Sec. 1.
It had come. Ross-Ellison had proved a true prophet (and was to provehimself a true soldier and commander of men).
Possibly the most remarkable thing about it was the quickness andquietness, the naturalness and easiness with which it had come. A weekor two of newspaper forecast and fear, a week or two of recriminationand feverish preparation, an ultimatum--England at war. The navymobilized, the army mobilizing, auxiliaries warned to be in readiness,overseas battalions, batteries and squadrons recalled, orre-distributed, reverses and "regrettable incidents,"--and outlyingparts of India (her native troops massed in the North or doinggarrison-duty overseas) an archipelago of safety-islands in a sea ofdanger; Border parts of India for a time dependent upon their variousvolunteer battalions for the maintenance, over certain areas, of theircivil governance, their political organization and public services.
In Gungapur, as in a few other Border cities, the lives of the Europeanwomen, children and men, the safety of property, and the continuance ofthe local civil government depended for a little while upon the localvolunteer corps.
Gungapur, whose history became an epitome of that of certain otherisolated cities, was for a few short weeks an intermittently besiegedgarrison, a mark for wandering predatory bands composed of _budmashes_outlaws, escaped convicts, deserters, and huge mobs drawn from thatenormous body of men who live on the margin of respectability, peacefulcultivator today, bloodthirsty dacoit to-morrow, wielders of the spadeand mattock or of the _lathi_ and _tulwar_[63] according to season,circumstance, and the power of the Government; recruits for a mightyarmy, given the leader and the opportunity--the hour of a Government'sdanger.
[63] Quarter-staff and sword.
As had been pointed out, time after time, in the happy andhappy-go-lucky past, the practical civilian seditionist and activecivilian rebel is more fortunately situated in India than is his foreignbrother, in that his army exists ready to hand, all round him, in thethousands of the desperately poor, devoid of the "respectability" thataccompanies property, thousands with nothing to lose and high hopes ofmuch to gain, heaven-sent material for the agitator.
Thanks to the energy of Colonel John Robin Ross-Ellison, his unusualorganizing ability, his personality, military genius and fore-knowledgeof what was coming, Gungapur suffered less than might have been expectedin view of its position on the edge of a Border State ofalways-doubtful friendliness, its large mill-hand element, and thepoverty and turbulence of its general population.
The sudden departure of the troops was the sign for the commencement ofa state of insecurity and anxiety which quickly merged into one ofdanger and fear, soon to be replaced by a state of war.
From the moment that it was known for certain that the garrison would bewithdrawn, Colonel Ross-Ellison commenced to put into practice hisprojected plans and arrangements. On the day that Mr. Dearman's coolies(after impassioned harangues by a blind Mussulman fanatic known asIbrahim the Weeper, a faquir who had recently come over the Border toGungapur and attained great influence; and by a Hindu professionalagitator who had obtained a post at the mills in the guise of a harmlessclerk) commenced rioting, beat Mr. Dearman to death with crowbars,picks, and shovels, murdered all the European and Eurasian employees,looted all that was worth stealing, and, after having set fire to themills, invaded the Cantonment quarter, burning, murdering,destroying,--Colonel Ross-Ellison called out his corps, declared martiallaw, and took charge of the situation, the civil authorities being deador cut off in the "districts".
The place which he had marked out for his citadel in time of trouble wasthe empty Military Prison, surrounded by a lofty wall provided with anunassailable water-supply, furnished with cook-houses, infirmary,work-shop, and containing a number of detached bungalows (for officials)in addition to the long lines of detention barracks.
As soon as his men had assembled at Headquarters he marched to theplace and commenced to put it in a state of defence and preparation fora siege.
While Captain Malet-Marsac and Captain John Bruce (of the GungapurEngineering College) slaved at carrying out his orders in the Prison,other officers, with picked parties of European Volunteers, went out tobring in fugitives, to commandeer the contents of provision and grainshops, to drive in cattle, to seize cooks, sweepers and other servants,to shoot rioters and looters in the Cantonment area, to search forwounded and hidden victims of the riot, to bury corpses, extinguishfires, penetrate to European bungalows in the city and in outlyingplaces, to publish abroad that the Military Prison was a safe refuge, toseize and empty ammunition shops and toddy shops, to mount guards at therailway-station, telegraph office, the banks, the gate-house of thegreat Jail, the Treasury and the Kutcherry,[64] and generally, to usetheir common sense and their rifles as the situation demanded.
[64] Collector's Court and Office.
Day by day external operation became more restricted as the mob grewlarger and bolder, better armed and better organized, daily augmentedand assisted from without. The last outpost which Colonel Ross-Ellisonwithdrew was the one from the railway-station, and that was maintaineduntil it was known that large bridges had been blown up on either sideand the railway rendered useless. In the Jail gate-house he establisheda strong guard under the Superintendent, and urged him to use itruthlessly, to kill on the barest suspicion of mutiny, and to welcomethe first opportunity of giving the sharpest of lessons.
In this matter he set a personal example and behaved, to actual rioters,with what some of his followers considered unnecessary severity, andwhat others viewed as wise war-ending firmness.
When remonstrated with by Mr. Cornelius Gosling-Green (caught, alas!with his admirable wife in this sudden and terrible maelstrom), forshooting, against the Prison wall, a squad of armed men caught by nightand under more than suspicious circumstances, within Cantonment limits,he replied curtly and rudely:--
"My good little Gosling, I'd shoot _you_ with my own hand if you failedme in the least particular--so stick to your drill and hope to become aCorporal before the war is over".
The world-famous Mr. Cornelius Gosling-Green, M.P., hoping to become aCorporal! Meanwhile he was less--a private soldier, doing four harddrills a day--not to mention sentry-go and fatigues. Like AugustusClarence Percy Marmaduke Grobble, he grumbled bitterly--but he obeyed,having been offered the hard choice of enrolment or exclusion.
"I'll have no useless male mouths here," had said Colonel Ross-Ellison."Enroll or clear out and take your chance. I'll look after your wife."
"But, my dear Sir...."
"'Sir' without the 'my dear,' please."
