by Lewis Hough
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
SWORD VERSUS BAYONET.
After the skirmish which was fatal to poor Binks, and in which Gradyeffected his clever capture, the convoy had not been annoyed, save nowand then by a distant shot which fell short; but in the afternoon of theday that Kavanagh got his information about Harry Forsyth, such as itwas, out of the man Grady had taken prisoner, bullets fell closer again.
They had entered a wide valley, and there was water on the south side ofit, near the black rocks. No zereba was formed here, possibly becausetroops could not be spared to guard it, or the spot was considered toonear the next wells, or there was good reason to know that there was noforce of the enemy of any consequence in the neighbourhood. Whether itwas the cause or not, this latter fact was probably the case, but therewere individual sharp-shooters about who were inclined to makethemselves a nuisance.
Perched high up among fantastic blocks of stone, which would havetempted an artist to draw out his sketch-book, they got excellent shotsat the party below them, and as there was no chance of a return, theybeing entirely concealed, and their presence merely indicated by thelittle puffs of white smoke which spurted out here and there, there wasnothing to disturb their aim. For nothing spoils a rifleman's shootinglike being exposed to accurate fire himself; which was probably thereason why duellists, who could perform wonders in the shooting gallery,used so often to miss each other at twelve paces in the days of singlecombat, when George the Fourth was Regent.
The range, however, was a long one, and the fire _plunging_, orperpendicular. Now horizontal fire has this characteristic, that if abullet misses one object it goes straight on and may strike another; orit may pass through a fleshy substance which does not offer too greatresistance, and strike another beyond. But a plunging fire, if itmisses the object aimed at, goes into the ground and is harmless.
And so it happened that no mischief was done for some time, thoughseveral bullets came thudding down in the midst of men and camels. Atlength, with the fatality which seemed throughout this campaign toattend upon non-combatants, a shot struck a poor Egyptian camel driveron the neck, passing through his spine, and shortly afterwards a surgeonwas wounded in the foot.
There did not seem to be more than two or three riflemen firing at them,but they were far above the average in marksmanship, and more dangerous,at a distance, than a score of ordinary soldiers of the Mahdi. Six men,of whom Kavanagh was one, were told off to dislodge them; not more,because they would certainly retire before a strong body, and return,when they withdrew from the pursuit, to their former positions andpractice. Indeed, the officer who went with the six thought that numbertoo numerous to show, and advanced in front with a file only, while theothers had orders to creep up on the flanks, concealing themselvesentirely, if possible.
Those in front got fired at several times as they scaled the rocks, butto hit a small object shifting behind cover was far beyond the Arabs'skill yet, though they _had_ made a vast improvement, and the risk ofadvancing upon them in this way was not great. And when the two men hadgot within a couple of hundred yards of the nearest Arab's lurking-place, the officer called to them to halt, keep under cover, and fire ifthey got a chance, or even if they didn't, his object being to keep themamused while the flankers gained higher ground, and obtained fair shotsat them.
But one of those in front was Macintosh, for whom the wilful waste of abullet was almost an impossibility, frugality and marksmanship combiningto render the task painful to his feelings. He prided himself on hisshooting, and did not like even to appear to make a miss. Not able tocatch a glimpse of a foe where he was, he crept thirty yards higher, toa nice flat stone just breast high, which commanded a much wider view.But still he could see nothing to shoot at; so he exposed himself,standing fairly up. _Pat_! Came a ball against a rock five yards onhis right; it would not do for Wimbledon that.
"Eh! They must practise a wee bit afore they challenge the Scottishteam!" murmured Macintosh, as he dropped on one knee behind the stoneover which he held his Martini-Henry at the ready, his eye being fixedon the spot the shot came from.
The Arab probably thought that he had dropped his man, for he raised hishead and shoulders above the cover to look. That was the opportunityMacintosh was waiting for. He had him covered in a moment, his riflewas as steady and motionless as if it grew out of the rock itself. Hisfinger pressed the trigger, and the Arab he aimed at fell forwards, hisarms hanging over the rocky parapet, the Remington falling from hishands.
When they examined his body afterwards, it was found that the bullet hadstruck him in the exact centre of the forehead.
"I am sorry for the puir mon, but it was an unco' good shot!" was thecomplacent remark of Macintosh, as he contemplated his handiwork. Butthat was later on. At the time he fired he remained still, as ordered,looking out for another chance.
