"Shall we cease fire, sir?" Mr. Scarlett asked. "We haven't enough
ammunition to waste any more on the fort."
"Right oh!" I nodded.
The horsemen of the party had galloped off, but the few men on camels
who had been left in the rear had evidently "rounded up" some of the
Afghans' camels, for they now reappeared beyond the sandhills trying to
drive a dozen--perhaps more--in front of them.
Immediately there was a stir among the Afghans outside the wall; more
poured out through the door of the fort, and in a twinkling they were
after them on foot, wading across the swamp so as to head off the party
with the camels. Firing burst out more furiously than ever, and it was
not many seconds before the captured camels were abandoned and the other
fellows followed the horsemen.
"Well, sir, that little 'show' was what they call a battle--a regular
'pitched' battle," Mr. Scarlett said. "How they decide who's won beats
me. It's an accident if anyone gets killed or even wounded, but those
Bedouins will go back and pour out a long yarn to the old Mir; every one
of them will have to give an account of the fierceness of the fight, and
probably they'll all desert during the day and go looting on their own
account--looting peaceful villages, which is much more in their line.
We may as well let our chaps, and the Afghans too, go on with their
breakfasts."
In ten minutes the whole of the tribesmen were squatting round their
fires again as though nothing had happened.
Now that we knew they had not retired--had no intention of doing so--Mr.
Scarlett was as anxious as I was that those huts should be burnt, the
breastwork levelled, and the trench filled in; so I went ashore to try
to persuade Mr. Fisher to make a start on these jobs.
I found him much more surprised at the non-retirement of the Afghans
than we had been, and very much more disappointed. In fact, he looked
about as worried as any man could look. He took me up to the house so
that I could personally assure his wife that the _Bunder Abbas_ would
not leave them. She was in a terrible state of alarm, almost beside
herself; her eyes were terrified, and she clutched my arm so tightly
whilst she was imploring me to stay that her finger nails left deep
marks.
"Why don't you send for the _Intrepid_? We shall all be killed," she
said in the most agitated manner; and it was quite useless to tell her
that the _Intrepid_ had gone up the coast and that we could not
communicate with her. When she did let go of my arm her hands worked
convulsively at her sides, and I no longer wondered why her husband
looked so worn.
Miss Borsen was not there, of course, and I had not the courage to ask
after her. In fact, I was very glad to tear myself away and go up to
the Maxim on the roof, to see for myself whether it could sweep the
whole slope.
Mr. Scarlett had told me correctly. The Maxim had a grand position, and
no one could approach without coming under its fire except towards the
right, where it was possible to creep up unseen behind those huts.
Ellis and Hartley had filled old flour-sacks with sand and placed them
along the parapet, on each side of the gun. They were busy bringing up
more, and were quite happy. "If only those huts were out of the way,
sir, nothing could get near us," Ellis said; and though I again implored
Mr. Fisher to burn them he still refused. He took me to see the two
wounded Eurasians--one shot through the arm and the other badly slashed
about the head. They were bandaged in very "shipshape" fashion, and
looked comfortable enough.
"Who did that?" I asked, pointing to their dressings; and when he told
me that Miss Borsen had looked after them, as she knew something of
"first aid", I envied them for a moment.
He had now only fifteen of the telegraph staff remaining, and, as he
said, none of them knew anything about fighting. He was doubtful about
trusting rifles to the servants and telegraph employees, because these
were of all nationalities--Zanzibaris, Baluchis, Tamils, and various
half-castes; but he had collected the rifles strewn over the slope
yesterday when those fellows had been shot down--nearly a hundred of
them there were, of all patterns. Very little ammunition had been found
on the dead bodies, and that, too, was all mixed up--Mauser, Mannlicher,
Le Bras, Lee-Metford, Martini--all in a hopeless jumble. He promised to
have them sorted.
Then I was taken all round the outside of the loopholed wall, and
discovered--what I had not thought of before--that it was possible for
an enemy to crawl along the rocks on the eastern side--the right side
looking inland--without being seen, to clamber up them, and attack that
flanking wall without exposing themselves. However, the man who
designed the wall must have realized this and had built it nearly
fifteen feet high, so that unless they brought ladders with them it
would be difficult to scale. The cable-house--a little square building
into which the cable from Muscat wriggled out of the sea--stood isolated
on the rocks, and could be attacked at night with impunity.
Walking round the rear wall I satisfied myself that no attack could be
made from that quarter, because the rocks at the end of the peninsula
could only be reached in boats, and as the sea was always rough there at
this time of year a landing was out of the question. The western
side--the one looking over the bay where the _Bunder Abbas_ was
anchored--was fairly safe, though here again a daring enemy might creep
round by the beach (where I had just landed) and attack from short
range. However, so long as the _Bunder Abbas_ remained (or had
ammunition), and the nights were moonlit, this possibility did not worry
me.
Mr. Fisher kept on complaining of the few men he had left--fifteen all
told--which was a ridiculous number to protect all three of the
vulnerable sides; but I implored him to arm the servants and any of the
labourers he could trust, and gradually convinced him that this was
safe.
