CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH
A CRY IN THE NIGHT
"What say you, friend?--how will this matter end?"
Chunda Beg seated himself on the wall, against which the havildar wasleaning, peering out into the darkness. His rifle lay across his arms.
"Hai, Chunda, is that you?" replied Gur Buksh, in a low tone. "Ithought you were snoring on your charpoy. 'Tis a chill night."
"I slept indeed a little--forty winks, as the sahibs say; then I roseand came out to seek wisdom of thee, O experienced one. How will thismatter end, I ask?"
"Who can tell!" said the havildar with a shrug. "The gods know; I knownot."
"You do not know; of course I did not suppose you a soothsayer, a man ofdouble sight, though there are such; I have seen them, and heard themforetell things that most certainly came to pass. But they were fakirs,haggard of cheek and eye, and dirty--mashallah! how dirty! What I meant,friend, was that you, being a man of war, and wise in many things,should enlighten my simplicity, and say what is the blossom and fruit ofyour meditations on these strange happenings."
Gur Buksh did not turn his head, but gazed steadily out across thestream. On each side one of his men was patrolling the wall; the restof the Sikhs were sleeping under blankets on the ground a few yardsaway, ready to spring up at a whisper.
"The Bengali says we shall all be cut into little pieces," Chunda Begwent on. "He will make good carving, being very plump."
"The Bengali is the son and grandson of asses," grunted Gur Buksh. "Hereads books!"
"The sahibs read books too," suggested the khansaman.
"That is different. They read the wisdom of their own people; theBengali reads, and imagines he becomes one of them, and talksfoolishness."
"That is true. Yet in this case perhaps it is not foolishness. Thereare many hungry beasts lurking down the track yonder."
"Hyenas!"
"Twenty thousand of them, says Fazl."
"Flat-nosed Kafirs; what are they to us?"
"That is true; they are of very little account. Still, there is a greatnumber of them, and--correct me if I am wrong, havildar--a hundredhyenas are perhaps a match for one lion."
"Look you, khansaman, we have to make every man here believe that he isa lion. I do not deny that we are in a strait place, but what is that?I have been in strait places before. Hai! was I not one of the thirtywith a young sahib in the hills, and did we not defend a post against amonstrous rabble of Khels, and drive them off, and strike such fear intothe dogs that they slunk away and troubled us no more?"
The havildar's eyes gleamed as he recalled that fight.
"And are our young sahibs even as that one?" said the khansaman. "Thehuzur--may he sleep well!--was a good man, but these two striplings arevery young."
"Hai! but they have red blood in their veins. They are of the race ofthe Sirkar: they will never yield. Think you of what they have done inthese last days. Are they not quick and ready? Are not their eyes keenand their minds swift? They fear nothing, and overlook nothing. FyzAli told me how the chota sahib rode back to help him when he was aloneand beset by the Kalmucks, and the chota sahib is no man of war. Of atruth, the sahibs know not what fear is. And Bob Sahib carried food tothe Pathans up the river; he thinks of their welfare, and they love him.What is to come we know not, but be sure there will be very great doingshere."
"Hark, havildar! What is that?"
Chunda Beg sprang off the wall, and bent over it with the havildar,straining his eyes into the darkness. A faint cry reached them from theother side of the ravine. They listened in silence, waiting for arepetition of the sound. In a few seconds they heard it again.
"A trick of the Kalmucks maybe!" murmured Gur Buksh. "Get you swiftlyto the house, khansaman, and rouse the sahib. Say nothing but that Iwish to speak with him."
The khansaman hurried away. Passing noiselessly into the boys' bedroom,he touched Bob on the shoulder and gave his message. Bob was awake in aninstant.
"Tell him I'm coming," he said.
He slipped on his dressing-gown and boots quietly, so as not to disturbLawrence, and followed the man across the compound. As he reached thehavildar's side, the cry was repeated again.
"What are the sahib's orders?" said Gur Buksh.
"Did you hear what he said?" asked Bob.
"No, sahib; it was like the cry of a man for help."
"Are the Kalmucks playing a trick on us? Have you heard anything ofthem?"
"Nothing, sahib."
"Let down the bridge. We had better see."