"I was about to say that I could--ah--assist, advise, sit upon yourcouncils, give you the benefit of my--er--experience, ..." the Publicisthad expostulated.
"Experience of war?"
"No--er--I----"
"Enroll or clear out--and when you have enrolled remember that you areunder martial law and in time of war."
A swift, fierce, masterful man, harsh and ruthless making war withoutkid gloves--that it might end the sooner and be the longer remembered bythe survivors. The flag was to be kept flying in Gungapur, the women andchildren were to be saved, all possible damage was to be inflicted onthe rebels and rioters, more particularly upon those who led and incitedthem. The Gosling-Greens and Grobbles who could not materially assist tothis end could go, those who could thwart or hinder this end could die.
Gleams of humour enlivened the situation. Mrs. Gosling-Green (_nee_ aPounding-Pobble, Superiora Pounding-Pobble, one of the Pounding-Pobblesof Putney) was under the orders, very much under the orders, of the wifeof the Sergeant-Major, and early and plainly learnt that good woman'sopinion that she was a poor, feckless body and eke a fushionless, notworth the salt of her porridge--a lazy slut withal.
Among the "awkward squads" enrolled when rioting broke out and the corpsseized the old Prison, were erstwhile grave and reverend seniorslearning to "stand up like a man an' look prahd o' yourself" at theorders of the Sergeant-Major. Among them were two who had
been GreatMen, Managers signing _per_ and _pro_, Heads of Departments, almost TinGods, and one of them, alas, was at the mercy of a mere boy whom he haddetested and frequently "squashed" in the happy days of yore. The mereboy (a cool, humorous, and somewhat vindictive person, one of the bestsubalterns of the Corps and especially chosen by Colonel Ross-Ellisonwhen re-organizing the battalion after its disbandment) was giving hisclose attention to the improvement of his late manager, a pompous, dulland silly bureaucrat, even as his late manager had done for him.
"Now, Private Bulliton," he would urge, "_do_ learn which is your righthand and which is your left. And _do_ stand up.... No--don't drop yourrifle when you are told to 'shoulder'. _That's_ better--we shall makesomething of you yet. Head up, man, head up! Try and look fierce. Lookat Private Faggit--he'll be a Sergeant yet" ... and indeed PrivateHorace Faggit was looking very fierce indeed, for he desired the bloodof these interfering villains who were hindering the development of thebusiness of the fine old British firm of Messrs. Schneider, Schnitzel,Schnorrer & Schmidt and the commissions of their representative. Also hefelt that he was assisting at the making of history. 'Orace in abloomin' siege--Gorblimey!--and he, who had never killed anything biggerthan an insect in his life, lusted to know how it felt to shove yourbayonet into a feller or shoot 'im dead at short rynge. So Horacedrilled with alacrity and zest, paid close attention toaiming-instruction and to such visual-training and distance-judging ashis officer, Captain John Bruce, could give him, and developed amilitary aptitude surprising to those who had known him only as HoraceFaggit, Esquire, the tried and trusted Representative of the fine oldBritish Firm of Schneider, Schnitzel, Schnorrer & Schmidt.
To Captain Malet-Marsac, an unusually thoughtful, observant andstudious soldier, it was deeply interesting to see how War affecteddifferent people how values changed, how the Great became exceedingsmall, and the insignificant person became important. By the end of thefirst month of what was virtually the siege of the Military Prison,Horace Faggit, late office-boy, clerk, and bagman, was worthconsiderably more than Augustus Grobble, late Professor of MoralPhilosophy; Cornelius Gosling-Green, late Publicist; Edward Jones, late(alleged) Educationist, of Duri formerly; and a late Head of aDepartment,--all rolled into one--a keen, dapper, self-reliant soldier,courageous, prompt, and very bloodthirsty.
As he strolled up and down, supervising drills, went round thesentry-posts by night, or marched at the head of a patrol, CaptainMalet-Marsac would reflect upon the relativity of things, the falsevalues of civilization, and the extraordinary devitalising anddeteriorating results of "education". When it came to vital issues,elementals, stark essential manhood,--then the elect of civilization,the chosen of education, weighed, was found not only wanting but largelynegligible. Where the highly "educated" was as good as the other he wasso by reason of his games and sports, his _shikar_, or his specializedtraining--as in the case of the engineers and other physically-trainedmen.
Captain John Bruce, for example, Professor of Engineering, was a soldierin a few weeks and a fine one. In time of peace, a quiet, humorous, dourand religious-minded man, he was now a stern disciplinarian and acunning foe who fought to kill, rejoicing in the carnage that taught alesson and made for earlier peace. The mind that had dreamed ofuniversal brotherhood and the Oneness of Humanity now dreamed ofambushes, night-attacks, slaughterous strategy and magazine-fire on acornered foe.
Surely and steadily the men enclosed behind the walls of the old Prisonrose into the ranks of the utterly reliable, the indefatigable, thefearless and the fine, or sank into those of the shifty, unhearty,unreliable, and unworthy--save the few who remained steadily mediocre,well-meaning, unsoldierly, fairly trustworthy--a useful second line, butnot to be sent on forlorn hopes, dangerous reconnoitring, riskydespatch-carrying, scouting, or ticklish night-work. One siege is verylike another--and Ross-Ellison's garrison knew increasing weariness,hunger, disease and casualties.
Mrs. Dearman's conduct raised Colonel Ross-Ellison's love to a burning,yearning devotion, and his defence of Gungapur became his defence ofMrs. Dearman. For her husband she appeared to mourn but little--therewas little time to mourn--and, for a while, until sights, sounds andsmells became increasingly horrible, she appeared almost to enjoy herposition of Queen of the Garrison, the acknowledged Ladye of theOfficers and men of the Corps. Until she fell sick herself, she playedthe part of amateur Florence Nightingale right well, going regularlywith a lamp--the Lady with the Lamp--at night through the hospital ward.Captain John Bruce was the only one who was not loud in her praises,though he uttered no dispraises. He, a dour and practical person,thought the voyage with the Lamp wholly unnecessary and likely to awakensleepers to whom sleep was life; that lint-scraping would have been amore useful employment than graciousness to the poor wounded; that awoman, as zealous as Mrs. Dearman looked, would have torn up daintycotton and linen confections for bandages instead of wearing them; thatthe Commandant didn't need all the personal encouragement andenheartenment that she wished to give him--and many other uncomfortable,cynical, and crabby thoughts. Captain Malet-Marsac loved her withoutcriticism.
