THE DERVISH HEZAR
Before Burnet laid himself down that night on his humble couch in
Firouz Ali's house the plan for his departure had been thoroughly
discussed. Among the barber's friends and agents was one Ibrahim, once
a prosperous owner of camels, which he hired out to merchants or
pilgrims. Since the war, however, all his camels but two had been
commandeered by the Turks; his business was ruined; and he now employed
himself in picking up camels from the remoter tribes in the Arabian
desert, and selling them to the army authorities at a miserable profit.
He had adopted this occupation to cover his real business, which was to
keep in touch with the revolted chiefs at Mecca and Medina and to act
as a travelling link between them and Firouz Ali, the centre of the
secret revolutionary movement in Bagdad.
Firouz Ali arranged that Burnet should become Ibrahim's temporary
assistant. Having lost no opportunity of belittling the intelligence
of his new apprentice, the barber would find it easy to explain to any
one who was curious enough to enquire, that the lad had shown himself
hopelessly inefficient, and gone to try his luck as a camel-driver.
Burnet would accompany Ibrahim to Kerbela and Meshed Ali, and thence
make the best of his way to the _tell_ of Tukulti-Ninip, in good time,
he hoped, for his appointment with Captain Ellingford.
Next day he did not leave the barber's house, but employed himself in
writing a letter. Curiously enough, it was addressed to himself, and
in Arabic; and though of no great length, its composition occupied
several hours. The paper on which it was written was that thin sheet
which he had several times laid over his map of Bagdad and the
neighbourhood and marked with small dots, which formed a haphazard
pattern like the stars in the firmament. Written Arabic, as every one
knows, is a series of strokes and curves and dots, like a compacter
sort of shorthand; and the reason why this simple letter was a work of
long labour was that the dots already marked on the paper had to be
incorporated, in the most natural way possible, with the invented
message. When the letter was finished, only a very observant eye would
have noticed that some of the dots were slightly heavier than the rest.
No one would have suspected that only these dots were of the least
importance: the letter existed for them.
It read somewhat as follows:
"To my dear son Yusuf, greeting. My heart is sore, yearning for you,
my sweet son, for a sight of your face, round as the moon, and your
eyes, like raisins in a cake. I hope that you have not shed your
bright blood by careless handling of your uncle's razors, and I pray
that you may become rich enough to give your sister a good dower, and
that you will attain as high a renown as my famous brother himself.
Blessing and peace be with you. Written by the hand of the mullah for
your father and mother."
"That'll do, if I'm collared," thought Burnet, as he tucked the letter
into his girdle.
He then tore up the map which gave the key to this letter: there were
plenty more at headquarters.
In the evening, when the shop was shut, Ibrahim the camel-driver came
to the house and was introduced by Firouz Ali to his new assistant.
Ibrahim had brought with him a few essential articles of clothing, and
it was settled that Burnet should join him next morning at dawn.
Soon after daylight the two camel-drivers, each mounted on a rather
poor specimen of the kind, rode southwards out of the city. Ibrahim
had a pass, which franked them through the sentries, to whom, indeed,
he was pretty well known through previous journeys in and out. Like
all travellers in those desert lands he carried a rifle: Burnet,
apparently unarmed, had his revolver securely tucked away.
Burnet had lived long enough in Mesopotamia to have more than a passing
acquaintance with the camel, its moods and vagaries; but during the
next few days he learnt more about that useful "ship of the desert"
than he had known in all his previous experience. His steed tramped on
hour after hour at the same steady pace, with a jolting movement that
he found unpleasant and tedious. He longed for the lithe, springy,
varied gait of a horse, and once ventured to express his preference to
his companion. Ibrahim was up in arms at once, and lectured him so
roundly that he wished he had held his tongue.
"You speak out of your little knowledge, effendi," said this champion
of the camel. "The horse, indeed, starts with his heels in the air,
and will curvet and gallop and perform as many tricks as a tumbler.
But how is it at the end of the day? The beast shambles and stumbles,
and, ill-tempered from hunger, he will bite and fight, scatter his corn
like a prodigal, and even paw it with his hoofs into the mire. But the
camel--behold how patiently he marches, as well at sunset as at dawn;
how gently he kneels down at his journey's end, and thankfully receives
his beans, and chews the cud peacefully until the morning. He has more
wits than a horse, and if he roars, it is but to say that his saddle
galls him, and to plead that it may be restuffed. Better one camel
than twenty horses."
