Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  The cold made the job difficult, and my heart was in my mouth, for the noise in that quiet place must have woke the dead. Then, by the mercy of Heaven, the engine started, and I sprang to the driving seat, released the clutch, and opened the throttle. The great car shot forward, and I seemed to hear behind me shrill voices. A pistol bullet bored through my hat, and another buried itself in a cushion beside me.

  In a second I was clear of the place and the rest of the party were embarking. Blenkiron got on the step and rolled himself like a sack of coals into the tonneau. Peter nipped up beside me, and Hussin scrambled in from the back over the folds of the hood. We had our baggage in our pockets and had nothing to carry.

  Bullets dropped round us, but did no harm. Then I heard a report at my ear, and out of a corner of my eye saw Peter lower his pistol. Presently we were out of range, and, looking back, I saw three men gesticulating in the middle of the road.

  ‘May the devil fly away with this pistol,’ said Peter ruefully. ‘I never could make good shooting with a little gun. Had I had my rifle... ‘

  ‘What did you shoot for?’ I asked in amazement. ‘We’ve got the fellows’ car, and we don’t want to do them any harm.’

  ‘It would have saved trouble had I had my rifle,’ said Peter, quietly. ‘The little man you call Rasta was there, and he knew you. I heard him cry your name. He is an angry little man, and I observe that on this road there is a telegraph.’

  CHAPTER 17. TROUBLE BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON

  From that moment I date the beginning of my madness. Suddenly I forgot all cares and difficulties of the present and future and became foolishly light-hearted. We were rushing towards the great battle where men were busy at my proper trade. I realized how much I had loathed the lonely days in Germany, and still more the dawdling week in Constantinople. Now I was clear of it all, and bound for the clash of armies. It didn’t trouble me that we were on the wrong side of the battle line. I had a sort of instinct that the darker and wilder things grew the better chance for us.

  ‘Seems to me,’ said Blenkiron, bending over me, ‘that this joy-ride is going to come to an untimely end pretty soon. Peter’s right. That young man will set the telegraph going, and we’ll be held up at the next township.’

  ‘He’s got to get to a telegraph office first,’ I answered. ‘That’s where we have the pull on him. He’s welcome to the screws we left behind, and if he finds an operator before the evening I’m the worst kind of a Dutchman. I’m going to break all the rules and bucket this car for what she’s worth. Don’t you see that the nearer we get to Erzerum the safer we are?’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ he said slowly. ‘At Erzerum I reckon they’ll be waiting for us with the handcuffs. Why in thunder couldn’t those hairy ragamuffins keep the little cuss safe? Your record’s a bit too precipitous, Major, for the most innocent-minded military boss.’

  ‘Do you remember what you said about the Germans being open to bluff? Well, I’m going to put up the steepest sort of bluff. Of course they’ll stop us. Rasta will do his damnedest. But remember that he and his friends are not very popular with the Germans, and Madame von Einem is. We’re her protégés, and the bigger the German swell I get before the safer I’ll feel. We’ve got our passports and our orders, and he’ll be a bold man that will stop us once we get into the German zone. Therefore I’m going to hurry as fast as God will let me.’

  It was a ride that deserved to have an epic written about it. The car was good, and I handled her well, though I say it who shouldn’t. The road in that big central plain was fair, and often I knocked fifty miles an hour out of her. We passed troops by a circuit over the veld, where we took some awful risks, and once we skidded by some transport with our off wheels almost over the lip of a ravine. We went through the narrow streets of Siwas like a fire-engine, while I shouted out in German that we carried despatches for headquarters. We shot out of drizzling rain into brief spells of winter sunshine, and then into a snow blizzard which all but whipped the skin from our faces. And always before us the long road unrolled, with somewhere at the end of it two armies clinched in a death-grapple. That night we looked for no lodging. We ate a sort of meal in the car with the hood up, and felt our way on in the darkness, for the headlights were in perfect order. Then we turned off the road for four hours’ sleep, and I had a go at the map. Before dawn we started again, and came over a pass into the vale of a big river. The winter dawn showed its gleaming stretches, ice-bound among the sprinkled meadows. I called to Blenkiron:

  ‘I believe that river is the Euphrates,’ I said. ‘So,’ he said, acutely interested. ‘Then that’s the waters of Babylon. Great snakes, that I should have lived to see the fields where King Nebuchadnezzar grazed! Do you know the name of that big hill, Major?’