Mrs. Cornelius Gosling-Green, after haranguing all and sundry,individually and collectively, on the economic unsoundness, the illogic,and the unsocial influence of War, took to her bed and stayed thereuntil she found herself totally neglected. Arising and demanding aninterview with the Commandant, she called him to witness that sheentered a formal protest against the whole proceedings and registeredher emphatic----until the Commandant, sending for Cornelius (whoseduties cut him off, unrepining, from his wife's society), ordered him toremove her, silence her, beat her if necessary--and so save her from theunpleasant alternative of solitary confinement on bread and water untilshe could be, if not useful, innocuous.
Many a poor woman of humble station proved herself (what most women are)an uncomplaining, unconsidered heroine, and more than one "subordinate"of mixed ancestry and unpromising exterior, a brave devoted man. Asusual, what kept the flag flying and gave ultimate victory to theimmeasurably weaker side was the spirit, the personality, the force, thepower, of one man.
To Captain Malet-Marsac this was a revelation. Even to him, who knewJohn Robin Ross-Ellison well, and had known and studied him for sometime at Duri and elsewhere, it was a wonderful thing to see how thequiet, curious, secretive man (albeit a fine athlete, horseman andadventurous traveller) stepped suddenly into the fierce light of supremecommand in time of war, a great, uncompromising, resourceful ruler ofmen, skilful strategist and tactician, remarkable both as organizer,leader, and personal fighter.
Did he _ever_ sleep? Night after night he penetrated into the citydisguised as a Pathan (a disguise he assumed with extraordinary skilland which he strengthened by a perfect knowledge of many Border dialectsas well as of Pushtoo), or else personally led some night attack, sally,reconnaissance or foraging expedition. Day after day he rode out onZuleika with the few mounted men at his command, scouting,reconnoitring, gleaning information, attacking and slaughtering smallparties of marauders as occasion offered.
From him the professional soldier, his adjutant, learned much, andwondered where his Commandant had learned all he had to teach. CaptainMalet-Marsac owned him master, his military as well as his officialsuperior, and grew to feel towards him as his immediate followers felttoward Napoleon--to love him with a devoted respect, a respectingdevotion. He recognized in him the born guerrilla leader--and more, thetrained guerrilla leader, and wondered where on earth this strangecivilian had garnered his practical military knowledge and skill.
Wherever he went on foot, especially when he slipped out of the Prisonfor dangerous spy-work among the forces of the mutineers, rebels,rioters and _budmashes_ of the city, he was followed by his servant, anAfrican, concerning whom Colonel Ross-Ellison had advised the servantsof the Officers' Mess to be careful and also to bear in mind that he wasnot a _Hubshi_. Only when the Colonel rode forth on horseback was heseparated from this man who, when the Colonel was in his room,invariably slept across
the door thereof.
On night expeditions, the Somali would be disguised, sometimes as aleprous beggar, as stable-boy, again as an Arab, sometimes as a renegadesepoy from a Native Border Levy, sometimes as a poor fisherman, again asa Sidi boatman, he being, like his master, exceptionally good atdisguises of all kinds, and knowing Hindustani, Arabic, and his nativeSomal dialect.
He was an expert bugler, and in that capacity stuck like a burr to theColonel by day, looking very smart and workmanlike in khaki uniform andbeing of more than average usefulness with rifle and bayonet. Not untilafter the restoration of order did Mr. Edward Jones, formerly of theDuri High School, long puzzled as to where he had seen him before,realize who he was.
* * * * *
In a low dark room, dimly lighted that evening by wick-and-saucer_butties_, squatted, lay, sat, stood and sprawled a curious collectionof scoundrels. The room was large, and round the four sides of it ran avery broad, very low, and very filthy divan, intended for the rest andrepose of portly _bunnias_,[65] _seths_,[66] brokers, shopkeepers andothers of the commercial fraternity, what time they assembled to chewpan and exchange lies and truths anent money and the markets. A verydifferent assembly now occupied its greasy lengths _vice_ the formerhabitues of the _salon_, now dispersed, dead, robbed, ruined, held toransom, or cruelly blackmailed.
[65] Dealers. [66] Money-lenders.
In the seat of honour (an extra cushion), sat the blind faquir who, withhis clerkly colleague, had set the original match to the magazine byinciting the late Mr. Dearman's coolies. Apparently a relentless,terrible fanatic and bitter hater of the English, for his councils wereall of blood and fire, rapine and slaughter, he taunted his hearers withtheir supine cowardice in that the Military Prison still held out, itshandful of defenders still manned its walls, nay, from time to time,made sallies and terrible reprisals upon a careless ill-disciplinedenemy.
"Were I but as other men! Had I but mine eyes!" he screamed, "I wouldoverwhelm the place in an hour. Hundreds to one you are--and you aremocked, robbed, slaughtered."
A thin-faced, evil-looking, squint-eyed Hindu whose large, thick,gold-rimmed goggles accorded ill with the sword that lay athwart hiscrossed legs, addressed him in English.
"Easy to talk, Moulvie. Had you your sight you could perhaps drill andarm the mob into an army, eh? Find them repeating rifles and ammunition,find them officers, find them courage? Is it not? Yes."
"Hundreds to one, Babu," grunted the blind man, and spat.
"I would urge upon this august assemblee," piped a youthful weedyperson, "that recreemination is not argument, and that many words butterno parsneeps, so to speak. We are met to decide as to whether thetreasure shall be removed to Pirgunge or still we keep it with us herein view of sudden sallies of foes. I hereby beg to propose and myhonourable friend Mister----"
"Sit down, crow," said the blind faquir unkindly and there was asnigger. "The treasure will be removed at once--this night, or I willremove myself from Gungapur with all my followers--and go where deedsare being done. I weary of waiting while pi-dogs yelp around the wallsthey cannot enter. Cowards! Thousands to one--and ye do not kill two ofthem a day. Conquer and slay them? Nay--rather must our own treasure beremoved lest some night the devil, in command there, swoop upon it,driving ye off like sheep and carrying back with him----"
"Flesh and blood cannot face a machine-gun, Moulvie," said thesquint-eyed Hindu. "Even _your_ holy sanctity would scarcely protect youfrom bullets. Come forth and try to-morrow."
