07 Gimlet Bores In

by Captain W E Johns

  "The Kaiser's war broke out. We stayed in Baku, my father busy with his oil projects and my

  sister and me at our studies under an English tutor. English was the language used in our house. Then, in 1918, came the calamity that destroyed us and everything we possessed.

  The collapse of Russia in the war, was, as you know, followed by the Bolshevik Revolution. Crazed with success and seeking plunder, into Baku poured the Bolsheviks with their Mongolian supporters. For us began a reign of terror. We were helpless. It was too late to leave the country.

  Britain, still busy with the war against the Germans, could do nothing for us. My sister was abducted and never seen again. My father, who protested, was shot dead on his own doorstep. Our house was set on fire.

  Our oil wells were already blazing, set on fire for no reason by these power-mad vandals. I fled with my mother to the mountains, where, unable to stand the rigours of the winter, she died. I buried her myself. Her grave is not far from here. I was left alone in the world. In my grief and misery, I, too, would have died, but there was something, perhaps it was my Scottish ancestry, that would not allow such an easy way of escape. So I lived. I lived for one thing—revenge. In me was born such a hatred as few men know, hatred of the barbaric murderers and everything they stood for. I became a wild beast of the mountains, taking revenge on the invaders when opportunity offered.

  "I was not alone in the mountains. There were others like me, men who had lost all and lived for no other purpose than to redress their wrongs by the only way open to them. It was a story as old as the hills themselves, the story of Hereward the Wake, of Robin Hood, and many others. After a time, perhaps because it was known that I came of a good family, or because I could plan forays and carry them out, I became the leader of as desperate a band of outlaws as ever lived and fought under the banner of freedom. They called me The Scourge, and a scourge I was.

  "Having started there was no going back. Not that I wanted to go back.

  What was there for me to go back to? The only satisfaction I could get was by injuring those who had wantonly destroyed everything I loved. The country settled down, more or less. But not me. I played havoc with the enemy, to the secret delight of those people of the country who were forced to work for him. As the oil refineries were repaired I set fire to them. I tore up the pipe lines. I blew up roads and tore down telegraph wires. I raided the coffers of the tax collectors and the houses of the upstart commissars appointed to hunt me down. The treasures they had stolen from their rightful owners, most of whom were dead, I seized. A price was put on my head. Today it stands at a million roubles. Traps were set for me, but the people, hating their new masters, sent me warning. And so it has gone on, year after year, for thirty years—a lifetime."

  "But they caught you in the end?" prompted Cub.

  "That came about this way," said the bandit.

  "A week ago I went to Baku in disguise to fetch medicines for one of my men who was sick. It was a long journey and I travelled on horseback.

  Returning, a bear crossing the road unexpectedly made my horse shy. Taken unawares I was thrown, and falling on my head was knocked unconscious.

  Had I been found by people of the country all would have been well, but by an evil chance the first people to come along was a patrol of Cossacks from the fort. When I recovered consciousness—for I was only stunned—it was to discover that I was at last inside the fort. The governor, in great glee, informed his masters, who sent back word that I was to be hanged forthwith. I do not know the details yet, but it seems that spies informed my band, with what result you know. At the time, my men had already gathered in force for an attack on the fort. As things fell out this was not necessary."

  "And it so happened that we chose that very spot from which to reconnoitre the fort,"

  said Gimlet.

  The bandit smiled wanly. "And still we live to be thorns in the flesh of our enemies."

  There was silence for a few minutes while purple twilight dimmed the scene.

  "That is the end of my story," concluded the lonely Scot, so heavily that Cub felt a sudden surge of sympathy for him. "I must go now and speak with my men," he went on.

  "Do I understand that you would like me to set inquiries afoot about the man you have come to rescue?"

  "I'd be very grateful if you would," answered Gimlet.

  "Very well. And you will stay with us meantime?"

  "If we may."

  "It will be a pleasure," stated the bandit chief. "You cannot imagine what a joy it is to me to hear my own tongue spoken again after so many long years," he added, as he went off.

  Taking his soap and towel Cub walked through a shadowy, unreal world, towards the brook, marvelling at the extraordinary turn their adventure had taken. Were all these things a matter of luck, he mused, or was there some purpose, some guiding hand, in them? He found the question not easy to answer.

  CHAPTER Vll

  USEFUL ALLIES

  THE next two days passed pleasantly enough while the brigand leader waited for his scouts to report. In the meantime, Gimlet and his party enjoyed the hospitality offered them. The bandits were a rough but cheerful lot who looked what they were, lounging about, doing nothing in particular—smoking, telling stories, or listening to weird, haunting music, played by one of their number on a three-cornered string instrument.

  Cub came to know several of them by sight, but their names were not easy to remember.

  The colour of their faces varied from white, through browns to nearly black. Some were Christians, some Mahometans, and other professed queer tribal religions of their own.

  One or two of the older ones remembered a few words of the English they had picked up in the old days at the oil wells.