"The sahib will without doubt take lamps?"
"Yes, and your men."
The Sikhs had already been awakened. In a few minutes four of themaccompanied Bob across the bridge, the first carrying a candle lamp.
The far side of the bridge rested on a platform constructed on a rock inmid-stream. The rock was connected with the farther bank by a shortbridge supported on timbers and resembling a rough wooden jetty. GurBuksh had said that the cry seemed to have come from the end of thebridge, and Bob searched for some time up and down the track for a fewyards in each direction, listening again for the sound. It was notrepeated. He proceeded to range the space once occupied by the Pathans'huts, but made no discovery. Puzzled, and still half suspecting thatthe cry had been a ruse to decoy him from the mine, he returned to thebridge, and was about to cross, when the man who held the lamp uttered asudden exclamation.
"Behold, sahib; here he is!"
He pointed to a man lying across one of the girders sustaining theplatform. Only his head could be seen. Bob knelt down and stoopedover, asking the Sikh to lower the lamp. He saw a bearded, turbaned manin uniform, with arms and legs twined about the girder.
"He is unconscious," he said. "Lift him up and bring him into thecompound."
The Sikhs had some difficulty in raising the man, who, in spite of hisunconsciousness, clung tenaciously to the beam. But they got him up atlast, and carried him across the bridge and up to the house. Bob waitedto see the bridge lowered again, then hurried back.
"Cold water, khansaman," he said as he entered.
The man brought a mug of water, which he set down on the table. Bobwondered why he did not himself hold it to the stranger's lips, until heguessed that caste was probably the obstacle. He himself gave the mandrink, and looked at him with curiosity, which became recognition as heopened his eyes. It was Ganda Singh, the dafadar of the sowars who hadaccompanied Major Endicott on his mission months before.
"Salaam, sahib," said the man faintly, when he saw that Bob hadrecognized him.
"Feel better now?" said Bob.
Ganda Singh had closed his eyes again. Bob noticed that he was very paleand haggard, as one exhausted after a long march.
"Just get one of the Sikhs to prepare him some food, khansaman," hesaid. "I suppose you won't do it yourself?"
"He is a Sikh, sahib."
"Well, cut away to one of his own race, then. He's fit for nothing atpresent."
He considered whether he should wake Lawrence, but decided to let himsleep on until the man was able to explain his presence. He himself wasabsolutely unconscious of any feeling of fatigue. Ganda Singh'ssurprising appearance filled him with overmastering excitement.
Reviving after some hot lentil soup had been poured between his lips,the dafadar raised himself slightly from the couch on which he had beenlaid. Bob noticed a twinge of pain as he moved his arm.
"Wounded?" he said.
"A shot in the shoulder, sahib--very little."
"As you came down the track?"
"No, sahib; before."
He fumbled in his belt, and produced a small piece of paper, folded.This he handed to Bob, who opened it, and read, scrawled on a leaf tornfrom a pocket-book, the following lines--
"_Get back to India at once. Whole country ablaze.--H. Endicott._"
"Where is Endicott Sahib?" he asked quickly.
&nbs
p; "In the hills towards the Afghan country, sahib."
"Near where we left him? He has not been there all this time?"
"No, sahib; Endicott Sahib went back to Rawal Pindi, and came again."
"And he is well?"
"In body, sahib, wherein I rejoice; but very sick in mind."
"Tell me all about it; slowly, don't distress yourself. Here, let mestrip off your coat, gently, and see what's wrong. Wait a little,though; I must fetch Lawrence Sahib."
Loth as he was to disturb his brother's rest, he felt instinctively thatthe news brought by Ganda Singh was to affect their destinies vitally.
"Wake up, old chap," he said to Lawrence, prodding him. "Slip on yourdressing-gown and come into the dining-room."
"Are they attacking?" asked Lawrence sleepily.
"No. Major Endicott has sent Ganda Singh with a message, telling us toclear out. I'm afraid things are looking very serious. Come on!"
Lawrence waited only to plunge his head into a basin of cold water, thenfollowed his brother into the dining-room.
"Salaam, sahib," said Ganda Singh with a smile of friendliness. Likeeverybody else he had a warm feeling towards the chota sahib.