"Nor can flesh and blood--such flesh and blood as Gungapurprovides--surround the machine-gun and rush upon it from flank and rearof course," replied the blind man. "Do machine guns fire in alldirections at once? When they ran the accursed thing down to themarket-place and fired it into the armed crowd that listened to mywords, could ye not have fled by other streets to surround it? Had allrushed bravely from all directions how long would it have fired? Eventhus, could more have died than did die? Scores they slew--and retiredbut when they could fire no longer.... And ye allowed it to go because adozen men stood between it and you----," and again the good man spat.
"I do not say 'Sit down, crow' for thou art already sitting," put in ahuge, powerful-looking man, arrayed in a conical puggri-encircled cap,long pink shirt over very baggy peg-top trousers, and a green waistcoat,"but I weary of thy chatter Blind-Man. Keep thy babble for fools in themarket-place, where, I admit, it hath its uses. Remain our valued andrespected talker and interfere not with fighting men, nor criticize. Andsay not 'The treasure will be removed this night,' nor anything elseconcerning command. _I_ will decide in the matter of the treasure and Iprefer to keep it here under mine hand...."
"Doubtless," sneered the blind man. "Under thy hand--until, in the end,it be found to consist of boxes of stones and old iron. Look you--thetreasure goes to-night or _I_ go, and certain others go with me. Andsuppose I change my tune in the market-place, Havildar Nazir Ali Khan,and say certain words concerning _thee_ and thy designs, give hints oftreachery--and where is the loud-mouthed Nazir Ali Khan?..." and hisblind eyes glared cold ferocity at the last speaker who handled hissword and replied nothing.
The secret of the man's power was clear.
"The treasure will be removed to night," he repeated and a discussion oflimes, routes, escort and other details followed. A dispute arosebetween the big man addressed as Havildar Nazir Ali Khan and a squatbroad-shouldered Pathan as to the distance and probable time that aconvoy, moving at the rate of laden bullock-carts, would take inreaching Pirgunge.
The short thick-set Pathan turned for confirmation of his estimate toanother Pathan, grey-eyed but obviously a Pathan, nevertheless.
"I say it is five _kos_ and the carts should start at moonrise andarrive before the moon sets."
"You are right, brother," replied the grey-eyed Pathan, who, for his ownreasons, particularly desired that the convoy should move by moonlight.This individual had not spoken hitherto in the hearing of the blindfaquir, and, as he did so now, the blind man turned sharply in hisdirection, a look of startled surprise and wonder on his face.
"Who spoke?" he snapped.
But the grey-eyed man arose, yawned hugely, and, arranging his puggriand straightening his attire, swaggered towards the door of the room,passed out into a high-walled courtyard, exchanged a few words with theguardian of a low gateway, and emerged into a narrow alley where he wasjoined by an African-looking camel-man.
The blind man, listening intently, sat motionless for a minute and thenagain asked sharply:--
"Who spoke? Who spoke?"
"Many have spoken Pir Saheb," replied the squat Pathan.
"Who said '_You are right, brother_,' but now? Who? Quick!" he cried.
"Who? Why, 'twas one of us," replied the squat Pathan. "Yea, 'twasAbdulali Habbibullah, the money-lender. I have known him long...."
"Let him speak again," said the blind man.
"Where is he? He has gone out, I think," answered the other.
"Call him back, Hidayetullah. Take others and bring him back. I musthear his voice again," urged the faquir.
"He will come again, Moulvie Saheb, he is often here," said the shortman soothingly. "I know him well. He will be here to-morrow."
"See, Hidayetullah," said the blind faquir "when next he comes, say thento me, 'May I bring thee tobacco, Pir Saheb,' if he be sitting near, butsay 'May I bring thee tobacco, Moulvie Saheb,' if he be sitting afaroff. If this, speak to him across the room that I may hear his voice inanswer, and call him by his name, Abdulali Habbibullah. And if I should,on a sudden, cry out 'Hold the door,' do thou draw knife and leap to thedoor...."
"A _spy_, Pir Saheb?" asked the interested man.
"That I shall know when next I hear his voice--and, if it be he whom Ithink, thou shalt scrape the flesh from the bones of his face with thyknife and put his eyeballs in his mouth. But he must not die. Nay! Nay!"
The Pathan smiled.
"Thou shalt hear his voice, Pir Saheb," he pr
omised.
* * * * *
An hour later the African-looking camel-man and the Pathan approachedthe gates of the Military Prison and at a distance of a couple ofhundred yards the African imitated the cry of a jackal, the barking of adog and the call of the "Did-ye-do-it" bird.
Approaching the gate he whispered a countersign and was admitted, thegate being then held open for the Pathan who followed him at a distanceof a hundred yards. Entering Colonel Ross-Ellison's room the Pathanquickly metamorphosed himself into Colonel Ross-Ellison, and sent forhis Adjutant, Captain Malet-Marsac.
"Fifty of the best, with fifty rounds each, to parade at the gate inhalf an hour," he said. "Bruce to accompany me, you to remain in commandhere. All who can, to wear rubber-soled shoes, others to go barefoot orbandage their boots with putties over cardboard or paper. No man likelyto cough or sneeze is to go. Luminous-paint discs to be served out tohalf a dozen. No rations, no water,--just shirts, shorts and bandoliers.Nothing white or light-coloured to be worn. Put a strong outpost, allEuropean, under Corporal Faggit on the hill, and double all guards andsentries. Shove sentry-groups at the top of the Sudder Bazaar, WestStreet and Edward Road.--_You_ know all about it.... I've got a goodthing on. There'll be a lot of death about to-night, if all goes well."
