Chapter the Twenty-Fourth A Check
The night passed undisturbed. Bob was almost sorry. As the slow hours crept towards midnight, when Lawrence would relieve him, he would have welcomed an opportunity for action. It was bitter cold. He dared not kindle a watch-fire, and so enlighten the enemy about his arrangements. Remembering Lawrence’s similar vigil forty miles down, he said to himself: “The kid’s a good plucked one. He’d have made a first-rate soldier, or political officer, or anything. Pity we’re both so hard up!”
Suddenly he bethought himself of the mass of ore which had been tumbled into the cavity in the bank just above the Pathan miners’ compound. It must weigh many tons, and according to Mr. Appleton’s calculations, sixty per cent. of it was pure silver. Bob did not know the market price of the metal, but the quantity that had been mined must represent a considerable sum of money. The exciting incidents of the last few days had kept his thoughts engrossed with strategy and tactics; and the notion that the mine was itself a valuable property, worth defending for its own sake, came almost with a shock of surprise.
“Who is the owner now?” he thought. “Did Uncle leave a will? I suppose we are his heirs, but what’s the law of inheritance in these parts?”
And then the recollection of his uncle’s recent death caused a revulsion of feeling. It was quite unreasonable to shrink from the thought of benefiting by Mr. Appleton’s decease; but affection and high-minded instinct sometimes get the better of reason, and he dismissed the subject, still with a vague hope that his uncle would even yet return to his own.
At midnight Lawrence came with a squad of men to relieve him.
“All’s well then?” he said.
“Yes; I haven’t heard a murmur.”
“Well, cut off and get a sleep. I’m good for a spell till daylight. Shan Tai has given me a splendid feed. We’re lucky in our men, Bob. As I was eating I overheard Shan Tai talking with Chunda Beg. ‘What you tinkee?’ says Shan Tai. They’d evidently been discussing the situation. ‘I say not one of the dogs will ever poke his nose within our walls,’ said the khansaman. ‘When the huzur told me that two boys were coming to live here I was sick in mind. Some of the Feringhi boys call us niggers, and speak to us as if we were mud. Our sahibs are not so. They do not sniff and curse and use us as if we were beasts and not men. What say you, cook man?’ ‘Say what you say allo lighto,’ says Shan Tai. ‘Likee young massa plenty muchee. Big lot fightee men come all-same. No can fightee big lot long time.’ ‘Wah!’ says Chunda. ‘The two sahibs are worth thousands of those dogs of Kalmucks, and if Allah keeps them alive we shall smite and smite until the Sirkar sends help. Only give them good food, cook man.’ ‘Makee chow-chow first-chop,’ says Shan Tai, and the old chap gave a chuckle. He’s a jolly good sort.”
Lawrence had said that they were lucky in their men; it did not occur to him that the fragment of conversation he reported showed rather that the men thought themselves lucky in their masters.
The day broke, and still the enemy had made no movement. As soon as it was light Bob had the field gun dragged over the bridge to the breastwork. Lawrence reported that the enemy had begun to erect a new rampart some distance down the track.
“They surely don’t imagine that we’re going to take the offensive,” he said.
“No. It probably means that they’ll snipe at us from behind it. Go and get your breakfast and come back as soon as you can.”
Bob considered whether to interfere with the enemy’s work, but decided that he had better husband his ammunition. Some two hours later, after Lawrence’s return, the enemy began firing across their new breastwork. At the same time a number of them were seen skirmishing along the track, making short rushes from rock to rock. The track itself was only thirty or forty feet wide, straight and comparatively smooth. But the cliff face was very rugged, affording a certain amount of cover. Skirmishing from point to point, where the cliff jutted out or receded, or where single fragments of rock had fallen to the side of the track, the enemy advanced under cover of the fire from their breastwork until they had come about halfway to the position of the defenders. Some scrambled up the cliff here and there for a few yards so as to obtain a better view of the men sheltered by the entrenchment. Bob refused to allow his men to make a general reply to their fire. He knew that they could not approach beyond a certain point, the track being open and the amount of cover diminishing as they drew nearer. Now and then, when one of them advanced too far ahead of his fellows, he permitted the best marksman to try his skill, and two or three of the enemy were hit. One of his own men also, incautiously exposing himself, fell back with a gash in his arm. Except for this, the day passed without casualties, and the relative positions of the two parties were the same.