As we came back to the front side I saw that thirty or forty men were
already shovelling the breastwork back into the trench. This pleased
me.
Then he took me through the door--covered with bullet marks and the
dents of rifle butts--as I wanted to see where best to make a defence
should the wall itself be captured. I went all round the buildings, and
came to the conclusion that his own house would be the most suitable.
It was strongly built; it had a raised veranda running round it, and was
almost overlooking the left-hand corner of the loopholed wall--the
corner nearest to the _Bunder Abbas_. This was the house on the roof of
which the Maxim was already mounted, and from the parapet there it would
be easy to pick off any Afghans who had gained a lodgment on the wall
itself. Another point in its favour was that the well was close to
it--in the rear.
I urged him to get sand-bags and pile them up round the veranda and in
the open door-ways or windows. I also urged upon him the necessity of
bringing in food from the telegraph stores and also all the reserve
ammunition. All my arguments could not convince him that this was
necessary, and he pointed out that, whatever happened, he could not
abandon the telegraph instruments in the other building.
"We must keep them working at all costs," he said stubbornly.
He had not said this many seconds before up came a messenger, followed
by an excited Eurasian "operator", to tell him that the overland wire to
Karachi had been cut again some fifteen miles out.
"That solves part of the difficulty," I said, smiling. "You cannot pass
on cable messages, so won't want so many of the staff at work."
He too seemed relieved, and told me that half his fellows had been
lining the wall all last night and the other half working the
instruments. "They can't keep awake twenty-four hours out of the
twenty-four. Now they'll be able to get a little sleep.
"Oh, I forgot," he went on; "a dhow which came in last evening brought
some passengers for Old Jask. They stayed here during the night, and are
waiting to see me at my office, though how they think I can get them
through I don't know. By the way, they brought a letter for your
gunner. I've been carrying it about in my pocket. Here it is," and he
handed me an envelope addressed in Arabic. "You might give it him."
I caught sight of Miss Borsen coming towards us and evidently wishing to
speak to Mr. Fisher; so, as I did not want to worry her with my
presence, and had done all I wanted to do, I took the letter and went
down the slope to the dinghy and so back to the _Bunder Abbas_.
"Here's a letter for you," I told the gunner. "It's not Jassim's
writing this time."
He grinned as he read it.
"It's from the governor of the Muscat fort. He says that Jassim's got
out. I didn't imagine he'd keep him there long after my back was
turned."
"Well, he won't bother us here," I said, much more amused to think how
Mr. Scarlett's dread of him had disappeared than alarmed at any possible
danger to myself.
For the rest of the morning and afternoon we kept a good look-out, in
case the Afghans made any move; though, except for a few small foraging
parties, they simply slumbered or smoked at the foot of the walls,
shifting round with the shade as the sun travelled westwards.
It was a great temptation to stir them up with a few shells; though, if
we had done so, we should only at the best have driven them out of range
and out of sight, and once out of sight we should not have been able to
observe their movements. There was another reason--a much more pressing
one: we had none too much six-pounder ammunition.
An hour before sunset Mr. Fisher made a signal that he wanted to see me
again, and he came down to the beach to meet me. The Afghans had sent a
messenger in to say that they would attack at dawn next morning with
twice as many men as they had had yesterday, and he wanted my advice.
"Of course it's only bluff," he said nervously; "but I want you to
persuade my wife and Miss Borsen to go aboard the _Bunder Abbas_."
On the way up to the door in the loophooled wall he took me along the
trench to see how well his people had been working. They had filled in
about a hundred yards of it, and were still busy. Those wretched huts,
however, still stood there, right in the line of fire.
"Why the dickens don't you burn them?" I said, really angry, and he was
muttering a half-apology when some noise behind me and a warning shout
made me turn round.
Not ten yards from me stood Jassim. I knew him at once--how could I
forget him?--his face flaming with hatred, the veins of his neck
standing out; and in his hand he held a Mauser pistol levelled at me.
He fired, and instinctively I ducked, seized a spade which was lying at
my feet, and dashed at him. Mr. Fisher drew a revolver from his pocket
and I heard him fire. Then I felt something hit my chest on the right
side. It tumbled me over like a rabbit; but I was up again on one knee
in time to see Mr. Fisher fire a second shot and Jassim stagger back. He
still had those awful eyes fixed on me, glaring death, and as he raised
his pistol again I rolled into the trench to escape being hit a second
time.
Something filled my throat, and I spat up a lot of bright blood, and
felt dazed and foolish. I was trying to get to my feet again when Mr.
Fisher came to me with a face as white as a sheet, jumped into the
trench, and made me lie back.
"There!" I said, spitting up more blood; "he got me there," and I put my
finger where the bullet had hit me.
I felt no pain whatsoever--only a peculiar half-drunk feeling--and tried
to sit up again; but this only brought on more coughing, and Mr. Fisher
pressed me down.
Then I knew that I should be no more use--only a burden to everyone.