Half an hour later Captain Bruce called his company of fifty picked mento "attention" as Colonel Ross-Ellison approached, the gate was openedand an advance-guard of four men, with four flankers, marched out anddown the road leading to the open country. Two of these wore each alarge tin disc painted with luminous paint fastened to his back. Whenthese discs were only just visible from the gate a couple moredisc-adorned men started forth, and before their discs faded into thedarkness the remainder of the party "formed fours" and marched afterthem, all save a section of fours which followed a couple of hundredyards in the rear, as a rear-guard. In silence the small force advancedfor an hour, passed some cross-roads, and then Colonel Ross-Ellison,who had joined the advance-guard, signalled a halt and moved away byhimself to the right of the road.
In the shadow of the trees, the moon having risen, Captain Bruce orderedhis men to lie down, announcing in a whisper that he would have the lifeof anyone who made a sound or struck a match. This was known to be buthalf in jest, for the Captain was a good disciplinarian and a man of hisword.
Save for the occasional distant bark of the village-dogs, the night wasvery still. Sitting staring out into the moon-lit hazy dusk in thedirection in which his chief had disappeared, Captain John Brucewondered if he were really one of a band of armed men who hoped shortlyto pour some two and a half thousand bullets into other men, really asoldier fighting and working and starving that the Flag might fly,really a primitive fighting-man with much blood upon his hands and anearnest desire for more--or whether he were not a respectable Professorwho would shortly wake, beneath mosquito-curtains, from a very dreadfuldream. How thin a veneer was this thing called Civilization, and howunchanged was human nature after centuries and centuries of----
Colonel Ross-Ellison appeared.
"Bring twenty-five men and follow me. Hurry up," he said quietly, and, aminute later, led the way from the high-road across country. Fiveminutes marching brought the party, advancing in file, to the mouth of anullah which ran parallel with the road. Along this, ColonelRoss-Ellison led them, and, when he gave the signal to halt, it was seenthat they were behind a high sloping bank within fifty yards of thehigh-road.
"Now," said the Colonel to Captain John Bruce, "I'm going to leave youhere. Let your men lie below the top of the bank and if any man looksover, till your command 'Up and fire,' kick his face in. You will peepthrough that bit of bush and no one else will move. Do nothing until Iopen fire from the other side. The moment I open fire, up your lot comeand do the same. Magazine, of course. The moon will improve as it risesmore. You'll fix bayonets and charge magazines now. I expect a prettybig convoy--and before very long. Probably a mob all round a couple of_bylegharies_[67] and a crowd following--everybody distrusting everyone, as it is treasure, looted from all round. Don't shoot the bullocks,but I particularly want to kill a blind bloke who may be with 'em, so ifwe charge, barge in too, and look out for a blinder and don't give himany quarter--give him half instead--half your sword. He's aringleader--and I want him for auld lang syne too, as it happens. Hedoesn't look blind at all, but he would be led.... Any questions?"
[67] Bullock-carts.
"No, Sir. I'm to hide till you fire. Then fire, magazine, and charge ifyou do. A blind man to be captured if possible. The bullocks not to beshot, if possible."
"Eight O. Carry on," and the Colonel strode back to where the remainingtwenty-five waited, under a Sergeant. These he placed behind an oldstone wall that marked the boundary of a once-cultivated patch of land,some forty yards from the road, to which the ground sloped sharplydownwards.
A nice trap if all went well.
All went exceeding well.
Within an hour and a half of the establishment of the ambush, thecreaking of ungreased wheels was heard and the loud nasal singing ofsome jovial soul. Down the silent deserted road came three bullock-cartspiled high with boxes and escorted by a ragged regiment of ex-sepoys,ex-police, mutineers, almost a battalion from the forces of the wildBorder State neighbouring Gungapur. A small crowd of variously armeduniformless men preceded the escort and carts, while a large onefollowed them.
No advance-guard nor flanking-parties guaranteed the force from ambushor attack.
Suddenly, as the carts crossed a long culvert and the escort perforcemassed on to the road, instead of straggling on either side beneath thetrees, a voice said coolly in English "Up and fire," and as scores ofsurprised faces turned in the direction of the voice the night was rentwith the crash of fifty rifles pouring in magazine fire at the rate offifteen rounds a minute. Magazine fire at less than fifty yards, into aclose-packed body of men. Scarcely a hundred shots were returned and, bythe time a couple of thousand rounds had been fired (less than threeminutes), and Colonel Boss-Ellison had cried "Ch-a-a-a-r-ge" there wasbut little to charge and not much for the bayonet to do. Of the sixbullocks four were uninjured.
"Load as many boxes as you can on two carts, and leave half a dozen mento bring them in. They'll have to take their chance. We must get back_ek dum_,"[68] said Colonel Ross-Ellison.
[68] At once.
Even as he spoke, the sound of distant firing fell upon the ears of theparty and the unmistakable stammer-hammer racket of the maxim.
"They're attacked, by Jove," he cried. "I thought it likely. There mayhave been an idea that we should know something of this convoy and gofor it. All ready? Now a steady double. We'll double and quick-marchalternately. Double _march_."
* * * * *
Near the Military Prison was a low conical hill, bare of vegetation andbuildings, a feature of the situation which was a constant source ofanxiety to Colonel Ross-Ellison, for he realized that life in thebeleaguered fortress would be very much harder, and the casualty ratevery much higher, if the enemy had the sense to occupy it in strengthand fire down into the Prison. Against this contingency he alwaysmaintained a picket there at night and a special sentry to watch it byday, and he had caused deep trenches to be dug and a covered way made inthe Prison compound, so that the fire-swept area could be crossed, whennecessary, with the minimum of risk. Until the night of theconvoy-sortie, however, the enemy had not had the ordinary common senseto grasp the fact that the hill was the key of the situation and toseize it.