There was something to be said on the other side, but Burnet had tact,
an excellent thing in a travelling companion.
The sixty-mile journey to Kerbela was almost uneventful. As Burnet
knew, the place was seething with disaffection towards the Turks, and
he was not surprised when, a few miles from the town, a small party of
rebels suddenly sprang out from behind a palm grove and commanded the
travellers to dismount. The sequel caused him to realise that the
movement controlled by Firouz Ali was very widespread. At a few words
from Ibrahim, and the display of a small token that he carried in the
folds of his turban, the hostile attitude of the rebels changed as by
magic to the frankest friendliness. They readily answered Ibrahim's
questions as to affairs in the town, and took a cordial farewell.
The travellers stayed in Kerbela only long enough to rest their camels,
then pushed on towards their destination, Meshed Ali, fifty miles to
the south. Leaving the palm gardens behind them at early morning, they
were soon in the barren desert. Towards sunset, when they had almost
reached Birs Nimrud, half-way to their goal, they came upon a camping
party of five men, squatting on mats and eating dates, in the shade of
a small pile of ruins. Four horses were tethered close by, and Burnet
saw that one of the men, a wild, dirty, long-bearded figure clad in the
deerskin of a dervish, had his hands tied together with a piece of rope.
"What did I say, Aga?" remarked Ibrahim, as they came abreast of the
party. "The horses are far spent; they can go no further; otherwise
those men would not have paused here to rest when the town lies but a
few miles beyond."
The men, each of whom had a rifle laid across his knees, looked up
somewhat suspiciously at the two travellers. Ibrahim pulled up and
gave them a greeting.
"I perceive you have a prisoner," he added. "Verily he has the look of
a vile creature and a worker of iniquity. What is his offence, I pray
you?"
"Wallahi! He is indeed an evil-doer," answered the leader; "a runaway
thief, and we have ridden hard to catch him."
"He shall be beaten with stripes, and repent with mourning," said
Ibrahim. "Upon you be blessing and peace."
[Illustration: THE PRISONER]
The camels jogged on again. As they passed, the prisoner looked up and
flashed one quick glance at Burnet, instantly lowering his eyes.
Burnet involuntarily started, but recollected himself in a moment, and
refrained from turning his head. Those keen grey eyes, however, were
unmistakeable. The prisoner was the man who passed among the natives
as the Dervish Hezar, but was known to the British headquarters staff
as Alfred Sanderson, the most daring and skilful of secret service
agents.
When they were out of earshot, Burnet said to his companion: "The
prisoner, no thief, is a friend of Firouz Ali's. We must rescue him."
"Say you so? Firouz Ali's friends are mine, and if that man be the
Dervish Hezar----"
"He is."
"Ahi! But what can we do? They are four, well armed: we are but two."
"Yet it must be done, and though they are more than we, peradventure
with two there will be more wisdom and cunning than with four."
This implied compliment to his intelligence pleased Ibrahim, and as
soon as they had ridden out of sight he turned aside from the beaten
track, rounded a slight eminence, and causing the camels to kneel down,
asked Burnet to dismount with him and talk over the problem.
"Those poor beasts," he remarked, "are jaded; they will not be fit to
travel for some hours to come; therefore the men will remain where they
are until the morning. Perchance in the darkness we could steal up to
their camp and bring the dervish away."
"We had better return to it while there is still light in the sky,"
said Burnet. "It will be dark in half an hour, and we might then find
it difficult to discover them. The ruins will cover us from them if we
approach from the east."
"It is well said, Aga. I will give the camels a handful of beans which
they will chew peacefully, and so refrain from disturbing the night
with their roaring; then we will make a circuit and come to the ruins
even as the sun sets."
Less than half an hour later the two men, having made their way back to
the ruins, crept stealthily to the southern corner, where they could
see the spot on which the five men had camped. It was growing dark,
but in the slight glow from the western sky they perceived at once that
the men were no longer there. There was no sign of them in what was
visible of the open desert to the west; it was indeed scarcely likely
that they had decided to pursue their journey on horses so patently
fatigued. Ibrahim suggested in a whisper that they had withdrawn
farther into the ruins to avoid observation by passengers along the
direct route from Kerbela to Meshed Ali.
