Chapter the Twentieth A Friend in Need
Even a philosopher, we know, cannot bear the toothache patiently. Every one has at one time or another recognized in himself the unphilosophic tendency to feel irritation at some trivial thing—a speck of mud on one’s clean collar, a hair in one’s soup. We have all been much more deeply annoyed by a slight blemish or mishap than troubled at a really grave misfortune.
The plight in which Lawrence now found himself was serious enough to justify an access of rage or despair. But it was not his capture or his bonds that inflicted the severest pang upon his self-esteem. It was the sight of Nurla Bai and his dwarfish henchman making free with the sardine sandwiches which Shan Tai had put up for his especial delectation.
When they had bound him, the three Kalmucks glanced around, spied the basket a few feet away, and rushed at it with cries of delight. Lawrence looked on in disgust as they wolfed the eatables—too delicate for their untutored palates, too unsubstantial to appease their ravenous appetite. He felt a thrill of joy when, on the remainder of the party coming up, until there were nine altogether, the new arrivals clamoured for a share, and began to push and snatch just as he had seen a flock of greedy sparrows pecking at one another over a single crust. But though these thieves were falling out, there was no chance of the honest man coming by his own.
The contents of the basket soon disappeared, and the men looked round wolfishly for more. At sight of the aeroplane hope flashed upon them, and with one consent they ran to realize it. Lawrence could no longer see them over the edge of the hollow, but he heard their shouts of glee, the creaking of basket lids, and then the steady smacking of eighteen busy lips as they fell upon the viands provided for Major Endicott and his men. He was very angry. He felt not a touch of sympathy for them in their famishment. To him they were merely gluttons, not starving fellow-creatures.
During their absence he tried to wriggle out of his bonds, but the work had been well done, and he lay still, wondering what was to become of him. They had not killed him: he was suddenly aware of that agreeable fact, though his pleasure in it was damped when he foresaw a possible long captivity. While they gulped and gloated his thoughts ran round a ring. Would they carry him on with them, going southward? Then they would meet Major Endicott, and there would be a fight. If they, fortified by his own food, should get the upper hand, he would still be their helpless prisoner. If they were beaten, it would be consistent with Nurla Bai’s ferocious temper to kill him before taking to flight. Either way, his case would be deplorable.
Presently the men came back to him, still munching and smacking their lips. A villainous crew they looked. Besides Nurla Bai and Black Jack, there were two other miners; the rest, differently and more martially clad, were evidently part of the advancing force. They sat down at the edge of the hollow, chewing the cud of excellent victuals and of sweet exaltation of mind. Lawrence writhed as he realized how completely these ruffians had outwitted him. The men in front of him a while ago had been simply holding his attention, while the others crept upon him from behind. It was humiliating—one more proof, he thought, that he was certainly not cut out for a soldier.
At first the men did nothing but grunt, like pigs that have gorged themselves. Their little eyes rested on their prisoner indolently, as though he were an object of no importance. By and by they began to talk to one another, and then to throw taunting and insolent remarks at him. His knowledge of the niceties of abuse of which their tongue was capable was limited, but he understood enough to make his blood boil. But he discreetly held his peace: he would not flatter them by bandying abuse.
When they had thus enjoyed themselves for a while, Nurla Bai rose, and planted himself within a few feet of Lawrence.
“What is the good of the great hummingbird now?” he said with a sneer. “Those that hunt partridges ought not to make a noise.”
It flashed upon Lawrence that the man supposed that the aeroplane had been in pursuit of him. Evidently he was unaware that a party was marching down the track towards the mine. It was just as well to flatter his error. Lawrence made no reply.
“The little tins missed their mark,” Nurla Bai went on. “Too much haste spoils the hunt. The hawk has broken its wing, I perceive. Perhaps it can be mended?”
Lawrence reflected that by telling the truth he might gain a little time and save the aeroplane from destruction.
“Yes; it can be mended,” he said, “but not here. The damage is slight, but the machine is quite useless as it is.”
The Kalmuck sat looking at him, apparently following out a train of thought.
“How long might it take a man to learn how to use the wings?” he said at length.
Lawrence caught the drift of the question.
“Perhaps six months, perhaps a year,” he said. “It depends on the man.”