"Bloomin' cold up 'ere, Privit Greens, wot?" observed Corporal HoraceFaggit to the famous Mr. Cornelius Gosling-Green, M.P., in kindly andcondescending manner, as he placed him back to back with PrivateAugustus Grobble on the hill-top. "But you'll keep awake all the betterfor that, me lad.... Now you other four men can go to sleep, see?You'll lie right close up agin the feet o' Privits Greens an' Grabbles,and when they've done their two hours, they'll jes' give two o' you akick and them two'll rise
up an' take their plaices while they goes tosleep. Then them two'll waike 'tother two, see? An' if hannyoneapproaches, the sentry as is faicin' 'im will 'olleraht 'Alt! 'Oo comesthere?' an' if the bloke or blokes say, 'Friend,' then 'e'll say'Hadvance one an' give the countersign,' and if he can't give nocountersign, then blow 'is bleedin' 'ead off, see?... Now _I_ shallvisit yer from time to time, an' let me find you spry an' smart withyer,' _'Alt,' 'Oo comes there?_ see? An' if either sentry sees anythinksuspicious down below there--let 'im send the other sentry across fer meover in the picket there, see? 'E'll waike up the others meanwhile an'they'll all watch out till I comes and gives orders, see? An' if you'reattacked afore I come, then retire firing. Retire on the picket, see? Wewon't shoot yer. Don't make a bloomin' blackguard-rush for the picketthough. Jest retire one by one firin' steady, see? Now I'm goin' back tothe picket. Ow! an' don' fergit the reconnoitrin' patrol. Don' go an'shoot at 'em as they comes back. 'Alt 'em for the countersign as theycomes out, and 'alt 'em fer it agin as they comes in, see? Right O. Nowyou keep yer eyes skinned, Greens and Grobbles."
Private Cornelius Gosling-Green, M.P., had never looked reallyimpressive even on the public platform in over-long frock-coat andturned-down collar. In ill-fitting khaki, ammunition boots, a helmetmany sizes too big, and badly-wound putties, he looked an extremelyabsurd object. Private Augustus Grobble looked a little moreconvincing, inasmuch as his fattish figure filled his uniform, but thehabit of wearing his helmet on the back of his neck and a generalcongenital unmilitariness of habit and bearing, operated againstsuccess.
Two unhappier men rarely stood back to back upon a lonely, windyhill-top. Both were very hungry, very sleepy and very cold, both wereessentially men of peace, and both had powerful imaginations--especiallyof horrors happening to their cherished selves.
Both were dealers in words; neither was conversant with things, facts,deeds, and all that lay outside their inexpressibly artificial andspecialized little spheres. Each had been "educated" out of physicalmanliness, self-reliance, courage, practical usefulness, adaptability,"grit" and the plain virile virtues.
Cornelius burned with a peevish indignation that he, writer ofinnumerable pamphlets, speaker at innumerable meetings, organizer ofinnumerable societies, compiler of innumerable statistics, author ofinnumerable letters to the press, he, husband of the famous suffragistworker, speaker, organizer and leader, Superiora Gosling-Green (aPounding-Pobble of the Pounding-Pobbles of Putney), that he, CorneliusGosling-Green, Esq., M.P., should be stuck there like a common soldier,with a heavy and dangerous gun and a nasty sharp-pointed bayonet, tostand and shiver while others slept. To stand, too, in a horriblydangerous situation ... he had a good mind to resign in protest, to takehis stand upon his inalienable rights as a free Englishman. Who shoulddare to coerce a Gosling-Green, Member of Parliament, of the FabianSociety, and a hundred other "bodies". His Superiora did all thecoercing he wanted and more too. He would enter a formal protest andtender his resignation. He had always, hitherto, been able to protestand resign when things did not go as he wished.
He yawned, and again.
"I can see as well sitting or kneeling as I can standing," he remarkedto Private Augustus Grobble.
"It is a great physiological truth," replied Augustus, and they both satdown, leaning against each other for warmth and support, back to back.
The soul of Augustus was filled with a melancholy sadness and a gentlewoe. To think that he, the loved of many beautiful Wimmin should besuffering such hardships and running such risks. How his face wasfalling in and how the wrinkles were gathering round his eyes. Some ofthe beautiful and frail, of whom he thought when he gave his usual toastafter dinner, "To the Wimmin who have loved me," would hardly recognizethe fair boy over whom they had raved, whose poems they had loved, whosehair, finger-nails, eyes, ties, socks and teeth they had complimented. Acruel, cruel waste. But how rather romantic--the war-worn soldier! Hewho knew his Piccadilly, Night Clubs, the theatres, the haunts of fairwomen and brave men, standing, no--sitting, on a lonely hill-topwatching, watching, the lives of the garrison in his hands.... He wouldreturn to those haunts, bronzed, lined, hardened--the man from the edgeof the Empire, from the back of Beyond, the man who had Done Things--andtalk of camp-fires, the trek, the Old Trail, smells of sea and desertand jungle, and the man-stifled town, ... battle, ... brave deeds ...unrecognized heroism ... a medal ... perhaps the ... and the noddinghead of Augustus settled upon his chest.
His deep breathing and occasional snores did not attract the attentionof Private Gosling-Green, as Private Gosling-Green was sound asleep. Nordid they awaken the weary four who made up the sentry group--EdwardJones, educationist; Henry Grigg, barber; Walter Smith, shopman;Reginald Ladon Gurr, Head of a Department--and whose right it was tosleep so long as two of the six watched.
* * * * *
"Let there be no mistake then," said the burly Havildar Nazir Ali Khanto one Hidayetulla, squat thick-set Pathan, "at the first shot from thehill your party, ceasing to crawl, will rush upon the picket, and minewill swoop upon the gate bearing the tins of kerosene oil, the faggotsand the brushwood. All those with guns will fire at the walls save theBorder State company who will reserve their fire till the gate is openedor burnt down. The dogs within must either open it to extinguish thefire, or it must burn. On their volley, all others will charge for thegate with knife and sword. Do thou win the hill-top and keep up a heavyfire into the Prison. There will be Lee-Metford rifles and ammunitionthere ready for thy taking--ha-ha!"
"And if we are seen and fired on as we stalk the picket on the hill?"
"Then their first shot will, as I said, be the signal for your rush andours. Understandest thou?"
"I understand. 'Tis a good plan of the blind Moulvie's."
"Aye! He can _plan_,--and talk. We can go and be shot, and be blamed ifhis plans miscarry," grumbled the big man, and added, "How many haveyou?"
