Carry On! A Story of the Fight for Bagdad

by Herbert Strang

  CHAPTER III

  THE BARBER'S APPRENTICE

  Firouz Ali, the barber of Bagdad, had just opened his shop near thesouth gate. There were many other barbers in the city, but none ofthem was so popular as Firouz Ali. Arabs, Turks, Greeks, Persians,Germans, and the hundred and one nondescripts of the populationresorted to the well-known shop, not merely because Firouz Ali wasdexterous in his craft, but because he was a chatty agreeable fellowand a fathomless well of information. Every customer of his who wentto be shaved, or shampooed, or to have his nails trimmed or his earscleaned (a very necessary toilet operation in a land of dust), cameaway feeling that he had spent a very pleasant quarter of an hour andgained knowledge at a trifling cost. He was not often aware that hehad given more than he had received. The barber had just opened hisshop, and, early as it was--the sun had risen no more than half an hourbefore--a customer had already presented himself in the person of aTurkish non-commissioned officer, come for a shampoo to brace him forthe work of the day. Firouz Ali had spread his towels, and was shakingup his mixture.

  "A most elegant preparation, by the Beard," he said, holding the bottleto his customer's nose. "You smell the oil of lavender? When youleave me your hair will diffuse a sweet savour, and perfume the street."

  "Wallahi! I hope it will not attract the insects," said the Turk.

  "Make your mind easy about that. There is here an essence that isbitter as death; insects shun it as you would the plague. You keepyour hair well, O noble warrior; the wear and tear of war has notdiminished your locks, Allah be praised! My own head, man of peacethough I am, has a bald spot that is only prevented from spreading bythe daily use of my own famous lotion. It is marvellous to me that youmen of war, considering the strain upon your intelligence and thehardships you undergo, can preserve such bountiful locks without theaid of my unguents."

  "Hardships! You speak truth, barber," grunted the soldier. "You menof peace know nothing about it. Bad food, hard work, pay always inarrears----"

  "A dog's life, indeed," said the barber sympathetically. "And, if I amnot deceived, the hard work is done by such as you, while the creditgoes to the officers."

  "You are not deceived, barber. If all goes well, how accomplished arethe officers! If things go ill, where is the misbegotten dog of anon-commissioned officer who is to blame?"

  "Wallahi! That is the very echo of my own thought. What labours arelaid upon you! What responsibility is yours! Well for me that myyears forbid my bearing arms, for without doubt the strain would wearme to a shadow and I should sink into my grave. Now bend your head,and let your nostrils inhale the delicate odour of this matchlesspreparation."

  He was in the act of pouring lotion on the man's head when a young Arabin the dress of a boatman entered. Firouz Ali threw him a quickglance; an observer might have detected a mutual look of recognitionbetween them; but the Turk's eyes were fixed on the basin.

  "Enter, O kelakji, and wait your turn," said the barber. "A month ago,before my worthless dog of an apprentice left me, you might have beenattended to by the boy while I myself was occupied with customers ofimportance; but now you must have patience until the demands of theofficer of the Padishah are satisfied."

  The newcomer sat himself down on a stool, and the barber went on:

  "Said I not truly? Is not the aroma fragrant as the gardens of theProphet? And the lather is white as the bloom of the tobacco plant.Wallahi! we were speaking of your toils and sorrows, noble warrior,when this young boatman entered. Truly your life is no bed of roses."

  "Truth is on your tongue, O barber," said the Turk. "This week I havebeen able to snatch scarce an hour's sleep at a time. From morningtill night, from night till morning, stores to be checked, anever-ending task. What with the railway and the river there is norest. If it is not a barge-load of grain, it is a train-load ofammunition."

  "And it falls upon you to count all these things? Surely it is likecounting the ripples on a stream."

  "A labour beyond any man. The ammunition comes in boxes--we number theboxes. I passed in 100,000 rounds yesterday, as many the day before;and to-day there are machine-guns."

  "No wonder you come to be refreshed with a shampoo! You have charge ofthe guns too! A heavy charge--all those thousands."

  "Ahi! I said not thousands--would there were! But in truth we havenot so many machine-guns as could be wished. The Alemans have not sentus so many of late. But now they are beginning to come in again.There are twenty, so word came to me, now waiting to be unpacked."

  "Verily it passes my understanding how you find room for all theseengines of war, even in so great a city as Bagdad. Moreover, is therenot great danger in the handling of them? I speak as a man of peace."