Nurla Bai looked disappointed; clearly he had hoped to appropriate the machine, get it mended, and then make instant use of it. He considered for a little, and then said—
“The hunter is caught in his own toils. You are now as my servant, to do whatsoever I command. It is a change. Give me the mine: I give you the machine.”
“That is foolishness. Bob Sahib will never give up the mine.”
“We shall see,” said the man with a leer. “When he beholds you in my hands, and knows that if he refuses you will be shot, and the machine broken up, I think he will be wise.”
At this Lawrence saw a ray of hope in the situation. If they took him back to the mine as a hostage, Major Endicott would discover the abandoned aeroplane and push on with all speed. But he soon discovered that his captors had no intention of abandoning the aeroplane. Nurla Bai no doubt reckoned on the sight of it in his hands having a very potent effect on the other sahib at the mine. After a consultation among themselves, the men went into the wood, and began to fell some of the smaller trees, and to lop branches from the larger. In a short time they had collected a considerable quantity. They carried these down to the river, and set about binding them into a raft with rushes and rods of osier. When this was done, they hauled the aeroplane to it, placed it in the middle, and proceeded to weave a long grass rope, which they attached to the rear of the raft. Then one of the men, carrying a straight sapling, mounted behind the aeroplane, and the whole contrivance was pushed into the stream.
The Kalmucks gave a shout of satisfaction on seeing the raft float down with the current. Two men held the rope to check its speed in the more rapid reaches of the river. The man upon it used his pole to fend it off rocks and snags. The others fetched their horses from the wood in which they had been tethered. On one of these Lawrence was mounted, with his hands still tied. Black Jack rode alongside, firmly grasping the bridle. Thus, when the afternoon was already far advanced, they began the march in the direction of the mine.
Lawrence had not looked on without expostulation at the handling of the aeroplane, but Nurla Bai ignored his protests. When he saw it swaying and jolting on the raft, he expected it to be irretrievably ruined before it had gone many miles on its course. The river, everywhere rapid, became a torrent in the gorges; and at these narrow places Lawrence anticipated that the raft would be whirled and cast about utterly beyond control, driven on one bank or the other, or smashed on some rock in mid-stream. But he discovered that the Kalmucks had been as much alive to the risks as he was himself, and his opinion of Nurla Bai rose. Just before coming to a gorge, they drew the raft to the bank, lifted the aeroplane, and carried it overland until the river broadened again. The man with the pole remained by the raft until his comrades were a long way in advance; then he let it race down the gorge unchecked and followed it along the bank, to find that it had been recovered at the further end.
The party had been marching for about an hour when they were met by three other Kalmucks, tramping wearily up the track on foot. Lawrence recognized them as miners. They had either not been furnished with horses by the advanced guard beyond the mine, or had had their steeds shot under them during the scamper in the darkness. Nurla Bai gave these hungry men a portion of the provisions that were still left, and they turned about and marched with the rest down-stream. The journey was continued until the growing darkness rendered further advance impossible. Mooring the raft to a tree on the bank, the men prepared to camp for the night, on a moss-covered space just above. Lawrence was lifted from the horse; his feet were again tied; and he was laid in the centre of the encampment. The horses were tethered in a copse hard by, and when a fire had been lighted a few yards northward of the bivouac, the men disposed themselves in a wide circle about their prisoner, and devoted themselves to the remnants of the provisions. No one offered Lawrence a share—a lack of courtesy which did not trouble him. No one spoke to him; but there was no charm in their conversation. They scarcely even looked at him; he suffered nothing from their neglect. He wished they would not eat so noisily; and when, having gobbled the last scraps of the food intended for Major Endicott and his party, they sat with their knees up, and chattered across him in their rasping voices, he felt that no one could be said to have a complete experience of the minor troubles of life who had not been an enforced companion of Kalmucks.
A great deal of what they said was incomprehensible to him, but he caught a phrase now and then that interested him in spite of himself. One concerned his uncle. Nurla Bai was apparently relating, for the benefit of the strangers from the north, the doughty deeds he had recently performed. Among them he ranked the shooting of the Englishman who had been his employer. From what he said, Lawrence gathered that the disappearance of Mr. Appleton was as great a disappointment to the miners as to himself. They joked about it, however; Nurla Bai became facetious as he described the consternation of the fishes as they beheld the body of an Englishman, strange monster, sinking into their midst. It was fortunate that Lawrence did not understand the idiomatic beastliness with which the man depicted the gruesome feast then celebrated on the stony bottom of the river.
