Flying Legion

by George Allan England

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  THE GREETING OF WARRIORS

  Without delay, everything was put in complete readiness for whatevereventualities might develop. If these strange people meant peace andwanted it, the Legion would give them peace. If war, then by no meanswas the Legion to be unprepared.

  The gangplank was put down from the starboard port in the lowergallery. The helicopters were cut off. Nothing was left running butone engine, at half-speed, to furnish current for the apparatus theMaster had decided to use in dealing with the Jannati Shahr folk incase of need--some of this having been evolved on the run from Mecca.

  Four hampers were carried down the gangplank and set on the grass,about fifty feet ahead of _Nissr's_ huge beak, that towered in airover the men like an eagle over sparrows. These hampers contained thechosen apparatus. Wires were attached, and run back to the ship, andproper connections made at once by Leclair and Menendez, under theMaster's instructions.

  The machine-guns were dismounted and taken "ashore," to borrow anautical phrase. These were set up in strategic positions before theliner, and full supplies of ammunition both blank and ball were servedto them.

  About a quarter of a mile to north of _Nissr's_ position, one of thesmall watercourses or irrigating ditches that cut the plain glimmeredthrough a grove of Sayhani dates.[1] To this ditch the Master sent twomen in search of the largest stone they could find there. When theyreturned with a rock some foot in diameter, he ordered it placedhalf-way between _Nissr_ and the palm-grove.

  [Footnote 1: Sayhani (the Crier), so called because one of these palmsis fabled to have cried aloud in salutation to Mohammed, when theProphet happened to walk beneath it.]

  These preparations made, the Master lined up his Legionaries forinspection and final instructions. Standing there in military array,fully armed, they made rather a formidable body of fighters despitetheir paucity of numbers. Courage, eagerness, and joy--stillunalloyed by all the fatigues and perils of the long trek afteradventure--showed on every face. Even through the eyeholes of "CaptainAlden's" mask, daring exultation glimmered.

  The dead, left behind, could not now depress the Legionaries' spirits.To be on solid earth again, in this wonderland with the Golden Cityfronting them, quickened every man's pulse.

  What though they were but a handful, ringed round by grim, jaggedmountains, beyond which lay hundreds of leagues of burning sand? Whatthough an unknown people of great numbers already had begun to stirin that vast hive of gold? What though all of Islam, which had alreadylearned of the sacrilege the accursed Feringi had wrought, waslusting their blood? Nothing of this mattered. It was enough for theLegionaries that adventure still beckoned onward, ever on!

  The Master, standing there before them, called the roll. We shouldlisten, by way of knowing just how the Legion was now composed. Itconsisted of the following: Adams, "Captain Alden," Bohannan, Bristol,Brodeur, Cracowicz, Emilio, Enemark, Frazier, Grison, Janina, Lebon,Leclair, L'Heureux, Manderson, Menendez, Prisrend, Rennes, Seres,Simonds, Wallace. All the wounded had recovered sufficiently to be ofsome service. The dead were: Travers, who had died on the passageof the Atlantic; Auchincloss and Gorlitz, burned to death; Kloof,Daimamoto, Beziers and Sheffield, killed by the Beni Harb; Lombardo,killed by the Meccans; Rrisa, suicide.

  In addition to these, we must not forget the Sheik Abd el Rahman,still locked a prisoner in the cabin that for some days had been hisswift-flying prison-cell of torment.

  The Master had just finished checking his roster, when quite withoutany preliminary disturbance a crackle of rifle-fire began spatteringfrom the city. And all at once, out of the gate opposite _Nissr_,appeared a white-whirling swarm of figures, at the same time that agreen banner, bearing a star and crescent, broke out from the highestminaret.

  The figures issuing in a dense mass from the gate were horsemen, all;and they were riding full drive, _ventre a terre_. Out into theplain they debouched, with robes flying, with a green banner, steelflashing, and over all, a great and continual volleying of rifle-fire.

  This horde of rushing cavaliers must have numbered between fiveand six hundred; and a fine sight they made as the Master got hisbinoculars on them. Here, there, a bit of lively color stood outvividly against the prevailing snowy white of the mass; but for themost part, horses and men alike came rushing down like a drive offurious snow across that wondrous green slope between the palm-grovesand the city wall.