This was disappointing. The ruins were extensive; to explore them in
the dark would be as hazardous as difficult. Their footsteps would be
inaudible in the sand; but they might stumble against one of the
innumerable fragments of masonry that lay scattered all about, and the
Arab's ears are so quick that the slightest sound might utterly defeat
their purpose. The night would be moonless; even if it had been
otherwise, moonlight would have been little less dangerous than
darkness, for though they could have seen their way, a flickering
shadow might have betrayed them.
In whispers they discussed their safest course. Burnet agreed to
remain on the outskirts of the ruins while Ibrahim searched. When the
Arab started on his quest darkness had descended, and there was only a
slight glimmer from the stars. It seemed hours before he returned. He
explained that he had almost despaired of finding the men, and
concluded that they had after all ridden away to the north, when he
suddenly heard voices, and creeping towards the sound had almost
stumbled upon the party, encamped in the midst of a group of broken
columns hidden by a slight fold in the ground. Their horses were
tethered some little distance away, and from the appearance of things
it seemed clear that the men had no intention of leaving the spot until
daybreak.
During Ibrahim's absence Burnet had turned over in his mind, not merely
the problem of getting the dervish away, but the further problem of
successfully eluding pursuit. Tired as the horses were, they had
probably had rest enough to make them more than equal to the camels in
pace. Should he stampede them? It would be easy enough, but the
attempt might lead to disaster, for they would almost certainly scent a
stranger long before he reached them, and a startled whinny would bring
the Arabs in haste upon the scene. The safer plan would be to depend
on releasing the prisoner while his captors were asleep, and then on
following a roundabout course through the desert.
The two men consulted in whispers and soon came to a determination.
Burnet, as the more active of the two, and also as being well known to
the prisoner, undertook the task of releasing him. Ibrahim meanwhile
would ensconce himself at a convenient spot near at hand, and remain on
the watch, ready to defend the others with his rifle if need arose.
The Arab has an almost unerring sense of locality and direction, and in
spite of the darkness Ibrahim was able to lead Burnet without fault
through the maze of ruins to the slight hollow where the men were
encamped. Looking down upon it from his higher point a few yards away,
Burnet was just able to discern, by the glimmer of the stars, five
figures on the ground. Four of them were squatting; every now and then
a word was spoken; the fifth lay at full stretch, a little apart from
the others.
Burnet watched and listened impatiently. Surely the men would not
remain thus the whole night through. What if they slept in turn,
leaving one always on guard? After a while the conversation became
still more spasmodic and drowsy: presently it ceased altogether, and
all four men sank into a recumbent posture. Secure in their retreat
far within the ruins, they had seen no need of keeping guard.
All was now silent. Not even a snore broke the stillness. Only a
slight clink came occasionally from the spot where the horses were
tethered. Burnet still waited, though he knew that the Arab, like all
creatures of the wild, falls asleep instantly. But he knew also that
the sleep was light. The least unusual sound, inaudible to a European
ear, would cause these men to spring up, as wide awake and alert as a
house-dog.
At last he moved, stealing along a few feet away from the rim of the
hollow until he came opposite the spot where the fifth man lay. Then,
after a momentary pause, he wriggled down the slope as noiselessly as a
slug, breathing fast, drawing nearer only inch by inch to his friend.
He touched him lightly; the prisoner started, but relapsed immediately
into immobility. Feeling along the inert body, Burnet discovered that
now both hands and feet were bound. With silent cuts of his knife he
severed the cords, lay for a moment listening, then crawled backwards
up the slope. Why was not the prisoner following him? He had gained
the top before the dervish gave any sign of movement. Then, however,
he began slowly to follow, and Burnet guessed that his limbs were stiff
from his bonds. Watching with eager impatience, he saw the greyish
figure, scarcely distinguishable from the earth, draw nearer to the
top. The Arabs slept on undisturbed. And at last the dervish rose to
his feet, clasped Burnet's hand, and followed him silently to the spot
where Ibrahim was awaiting them. Without a word spoken they hastened
with all speed to the camels. The dervish mounted behind Burnet, and
within twenty minutes of his rescue all three were heading southwards.
At the moment of starting they had a slight alarm. Ibrahim's camel,
annoyed, no doubt, at the early disturbance of his rest, uttered a
hoarse grunt. His master instantly pressed a couple of dates into his
mouth, and the beast was appeased.