Another flight of the Kalmuck’s fancy afforded him much amusement. Nurla Bai gave rein to his eloquence in picturing the scenes that Delhi was soon to witness: Ubacha Khan sitting in state on the ancient throne of the Moguls, withering with his frown the throng of cowed and shivering Englishmen who grovelled at his feet, and beslobbered them with tears as they pleaded vainly for mercy. Lawrence heard for the first time of the exquisite tortures which Mongol ingenuity could devise for helpless prisoners; and while he was amused at the picture conjured up of British officers suing a new Mogul emperor for pardon, he was horrified at the mere imagination of the cruelties which these wretches discussed with such gloating inhumanity.
Lying on his back, he could see half the ring of his captors, their squat forms silhouetted against the glow of the camp-fire, their yellow faces blanched by the moonlight now flooding the valley. He raised his eyes to the hills beyond, watching the magical play of the silvery radiance upon the peaks and promontories, making the snow sparkle; searching, as it were, the black crannies and caverns. But he soon found his interest in this wonderful illumination yield to his sense of cold. This region was one of extremes of temperature: the torrid heat of day being succeeded by Arctic cold at night. The Kalmucks did not appear conscious of it; they were inured to the climate; but to Lawrence, compelled to lie motionless, the chilliness became painful, and the warm glow of the camp-fire mocked him tantalizingly.
He was to prove, this night, the contrariness of fate. Twice before, when he had wished above all things to keep awake, drowsiness had overcome him; now, when he would have given anything for the oblivion of sleep, physical discomfort and the burden of his thoughts banished sleep from his eyes. The Kalmucks became less talkative as the night wore on; presently their voices ceased altogether, and they slept. Lawrence preferred their snores to their conversation; they formed a descant to the unvarying ground bass of the river droning below. Every now and then the cry of a night-bird in the mountains added its shrill treble to the harmony.
The moon sank behind the crest of the hills; black darkness stole over the valley; and the untended watch-fire sank lower and lower, until its glow was too faint even to show up the slumbering forms of the Kalmucks. Lawrence might have wondered that they had not set a watch but for his knowledge that they were quite unsuspicious of the enemy higher up the stream, and that his bonds were only too firm. His thoughts flitted to Major Endicott and his little band; where were they now? How did they regard his failure to return to them? Had they, too, encamped for the night? Was there the least possibility that the hours spent in stalking him and in constructing the raft would have given them time to draw so near that with morning light they would come upon the encampment, or overtake the Kalmucks during the ensuing day? And what was to be the final issue of all these strange events? Would he, or Bob, ever come out of the entanglement in which they had been so suddenly involved?
His anxious meditation was broken short by a slight sound behind him. He turned his head—it was the only part of his body that he could move—and stretched his ear towards the spot whence the sound had seemed to come. Perhaps it was one of the Kalmucks stirring in his sleep—rising, possibly, to cast fuel upon the dying fire. He could see nothing. Twisting his neck until it ached, he tried to pierce the blackness, listening keenly for a repetition of the sound. He heard only the regular snores of the men sleeping nine or ten feet away.
But there seemed to be something moving between him and them—a something darker than the night itself, creeping along the ground. It could not be a wild animal; no ibex, nor even a bear unless pressed by hunger, would have come within the scent of him; there were no tigers or leopards in these regions; could it be a man?—one of his own people? Tingling with a flush of hope, he lay perfectly still, fearful lest even the beating of his heart should betray his excitement to the enemy.
There was a rustling movement near him; it seemed to come nearer; then he shuddered involuntarily as he felt something touch him. It flashed upon him that one of the Kalmucks was going to murder him, and for a moment he had to exercise stern control over his nerves to repress a cry. A cold shiver trickled down his back, and he broke out in a clammy sweat as he felt a rough hand pass over him—over his face, aside to his arms, down to his feet. He durst not utter a sound, hope and fear jostling in his brain.
The hand left him. There was a moment of suspense. Then in his ear breathed a whisper.
“Sahib, lie still!”