The other man had taken what he was told more literally, and fired onceor twice at spots from which flashes had issued, without a hope ofhitting anything but stones, and uncertain, indeed, whether the Arab whohad last fired was still there or had shifted his quarters. And shotswere fired back, principally at the officer, who showed his head as hepeered about, trying to see how his men were getting on.
Meantime, the files on the flanks were climbing cunningly, Kavanaghbeing one of the two men on the right, until they got rather above thelevel of the Arabs in ambush, and a man on the left got the first shot.The Arab was lying down, peering to his front, and afforded a steadyaim, not fifty yards off. It was almost impossible to miss him, unlessthe marksman were flurried, and the soldier was as cool as if on parade,and hit him in the back, between the shoulder-blades: that made two.
The last report showing they were enfiladed, three other Arabs boltedfrom their hiding-places, and made for the higher ground. Bang! Bang!Bang! Went the rifles from below and each side: there they were still,active as monkeys, darting between and over the fantastic boulders;bang! Bang! As they re-appeared, without effect. Then five riflesexploding together, like a volley, as a retreating Arab paused, andturned to fire a shot back; and this time the bullets found a billet,for he sank down in a heap. The other two got away, in spite of theleaden invitations to stop sent after them.
Directly the first flanking shot was heard, the officer in front cried"Forward!" to the two men with him, Macintosh and the other, and allthree pushed up amongst the rocks. As they worked up higher, thesurface of the mountain side became so rugged that they could not keepsight of each other, and hunt about in a satisfactory manner at the sametime. While firing was going on, indeed, they had a guide as to thedirection of their friends, but when that ceased, they were somewhatmore scattered and isolated than prudence dictated. But prudence is aptto be forgotten in the excitement of a hunt, and a manhunt is the mostthrilling of all chases. They searched about, with bayonets fixed, andfingers on trigger-guards, expecting an antagonist behind each new rock.
Kavanagh, making for a point where he last saw the end of a bernousevanishing, wandered further than the others, perhaps, and came suddenlyon a hole in the side of the rock. Not a natural fissure, but evidentlya man-made doorway; oval, with carved pillars at the sides, and aninscription over the door. Kavanagh's first impulse was to go in, hissecond one not to. Why, there might be an army inside! But by the timethe risk occurred to him he was through the portals, and he was afraidof turning, not knowing what was behind him. So he took a pace to hisrear, still looking into the interior, and holding his rifle at theready.
It was by no means dark inside, though coming out of the intense glareit seemed so at the first moment. But light came in from openings highup, showing a chamber which would _not_ contain an army, but was ofhandsome dimensions for all that, and empty. Empty to all appearance,so far as human beings were concerned that is, but inhabited by stoneheroes of the past. There they sat, solemn and gigantic, heedless ofthe lapse of ages, staring into the future with blind eyes.
The walls and the bases of the statue
s were covered with hieroglyphics,which would no doubt have told all about them to officials of theBritish Museum not present.
What a long time it must have taken to write a letter when you had todraw a dog to express a dog, a man when you meant a man, and so forth.It would be rather amusing reading, though, so far as some of myfriends, who are not good artists, are concerned. And yours? If afellow could draw a little bit, however, one might spend nine or tenhours after breakfast very pleasantly in deciphering his correspondence;though it must have been annoying, if one wanted some such matter as apyramid in a hurry, to have to draw a stag and a knight for "Dear Sir,"an eye for "I," and so forth throughout the piece. And when ingeniousinnovators took prominent curves and angles of these drawings to expressthe things, and so invented hieroglyphics, no doubt busy men with alarge correspondence found advantage in it!
Kavanagh had little time for these reflections, for he had hardly made arapid inspection of this curious old temple, burying-place, or whateverit was, before he heard a shot in the distance outside, and running tothe entrance he saw an Arab, who had doubtless been unearthed on anotherside and bolted here, pausing a hundred yards off to have a return shotat the man probably who had fired at him, and the report of whose riflehad disturbed Kavanagh's day-dream. Of course he did not know that anenemy was up there, or he would not have stopped for his shot.
As he was getting his sight to bear on some one below, Kavanagh wasdoing the same for him, and just as he was going to pull he got aviolent shock on the hip, which disconcerted his aim; and perhaps thatwas lucky for Macintosh, whom he had got nicely at the end of his fore-sight Kavanagh had hardly fired, however, and had not time to open thebreach and put another cartridge into his rifle, before he heard a noisein the cavern-temple behind him, and, turning sharply, saw a figure witha sword in the right-hand and a shield on the left arm, literallybounding towards him.
