying into their domain. But it was broad daylight by this time, and it would have been the height of folly for us to go off now in search of another hiding-place, so we remained all day in that cleft, no whit less industrious than the proverbially-industrious inhabitants of it. They gave us no rest and we gave them no rest, hence our first day of freedom passed without my having a wink of sleep. Miller had only the half-hour's sleep which I previously mentioned.

  Fortunately, we were not disturbed by any human being, whether Arab or legionnaire. We seemed to be well off the beaten track, and the fact that we had crossed only a few camel-paths on the previous night and had encountered no real roads worth the name, encouraged us to think that we were well clear of Legion forts.

  Darkness drew in at last, we gladly left the ants to enjoy sole occupancy of the rock-cleft, and the second night's march began. The journey was uneventful, as was our journey of the next night, and the next, and the next, and I feel that I can pass over five nights and days as unworthy of special mention. We went over hill and plain in a straight line, following faithfully the instructions of the north star, going as quickly as we reasonably could and sticking to shelter during the hours of daylight.

  On the fourth night, I must add, we were lucky enough to stumble on an oasis. Here we had a welcome meal of prickly pears and wild figs, washed down by copious draughts of beautiful cold water. We filled our canteens with the precious water, stuffed as many pears and figs into our pockets and haversacks as we could carry, and off we went once again, wonderfully refreshed and wonderfully cheerful.

  On the fifth night—by this time we had left the twin-mountains far behind and had crossed the Legion railway line—we decided that we had come as far east as was necessary and then, still with the north star as our sole guide, we turned due north ... north to the coast, north to the Mediterranean, north to home.

  We maintained a surprisingly good pace despite the fact that we were avoiding all roads; and on the sixth night had begun to congratulate ourselves on accomplishing almost half of our journey free of hitch, when a cruel blow fell on us.... Miller suddenly became blind.

  His eyes remained open, but he could not distinguish anything that was more than a few inches from his face. He was as helpless as a child. It was sun-blindness, I suppose. Whatever the cause, it was a savage stroke.

  Words cannot describe how my heart went out to him in his affliction, nor can they indicate a tenth part of the courage with which Miller endured his shattering misfor
tune. In the darkness , he was as blind as if he had no eyes at all, yet he urged me not to alter our plans in any way.

  'Go on, go on, maybe I'll be all right in the mornin', Mick,' he said, when I told him I would look about for a place in which we could spend the night. 'Go on, go on,' he repeated, with a laugh, 'a Scotsman tak's a lot o' killing, ye ken.'

  I knew the effort it had cost him to joke of the darkness that had fallen over his eyes, and I swallowed a great lump in my throat and resumed the march, with Miller's hand in mine.

  On we went. Never will I forget that night as long as I live. We stumbled over rocks and stones, we fell often to our knees, every bone in our bodies was sore and asking plaintively for rest, yet Miller still urged: 'Keep going, Mick; I'm sure I'll be all right in the mornin'. Keep going, Mick. I'm sure I'll be all right.'

  Melancholy thoughts filled my mind. What would be the end of this adventure? Our food was finished, our pears and figs were finished, our canteens were nearly empty ... what would be the end of it all? ... Was this to be the last adventure of my life? Were we just marching on to death?

  So sorrowful were my thoughts that I believe I would have welcomed death just then. Painless death—what a relief it would have been! ... Miller's affliction was my affliction. I could not see any reasonable ray of hope. We were doomed. The desert had us, and the desert would keep us. Failure filled my whole mind, but on we went, mechanically—stumbling over rocks and stones, our shuffling feet catching in the sand at times and giving us softer falls. On we went, hand in hand, like two children. And Miller still muttered: 'Go on, Mick, go on. I'm sure to be all right in the mornin'.'

  Dawn was slowly creeping over the horizon when I led Miller among some foothills which we had been skirting for a couple of hours. There would be a hiding-place in these hills, I knew, and there was none in the great waves of sand which billowed and tossed away into the distance on our left.

  When I had chosen a spot where we could spend the day unseen by prying eyes, I set Miller on the ground where he could lie outstretched, and then I asked him if he could see any better.

  He slowly shook his head and tears began to trickle down his cheeks. I could stand anything except that, and in a moment we were both sobbing like children. I gripped his shoulder and nothing has thrilled me with such sweet tenderness as the touch of his rough cheek as he pressed it against mine. I broke down completely then, and wept in a way that I did not think possible for a fully-grown man.

  It was weakness, undoubtedly, but I felt the better for it afterwards, and when Miller told me to go on without him, a feeling of exhilaration shot through me and I gave him a slap on the back and asked him if he knew any more funny stories. Once again he told me to go on without him, whereupon I said I had a good mind to go off and leave him for having insulted me, at which we both laughed, and then clasped hands, in the manner of sweethearts.

  I made a bandage for his eyes from the sleeve of my shirt, which appeared to ease him considerably, and he fell asleep a few minutes after the bandage had been fixed.

  A strange sensation of loneliness gripped me as I sat by his side. It seemed as if I were the only person in the whole world. Everything was so quiet, so still, that a shiver ran through me. I felt cold. Was death like this? I wondered. What was death? How long would it be before both Miller and I were dead? ... Would any miracle come to save us? It could be only a miracle that would do it.

  A murmur from Miller interrupted my thoughts. 'Mother,' he murmured in his sleep, followed by a stream of words in broad Scotch too rapid for me to understand. Then silence, then more words in broad Scotch. Then silence again. Throughout the remainder of the day Miller slept peacefully.