"About forty," was the reply, "and all Khost men save seven, of whomfour are Afghans of Cabul, two are Punjabis, and one a Sikh."
"Is it three hours since the treasure started? That was the time theMoulvie fixed for the attack."
"It must be, perhaps," replied the other. "Let us begin. But what if thehill be not held, or if we capture it with the knife, none firing ashot?"
"Then get into good position, make little sungars where necessary, and,all being ready, open fire into the Prison compound.... At the firstshot--whatever be thy luck--we shall rush in our thousands down theSudder Bazaar, West Street and Edward Street, and do as planned. Are thyforty beneath the trees beyond the hill?"
"They are. I join them now," and the squat broad-shouldered figurerolled away with swinging, swaggering gait.
Suddenly Private Augustus Grobble started from deep sleep to acutestwide-eyed consciousness and was aware of a man's face peering over aboulder not twenty yards from him--a hideous hairy face, surmounted by aclose-fitting skull-cap that shone greasy in the moonlight. The blood ofAugustus froze in his veins, he held his breath, his heart shook hisbody, his tongue withered and dried. He closed his eyes as a wave offaintness swept over him, and, as he opened them again, he saw that theman was crawling towards him, and that between his teeth was a hugeknife. The terrible Pathan, the cruel dreadful stalker, the slashingdisemboweller was upon him!--and with a mighty effort he sprang to hisfeet and fled for his life down the hill in the direction of the Prison.His sudden movements awoke Private Green, who, in one scared glance, sawa number of terrible forms arising from behind boulders and rushingsilently and swiftly towards him and his flying comrade. Leaping up hefled after Grabble, running as he had never run before, and, even as heleapt clear of the sleeping group, the wave of Pathans broke upon it andwith slash and stab assured it sound sleep for ever, all save EdwardJones, who, badly wounded as he was, survived (to the later undoing ofMoussa Isa, murderer of a Brahmin boy).
Of the four Pathans who had surprised the sentry group, one, with apassing slash that re-arranged the face of
Reginald Ladon Gurr, sped onafter the flying sentries. But that the man was short and stout of buildand that the fugitives had a down-hill start, both would have died thatnight. As it was, within ten seconds, a tremendous sweep of the heavyblade of the long Khyber knife caused Private Gosling-Green to lose hishead completely and for the last time. Augustus Grobble, favoured offortune for the moment, took flying leaps that would have beenimpossible to him under other circumstances, bounded and ranunstumbling, gained the shadow of the avenue of trees, and with burstingbreast sped down the road, reached the gate, shouted the countersignwith his remaining breath, and was dragged inside by Captain MichaelMalet-Marsac.
"Well?" inquired he coldly of the gasping terrified wretch.
When he could do so, Augustus sobbed out his tale.
"Bugler, sound the alarm!" said the officer. "Sergeant of the Guard putthis man in the guard-room and keep him under arrest until he is sentfor," and, night-glasses in hand, he climbed one of the ladders leadingto the platform erected a few feet below the top of the well-loopholedwall, just as a shot was fired and followed by others in rapidsuccession on the hill whence Grobble had fled.
The shot was fired by Corporal Horace Faggit and so were the next fouras he rapidly emptied his magazine at the swiftly charging Pathans whorose out of the earth on his first shot at the man he had seen wrigglingto the cover of a stone. As he fired and shouted, the picket-sentry didthe same, and, within a minute of Horace's first shot, ten rifles werelevelled at the spot where the rushing silent fiends had disappeared.Within thirty yards of them were at least half a dozen men--and not aglimpse of one to be seen.
"I got one, fer keeps, any'ow," said Horace in the silence that followedthe brief racket; "I see 'im drop 'is knife an' fall back'ards...."
Perfect silence--and then ... _bang_ ... and a man standing besideHorace grunted, coughed, and scuffled on the ground.
"Get down! Get down! You fools," cried Horace, who was himself standingup. "Wha's the good of a square sungar if you stands up in it? Allmagazines charged? It's magazine-fire if there's a rush."....
Silence.
"Fire at the next flash, all of yer," he said, "an' look out fer arush." Adding, "Bli' me--'ark at 'em dahn below," as a burst of fireand a pandemonium of yells broke out.
A yellow glare lit the scene, flickered on the sky, and even gavesufficient light to the picket on the hill-top to see a wave of wild,white-clad, knife-brandishing figures surge over the edge of the hilland bear down upon them, to be joined, as they passed, by those who hadsunk behind stones at the picket's first fire.
"Stiddy," shrilled Horace. "Aim stiddy at the b----s. _Fire_," and againthe charging line vanished.
"Gone to earf," observed Horace in the silence. "Nah look aht forflashes an' shoot at 'em...."
_Bang!_ and Horace lost a thumb and a portion of his left cheek, whichwas in line with his left thumb as he sighted his rifle.
Before putting his left hand into his mouth he said, a littleunsteadily:--
"If I'm knocked aht you go on shootin' at flashes and do magazine-firefer rushes. If they gets in 'ere, we're tripe in two ticks."
Then he fainted for a while, came to, and felt much better. "Goo' jobit's the left fumb," he observed as he strove to re-charge his magazine.The dull thud of bullet into flesh became a frequent sound. The lastobservation that Horace made to the remnant of his men was:--
"Bli' me! they're all rahnd us now--like flies rahnd a fish-barrer. Dam'swine!..."
* * * * *
Firing steadily at the advancing mobs the street-end pickets retired onthe Prison and were admitted as the surging crowds amalgamated,surrounded the walls, and opened a desultory fire at the loopholes andsuch of the defenders as fired over the coping from ladders.
One detachment, with some show of military discipline and uniform,arrayed itself opposite the gate and a couple of hundred yards from it,lining the ditch of the road, and utilizing the cover and shadow of thetrees. Suddenly a large party, mainly composed of Mahsuds, and headed bya very big powerful man, made a swift rush to the gate, each man bearinga bundle of faggots or a load of cut brushwood, save two or three whobore vessels of kerosene oil. With reckless courage and daring, they ranthe gauntlet of the loopholes and the fire from the wall-top, piledtheir combustibles against the wooden gate, poured gallons of keroseneover the heap, set fire to it, and fled.
