Produced by Al Haines.
Cover]
IN TWO MINDS (_See page_ 40)]
FRANK FORESTER
_A STORY OF THE DARDANELLES_
BY
HERBERT STRANG
_ILLUSTRATED BY CYRUS CUNEO_
LONDON HENRY FROWDE HODDER AND STOUGHTON
_First printed in_ 1915
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I A MEETING IN THE HILLSII CONCERNING A CARPETIII DISTURBERS OF TRAFFICIV THE COMING STORMV UNDER ARRESTVI RIGOURVII TEMPTATIONVIII A LEAP IN THE DARKIX A REHEARSALX A BRITISH SHELLXI DANGERXII IN THE HILLSXIII SHARING A SEPULCHREXIV 'A CHIEL AMANG THEM'XV OUT OF ACTIONXVI TWO MEN IN A LAUNCHXVII THROUGH THE NARROWSXVIII THE LANDING AT ANZACXIX A TIGHT CORNERXX FISHINGXXI IN A RING FENCEXXII THE HOLY MENXXIII CAPTURING A SUBMARINEXXIV V.C.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
IN TWO MINDS . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ (_see page_ 40)
AT THE POINT OF DESPAIR
MAP OF THE SOUTHERN PART OF THE GALLIPOLI PENINSULA
THE FIGHT IN THE GULLY
A CRITICAL MOMENT
CHAPTER I
A MEETING IN THE HILLS
One afternoon in July 1914, a party of five men was making its wayslowly through a defile in the hills of Armenia. The singular verb isstrictly appropriate, for the five men kept close together, always inthe same order, and, being mounted, might have appeared to a distantobserver almost as one monstrous many-legged creature, hideously shaped.
At a nearer view, however, the spectator would probably have beeninterested in the various composition of the party, and in certainpicturesque elements pertaining to its individual members. Theforemost, preceding the rest by three parts of the length of his greyhorse, was a study in colour. A black turban surmounted acopper-coloured face, the most striking feature of which was a thinaquiline nose hooked at the extremity, with finely arched nostrils, anda deep dent between bushy brows out of which gleamed sloe-black eyes.On either side of his nose streamed a long, black, fiercely twirledmoustache, and his shaven chin stuck out with a sort of aggressivepowerfulness. A blue tunic clothed him from shoulders to waist, wherehe was girt with a red sash bristling with a dagger, a long knife, andseveral pistols. Baggy white trousers were tucked into long red bootsfitted with large spurs. In his right hand he held a long bamboo lance,from which dangled a number of black balls.
The two men who rode behind him, the necks of their horses level withthe buttocks of his, were not so picturesque. On the right was a youngEnglishman of about twenty years, whose clean-shaven face was ruddy withhealth and exposure to the weather, and whose grey-blue eyes were shadedfrom the sun by the peak of a white pith helmet. He wore white drill,with a leather belt, and brown riding boots. His companion, a slight,sallow-faced youth of about the same age, was also dressed in white, butthere was something in the cut of his garments that forbade his beingsupposed an Englishman. Close behind these two, mounted on mules whichwere laden with bundles of odd shapes, rode two sturdy bearded figures,whose dark features were markedly oriental. They wore turbans andtunics which had once been white, baggy red trousers, and heavy boots ofundressed leather. Rifles were slung on their backs, and long knivesstuck out of their belts.
The track was stony and tortuous, winding through a jagged cleft in thehills. On either side, at varying distances from the path, rosepinnacles of rock, through fissures in which the riders caughtoccasional glimpses of fertile valleys below, or of solitary fastnessesor monasteries perched high among the crags. Now and then a bend in thedefile opened up a view of the distant peaks of the Taurus mountains.It was wild and desolate country, growing wilder as they advanced.
They rode almost in silence. The two muleteers addressed each othersometimes in murmurs, and it might have been gathered from theexpression of their countenances that they did not relish their job andwere becoming increasingly uneasy. The sun was hot, and the heatreflected from the rocks struck up into the riders' faces and made themshiny with sweat. But the uneasiness of the muleteers was moral ratherthan physical. They were Armenians, and their journey was taking themdeeper and deeper into the wilds of Kurdistan, among the strongholds ofthe immemorial oppressors of their race. They were not without alingering suspicion of their leader, the picturesque person of the hooknose. He was a Kurd, and though he had guaranteed the safety of theparty, they had no great confidence in the good faith of a Kurd.