  A lot of time was spent talking to Macgreggo, as Copper had aptly named the outlawed Scot. He told more of his history, and in describing the fort gave the rescue party an idea of the difficulties of the task to which they had pledged themselves. Indeed, Cub formed the secret opinion that without the inside information which their new friends were able to provide, the business would have been almost hopeless from the outset.

  The fort, it seemed, covered even more ground than they had at first supposed—a matter of three or four acres, in English measurement. It was built in the form of a square with a parade ground in the middle. In this area, too, certain prisoners were sometimes exercised. There was only one approach, and this was along the causeway, which had a double guard.

  There was a drawbridge at the outer end, although as a guard was always stationed there it was no longer used. At the inner end of the causeway was the one portal that gave access to the fort, a gloomy arch that carried a massive iron-studded door, which was closed and locked every evening at sundown. In the rooms adjacent to this the garrison was quartered, and Cub was shocked to learn that this comprised at least a hundred men, horse and foot. The prisoners were confined in semi-basement dungeons, with iron-barred windows at ground level facing inwards across the parade ground. They occupied three sides of the square but were not all in use. It would be in one of these, Macgreggo thought, that the Pasha would be locked, if he were there. Sentries paraded the flat top of the walls that surrounded the open square by day and by night. A machine-gun was mounted on the parade ground to cover the prisoners should they revolt while at exercise.

  One point of great interest was this. Although the cliff on which the fort was built appeared to be unscalable, it was not—if an old legend was to be believed. According to this there was one way up by which it was possible to climb to the top; that is, to the foot of the fortress wall.

  Macgreggo did not know where it was for he had never had occasion to use it; but that it existed was fairly certain, for up it the notorious sixteenth century corsair, Barbarossa, had led his men to take the place by a ruse. According to the story, one of the garrison had been bribed to open the door at a certain time, and Barbarossa, reaching it without crossing the causeway, had taken the place by surpr
ise. The weapons of those days, great muzzle-loading cannon, with pyramids of cannon balls beside them, were still there, although of course the defence now relied on modern machine-guns.

  The fact that it had once been possible to scale the cliff interested Gimlet tremendously, for should the governor of the fort be unaware of it, it was obviously a weakness in his defences. The question arose, was the path still there? Had it collapsed under the hand of time, or perhaps been destroyed by a new garrison subsequent to Barbarossa's attack?

  Legends, said Macgreggo, lingered long in the Caucasus, and the story would certainly have been passed down from father to son through the ages. He would, he promised, take steps at once to ascertain if anyone was still alive who knew the way up the cliff. If so, it should not be a difficult matter to find out if it were still in a condition to be used.

  On the evening of the third day there was a stir in the camp when Macgreggo's most daring spy, and incidentally his second in command, an old Georgian named Sienco, returned. It was soon clear that he had brought important news, and this was confirmed by Macgreggo when, after a good deal of excited conversation, he returned to Gimlet.

  The information received was, it turned out, both good and bad.

  First, and most important, the British Intelligence Service had been correct. Ismit Pasha was a prisoner in the fort, but an escort was being sent for his removal forthwith.

  According to rumour this escort consisted of three armoured cars. When these were due to arrive was not known, but they were expected shortly.

  Another item of news was, the garrison was soon to be changed. Precisely in which cell the Pasha was confined had not yet been ascertained.

  "That means we've no time to lose," said Gimlet. Macgreggo agreed.

  Asked by Gimlet how such inside information had been secured, Macgreggo explained that it had come from a disgruntled Cossack named Yakoff, who had been flogged for some trifling offence. He had told one of the native labourers, who had passed on the information to Macgreggo's spy.

  "How did he manage to do that?" asked Gimlet curiously. "I mean, did this labourer come out, or did your spy get into the fort?"

  "The labourer came out," answered Macgreggo. "Every day a labour squad is brought out, under guard, to cut firewood and carry it into the fort. Of course, these men are watched, but, after all, they have work to do, and in the forest it is usually possible for one of my men to mix with them for a little while. My scout, Sienco, thinks it would be possible to bribe this Cossack, Yakoff, to tell all he knows, and keep us in touch with what is happening. In fact, he has hinted that he is ready to desert and join my band."

  "I should think such a man would be useful to you," suggested Gimlet.

  "Certainly he would, if I dare trust him," agreed Macgreggo. "But this sort of thing has happened before and I have to be careful. It might be a trick of the governor to get a spy into my camp."

  Gimlet admitted the truth of this. "What it really boils down to," he went on, "am I to understand that you can make contact with the inside of the fort through these woodcutters when they come out?"

  "Yes. It is a line of communication that I have used before. That was how my men received information about me when I was in the fort myself."

  "From what you tell me, this man Yakoff might be prepared, for a consideration, to help us to get inside the place ourselves?" suggested Gimlet. "Of course, such a plan would depend largely on whether or not the old cliff path is still in a condition to be used. What we really need is a guide."

  "I will certainly make enquiries about that," promised Macgreggo. "If a guide can be found, how would you proceed?"

  "If we had a man inside the fort willing to work with us, supposing the track up the cliff to be there, the order of things would be this. We would go up the cliff to the wall of the fort. The man inside would then lower a rope to us. Thus, we should get inside the fort, rescue our man, and return by the same method. The question is, would the man inside be able to lay hands on a rope long enough for the purpose?"