He felt the hand again, then a pressure upon his arm—a pressure that increased and diminished in rapid alternation. He throbbed with joy. Some one—was it Fazl?—was sawing at his bonds. The sound made by the knife or sword was scarcely perceptible; yet to his feverish apprehension it seemed loud enough to waken the heaviest sleeper. Soon he was conscious that his arms were free, and he ventured to move them stealthily to ease them of their numbness. The pressure was transferred to his feet, and after some moments of quivering anxiety he felt that these also were released from their bonds. Then cold metal touched his hand, and his eager fingers clasped over a grooved hilt.
“Sahib, a minute to rest, then follow me,” whispered the voice.
He could hardly endure the waiting, though he knew it was intended to give him command of his limbs.
“Sahib, now!”
He raised himself on all fours, and began to creep after his deliverer, a black form crawling towards the ring of sleeping Kalmucks.
The Gurkha—for it was he—had almost passed between and beyond the two men who lay stretched towards the track, when a hand shot out and gripped him by the ankle. At the same moment the owner of the hand gave a shout, his companions started up, and Bob leapt to his feet. As soon as he felt the touch upon him, Fazl wriggled like a snake, his right hand groping towards the dark form beneath him. There was a groan, and he stood free.
A foot or two behind him, Bob came to a halt when he dimly saw the two figures writhing on the ground. When one of them sprang up, he was not sure for the moment whether it was friend or foe. A murmured word reassured him, and he was ready to go on. But his way was blocked. Roused by their comrade’s cry, the Kalmucks hurled themselves in a shouting mass across the open space. One of them kicked up the embers of the expiring fire, and a dull glow illuminated the scene. It lent aid to the fugitives, who were themselves in shadow. But for his sprained ankle Lawrence could have sprinted away into the darkness; Fazl might by this time have been out of harm’s way, but the little man, perplexed and anxious at his master’s dilatoriness, turned to his assistance. Lawrence had been checked by a man who sprang at him from the left. He had no time to swing round and bring into play the right hand clutching Fazl’s knife; but, instinctively shooting out his left hand, by good luck he got home upon his opponent’s chin. There was little ‘body’ in the blow, delivered so rapidly and at such close quarters; yet his muscles were hard, and the man staggered and fell in a heap.
At this moment Fazl rushed to his side, in time to engage a group of the enemy who had now got their bearings and were rushing towards him. That moss-carpeted enclosure was the scene of a struggle as extraordinary as it was short. The little Gurkha twirled and twisted, sprang high, bent low, legs and arms gyrating with a rapidity that the eye of a spectator could scarcely have followed. It was as though some infuriated gnome had sprung out of the bowels of the earth, and was executing a fantastic dance among men bewildered by his demoniacal antics. But it was a dance of death. The red glow of the newly rekindled fire flashed upon a terrible kukuri, which whirled in circles, ovals, parabolas, and fifty unnamed curves, carving intricate luminous patterns on the night. Nor were these evolutions purposeless: every stroke of the keen nimble blade was directed by the keener mind of the man wielding it. Here it struck up a knife, there a rifle; now it pierced a shoulder, now grazed a head; so swift in its darting movements that it seemed multiplied into a dozen weapons each barbed with fire.
While the Gurkha was thus in the ecstasy of sword-play, keeping half the party of Kalmucks urgently engaged, Lawrence was in difficulties. The knife given him by Fazl was no doubt sharp and deadly, but it was a weapon to whose use no Englishman is bred, and demanded, though not so much free space as a sword, yet a certain amount of elbow room for its effective employment. Lawrence had only just felled his first assailant when he was himself beset by two or three at once. Half conscious of stinging sensations in arm and thigh he lashed out with left fist and right hand grasping the knife, but lost his footing, stumbled, and fell to the ground with his aggressors on top of him, snarling like wolves. He found himself with his left hand gripping one of them by the throat: his own right wrist was held as in a vice. Struggling to wrench himself free, he rolled over, dragging the panting enemy with him, their movements carrying them nearer and nearer to the camp-fire; and in a sudden flicker of light he recognized the savage features of Black Jack.
In sheer muscular strength he was no match for the Kalmuck dwarf. Under the crushing pressure of Black Jack’s fierce grip his hold on the knife was relaxing: the weapon was slipping from him. His hold upon the man’s throat weakened; the Kalmuck was digging his nails into his left arm. As the under dog he was not able to cope with the man pressing him down. The knife dropped to the ground; his wrist was suddenly released; he felt a bony hand at his own throat, and had given himself up for lost, when a wild discordant clamour broke out close by, drowning all other sounds. For an instant Black Jack was perfectly still: then, wrenching himself away, he sprang to his feet and leapt into the darkness.