  The bandage and the day's sleep seemed to have done him a world of good, and when I uncovered his eyes that evening he said he could see much better. He was thoroughly rested and had recovered much of his former cheerfulness. 'Come on, Mick. Awa' wi' ye,' he said briskly and, snatching up the rifle, led the way out of the gorge. My heart leapt in thankfulness at so good a recovery, and I smiled as I ran for a few yards to make up on his eager feet. New hope coursed through me, and new visions of home came to banish the dark thoughts that had been with me throughout the day.... But little did I know of what awaited us. Little did I expect the hellish blow that Fate had prepared.

  During the previous two nights, we had crossed all sorts of paths, leading in various directions, and I had mingled hope and fear that we would soon find ourselves in a civilised part of the country—hope that we would be at the coast in a short time and fear that we might be near a Legion depot.

  No sooner had we got clear of the foothills than we came to a broad path. This we decided to follow, for it lay in the line of our route, and we soon had reason to congratulate ourselves on our choice. Before we had gone a couple of miles, we came on an Arab grape-farm at the roadside, where we loaded ourselves with as many bunches of grapes as we could carry, setting a-barking what seemed like a hundred dogs, all at the same instant. But no Arab farmer will venture over his doorstep after darkness has fallen, and we went off unmolested.

  Other small farms at the roadside supplied us with other bunches of grapes—the first stock did not last us half an hour—and so the miles went past quite joyously.

  Dawn found us on an open plain, unproductive of a hiding-place, so we turned off the path and made for a cactus-covered hill a mile off, where we intended to conceal ourselves during the hours of daylight.

  Almost at the same instant as we left the roadway a mounted Arab came into view from behind a little dip—the first human being we had encountered since leaving the fort. I heard him before I saw him, the first intimation of his presence being the sound of his closing the breech-bolt of his rifle, proof that he saw us before we saw him. Then the Arab shouted to us.

  Miller was carrying the rifle at the time—he had insisted on our retaining the turn-and-turn-about arrangement even on the night he was almost totally blind—and I yelled out: 'Drop him, Jock!'

  I fell flat on my stomach when the Arab raised his rifle and a bullet went whizzing an inch or two over me.

  Miller let loose then, and as I had dropped facing the Arab I saw Miller's shot go yards wide of its intended mark.

  I had quite forgotten about Miller's blindness—he had by no means recovered full use of his eyes—and my heart jumped into my throat and well-nigh choked me when I saw the bullet strike the path well behind horse and man.

  The Arab fired a second shot, but not at me this time, and I heard Miller give a choked cry and saw him roll over and over like a log, coming to rest within a yard of me and lying still as death.

  Although there had been a hundred machine guns raining their fire on me in that moment, they would not have prevented me from jumping to my feet as I did, snatching up the rifle and running towards that Arab with the determination to kill him. I had only a vague notion of firing the rifle at him—I was indeed more seized with the idea of battering his brains out— but one of my legs gave under me as I ran and the hand of Fate put the rifle-butt to my shoulder.

  Over the sights I saw the Arab taking aim at me, but I was first.

  He fell from the horse when I pressed the trigger and I ran forward and emptied the magazine into his body, a stream of tears from my heart itself running down the rifle-barrel. Then I smashed his skull into fragments with I know not how many blows of the rifle-butt and smashed his face until it was a face no longer! God! Had that Arab's body been made of steel I would have smashed it to bits just the same in these moments that my heart broke.

  'Jock! Jock! Are you dead?' I screamed as I ran back to where Miller was lying.... He was alive, but I saw in the first glance that he would not live for long.... A bullet, that Arab's bullet, had passed through his throat.

  'I'm finished, Mick,' he gasped, so faintly that I could scarcely hear him. 'Have ye a drink?'

  My hand shook, my whole body shook, as I held the canteen to his mouth. Forgive me, reader, but I would gladly
have bartered my body and soul to the Devil himself in that instant if by so doing I could have put back unfired that bullet which had struck Miller. The anguish of it!

  I hurriedly bound up the lacerated neck—that hellish bullet had made two wounds: one where it entered the neck and one where it left it—and I swallowed hard to see little sign of blood, woeful evidence of severe internal bleeding.

  Miller himself seemed to know that he was dying. In his eyes as he looked up at me were long conversations too sacred for despoilment by words. I read the messages with no difficulty—they were addressed to me and admitted of no misunderstanding—and a sad sweetness descended on me that I was being honoured with a dying man's benediction.

  I made him as comfortable as I could, held him tightly in my arms, and then the neigh of a horse brought me abruptly back to material things. The Arab's horse was standing thirty yards away looking towards us—I became aware for the first time that full daylight had come—and my thoughts flashed to the pathway just out of sight where the body of Miller's murderer lay.... That Arab's corpse must be moved out of sight at once. The path might be frequently used, some one might come along it at any moment; that murderer's foul body must be removed at once.

  I dragged Miller to the shade of a low bush not far from the path, made a pillow for him out of the two haversacks, and hurried to the accursed spot where Miller's murderer lay. I seized his ankle as though it had been the fallen bough of a tree, dragged him quickly towards a few scattered bushes thirty yards off, and rejoiced savagely to hear that murderer's head come into sharp contact with half a dozen stones among the sand.

  Even as I began to scrape a hole in the sand in which to hide the loathsome body, the thought struck me that I should change clothes with him. In the dress of an Arab, I could walk unchallenged over all Algeria, whereas in my Legion uniform every step I took was one of danger.