  "We are in truth sometimes hard put to it for store room, and when thegodowns are full, we have to keep our stores in the barges upon theriver hard by. But they do not remain there long, so great is thedemand for them from our brothers down the river. And as to danger----"

  At this point the Turk found himself under the necessity of keeping hismouth shut. He was in the middle stage of the shampoo. To take partin the conversation was impossible when the barber was pouring floodsof water over his head, or even later, when his head was smothered in atowel, and the barber was kneading it with his hands. Firouz Alihimself said, little during the final perfuming of his customer's hair,and the sound of a bugle reminded the Turk that he must hasten back tohis duties.

  When he was gone, the barber turned to the young Arab.

  "Your father's son must always be welcome," he said, "but what ofprudence? Is it not a necessary virtue? The Turk is stupid, Allahknows: witness the ass-head I have just anointed; but a watch is setupon all the approaches to the city, and you may tempt fortune too far.The house of Ionides was but lately occupied by a picket----"

  The young Arab started.

  "How did you know?" he asked.

  "Peace, peace!" replied the barber, with a significant gesture. "Thewalls have ears; the dust carries tidings. Is it not my business toknow?"

  It was barely two hours since Burnet, slipping through the garden of adeserted house on the bank of the Tigris south of the city, foundrefuge in the building itself and watched for an opportunity, when, ashe thought, no observer was near, to make an unobtrusive entrance intothe streets. He knew of old how perfect was the barber's knowledge ofwhat went on in Bagdad, and indeed throughout Mesopotamia; but this newillustration, this proof that his temporary shelter in the desertedhouse of the Greek merchant Ionides was already known to Firouz Ali,came upon him with something of a shock.

  Roger Burnet, as some may remember, was the son of a Cambridge scholarwho had devoted the latter years of his life to archaeological researchin Mesopotamia. There Roger had spent the greater part of his boyhood,learning to speak Arabic almost as well as a native. Just before theoutbreak of war he had been recalled from school in England by aperemptory telegram from his father, whom he found very ill. Mr.Burnet lingered for more than eighteen months in the hill village of anArab chief, and it was not until June 1916 that Roger, after hisfather's death, was able to set off with the intention of joining theBritish army. Disguised as an Arab, he had travelled to Bagdad with aparty of the chief's men, and taken counsel with Firouz Ali, an oldfriend of his father, a man of quick wit, and an important member of anorganisation that was working for the release of the Arabs from theTurkish yoke.

  At that time the British attempt to relieve General Townshend in Kuthad disastrously failed, and the cause of freedom lay under a heavycloud. Burnet learnt that the Turks were organising an expedition topunish the chief whose hospitality he had enjoyed, for his refusal tofurnish levies to the Sultan's army. It subsequently came to lightthat the expedition had been instigated by the Germans, its real objectbeing the capture of a stronghold that commanded an important road ofcommunication. Burnet decided to throw in his lot with the chief,escaped from Bagdad by the aid of Firouz Ali and of a mysteriousdervish who
turned out to be a British secret service agent, after manyadventures assisted in the defence of the stronghold against a largeforce of German-led Turks, and ultimately reached the British linesbelow Kut. He wished to return to England by way of Bombay for thepurpose of training for a commission; but a man with his knowledge ofthe native dialects was too valuable to be spared. Thecommander-in-chief made direct application to the War Office on hisbehalf, and he had in fact been gazetted a second lieutenant on theGeneral List a few weeks before he set off with Captain Ellingford onhis present mission to Bagdad.

  Firouz Ali was too polite to make any direct enquiries of Burnet as tothe object of his visit. The latter explained.

  "You spoke of prudence, my friend," he said. "Well, I grant there arerisks, but I have run risks before--for good cause. Of late we havehad no news either from you or from the dervish Hezar."

  "That is true, Aga," replied the barber, "and therefore is my heartheavy. But who can strive against Fate? Twice within the past monthhave I sent messengers. The first came back with a shattered arm: theTurkish dogs shot him as he tried to pass through their lines, and hewas hard put to it to escape with his life. The second was drownedswimming the river to avoid them. And as for the dervish Hezar, did henot quit the city secretly some ten days ago, having reason to believethat some were looking upon him with suspicion?"

  "I guessed there was a simple explanation: that there weredifficulties. That is why I am here. We _must_ know what the Turksare doing--whether they are receiving reinforcements and supplies, andwhere these are stored."