Lawrence got up more slowly, every muscle and nerve quivering. He had just seen that the space around was empty of living men, when a film seemed to fall upon his eyes. He tottered, and sank fainting upon the ground.
When he reopened his eyes, the flush of morning lay upon the valley. He raised his head.
“That’s right,” said Major Endicott, stepping from behind him. “How do you feel?”
“Rather groggy, Major,” replied Lawrence. “Those fellows struck me, I think.”
“A gash or two: nothing to speak of. What bowled you over was hunger and fatigue, I suspect. We’ve got a few scraps left, which will keep you going until we reach your mine.”
“Is Fazl all right?”
“As jolly as a sandboy, though rather dilapidated. It’s lucky I carry a case of sticking plaster with me; he’s pretty considerably patched—much more than you are. You slept pretty soundly through my amateur surgery.”
“And the Kalmucks?”
“Gone elsewhere—all that were left of them. That machine of yours played you false then?”
“Yes, the engine failed, and I had to come down. I was rather bothered with getting rid of my bombs and controlling the thing at the same time, and made a hash of it—sprained my ankle, too. I was waiting for you, and the beggars stalked me. I was a silly ass to let them take me unawares.”
“What were they going to do with you?”
“Offer me and the aeroplane in exchange for the mine—as if Bob would listen to any rot like that!
“Well, the aeroplane isn’t worth much now, I suspect, but I fancy Bob might be disposed to think you good value for the mine. However, that’s all off. The aeroplane’s done for, of course?”
“Not a bit of it. We can put it to rights in a day.”
“Warrant it?”
“Yes. Our bargain holds if you’ll risk it. I’m more than sorry this happened, if it’s going to dish your plan, Major.”
“It shan’t do that. Taking risks is part of my job—and yours too, as it happens.”
“I’m jolly glad you came up when you did. In another minute you would have been too late.”
“You’ve got to thank your Gurkha for that. We were marching up pretty briskly—had no trouble from the Afghans—and the Gurkha declared he heard the sound of your bombs far ahead. None of us had heard anything, but the little chap was so positive that I thought we’d be on the safe side and hurry up. Judging by the march we made, the sound must have travelled nearly ten miles—not impossible in this air, I suppose; I confess I was sceptical at first, and only began to feel anxious when you didn’t return within the time stated.
“We came upon the tracks of the aeroplane some miles up; there was litter of all sorts about—scraps of food, broken branches and what not, and I feared you’d smashed yourself and your machine, only we couldn’t find any pieces of it. But we found your rifle and field-glass in a little hollow, and the Gurkha guessed that you had tumbled among the Kalmucks. An hour after dark we caught sight of the camp-fire. The Gurkha volunteered to creep up and reconnoitre, so the rest of us halted, waiting for his report.
“He’s a clever little chap, with a double dose of Gurkha courage. He came back very soon and told me he’d seen you tied up among them, and about the raft and so on. My sowars wanted to rush the place, but it struck me that that might be the end of you. The first instinct of such barbarians would be to knife their prisoner. It was a bit of a quandary—and the Gurkha came out strong again. It was his suggestion that he should creep into the camp and release you before we moved.”
“Plucky little chap!” said Lawrence warmly.
“A treasure! The noise of the scuffle brought us up hot-foot, and the only thing I regret is that, as the Gurkha informed me, the ringleaders, those rascally miners of yours, got away.... Now the sooner we get to your mine the better. You had better sit my horse. As all our food is gone, we shall have a strong motive for hurry, so we ought to get home before night. Of course if you think you can’t stand it we’ll take our time.”
“No: I’m fit enough. Your men will look after the raft?”
He explained the method by which the aeroplane had been taken safely past the gorges, and the Major went off to instruct his men.
Lawrence summoned Fazl, who was resting on a grassy knoll overlooking the river.
“I owe you my life; you’re a brave fellow, and I thank you,” he said.
Fazl’s plastered face broadened in a grin.
“Wah! sahib, the Kalmucks are pigs, and their hearts melt like butter. The sahib’s servant is unworthy of praise. It is a small thing to do for the heaven-born.”