"Now, dafadar, tell us all about it; take your time."
He bathed and bound up the wounded arm while Ganda Singh talked.
The story told by him filled the boys' cup of anxiety and dismay. Herelated how Major Endicott, after pacifying the unruly tribe to whichNagdu belonged, had returned slowly to headquarters, visiting on the wayseveral other tribes within his allotted portion of the borderlands.But he had soon been called away again by news of another outbreak,among the very people whom he had just reduced to quietness. Once morehe set off, attended as before by his official escort of twelvetroopers. This time he had woefully failed to repress their turbulence,which, indeed, swelled into active hostility. One day, attacked byoverwhelming numbers, he had been forced to flee for his life. Beforethe little party got away, it had lost several in killed and wounded,and the Major, refusing to leave the wounded to the tender mercies ofthe enemy, had lost his chance of making good his escape. He was headedoff, and galloped for refuge to a half-ruined hill-tower some littledistance west of his route, where he had been since besieged by thetribesmen.
On the second day of the investment he had scribbled the chit in hispocket-book, torn out the leaf, and given it to the dafadar with ordersto leave the tower by night and make all speed to Mr. Appleton's mine.Ganda Singh had crept out and stolen away to the rear, but his movementswere detected, and he had run the gauntlet of a fusillade. One shot hadtaken effect, but the wound was slight, and he had pressed on, eludedthe enemy's pickets, and after a long round gained the road that ledultimately to the mine. He had carried very little food with him, andwas almost exhausted, rather by fatigue than by loss of blood, when,about two miles from the mine, he stumbled upon a small bivouac of tenor a dozen men. Luckily he had heard their horses stamping and champingtheir bits while still at some distance from them, and was careful toapproach them warily. Having no means of telling whether they werefriends or foes, he decided to slip past them quietly in the darkness.He could barely drag himself over the last mile, and on reaching theplatform, being thoroughly worn out, he stumbled, and only saved himselffrom falling into the river by clutching at the girder as he fell.
"How long have you been marching?" asked Bob.
"Three days, sahib."
"And how far have you come?"
"Thirty kos,[#] sahib. It was bad marching, but I came as fast as Icould."
[#] About forty-five miles.
"It was good of Endicott Sahib to send you, but why? We are far awayfrom the disturbances on the Afghan border."
"Ah yes, sahib, but there is talk of great doings towards thenorth-west. They say in the bazaars that the Mongols have made friendswith the Afghans, and offered to share the plunder with them when theymake their raid into the Punjab. It is foolishness, as Endicott Sahibsaid: but the badmashes will do much evil, and the sahib said thatAppleton Sahib ought to know, so that he might escape to India whilethere is yet time."
"And what about the sahib himself? He will break through, of course?"
"Hai! The sahib will not leave the wounded."
"He can hold out?"
"Who shall say? The sahib has little food, and the water of the well inthe tower is foul. The sahib will assuredly fight as long as he has onecartridge left in his revolver; then.... It is written, sahib; but thehuzurs know how to die."
"Good heavens!" ejaculated Lawrence. "Can't he send for help?"
"The nearest post is a hundred miles away, sahib. There would not betime. In one day more, or perhaps two, all the food will be gone. Nohelp could come to him for a week--no force strong enough to drive awaythe dogs that beset him."
"Why did he think we could escape, then?"
"Because the road is still open, sahib. The tribes are not yet movingtowards the frontier, and the hill-tower is far to the west of the road.If the sahibs start at once there is just a chance that they may savethemselves--as one leaves a house before the flood comes up and washesit away."
The boys felt overwhelmed by this climax to their embarrassments. Therewas no certainty that they could reach the nearest British post beforethe tide of invasion had begun to flow. The way might already be blockedby hordes of tribesmen gathering strength for their swoop upon thePunjab--an adventure which, utterly absurd as it seemed, and foredoomedto disaster, would work havoc on the frontier until it was crushed bythe might of the Imperial power. They saw themselves shut up as in atrap between the 20,000 men on the north, and the innumerable host whichthe scent of plunder would attract to the Afghans' banner.