  "By the Beard, you heard something from that addle-pate who has but nowleft us. But that is little. I can tell you more. There is at thistime in the city a German, a very cunning fellow, who has gatheredabout him spies in number as the ants in an ant-hill. Ahi! but thereis no buckle to his shoe; by which parable understand that he speaksnot the tongue of those that he employs, and needs an interpreter.With him there is an Arab who has sold himself to the Turks, andmoreover a German who speaks my tongue readily, though with a gurglingthroat--a man who has lived many years in this land, digging for thetreasures of old time. Is not his name Bukkad Bey?"

  "Burckhardt! I know him. I met him with my father years ago." Hesmiled at some recollection. "So he's here, organising secret police!Well now, my friend----"

  Firouz Ali interrupted him by a gesture. The barber's eyes were fixedon a water-seller who was passing the shop, going down the street.Burnet saw no glance exchanged, heard no word; but the man had nosooner gone by than Firouz Ali said in a hurried undertone--

  "One of the German's spies approaches. It is not wise that you remainhere. Leave me now: go up the street, and after the sun is gone downseek the caravanserai of our friend Yakoub: there will I meet you."

  Burnet had barely risen from his stool when a carpet-mender passed, inthe opposite direction to the water-seller.

  "Wallahi!" muttered the barber, who had gazed at him with the samefixity. "Another spy approaches, from the other end. If you go now,verily you must meet one or the other. They would mark you as astranger. Is it a time for questions? Haste now: that former day youbecame for a while my apprentice, and beguiled the Turkish dogs. So itshall be again."

  He was already stripping off Burnet's travel-stained outer clothes andclumsy shoes. These he cast under his bench, and then with amazingquickness replaced them with a long white djellab and light sandals.

  "Mark you, Aga," he said, "you are my nephew and new apprentice, inplace of that misshapen Mahmoud who has left me. You have even nowarrived from Bebejak." He named a village near the Persian frontiernorthward which was not likely to be well known to these agents of thesecret service.

  Burnet had just taken up a razor and was feeling its edge when a man inthe dress of a city merchant passed the open shop, throwing a glanceinto the interior. Half a minute afterwards a second man appeared fromthe opposite direction. He stopped, mounted the two steps that led tothe shop, and greeting the barber sat down on the chair.

  "Comb my beard, barber," he said.

  "In truth it needs the comb, effendi," said Firouz Ali. "A fine beard,of the fineness of silk, though its beauty is hidden by thethrice-accursed dust that defiles it. Yusuf, lay my whitest napkinabout the effendi's throat."

  "A new apprentice, barber?" said the customer, eyeing Burnet. "Moreagreeable to look at than that hunchback of yours."

  "He has a straight back, Allah be praised," said the barber, "but whatis that? A fair form may go with a foolish mind. Ahi! Theingratitude of man! Behold, Mahmoud left me without a moment'swarning, enticed away by some flattering tongue. And here am I in apitiful plight, for all likely youths are snapped up for the army, andI have had to summon my nephew from his mean village in the north, amere country lout----"

  "A lout, say you? Methinks his frame deserves a fairer word."

  "A lout, I say again: clumsy as an untamed colt. Did he not break mybest basin into a thousand and one fragments?"

  "And why is he too not in the army?"

  "In the army! By the tomb of my father, what should he do in the army?Where are his wits? Bid him go to the right, straightway he goes tothe left. Ahi! it broke my poor brother's heart to find a witless mindin a body that, as you truly say, has some elements of graciousness.Will he repay me for all my pains in training him to my honourablecraft? Who can tell? He has but just arrived; and I have yet tolearn----"

  Here the barber was interrupted by the hurried entrance of a young manin military uniform.

  "Salaam, barber," he cried. "The barber of Bukkad Bey has fallen sick,and the Bey requires a cunning hand to smooth his cheeks. Whose handis more cunning than Firouz Ali's? Haste, then, for time presses."

  Firouz Ali briefly acknowledged the command, and apologised to hiscustomer for spending less time on his silky beard than its beautydeserved. The secret service man, apparently satisfied with thebarber's explanations about his new apprentice, left the shop.

  "Woe is me!" exclaimed the barber. "What is to become of you, Aga? Idare not leave you here, and I fear some harm will befall you if you goalone through the streets."

  "Take me with you, of course! I can carry your things."

  "Mashallah! But Bukkad Bey may know you again."

  "Not he! I was hardly more than a child when he saw me, just thatonce; and he was too busy with my father to notice me."

  "Truly you are bold with an exceeding great boldness. But so it shallbe. Gather up the basin, and soap, and the brush, and two razors, andthe strop. I will bid my neighbour have an eye to the shop, and wewill go together."