The garrison were greatly delighted that the end of the second day found the situation unaltered. Only five days of the critical week remained, and some of them already saw themselves at the end of their probation. Bob hinted that they were not yet out of the wood, but he was glad enough to see how high-spirited and confident they were. For his own part, he relaxed nothing of his care and vigilance. He was still on his guard against a night attack, and as an extra precaution, he sent two of the Sikhs to creep in the darkness along the track between the enemy’s breastwork and his own, to give instant warning if they should see or hear any signs of movement.
But the peace of the night remained unbroken. During the early part of the next day, even, there was no sniping or skirmishing as before. Bob augured ill of this inactivity. He would have been more at ease if the enemy had pursued their ineffective tactics, and would indeed have welcomed a rush, which he felt himself able to repel. He could not but believe that they were gathering their strength, perhaps waiting for the support of more artillery, and he had an instinctive dread that the next assault would be a much more formidable affair.
Soon after noon his prescience was rudely justified. Suddenly, without any warning, two guns opened fire from the enemy’s breastwork. Lawrence at once offered to set off in the aeroplane and repeat his work with the bombs; but Bob would not allow it, partly because of the scarcity of petrol and dynamite, partly from a fear that the enemy, now better prepared, would have detailed a certain number specially to aim at the aeroplane in flight. The airmen might not escape a second time with a slight flesh wound.
The fight resolved itself into a short artillery duel. The enemy’s first shell flew high, striking the cliff above the cantilever gangway, and bespattering the sheds and the compounds with fragments of rock. Ganda Singh proved a better marksman. He planted a shell on the enemy’s breastwork between the two guns; splinters of rock flew all around, and for a time there was no more firing. Presently, however, it was resumed, apparently from one gun only, and Bob hoped that the other had been put out of action. But in a few minutes both the weapons were at work, and the gunners’ practice improved. Two or three shells struck the garrison’s barricade, and though no breach was made, part of the parapet was blown away, and splintered rock flew in all directions, dealing severe wounds among the men behind. Ganda Singh worked his gun with imperturbable calm, and Gur Buksh from the compound sent a rain of bullets from the machine gun along the track. Bob saw, however, that he would soon be forced to withdraw the field gun for lack of ammunition. He had only captured twenty rounds with it, and after half these had been expended, with much damage to the enemy’s breastwork, he decided that he must reserve the rest for use in the compound, when the enemy should attempt to force a passage round the bend.
Signalling therefore to Gur Buksh to keep up a hot fire, he ordered four of the men to run the field gun back to the mine. The rest he withdrew a few yards from the breastwork, posting them close against the cliff out of the direct course of the enemy’s shells, which were now working havoc on his rough defences. But finding it impossible there to observe what the enemy were doing, he ordered two men to run back to the breastwork, lie down until the guns had fired, and then spring up and observe the enemy’s movements through the gaps. They soon reported that skirmishers were again cautiously advancing along the track. Presently the bombardment redoubled in vigour, and immediately afterwards the scouts cried out that a large body of the enemy was charging. The guns ceased fire; at the short range the trajectory was so flat that the gunners could scarcely aim at the breastwork without hitting their own men.
“Now, boys!” cried Bob, unconsciously addressing them as if they were Tommies, “after me!”
He led them back to their former position. They spread out along the breastwork and opened fire. Bob saw a mass of two or three hundred Kalmucks streaming without any sort of order along the track, while the skirmishers who had occupied the rocks above were firing as fast as they could load.
“Take your time!” he cried. “There’s no need to hurry.”