Safety lay in their making the best speed they could. Should any of
the Arabs wake, he would almost certainly discover the absence of the
prisoner, but it would be impossible to track him in the dark. With
the dawn, however, the tracks would be easily picked up, and then their
horses, refreshed, would regain the start if the pursuit was carried
far enough. The dervish suggested that pursuit was unlikely. His
captors belonged to a tribe that was in Turkish pay, and the
neighbourhood of Meshed Ali, where the revolutionaries were strong, was
by no means safe for supporters of the Padishah. But Ibrahim,
unwilling to run risks, struck off from the highway into a stony
district with which he had become familiar in the course of his
business journeys. Here, even if they were pursued, it would be
difficult to track them.
"I owe you my life," said the dervish to Burnet as they rode on, "and I
thank you."
"I am only too glad. You helped me out of a hobble not so long ago; I
never imagined I should have a chance of doing anything in return. But
surely your life was not in danger?"
"There can't be much doubt of it. I heard that that old ruffian the
chief Halil had gone to Bagdad, and knowing that there was some
difference of opinion among his tribesmen as to his wisdom in siding
with the Turks, I took advantage of his absence to visit them, in order
to learn the strength of the opposition party and to do what I could to
increase it--to foment treason, in fact. Some of Halil's people
suspected me: they were quite right: and they only waited the return of
their chief to denounce me. He came back unexpectedly. I had warning
only just in time, and decamped. I had begun to think myself safe when
those four fellows rode me down. No doubt there are scores more of the
tribesmen hunting me in all directions. Halil has an old grudge
against me: I crossed him once before."
"Then I am doubly lucky. Halil's business in Bagdad was to arrange an
attack on Rejeb's people. He is back sooner than I thought possible,
and I am glad to know it, as I should not have done but for meeting
you. It is one more item in my budget of news for headquarters."
The conversation was conducted in Arabic. The identity of the dervish
was known only to the headquarters staff and to Firouz Ali, and he
always took particular care not to let fall the slightest hint that he
was other than an Arab, even to fellow-workers in the same cause.
Ibrahim allowed his animals to finish their interrupted rest during the
small hours, and the travellers started again at dawn. When they were
still a mile or two distant from Meshed Ali, within sight of the
glittering dome of its mosque towering high above the walls, the
dervish dismounted.
"It will be better for us all if I enter the city alone," he said. "I
shall not be long after you. But if we meet within the walls, let it
be as strangers."
"You are a wise man, O dervish," said Ibrahim, "and I perceive that the
spirit of Firouz Ali is in you. Allah will bring us all together
openly in his good time."
Burnet and Ibrahim reached the city about an hour before noon, and
passing through the one gate in its high brick walls, and along the
crowded bazar, came to the khan or inn where Ibrahim had decided that
they should part. After the Arab had attended to his beasts, he
returned to the chief room, where traders, camel-drivers and others
were squatting around the walls, ordered a meal, and then carried out
the instructions of Firouz Ali.
"By the Beard, you are a lazy good-for-nothing," he cried in a loud
tone, addressing Burnet. "What evil destiny brought you before my
eyes? Why in the softness of my heart did I have pity on you, poor
fool, and hire you to be my helper? Truly my heart got the better of
my head, for you know no more of camels than a week-old babe. I take
you all to witness," he went on, looking round the room, "that I pay
this worthless loon the hire agreed on, and I bid him go back to his
paltry village and feed goats, for he is fit for nothing better.
Begone, I say, and let me see your face no more."
Burnet took the few coins offered him, and assumed the shamefaced air
of a servant dismissed in disgrace. The little scene had been arranged
between him and Firouz Ali in order to protect Ibrahim in case he
should ever have to defend himself against the charge of consorting
with a spy. The public dismissal would provide the camel-driver with
witnesses.
As Burnet slunk out of the room, he saw the dervish leaning against the
post: he had entered while the scene was in progress. There was a
twinkle in the Englishman's eyes as Burnet passed him; but neither gave
the other any sign of recognition, and Burnet went his way to the gate,
as a discarded servant about to return to his hill village on the
Persian frontier.
He spent his money in the purchase of a waterskin and a quantity of
dates sufficient for a few days' supply. Captain Ellingford was due at
the _tell_ in three days. Barring accidents, Burnet should have plenty
of time to keep his appointment.