The Arab must have been concealed behind one of the figures, or in arecess which had escaped the explorer's notice, and, not possessingfire-arms himself, had not chosen to attack while his enemy's rifle wascertain to be loaded; but directly he heard him fire he seized hisopportunity with the promptitude of a really good soldier, and went forhim before he could re-load.
Kavanagh brought his weapon down to the charge and waited for him, andnow a really interesting set-to began, and it was a pity there was noone to witness it. The Arab, a fanatic fakir, approached with hisshield well advanced, and his sword, which a man might have shaved with,in his strong right-hand, watching for an opening. He made a cut;Kavanagh turned it with his bayonet and re-posted. The thrust wasparried by the shield, but the force of it made the Arab stagger back.
Kavanagh followed, feinted low, and when the shield went down deliveredthe point over the top of it, just touching his opponent's chest, whosaved his life by jumping back with a slight wound. Kavanagh followedfurther into the cavern. Each now knew that the other was not to betrifled with, and they circled round, eyes glaring into eyes, trying todraw on an attack, the statues around looking straight before them,heedless witnesses of the conflict. Kavanagh feinted again, but theArab was not to be caught by the same trick a second time, and insteadof warding the thrust seized that moment to make a dash and a cut, andhis sword bit deeply into the other's side, cutting through bandolierand kharkee into the flesh.
Kavanagh, wounded, but not disabled, at the same moment dashed hisrifle, held across, into his opponent's face, and as he staggered backdarted his bayonet at him over the shield, piercing his shoulder. Yethe could still swing his right arm, still wield his razor-edged weapon.
And still they faced each other, bleeding freely. Kavanagh had this inhis mind fixedly, that if he thrust the point of his bayonet through theshield, and so got it entangled, he was done, for his active opponentwould step within distance, and cut him down in a moment. As if toforce him to risk this, the Arab suddenly crouched down, and coveringhimself well with his shield, made a spring at him, cutting at his leftarm. Kavanagh jumped back and saved his wrist, but it was so near athing that the edge of the sword touched his hand, severing the littlefinger, which fell on the ground, and making a deep cut in the riflestock. Unaware of the mutilation, Kavanagh re-posted, darting out hisweapon over the shield with his right-hand, and piercing his enemythrough the neck.
But even for such a wound as that the brave Soudanese would not bedenied, but forced his way to close quarters, and cut his enemy over theside of the head; a blow which would have been instantly fatal had itbeen delivered with his accustomed force, but the wound through theshoulder took the strength out of it, and loss of blood and the shock ofthe throat wound helped to weaken him; indeed, his sword dropped fromhis hand with the effort. Kavanagh, almost blind with the blood whichdeluged his face, shortened arms and sought to transfix his assailant,who, however, managed to seize the muzzle of the rifle and close, and aspecies of rough-and-tumble conflict ensued for about half a minute,each striving to throw the other, and both as weak as babies.
Kavanagh, however, had most strength left, for though both were losingmuch blood, that which ebbed from the Arab drained more important veins,and the wound in his throat especially was terrible. His grasp relaxed,his eyes lost the light of fanaticism and the joy of combat, and grewfilmy and expressionless, and he fell heavily at the foot of a gigantic,blubber-lipped statue.
Kavanagh caught up his rifle and turned the bayonet downwards, but therewas no fight left in his foe, and in spite of the customs of thisbarbarous war he could not thrust. So he left the Arab lying there, andstaggered to the portal, where he was forced to lean against a pillar,so giddy and faint was he. He had enough strength and wits left,however, to slip a cartridge into his rifle and fire it off, as a guideto his friends where to find him; and it was as well he did so, as theywere searching for him close by, and might not have hit upon theentrance to the cave-temple for some time, so curiously was it masked bythe rocks. The report, however, directed them right, and just asKavanagh was slipping from the pillar to the ground, he heard a voicesay--
"Here he is, sir!" and saw comrades close, though their voices soundedsomehow a long way off.
"My eye, you have had a good bout, mate;" one said to him, "but where isthe other fellow?"
"In there," replied Kavanagh, faintly; "don't kill him, he's a good'un."
