Jaffa yelled to us not to shoot--but no more Arabs came.
Out of the darkness Jaffa's voice sounded, higher pitched now: "Khalli
bunduk 'ak," and voices at his feet answered him, angry voices,
despairing voices; a crowd of Arabs seemed to be collecting all along
the path, and people were calling up from below. I realized that they
were refusing to part with their rifles, preferring to have a chance for
their lives, or to die, if they had to, with them in their hands.
We were all shouting: "Ma kattle kum! Ist agel!" The two marines,
knowing that something was wrong, ran to us.
"Stand by to fire! Be very careful; fire below, and to right of the
match, if Jaffa strikes one."
There was a very ominous murmur now. Jaffa was haranguing,
expostulating; then he stopped.
"Stand by!" I shouted, bringing my rifle to my shoulder.
A tiny light showed. Jaffa had struck a match.
"Fire!" I yelled, and our four rifles went off together.
We heard groans, a yell of pain, and a body falling. Some of our bullets
had gone home.
Jaffa's pistol flashed once; we fired again; it flashed a second time,
and then, with a glare and a startling roar, a shell burst not fifty
yards below us, and for a second or two lighted up the whole
scene--Jaffa on the rock, and those Arabs, a whole line of them, surging
up to him. Wild screams came up from a lower path, and told us that men
there had been wounded; and Jaffa began in his old voice of calm
assurance, "Ma kattle kum! Khalli bunduk 'ak"--he never once stopped
talking.
"No shoot," he called to us; "they throw away rifles--they come:" and
with the most intense relief from the strain of those few awful seconds
I heard the welcome clatter of rifles on the rocks, and that weird
procession began again to pass between us.
In their hurry to escape this new terror of the bursting shells the
Arabs actually swept the two marines back to the farther end of the gap.
Another shell burst, some way from us, but near enough for all to hear
the fragments smashing against the rocks, and enough to break the nerves
of any who had already suffered as those poor wretches had done.
I realized now that they were absolutely panic-stricken; they were
throwing away their rifles long before they reached Jaffa. They came in
one continuous line through the gap, struggling with each other to
escape those shells, and to escape from that awful inferno below them.
They were mere terror-stricken fugitives, with no more fight left in
them, and Webster and I had to step aside, out of the mouth of the gap,
to prevent them carrying us along with them in their flight. We were
shouting: "Ist agel! Ma kattle kum!" more to let them know the way to
the gap than anything else, for the glare of those shells (which burst
dangerously close to us every four or five minutes) blinded everyone,
and they could not see the way. In fact, we four standing there, and
Jaffa on his rock, were now doing nothing more dangerous than a
policeman does in calling out to a crowd to pass along. The marines at
the farther end of the gap had forgotten their Arabic words, and
forgotten their fright--if they had been frightened--and were shouting:
"'Urry up there! keep a-moving! 'Ere, you won't get no front seat if
you don't 'urry. Pass along, please! First turn to the right takes you
to the 'orses. 'Urry up! 'urry up! The show's about to begin."
Griffiths, on the rocks above, had altered "Ma kattle kum," into "Call
the cattle home," and was droning this out under the impression that he
was talking the proper "lingo".
As one shell burst I had seen a group of men on one of the paths
apparently bearing a comrade. In time they came up to Jaffa, and I
heard the sound of voices entreating something. Jaffa called to me that
it was the sheikh's son, badly wounded and asking for water.
With shuffling footsteps they bore him up to the gap, and laid him on a
rock.
I could well imagine the awful experience he must have had whilst being
carried up there amongst his terrified followers, and the tremendous
pluck of those who had stuck to him.
They now began crying "Pani! ma!" and Jaffa called out that the
sheikh's son wanted water. He, poor chap, did not deign to ask; but for
a half-suppressed groan, when they laid him on the rocks, he was
absolutely silent.
We had no water (our water-bottles had been emptied long ago), but I
remembered that brass cooking bowl in which the rear-guard had started
to cook coffee.
It had been placed between some rocks, so had not been upset, and I
groped round and found it. There was still some liquid "of sorts" in
it. I gave the bowl to the men, and they scooped up a little fluid with
their hands and poured it into his mouth. They finished the remainder
themselves. Then they picked him up and bore him through the gap as he
muttered something, apparently to me--though whether a blessing or a
curse I did not know.
The two marines hurried them on with cruel jests, and, before they had
passed through, the blaze of another shell lighted up the mournful
little band and the red-stained beard of the sheikh. I looked for the
green turban, but that was gone.
During the next few minutes perhaps twenty limping, hard-breathing men
passed us. After that, though we waited and watched the zigzag path
whenever a shell burst, not a single man could be seen.
It was time to stop those shells. They were meant well, but they had
done their work and had scared the Arabs; now we should be very relieved
if no more came, because many were unpleasantly close.
I ordered the two marines, Webster and Griffiths, to fire three volleys
into the air, giving them the word of command, and firing myself.
Whether the _Intrepids_ saw these volleys or not, or whether they
understood that we were "all correct" or not, I did not know, but they
ceased firing.
Then, at last, we knew that we had won, that the morning would show us
our prize--the caravan of living camels strung along the zigzag path and
the dead ones below. But we were too worn out with the strain of that
day's work, and that last hour or more in the gap, to feel any
exultation. All we wanted to do was to lie down and sleep, and all we
wanted to see was the rising of the blessed sun. We had cursed it a
good many times during the last three months; now, how we did long to
see it again!
Jaffa came back to us, and we made much of him, praised him, and told
him that it was he who had saved us and captured the caravan, that all
the credit was due to him.