  ‘Ararat, as like as not,’ I cried, and he believed me.

  We were among the hills now, great, rocky, black slopes, and, seen through side glens, a hinterland of snowy peaks. I remember I kept looking for the castrol I had seen in my dream. The thing had never left off haunting me, and I was pretty clear now that it did not belong to my South African memories. I am not a superstitious man, but the way that little kranz clung to my mind made me think it was a warning sent by Providence. I was pretty certain that when I clapped eyes on it I would be in for bad trouble.

  All morning we travelled up that broad vale, and just before noon it spread out wider, the road dipped to the water’s edge, and I saw before me the white roofs of a town. The snow was deep now, and lay down to the riverside, but the sky had cleared, and against a space of blue heaven some peaks to the south rose glittering like jewels. The arches of a bridge, spanning two forks of the stream, showed in front, and as I slowed down at the bend a sentry’s challenge rang out from a block-house. We had reached the fortress of Erzingjan, the headquarters of a Turkish corps and the gate of Armenia.

  I showed the man our passports, but he did not salute and let us move on. He called another fellow from the guardhouse, who motioned us to keep pace with him as he stumped down a side lane. At the other end was a big barracks with sentries outside. The man spoke to us in Turkish, which Hussin interpreted. There was somebody in that barracks who wanted badly to see us.

  ‘By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept,’ quoted Blenkiron softly. ‘I fear, Major, we’ll soon be remembering Zion.’

  I tried to persuade myself that this was merely the red tape of a frontier fortress, but I had an instinct that difficulties were in store for us. If Rasta had started wiring I was prepared to put up the brazenest bluff, for we were still eighty miles from Erzerum, and at all costs we were going to be landed there before night.

  A fussy staff-officer met us at the door. At the sight of us he cried to a friend to come and look.

  ‘Here are the birds safe. A fat man and two lean ones and a savage who looks like a Kurd. Call the guard and march them off. There’s no doubt about their identity.’

  ‘Pardon me, Sir,’ I said, ‘but we have no time to spare and we’d like to be in Erzerum before the dark. I would beg you to get through any formalities as soon as possible. This man,’ and I pointed to the sentry, ‘has our passports.’

  ‘Compose yourself,’ he said impudently; ‘you’re not going on just yet, and when you do it won’t be in a stolen car.’ He took the passports and fingered them casually. Then something he saw there made him cock his eyebrows.

  ‘Where did you steal these?’ he asked, but with less assurance in his tone.

  I spoke very gently. ‘You seem to be the victim of a mistake, sir. These are our papers. We are under orders to report ourselves at Erzerum without an hour’s delay. Whoever hinders us will have to answer to General von Liman. We will be obliged if you will conduct us at once to the Governor.’

  ‘You can’t see General Posselt,’ he said; ‘this is my business. I have a wire from Siwas that four men stole a car belonging to one of Enver Damad’s staff. It describes you all, and says that two of you are notorious spies wanted by t
he Imperial Government. What have you to say to that?’

  ‘Only that it is rubbish. My good Sir, you have seen our passes. Our errand is not to be cried on the housetops, but five minutes with General Posselt will make things clear. You will be exceedingly sorry for it if you delay another minute.’

  He was impressed in spite of himself, and after pulling his moustache turned on his heel and left us. Presently he came back and said very gruffly that the Governor would see us. We followed him along a corridor into a big room looking out on the river, where an oldish fellow sat in an arm-chair by a stove, writing letters with a fountain pen.

  This was Posselt, who had been Governor of Erzerum till he fell sick and Ahmed Fevzi took his place. He had a peevish mouth and big blue pouches below his eyes. He was supposed to be a good engineer and to have made Erzerum impregnable, but the look on his face gave me the impression that his reputation at the moment was a bit unstable.