"Dinna kill him, indeed!" said Macintosh, presently, as he bent over thebody of the Arab and took his scarf for bandages. "There's nae muchneed for any one to do that!"
Kavanagh's wounds were rudely bound up, just to check the bleeding forthe present, and the officer having some spirits in a flask gave him adrain, and asked him if he thought he could walk down to camp. Beingsomewhat revived, he said he could, and set out, supported by a coupleof men, one on each side. It was a slow progress, but the distance wasnot great, and he managed to get down all right, and then a surgeondressed his wounds for him.
"The bandolier and a tobacco-pipe in the pocket of your kharkee jackethave done you a good turn, my lad," he said; "for the body cut has goneright through them, and might have been fatal but for that resistance.It is pretty deep as it is, but you will be all right; and your otherhurts are not serious, only sword cuts. But your little finger will notgrow again, you know."
The wounds might not be serious in a surgeon's estimation, but they werevery painful, and to feel so weak and helpless was depressing to thespirits. The attack, however, had been successful, and the handful ofsharp-shooters killed or effectually dispersed, for no more shots werefired at the convoy either that evening, during the night, or on thefollowing morning, when it got under weigh again. So he had thepleasure of reflecting that his discomforts were not altogether incurredin vain. The most provoking thing he found was to be told that he wasso very lucky only to be slashed all over with sword cuts, and not tohave any bullet wounds. What he had got ached and smarted and throbbedto an extent calculated to try the patience of Job, and what was the useof endeavouring to persuade him that he was one of th
e favourites offortune? He succeeded to the seat on a camel vacated by the ill-fatedBinks, and every jolt hurt his side; the head and hand wounds were notmuch affected by the motion, but every violent jerk caused the other togape and bleed, and the dressing had to be renewed at every halt wherewater was obtainable. But the comrade who rode alongside andcongratulated him on not having any gun-shot wounds meant well, and herestrained his impatience. Only when Grady, whom he credited with moresense, went on the same tack, he said, "Thank you, Paddy; did you eversee a codfish crimped?"
"No, sure, but I have seen a salmon."
"Alive?"
"In course; it's no use doing it after he's dead."
"And did you congratulate him?"
"Indeed, I did not, and it was a cruel thing I thought it," said Grady."Ah, and sure I see what you are after! And it is like a crimped fishye are with the deep slashes, and only those would think light of themwho have not got them. But you will soon be all right again after theclane cuts, while a poke or a bullet-hole is a long time haling if itdoes not kill ye entirely. That is what the boys mane."
It was after a couple of days that Kavanagh was able to hold thisconversation. Before that he was incapacitated for talking not only byweakness, but also because the cut on the side of his head had reachedhis cheek, and slicing through it nicked the tongue.
Taking food and drink was therefore quite painful enough just at firstwithout talking. But it was surprising how quickly this part began toheal. He could not smoke yet, however, and that resource for whilingaway some of the long hours failed him.
"It was a regular duel ye had with the haythen in his temple, and ye wonit fair and square, anyhow, without shooting," said Grady. "The otherwas as dead as Julius Sayser when the boys saw him, for I was not to thefore myself, having had my little tour the day before."
"I remember," said Kavanagh. "And how is your prisoner getting on? Hehas not slipped away yet, has he?"
"Sorra a bit of it, he seems quite plazed to be living with dacentpeople for a change. He tould the interpreter that it was a mightygreat friend of the Mahdi's ye killed; a man some people reckoned veryholy--a _faker_ he called him. At least, a man like that lived up bythat cavern ye discovered."
"I don't know who he was," said Kavanagh, "but I wish he had recovered.He was a game one that, to fight as he did after he got his death-wound."
Sergeant Barton, who came up just then, heard this last remark, andsaid, smiling--
"That is true enough, but his opponent must have a good bit of pluck,too, it seems to me."
"Not so much as you think," replied Kavanagh, meditatively. "I do notsay it out of mock modesty, but it is a simple fact that fear of thatsharp edge made me strain all my faculties to keep it at a distance.But I was horribly afraid of it all the same."
"Well, I suppose that the other was afraid of your bayonet point, if youcome to that."
"I don't believe it; he did not mind it more than a pin, if he couldonly kill me at the same time."
Here an officer came up and asked Kavanagh how he was; adding, "I havegood news for you. We shall reach Korti to-day, and then you will bemore comfortable."