He simply lay down and slept. Praise from us seemed to mean nothing to
him. I let every one of them sleep. I only had to say the word, and
they simply subsided where they stood, and straightway fell asleep.
Backwards and forwards by myself I paced from one end to the other of
that gap, my rifle in my hand, looking down into the black obscurity as
I came to the opening on each side.
Away down in the valley which had swallowed up those panic-stricken
Arabs I sometimes heard voices, gradually growing fainter and fainter in
the distance. Below, in the "coffee-cup", occasionally weird noises came
up, perhaps from those poor wretched camels still huddled on that awful
path, with their unwieldy burden of rifles flattened against the rocks.
Once or twice a momentary twinkle of light flickered far below; probably
the bluejackets were striking matches to light their pipes. It was a
comfort to think that someone down there still kept watch.
Presently a land-breeze began gently sweeping through the gap, on its
way to the sea; so warm and heavy was it that it made the desire to
sleep an agony. How I could have remained awake without my pipe, I do
not know; that, and perhaps my hunger, kept me going.
Hyenas, jackals, or wolves began howling in the valley; others, along
the walls of the "coffee-cup", answered them. They must have scented
blood, and appeared to be gathering all along the ridge, but did not
venture down, staying there howling and whining in piercing cadences. I
set their hateful music to a tune of "Keep awake! keep awake! one turn
more! twelve paces! one turn more!"
There was no means of judging the time, but perhaps it was an hour after
I had been left to myself when two wretched Arabs came stumbling up, or
hopping up, dragging broken legs after them, and supporting each other.
Poor, wretched, miserable creatures! the agony they must have suffered
would have made me feel pity for them had not my brain been absolutely
numbed with the craving for sleep, and unable to think of anything
except the necessity for fighting it.
At last, when I thought that I must have done more than my share of
"sentry-go", I simply collapsed on top of Webster. I remember him
scrambling to his feet, but I am certain that I was sound asleep before
I lay flat on the ground. It was no use being ashamed of myself; I was
not. It was physically impossible for me to keep awake any longer, and,
as it turned out, it was physically impossible for any of us to keep
awake.
When I did awake it was broad daylight; the sun was just appearing over
the opposite rim of the "coffee-cup", and dear old Popple Opstein was
bending over me, shaking me. The gap was full of the _Intrepid's_
bluejackets, and they were trying to shake life into the others. Jaffa
was leaning against a rock.
"Water! water!" was the first thing I said, and Popple Opstein, with his
face that strange violet colour, his eyes ablaze with excitement, gave
me his water-bottle.
"We couldn't climb the path in the dark, Martin, old chap," he burst
out. "We tried, but we couldn't do it. Two of our chaps fell over and
broke legs or arms, so the commander brought us back.
"Thank goodness that he did call you back!" I said. "You would have all
been killed. It's bad enough in daylight, with nothing blocking it."
"It took us three hours to get up," he said. "We counted more than a
hundred camels on the path, and you knocked over any number. They are
lying in heaps at the bottom!"
He gave me a ship's biscuit. Nothing I have ever tasted tasted so
appetizing as that did, and he spared me another mouthful of water to
wash the last crumbs down my throat.
Then I lighted a cigarette, and together we walked through the gap to
see if there were any traces of the disarmed Arabs. The valley was
empty and silent, shrouded in shadow. Not a single living thing could
we see except a few vultures.
We walked back again and looked into the "coffee-cup". The zigzag path
was now swarming with villagers and bluejackets trying to restore order
among the camels. Close to the rock where Jaffa had stood, rifles lay
scattered everywhere.
"We must have captured a couple of thousand rifles and thirty or forty
thousand rounds of ammunition," my chum said exultingly. "It's the
finest haul, they tell me, that's been made for years."
I don't mind saying that if he had told me that there was a steaming hot
dish of bacon and eggs and a potful of coffee waiting for me round the
corner I should have been much more excited--just at this time.
*CHAPTER XI*
*The Cobra Bracelet Again*
Take the whole world over, and you would not have found a more happy
group than we made that morning, sitting in the gap, yarning whenever
our jaws were not busy crunching the ship's biscuits the _Intrepids_ had
brought us; Webster, Griffiths, Jaffa, and the two marines surrounded by
a crowd of bluejackets eager to learn every detail of the adventure, and
the Baron and myself squatting on a rock, he beaming at me like an old
mother hen who had just found her long-lost chick, and watching me munch
his biscuit as if it was the most pleasant sight in the world.
"When darkness came on," he was saying, "We gave you up for 'finish'.
We thought they'd rush you; we thought you'd have not the slightest
chance of escape. You remember firing rifles--at the beginning--when it
first got dark? We were waiting for them. We tried to help you with
those shells of ours--it was the only thing we could do--but we made so
certain that it was the beginning of the end for you that, when no more
rifle flashes showed up, we thought you all were killed. We felt sick
that we couldn't climb up and kill a few Arabs to revenge you, so we
kept plugging away with the nine-pounder in sheer desperate anger. Man!
we never guessed for a moment what was really happening. Look down
there at that litter of rifles; the path and the rocks for a hundred
yards are simply smothered with them. It's splendid! splendid, old
chap!"
In his excitement my chum leant forward and gripped my shoulder till I
winced.
"If you'd seen Jaffa standing there on his rock, and heard him calling
out: 'Khalli bunduk 'ak. Ma kattle kum! Ist agel!' you'd have thought
him splendid. He's the hero of the affair," I said, pointing to Jaffa,
who was extricating himself from the crowd of his admirers and stalking
solemnly away to perch himself on a rock, where no one could come and
worry him with questions. "We shall never forget those words; we
shouted them till we were hoarse. Didn't we, Webster?"