Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: A DASH FOR LIBERTY]
CARRY ON!
_A STORY OF THE FIGHT FOR BAGDAD_
BY
HERBERT STRANG
ILLUSTRATED BY H. K. ELCOCK
AND H. EVISON
HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON, EDINBURGH, GLASGOW
TORONTO, MELBOURNE, CAPE TOWN, BOMBAY
PRINTED 1917 IN GREAT BRITAIN BY R. CLAY AND SONS, LTD.
BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E. 1, AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I A TELL NEAR BABYLON
II THE GAPING JAWS
III THE BARBER'S APPRENTICE
IV THE SHAVING OF BURCKHARDT
V SECRET SERVICE
VI THE DERVISH HEZAR
VII A MAD RACE
VIII ACROSS THE EUPHRATES
IX FRIENDS OR FOES?
X THE TRYST
XI THE TRAP
XII A REARGUARD ACTION
XIII IN THE BRITISH LINES
XIV THE ENEMY'S GUNS
XV A RAID
XVI CLOSING IN
XVII RAISING THE SIEGE
XVIII THE TIMELY BOMB
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
COLOUR FRONTISPIECE BY H. K. ELCOCK.
A DASH FOR LIBERTY (see p. 102),
DRAWINGS IN LINE BY H. EVISON.
THE STRUGGLE ON THE TELL
A MOUTHFUL OF SOAP
THE PRISONER
THE LAST SHOT
A CAPTIVE IN BONDS
STRANDED
MAJOR BURCKHARDT IS DISTURBED
THE DASH FOR THE MACHINE-GUN
THE BARBER IS MOBBED
CHAPTER I
A TELL NEAR BABYLON
Mesopotamia, "the land between the rivers," has been brought by Time's
revolution once more into the foreground of the history of the world.
The plains where Abraham, Isaac and Jacob tended their flocks and
herds; where the hosts of Sennacherib, Shalmaneser and Alexander
contended for "world-power" in their day; where the Arabs, heirs of
ancient civilisations, reared a civilisation of their own until it fell
under the blight of Turkish dominion: have become once more the
battle-ground of opposing armies, the representatives of conflicting
spirits and ideals.
This fertile land, whose history dates back many thousands of years,
has long lain desolate. Swamps and marshes and the floods of the
Tigris and the Euphrates cover immense tracts that were once the
granary of the middle East. The old canals and irrigation works
constructed by Babylonians and Assyrians are now obliterated by sand.
Where once large populations throve and cultivated literature and the
arts, now roam only a few tribes of Arabs, degenerate descendants of
the race that at one time led the world in the things of the mind.
Mesopotamia is the "abomination of desolation."
Here and there a mound--known to archaeologists as a _tell_--marks the
site of a buried city, and excavation has brought to light the remains
of palaces and monumental tombs, and temples where "pale-eyed priests"
chanted incantations to Assur and Ishtar and Merodach--the Baalim and
Ashtoreth of the Bible. It was at one such _tell_ that the story to be
unfolded in the following pages had its beginning.
Early one morning in the autumn of 1916, any one who had chanced to be
standing on this _tell_ would have noticed, far in the eastern sky, a
moving speck. It might have been a gigantic bird, but that, as it
approached, its flight was swifter, more direct, more noisy. As it
came nearer, it swept round in an immense circle, then descended in a
spiral course, skimmed the surface of the _tell_, and finally alighted
on a clear and level stretch of ground on the western side.
Through all its ages of solitude the _tell_ had never known so strange
a visitant. The shades of ancient priests and soothsayers might be
imagined to shrink away from this intruder upon their haunts. What had
remotest antiquity to do with this symbol of modernity, the last word
in scientific invention in a world of scientific marvels?
Some such thoughts as these seemed to grip one of the two young men who
disengaged themselves from the aeroplane.
"So this is your _tell_!" cried the elder of the two, in the loud tones
that bespeak a cheerful soul. He looked with an air of mockery at the
rugged contours of the mound.
"Hush, Ellingford!" said the other, in a stage whisper. "We are
trespassers--on a spot where Assyrians worshipped when Rome was still a
village."
"Well, _they_ can't hear us. What's more to the point, the Arabs can,
if they're about; so hurry up."
"Hopelessly matter-of-fact; everlastingly practical! Here are we, in
the very nursery and cradle of mankind; yet you can't spare half a
thought for the past! You live altogether in the present----"
"Look here, Burnet," said the other, cutting him short; "if you don't
stop gassing we shall neither of us live in the future. Before you can
say Jack Robinson--or Beelzebub, if you prefer it--we may have a swarm
of Arabs round us with Mauser rifles and explosive bullets. I'm
responsible for this machine. So buck up. You can commune with the
spirits of the past when I am gone."
Captain Ellingford spoke good-humouredly, but with an undertone of
seriousness. Roger Burnet laughed.
"Righto," he said. "I'll not keep you."
He glanced keenly around, as if looking for some landmark; then, having
found what he sought, set off with quick step towards a group of ruins
near the centre of the _tell_, about a hundred and fifty yards from
where the aeroplane had landed. Captain Ellingford, first looking in
all directions to assure himself that no one was near, followed his
companion, ever and anon throwing a glance backward: he was loth to
leave his machine.
The surface of the _tell_ was irregular. At one part you would find a
smooth expanse of sand; at another, drifted heaps, fragments of rubble,
brick and stone; at a third, larger blocks of stone, broken columns,
chips of cornice and frieze. Only at one spot was there any
substantial relic of the ancient buildings. The lower portion of what
had once been a magnificent gateway or porch, together with the remains
of the adjacent walls, rose above the surrounding litter. Each side of
the portal was formed of what appeared to be a massive solid block,
carved to the image of some strange colossal animal, its mouth gaping
in a hideous grimace, like the gargoyles on a medieval church. Through
this gateway Burnet passed; then he turned to the right, stooped, and
with a piece of broken sherd began to scrape away the sand from an area
several feet square. Presently there was revealed a flat slab of
stone, which, when he had cleared its edges of sand, he lifted,
revealing a shallow flight of steps.
"Here we are," he said, turning to his companion. "We discovered it
when we were digging here a few years ago, my poor old father and I,
and covered it up, meaning to return. There was a German grubbing
about in the neighbourhood, and my father didn't want any poaching on
what he considered his preserves. But he never had a chance to come
back. Come down and have a look."
He led the way down into a small subterranean room or cellar, and
flashing his electric torch, pointed out strange markings on the walls.
"Queer hobby," remarked Ellingford. "Well, I must get back to the bus.
Don't like leaving it so long."
They returned to the aeroplane. Burnet took a bundle from it.
Ellingford got into his seat, saying:
"A month from now, then. I'll be here unless I'm pipped. Take care of
yourself. Good luck!"
He started the engine. Burnet helped him to shove off; the machine
jolted over the rough ground, rose into the air, and in five minutes
was out of sight.