  "I think it is very unlikely."

  "Have you got a rope?"

  "Yes."

  "Very well. All the man inside needs is a ball of string, which should not be difficult to conceal

  about his person. He lowers the string. We tie the rope to it. He pulls the rope up and makes it fast at the top. We go up the rope. There may be some difficulty in finding the Pasha, but we should at least be inside the fort. If it could be ascertained beforehand which dungeon the Pasha is in, so much the better."

  "Yes," said Macgreggo slowly. "But this man Yakoff would have no occasion to be on the wall unless it was his turn for sentry-go there."

  "We should have to wait until his turn came round."

  "The sentries are posted in pairs. What about his companion?"

  "It shouldn't be difficult for Yakoff to find some way of disposing of his partner should he threaten to give the alarm."

  "Very well," agreed Macgreggo. "The next step is to send men round the villages to find a man, if there is one, who knows the way up the cliff.

  It would be a difficult and dangerous business to find it ourselves, for it would have to be done in the dark. In daylight a man trying to get up the cliff would certainly be seen by the sentry at the top.

  That's one thing. The other is to make contact with Yakoff the Cossack and find out how far he is prepared to go. I will offer him a reward of a thousand gold roubles and promise a safe conduct to anywhere in the country he cares to go. That should do the trick."

  "How will you convey that message to him—by one of the woodcutters?"

  "Yes. We can use the same man as I have used before. His name is Abuk. He is a charcoal burner. Wait. I have a better idea. I will replace Abuk with one of my own men, who will be able to explain exactly to Yakoff what we want him to do. He will also be able to give him the string. By doing this I shall have one of my own men inside the fort.

  "

  "But could you get away with that?" queried Gimlet.

  "I think so. We will try it, otherwise it would mean passing a rather complicated story to Yakoff through Abuk, who is not very intelligent. I do not think such a substitution would be noticed. The squad of workmen is counted when it leaves the fort, and counted again when it returns. As long as the number tallies the guard would not pay much attention to faces."

  "Well, if you think it can be done, so well and good," agreed Gimlet.

  "If the woodcutters are working as usual, and that is something Sienco can tell us, the substitution could be made tomorrow morning," said Macgreggo. "The sooner it is done the better. If Yakoff the Cossack refuses to co-operate with us there would be no point in climbing the cliff."

  "Unless your own man could find a way to lower the string and haul the rope up."

  "That would be difficult, because he would have no business on the wall; but we will bear it in mind as an alternative," said Macgreggo.

  "You're going to a lot of trouble on our account," murmured Gimlet.

  "Not at all," disputed Macgreggo. "After all, my life is devoted to making things difficult for these people, and this way is as good as any.

  Wait here while I go and discuss the matter with my men. We will soon know if Yakoff is willing to work with us."

  "But just a minute," said Gimlet. "Your spy will be inside the fort. When he has got the information how is he going to get out?"

  "By the same way as he will go in," replied Macgreggo. "We will substitute Abuk for him when the woodcutters return to the forest the next day."

  Macgreggo went off and was away for some time. In fact, he did not return until after darkness had fallen, when he brought encouraging news. One of his men knew an old Turk who once told him that he knew the way up the cliff. He had once actually climbed it, although that was in the days of his youth. This man lived in a village at no great distance. Steps were now being taken to bring the old man to the camp in order to discuss the matter. In the business of making co
ntact with Yakoff the Cossack, Sienco himself had offered to change places with Abuk in the morning when the woodcutters were out doing their usual work. This being a somewhat dangerous operation Macgreggo had decided to go with him, taking a small force of men, so that should the scheme go wrong it would be possible to rescue Sienco before he was taken into the fort. A start would soo n have to be made in

  order that the bandits could take up positions from which they would be able to watch what happened.

  Upon this, Gimlet offered to add his men to those who were to watch Sienco, pointing out that as the whole business was for their benefit it was only fair that they should share the risks.

  Macgreggo said it was not really necessary, but agreed that if it would give them any satisfaction they could go with him.

  And so, just before midnight, the party of about a dozen men all told moved off.

  Macgreggo, who knew every inch of the ground, led the way, with Gimlet and his contingent bringing up the rear. All they had to do was follow, but even this was enough to keep their minds and muscles well occupied.

  It was a long march through the silent forest, seldom over level ground.

  Either they were climbing to the top of a steep escarpment or plunging down into a valley that followed inevitably on the other side. Cub saw plainly enough now why the troops had not attempted to follow the bandits into their stronghold. They would have been out-manceuvred at every turn by men who knew the ground. Yet this, he reflected, was only the foothills. It gave him an idea of what conditions would be like among the high tops that still towered ten thousand feet or more above them. It was hard to believe that less than a week ago he had been strolling about the busy streets of London. Now, here he was, not only in some of the wildest country left in the world, but marching through it with a band of brigands for companions. He had made many strange journeys, but this, he decided, broke all previous records.