The leaping flames spread and shot forth licking tongues and, in a fewminutes, the pile was a roaring crackling furnace.
The mob grew denser and denser toward the gate side of the Prison,leaving the remaining portions of the perimeter thinly surrounded bythose who possessed firearms and had been instructed to shoot atloopholes and at all who showed themselves over the wall. It wasnoticeable to Captain Malet-Marsac that the ever-increasing mob oppositethe fire left a clear front to the more-or-less uniformed anddisciplined body that had taken up a position commanding the gate.
That was the game was it? Burn down the gate, pour in a tremendous fireas the gate fell, and then let the mob rush in and do its devilmost....
What was happening on the hill-top? The picket must be holding whateverforce had attacked it, for no shots were entering the Prison compoundand the only casualties were among those at the loopholes and on theladders and platforms round the walls. How long would the gate last?Absolutely useless to attempt to pour water on the fire. Even if it werenot certain death to attempt it, one might as well try to fly, as toquench that furnace with jugs and _chatties_[69] of water.
[69] Bowls.
There was nothing to be done. Every man who could use a rifle was atloophole or embrasure, ammunition was plentiful, all non-combatants werehidden. Every one understood the standing-orders in case of such anemergency....
The gate was on fire. It was smoking on the inner side, warping,cracking, little flames were beginning to appear tentatively, anddisappear again.
"_Now_ bugler!" said Captain Malet-Marsac, and Moussa Isa's _locumtenens_ blew his only call--a series of long loud G's.... The gateblazed, before long it would fall.... A hush fell upon the expectantmultitude without, the men of the more-or-less uniformed and disciplinedparty raised their rifles, a big burly man bawled orders....
With a crash and leaping fountain of sparks the gate fell into the dyingfire, a mighty roar burst from the multitude, and a crashing fusilladefrom the rifles of the uniformed men....
As their magazine-fire slackened, dwindled to a desultory popping, andceased, the mob with a howl of triumph surged forward to the gapinggateway, trampled and scattered the glowing remnants of the fire,swarmed yelling through, and--found themselves face to face with astout semicircular rampart of stone, earth and sandbags, which,loopholed, embrasured and strongly manned, spanned the gateway in athirty-yard arc. From the centre of it, pointing at the entrance, lookedthe maxim gun.
"_Fire_," shouted a voice, and in a minute the place was a shambles.Before Maxim and Lee-Metford were too hot to touch, before the baffledfoe fell back, those who surged in through the gate climbed, not over awall of dead, but up on to a platform of dead, a plateau through whichran a valley literally blasted out by the ceaseless maxim-fire....
And, as the less fanatical, less courageous, less bloodthirsty withdrewand gathered without and to one side, where they were safe from thatterrible fire-belching rampart that was itself like the muzzle of somegigantic thousand-barrelled machine-gun, they were aware, in their rear,of a steady tramp of running feet and of the orders:--
"From the centre _extend_! At the enemy in front; fixed sights; _fire_,"and of a withering hail of bullets.
Colonel Ross-Ellison had arrived in the nick of time. It was a "crowningmercy" indeed, the beginning of the end, and when (a few days later),over a repaired bridge, came a troop-train, gingerly advancing, thebattalion of British troops that it disgorged at Gungapur Road Stationfound disappointingly little to do in a city of women, children, andeminently respectable innocent, householders.
* * * * *
On the hill-top, at dawn, Colonel Ross-Ellison and Captain Malet-Marsacfound all that was left of the picket and sentry-group,--of the latter,three mangled corpses, the headless deserter, and a just-living man,horribly slashed. It was Moussa Isa Somali who improvised a stretcherand lifted this poor fellow on to it and tended him with the greatestsolicitude and faithful care. Was he not Jones Sahib who at Duri gavehim the knife wherewith he cleansed his honour and avenged his insultedPeople?
Of the picket, nine lay dead and one dying. Of the dead, one had hislower jaw neatly and cleanly removed by a bullet. Two had bled to death.
"'Ullo, Guvner!" whispered Corporal Horace Faggit through parchedcracked lips. "We kep' 'em orf. We 'eld the bleedin' fort," and the lasteffect of the departing mind upon the shot-torn, knife-slashed body wasmanifested in a gasping, quavering wail of--
"'Owld the Fort fer Hi am comin'" Jesus whispers still. "'Owld the Fort fer Hi am comin,'" --By Thy graice we will.
Each of these corpses Moussa Isa carried reverently down to the Prisonthat they might be "buried darkly at dead of night" with the otherheroes, in softer ground without the walls--a curious funeral in whichloaded rifles and belted maxim played their silent part. Apart from thehonoured dead was buried the body of Private Augustus Grabble, shotagainst the Prison wall by order of Colonel Ross-Ellison for cowardicein the face of the enemy and desertion of his post. So was that ofPrivate Green, deserter also. After the uninterrupted ceremony, MoussaIsa, in the guise of an ancient beggar, lame, decrepit, and bandagedwith foul rags, sought the city and the news of the bazaar.
Limping down the lane in which stood the tall silent house that hismaster often visited, he saw three men emerge from the well-known lowdoorway.
Two approached him while one departed in the opposite direction. One ofthese two held the arm of the other.
"I must hear his voice again. I have not heard his voice again," urgedthis one insistently to the other.
"Nay--but I have heard thine, thou Dog!" said Moussa Isa to himself, andturning, followed.
In a neighbouring bazaar the man who seemed to lead the other left himat the entrance to a mosque--a dark and greasy entry with a short flightof stone steps.
As he set his foot upon the lowest of these, a hand fell upon the neckof the man who had been led, and a voice hissed:--
"_Salaam! O Ibrahim the Weeper!_ Salaam! A '_Hubshi_' would speak withthee...." and another hand joined the first, encircling his throat....
"Art thou dead, Dog?" snarled Moussa Isa, five minutes later....
Moussa Isa never boasted (if he realized the fact) that the collapse ofthe revolt and mutiny in Gungapur, before the arrival of troops, was dueas much to the death of its chief ringleader and director, the blindfaquir, as to the disastrous repulse of the great assault upon theMilitary Prison.
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