  The staff-officer spoke to him in an undertone.

  ‘Yes, yes, I know,’ he said testily. ‘Are these the men? They look a pretty lot of scoundrels. What’s that you say? They deny it. But they’ve got the car. They can’t deny that. Here, you,’ and he fixed on Blenkiron, ‘who the devil are you?’

  Blenkiron smiled sleepily at him, not understanding one word, and I took up the parable.

  ‘Our passports, Sir, give our credentials,’ I said. He glanced through them, and his face lengthened.

  ‘They’re right enough. But what about this story of stealing a car?’

  ‘It is quite true,’ I said, ‘but I would prefer to use a pleasanter word. You will see from our papers that every authority on the road is directed to give us the best transport. Our own car broke down, and after a long delay we got some wretched horses. It is vitally important that we should be in Erzerum without delay, so I took the liberty of appropriating an empty car we found outside an inn. I am sorry for the discomfort of the owners, but our business was too grave to wait.’

  ‘But the telegram says you are notorious spies!’

  I smiled. ‘Who sent the telegram?

  ‘I see no reason why I shouldn’t give you his name. It was Rasta Bey. You’ve picked an awkward fellow to make an enemy of.’

  I did not smile but laughed. ‘Rasta!’ I cried. ‘He’s one of Enver’s satellites. That explains many things. I should like a word with you alone, Sir.’

  He nodded to the staff-officer, and when he had gone I put on my most Bible face and looked as important as a provincial mayor at a royal visit.

  ‘I can speak freely,’ I said, ‘for I am speaking to a soldier of Germany. There is no love lost between Enver and those I serve. I need not tell you that. This Rasta thought he had found a chance of delaying us, so he invents this trash about spies. Those Comitadjis have spies on the brain... Especially he hates Frau von Einem.’

  He jumped at the name.

  ‘You have orders from her?’ he asked, in a respectful tone.

  ‘Why, yes,’ I answered, ‘and those orders will not wait.’

  He got up and walked to a table, whence he turned a puzzled face on me. ‘I’m torn in two between the Turks and my own countrymen. If I please one I offend the other, and the result is a damnable confusion. You can go on to Erzerum, but I shall send a man with you to see that you report to headquarters there. I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’m obliged to take no chances in this business. Rasta’s got a grievance against you, but you can easily hide behind the lady’s skirts. She passed through this town two days ago.’

  Ten minutes later we were coasting through the slush of the narrow streets with a stolid German lieutenant sitting beside Me.

  The afternoon was one of those rare days when in the pauses of snow you have a spell of weather as mild as May. I remembered several like it during our winter’s training in Hampshire. The road was a fine one, well engineered, and well kept too, considering the amount of traffic. We were little delayed, for it was sufficiently broad to let us pass troops and transport without slackening pace. The fellow at my side was good-humoured enough, but his presence naturally put the lid on our conversation. I didn’t want to talk, however. I was trying to piece together a plan, and making very little of it, for I had nothing to go upon. We must find Hilda von Einem and Sandy, and between us we must wreck the Greenmantle business. That done, it didn’t matter so much what happened to us. As I reasoned it out, the Turks must be in a bad way, and, unless they got a fillip from Greenmantle, would crumple up before the Russians. In the rout I hoped we might get a chance to change our sides. But it was no good looking so far forward; the first thing was to get to Sandy.

  Now I was still in the mood of reckless bravado which I had got from bagging the car. I did not realize how thin our story was, and how easily Rasta might have a big graft at headquarters. If I had, I would have shot out the German lieutenant long before we got to Erzerum, and found some way of getting mixed up in the ruck of the population. Hussin could have helped me to that. I was getting so confident since our interview with Posselt that I thought I could bluff the whole outfit.