  As they drew near, the snapping of burnouses and cherchias in thewind, the puffs of powder-smoke, the glint of brandished arms grewclearer; and now, too, the muffled sound of kettle-drums rolleddown-breeze, in booming counterpoint to the sharp staccato of therifles.

  Furious as an army of _jinnee_ with wild cries, screams, howls, asthey stood in their stirrups and discharged their weapons toward thesky, the horsemen of Jannati Shahr drove down upon the little group ofLegionaries.

  The major loosened his revolver in its holster. Others did the same.At the machine-guns, the gunners settled themselves, waiting theMaster's word of command to mow into the white foam of that insurgingwave--a wave of frantic riders and of lathering Nedj horses,the thunder of whose hoofs moment by moment welled up into aheart-breaking chorus of power.

  "Damn it all, sir!" the major exclaimed. "When are you going to ripinto them? They'll be on us, in three minutes--in two! Give 'em Hell,before it's too late! Stop 'em!"

  Leclair smiled dryly behind his lean hand, as the Master emphaticallyshook a head in negation.

  "No, Major," he said. "No machine-guns yet. You and your eternalmachine-guns are sometimes a weariness to the flesh." He raised hisvoice, above the tumult of the approaching storm of men and horses."I suppose you've never even heard of the _La'ab el Barut_, thepowder-play of the Arabs? They are greeting us with their greatestdisplay of ceremony--and you talk about machine-guns!"

  He turned, lifted his hand and called to the gunners:

  "No mistakes now, men! No accidents! The first man that pulls atrigger at these people, I'll shoot down with my own hand!"

  The lieutenant touched the Master's arm.

  "We must give them a return salute, my Captain," he said in Arabic."To omit that would be a grave breach of the laws of host andguest--almost as bad as violating the salt!"

  The Master nodded.

  "That is quite true, Lieutenant," he answered. "Thank you forreminding me!"

  Once more he turned to the gunners.

  "Load with blanks," he commanded, "and aim at an elevation offorty-five degrees. Hold your fire till I give the word!"

  "It is well, _Effendi_!" approved the lieutenant, his eyes gleamingwith Gallic enthusiasm. "These are no People of the Black Tents, noBeni Harb, nor thieving Meccans. These are men of the very ancient,true Arabic blood--and we must honor them!"

  Already the rushing powder-play was within a few hundred yards.The roar of hoofs, the smashing volleys of fire, raging of thekettle-drums, wild-echoing yells of the white company deafened theLegionaries' ears.

  What a sight that was--archaic chivalry in all the loose-robed flightand flashing magnificence of rushing pride! Not one, not even theleast imaginative of the Legion, but felt his skin crawl, felt hisblood thrill, with stirrings of old romance at sight of this strange,exalting spectacle!

  In the van, an ancient horseman with bright colors in his robe wasriding hardest of all, erect in his high-horned saddle, reins heldloose in a master-hand, gold-mounted rifle with enormously long barrelflourished on high.

  Tall old chief and slim white horse of purest barb breed seemed almostone creature. Instinctively the Master's service-cap came off, atsight of him. The lieutenant's did the same. Both men stepped forward,cap over heart. These two, if no others, understood the soul ofArabia.

  Suddenly the old Sheik uttered a cry. An instant change came over therushing horde. With one final volley, silence fell. The kettle-drumsceased their booming. Every rider leaned far back in his pearl-inlaid,jewel-crusted saddle, reining in his horse.

  And in a moment, as innume
rable unshod hoofs dug the heavy turf, allthat thundering host--which but a second before had seemed inevitablybound to trample down the Legion under a hurricane of white-latheredhorses and frenzied, long-robed men--came to a dead halt of silenceand immobility.

  It was as if some magician's wand, touching the crest of an inbreakingstorm-wave, had instantaneously frozen it, white-slavering foam andall, to motionless rigidity.

  Ahead of all, standing erect and proud in his arabesque stirrups, withthe green banner floating overhead, the chief of this whole marvelousband was stretching out the hand of salaam.

  "_Fire_!" cried the Master.