The first volleys were nevertheless somewhat ragged. The nerves of the Pathans, unaccustomed to the shattering effect of high explosive shells bursting within a few yards of them, were shaken; only Ganda Singh and the three other Sikhs he had with him were calm as disciplined soldiers ought to be. It was their rifles that took toll of the advancing enemy. Several of these dropped; the rest came on yelling fiercely. Bob ordered his men to fire independently. The steadiness of the Sikhs had its effect on the Pathans, who rested their rifles in holes and crevices of the breastwork and took deliberate aim.
The head of the charging column was now within two hundred yards. In spite of increasing losses they still dashed on, and crowds of their countrymen were swarming over the breastwork behind them. Nearer and nearer they drew, but their ranks were thinning fast. When they were about a hundred yards from Bob’s entrenchment their leaders wavered. At this many of the men halted, in irresolution; only a few of the bolder spirits, worked up to a pitch of frenzy, pressed on until but fifty yards separated them from their goal. These never returned.
With startling suddenness panic seized those who had faltered. Yelling with rage and despair they turned about and scurried like rabbits to the shelter of their breastwork, pursued by a dropping fire. When the survivors had got more than halfway back, their further retreat was covered by the field guns, and Bob again withdrew his men a little to the rear, well content with his successful stand.
There was no further attack that day. The men were jubilant. When Bob, on being relieved by Lawrence, returned to the mine, he was met at the end of the bridge by Ditta Lal. The Babu’s aspect was even more than usually bland.
“I offer fulsome congratulations on sparkling victory, sir,” he said. “Perchance you heard the universal shout that burst stentorian from drouthy throats.”
“Is that your own?” asked Bob, interrupting.
“My own, sir?” The Babu was puzzled. “I fear I do not fully apprehend meaning of question.”
“Why, it sounded like blank verse, and I wondered whether you yourself had been dropping into poetry.”
“Delighted, sir,” said the Babu with a smile and a bow. “I didn’t twig my frail thoughts had run into metric mould. It was unpremeditated art. I am up to snuff now, sir. ‘That burst stentorian from drouthy throats’—’pon my dicky, sir, phrase has tone, ring, sonorous rotundity that many professed poetasters would give boots for. However and notwithstanding, long and short of it is I am self-appointed spokesman for all and sundry in offering abject felicitations on auspicious event.”
“Thanks, I’m sure.”
They were walking side by side to the house.
“Now, dear sir,” the Babu resumed, “when I was at Calcutta University—of which, as you are aware, I have honour and glory to be B.A.—I was wont to shed my light of countenance on football matches, watched young barbarians toe flying sphere. After certain amount of rough and tumble, at blast of whistle all performance ceased for brief interval, during which muddy oafs ingurgitated juice of lemons and all that.”
“What are you driving at?” asked Bob in bewilderment.
“Why, sir, that interludium, denominated half-time, has parallel here and now. We are at half-time in this fateful strife. Three days and half of allotted span have expired; and I make bold to suggestion that, for refreshment and buck-up of general company, you issue orders for tamasha.”
“What’s that?”
“Tamasha, sir, is jollification, kick-up, regular beano—song and dance, et cetera. With your permission, I will undertake herculean labour of organization.”
“My good man, you know our proverbs: ‘Don’t hallo till you’re out of the wood’—‘Don’t count your chickens before they are hatched.’ It’s true the men have done very well so far, but the stiffest fight often comes in the second half, you know. Possess your soul in patience, Babu. If we come through safely I promise you shall have your tamasha, or whatever you call it, and I tell you what: as you seem to be a bit of a poet, why not spend your time in writing a ballad or something of the sort in anticipation?”
“Happy thought, sir. I have not hitherto built rhyme, lofty or otherwise, but I will do my level best to rise to height of great argument; I will set my eye in fine frenzy rolling, and body forth forms of things unknown at present, but justified by event. I will strike my lyre while it is hot. Good-night, sir, and sweet repose.”
He waddled off, bent on a passionate quest for inspiration. Bob looked after him with a tolerant smile.
“Poor chap!” he thought. “Much learning has made him pretty mad. I wonder if we Britishers, when we pick up a smattering of their lore, strike the Hindus in the same way? I only hope his pæan will be justified by the event.”