No anxieties of this kind troubled the Englishman. But as the afternoonwaned he became a little impatient. Ali the Kurdish guide had assuredhim twenty times that the end of the journey was near, yet hour followedhour, and they had not yet arrived. Since there was no doubt that Aliknew the way thoroughly, it could only be supposed that his notion ofdistance was imperfect. There were camp gear and provisions on themules' backs; Frank Forester had already spent one night in camp sinceleaving Erzerum, and did not view with any pleasure the prospect of asecond night; in these heights, 6000 feet above sea-level, the nights,even after the hottest days, were bitterly cold.
"Come now, Ali, aren't we nearly there?" Frank said at length,addressing the Kurd in a mixture of Arabic and the local dialect.
"Very near, very near," said the man, extending his arm towards whatappeared to be a blank wall of rock.
"He's a man of two words," said Frank, with a shrug, to his companion onthe left. "I hope we shall get there before dark."
"Yes, before dark," repeated the youth, in a thin scrapy voice.
There was silence again. The track became rougher, the wall of rock oneach side steeper. At one spot Frank noticed a number of boulders,large and small, piled on a ledge almost overhanging the track.
"That's rather dangerous," he remarked. "If they fell they would blockthe road."
"That is what they are there for, effendim," said Ali, turning andflashing a glance at the pile. He explained that expeditions led byTurkish governors had more than once come to grief in these hills. TheKurds knew how to deal with the Osmanli.
A few minutes afterwards Ali came to a sudden halt, and hurriedly badethe other members of the party draw in towards the left, under cover ofa projecting spur.
"What is it?" asked Frank.
"Men coming towards us, ten or twelve," replied the man. "We must waituntil I can see who they are."
"Have they seen us?"
"Who can say? But I think I stopped before they saw us."
"Why?"
"Do they not call me Eagle Eye?" said the man proudly.
Frank smiled. There was an amusing simplicity about Ali's self-esteem.
"Well, what do you make of them?" Frank asked after a minute or two.
The Kurd, peering round the edge of the rock, had shown more and moreinterest as the approaching party drew nearer.
"Wallaby! It is Abdi the cursed. I know Abdi and his evil eye. A badman, truly, for he will sin against a true believer as readily as hewill kill a Giaour. He is hated by all and feared by most. We must notmeet him."
"But you don't fear him, Ali?"
"Allah knows I fear him not; but I gave my word for the safety of yournobleness and these poor creatures, and it is not well we run intodanger from Abdi and his larger party. Besides, there is with him,riding by his side, the dog German----"
"What, Wonckhaus?"
"Even so, ef
fendim. That curdles your cream, or call me a liar."
"He has stolen a march on us, Joseph," said Frank, turning to hiscompanion. His tone expressed deep annoyance. "He wouldn't have comeinto these parts on any other errand, and I shall be mad if he haspulled off the deal.--I don't want to meet Wonckhaus, Ali. Can we getout of the way until he has passed?"
Ali cast a keen look around. In a few moments he discovered what hesought--a gap in which the party might remain concealed. He led themthrough the narrow passage between two large masses of rock, turned thecorner, and instructed them to cover the animals' heads with cloths.They were now within twenty yards of the track, but wholly out of sightfrom it.
Some ten minutes later they heard the ringing clatter of hoofs on thestones, and the voices of men. Peeping out, Frank and Ali watched theparty ride by. By the side of a villainous-looking Kurd rode a bigGerman in loose grey clothes with a blue sash about his ample waist.Behind came nine or ten Kurds variously attired, all armed to the teeth,mounted on horses laden with packs. It was a wild fierce group, and theArmenians, peering timorously round the edges of the rock, heaved a sighof relief when the last of the party had disappeared. The sounds diedaway. When all was silent Ali chuckled a "Wallahy!" and led the wayback to the track.
"Very near now, effendim," he said.
"I hope we are," rejoined Frank. "Joseph, I wonder whether Wonckhaushas got my carpet?"
"God forbid!" said Joseph solemnly.
Frank Forester: A Story of the Dardanelles Page 1