  But my main business that afternoon was pure nonsense. I was trying to find my little hill. At every turn of the road I expected to see the castrol before us. You must know that ever since I could stand I have been crazy about high mountains. My father took me to Basutoland when I was a boy, and I reckon I have scrambled over almost every bit of upland south of the Zambezi, from the Hottentots Holland to the Zoutpansberg, and from the ugly yellow kopjes of Damaraland to the noble cliffs of Mont aux Sources. One of the things I had looked forward to in coming home was the chance of climbing the Alps. But now I was among peaks that I fancied were bigger than the Alps, and I could hardly keep my eyes on the road. I was pretty certain that my castrol was among them, for that dream had taken an almighty hold on my mind. Funnily enough, I was ceasing to think it a place of evil omen, for one soon forgets the atmosphere of nightmare. But I was convinced that it was a thing I was destined to see, and to see pretty soon.

  Darkness fell when we were some miles short of the city, and the last part was difficult driving. On both sides of the road transport and engineers’ stores were parked, and some of it strayed into the highway. I noticed lots of small details — machine-gun detachments, signalling parties, squads of stretcher-bearers — which mean the fringe of an army, and as soon as the night began the white fingers of searchlights began to grope in the skies.

  And then, above the hum of the roadside, rose the voice of the great guns. The shells were bursting four or five miles away, and the guns must have been as many more distant. But in that upland pocket of plain in the frosty night they sounded most intimately near. They kept up their solemn litany, with a minute’s interval between each — no rafale which rumbles like a drum, but the steady persistence of artillery exactly ranged on a target. I judged they must be bombarding the outer forts, and once there came a loud explosion and a red glare as if a magazine had suffered.

  It was a sound I had not heard for five months, and it fairly crazed me. I remembered how I had first heard it on the ridge before Laventie. Then I had been half-afraid, half-solemnized, but every nerve had been quickened. Then it had been the new thing in my life that held me breathless with anticipation; now it was the old thing, the thing I had shared with so many good fellows, my proper work, and the only task for a man. At the sound of the guns I felt that I was moving in natural air once more. I felt that I was coming home.

  We were stopped at a long line of ramparts, and a German sergeant stared at us till he saw the lieutenant beside me, when he saluted and we passed on. Almost at once we dipped into narrow twisting streets, choked with soldiers, where it was hard business to steer. There were few lights — only now and then the flare of a torch which showed the grey stone houses, with every window latticed and shuttered. I had put out my headlights and had only side lamps, so we had to pick our way gingerly through the labyrinth. I hoped we would strike Sandy’s quarters soon, for we were all pretty
empty, and a frost had set in which made our thick coats seem as thin as paper.

  The lieutenant did the guiding. We had to present our passports, and I anticipated no more difficulty than in landing from the boat at Boulogne. But I wanted to get it over, for my hunger pinched me and it was fearsome cold. Still the guns went on, like hounds baying before a quarry. The city was out of range, but there were strange lights on the ridge to the east.

  At last we reached our goal and marched through a fine old carved archway into a courtyard, and thence into a draughty hall.

  ‘You must see the Sektionschef,’ said our guide. I looked round to see if we were all there, and noticed that Hussin had disappeared. It did not matter, for he was not on the passports.

  We followed as we were directed through an open door. There was a man standing with his back towards us looking at a wall map, a very big man with a neck that bulged over his collar. I would have known that neck among a million. At the sight of it I made a half-turn to bolt back. It was too late, for the door had closed behind us and there were two armed sentries beside it.

  The man slewed round and looked into my eyes. I had a despairing hope that I might bluff it out, for I was in different clothes and had shaved my beard. But you cannot spend ten minutes in a death-grapple without your adversary getting to know you.

  He went very pale, then recollected himself and twisted his features into the old grin. ‘So,’ he said, ‘the little Dutchmen! We meet after many days.’

  It was no good lying or saying anything. I shut my teeth and waited.

  ‘And you, Herr Blenkiron? I never liked the look of you. You babbled too much, like all your damned Americans.’

  ‘I guess your personal dislikes haven’t got anything to do with the matter,’ said Blenkiron, calmly. ‘If you’re the boss here, I’ll thank you to cast your eye over these passports, for we can’t stand waiting for ever.’