"We shall have to stick it now, in any case," said Bob to Lawrence."Khansaman, take Ganda Singh to Gur Buksh: he will find him quarters.Then go to bed. I will ring for you if I want you."
When the two men were gone, Bob threw himself into a chair.
"Light up," he said. "There'll be no more sleep for us to-night."
"What a brick the Major is!" said Lawrence. "Poor old chap! He won'tcave in without giving those blackguards something to remember, but ifthings are as bad as Ganda Singh says it's all up with him. Nothing onearth will induce him to leave his men, or he might make a bolt for it.I wonder if it was too late for him to send for help?"
"There's not much doubt of it. A man couldn't get away quietly enoughon horseback with the tower surrounded, and it would take him four orfive days to foot it. Then they'd have to get together an expeditionaryforce, and if they've got wind of what's on, they would hesitate to sendout a small light-marching force that might be smothered. Thesepolitical officers are always taking their lives in their hands. TheMajor's a good sort. I wish to goodness something could be done forhim."
"I say! I've a notion. What about the aeroplane?"
"How do you mean?"
"Fly to help him. A few of those bombs of yours would work wonders."
"That's all very well, I dare say a little dynamite would set thebesiegers flying in panic; but to bring the Major away is quite anothermatter. He's in a hill-tower, and if it's like those we sawoccasionally as we came north it'll be perched in the worst possibleplace for the machine to alight."
"We can find that out from Ganda Singh."
"But there's another thing. Suppose it is possible to come down, willthere be time to get the Major out and take him on board before theenemy come back? Their panic won't last long when they find they canonly be hit from the air."
"It will take some time to discover that, but I foresee the worstdifficulty. That's the sowars. As I said, he won't leave them,especially as some are wounded. And the biggest cowards increation--and the Afghans are not cowards--would recover their courageand their wits long before you could fly to and fro with the sowars aspassengers."
"And they'd smash the machine too. It would be an easy target most ofthe time. I'm afraid it's no go."
They smok
ed on in silence, gloomily watching the rings and cloudseddying out into the dark through the open window.
"Look here!" exclaimed Bob suddenly.
"I say!" cried Lawrence at the same moment.
"I'm going to try it," Bob continued.
"That's what I was going to say."
"But----"
"Hold hard! Just listen while I put the case with my usual sweetreasonableness. You're about fed up with patrolling the valley, Ishould think."
"But----"
"Let me have my say out: your turn by and by. You're a soldier; I'mnot. You're the chap to defend this place, and, as you said, we've gotto defend it now. You've a head for strategy and all that sort ofthing: I'm a fool at it. If one of us has got to go, I can be bestspared."
"You're talking perfect----"
"I know, but I haven't done yet. I haven't had quite as much practicein the aeroplane as you, but I've had quite enough for this job. And asfor shying dynamite bombs, any ass could do that."
"I back you wouldn't find it easy to hit a mark," Bob got in.
"Perhaps not, but when the mark is a crowd of three or four hundredAfghans I ought to be kicked if I couldn't score at least an outer.Seriously, old man, this is my job. I'm not such a fool as to thinkit'll be pure fun; it's a desperately tough proposition, as the Yankssay; and of course you'd do it better than I could; but we can't bothgo, and I'm sure you're the right man to stay here. Now have yourfling."
"Well, you've put me in a hole with your beastly logic," grumbled Bob."I can't admit you're right without sort of making myself out to be asprouting commander-in-chief! My word! It would be a fine thing to getthe Major here! He'd take command, and I'd play second fiddle with thegreatest pleasure in life. All right: you go, then."
"Thanks, old man. Just ring for Chunda, will you? I must have a talkwith Ganda Singh."
"You'll do nothing of the sort. You'll go straight back to bed. You'llwant all your nerve to-morrow, and after what you've gone through you'llbe a limp rag in the morning unless you sleep. Go to bed. I'll arrangeeverything. You'll find everything ready for you in the morning. Ithink you had better take Fazl with you: in fact, you must, for you'llhave quite enough to do with managing the machine without droppingbombs. Cut off!"
"All right. There's only one thing."
"What's that?"
"I hope to goodness the wind won't be blowing a hurricane in themorning."
The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west Frontier Page 19