Mrs. Fisher visited me once and tried to read to me, but the effort was
too great for her nerves, so she did not stay very long. Miss Borsen
never came near me, and it was the old butler or head boy who was my
most constant visitor, bringing me beef-tea and jelly, feeding me, and
trying to make me comfortable.
About sunset Hartley came in to tell me that several large bands of
Afghans could be seen winding their way down from the mountains in our
direction, and when Mr. Fisher came later to confirm this, I wrote on
the note-paper block: "Send women to _B.A._," because I fully expected
that the great attack must come next morning.
With very great difficulty he at length persuaded his wife to go aboard
the _Bunder Abbas_, but nothing would induce Miss Borsen to accompany
her.
"She's got the idea into her head that she's responsible for the two
Eurasians and yourself, and is not going to leave any of you till you're
on your legs again," Mr. Fisher told me hopelessly.
That night was even more unpleasant than the first, but it did at length
pass, and as the daylight crept through the shutters no attack was
made--not a rifle was fired. It was very strange, and I could not
understand it.
Perhaps an hour later Mr. Fisher came in, looking ghastly.
"We are isolated!" he cried. "They've crept round by the rocks during
the night to the cable-house, cut the cable, and must have had a boat
helping them, for we cannot find the sea end. I dare not send people
out to look for it; they'd never pick it up."
I wrote: "Try. _B.A._ will help," and wrote a signal to Mr. Scarlett to
get up steam and go round to the east bay.
Mr. Fisher promised to try, but did not see how they could succeed, as
they had no proper grappling gear.
The cutting of the cable seemed to determine him to follow my advice
about preparing his house for any emergency. All day I heard people
lumbering in and out, and the old butler, looking scared, told me that
they were putting sand-bags round the veranda and filling the upper
rooms with stores, the most portable of the telegraph apparatus, and
ammunition. They even carried sand-bags through my room and piled them
up on the balcony outside.
Ellis and Hartley supervised these preparations and kept me informed of
what the _Bunder Abbas_ was doing; and when, later on, I heard a good
deal of rifle firing and one or two rounds from her six-pounder, they
told me that the Afghans were sniping at the boat whilst it was trying
to grapple the end of the cable.
I could not help wondering whether this was very soothing to Mrs.
Fisher's nerves, and I pictured her in the cabin with that six-pounder
going off just below her, and wishing that she had remained on shore.
At sunset they reported that the boat had returned, unsuccessful, and
that the _Bunder Abbas_ had steamed round to her former anchorage.
I now had not spoken for forty-eight hours, and had lain like a log all
the time. I felt distinctly stronger, and no blood had come into my
throat and mouth since the early morning.
I slept fairly well that third night, and was awakened from a nightmare
by real shrieking and yelling, by the firing of hundreds of rifles
beneath the windows, and the tut-tut-tut-tut of the Maxim on the roof
above me. A moment later came the comforting sound of the six-pounder
and the noise of the other Maxim aboard the "_B.A._".
Not a soul could I hear stirring in the house, and the feeling of being
left quite alone, without knowing what was happening and how things were
going, was almost insupportable. A bullet, splintering a shutter,
flattened itself against the wall over my bed and dropped with a thud on
the floor, a shower of plaster following it, and some dropping on my
face. Outside the wall of the room there was a sound as if men were
hammering on the stonework, and I gradually realized that these were
bullets, not hammers.
The horrid noises seemed to be drawing closer, and I thought that they
were growing louder away to the right, where those huts stood.
*CHAPTER XVIII*
*To the Rescue*
As I lay there on my trestle-bed, groaning at my miserable position,
more bullets came in through the shutters and brought down showers of
plaster from the wall behind me.
At last I could stand the strain no longer, and was on the point of
trying to reach the shutters and open them, so that at least I could see
what was happening, when Miss Borsen, white as a sheet, came in, and,
seeing me with one leg over the side of the bed, bade me angrily to lie
down and not move or speak.
I lay down, but had to speak to tell her to crouch on the floor, out of
the way of the bullets, and the effort made more of that blood come into
my mouth. Down I lay as flat as a pancake, and she huddled on the floor
too, because, whilst she was bending over me to wipe the blood from my
mouth, another bullet had smacked up against the wall and sprinkled her
with plaster.
She crouched there, her face twitching as the Maxim overhead rattled,
and the clamour and shrieking outside, coming from the direction of the
slope and barbed-wire fence, seemed to grow nearer and louder.
At last the appalling uproar sounded as if it were right under the
loopholed wall itself--almost under the windows of the house. Ellis's
Maxim stopped--stopping, I realized, because the loopholed wall now
screened the Afghans from its fire; but the Maxim aboard the "_B.A._"
fired more vigorously than ever, and six-pounder shells were bursting
rapidly, one after the other, quite close beneath us.
Miss Borsen had buried her face in her hands. Suddenly she raised
herself, and, with open mouth and eyes, listened. The character of the
yells had altered; they were screams now, they were going away from us.
The attack was failing.
The Maxim on the roof opened again as the Afghans fell back from the
cover of the loopholed wall. I heard Ellis and Hartley shouting
joyously, and knew they had got them on the run.
The second attack had been driven back.
Miss Borsen gave a great gulp and sprang to a shutter, opened it, and
looked out. In a moment she had recoiled, covering her eyes with her
hands.
"They're flying down the slope; those awful white heaps are growing near
the fence. Oh God, it is awful!" she cried, and she burst into tears
and ran away.
Ellis's Maxim ceased firing, and gradually all became quiet.
In perhaps half an hour Mr. Fisher ran in to see me--flushed and
excited. He stopped for a moment when he saw the blood-stain on my
pillow, but then burst out with: "We've beaten them off! we've beaten
them off! Thank God! Now they'll go! I'm sure they'll go! The Maxim
from the _Bunder Abbas_ got them whilst they were crowded under the wall
and crumpled them up--crumpled them up--swept them down!"
Ellis came in too, grinning as he reported: "That little lot 'as gone
'ome--what was left of them, sir--'oping as 'ow you're going on all
right; but we ain't more'n 'arf a beltful of cartridges left, sir, that
we ain't. If it 'adn't been for them blooming 'uts they'd never 'ave
got near 'arfway."
Mr. Fisher jerked out: "It's no good burning the huts now. They'll go
back to the mountains to-night! I'm certain they will! It's no use
burning them now!"
He had been very enthusiastic about the slaughter and the terrible
punishment the Afghans had received, but when he came to count the dead
there were only thirty-two on the slope; and although that meant
thirty-two fewer Afghans, it was more than counter-balanced by a very
grave signal from Mr. Scarlett saying that he had fired forty-eight
rounds of six-pounder ammunition and eight hundred rounds from the
Maxim, leaving only thirty-five more six-pounder and three thousand
rifle and Maxim rounds on board. This meant, as I knew only too well,
that to repulse one more attack would leave the "_B.A._" practically
helpless to assist again.
I kept this knowledge to myself, and sent a signal to Mr. Scarlett to
come and see me and bring ashore with him another thousand rounds of
ammunition for Ellis's Maxim.
A good deal of firing began again, as if to contradict Mr. Fisher's
optimism, and I heard isolated shots, from a considerable distance, with
occasionally the smack of a bullet on the outer wall of the house,
though, as no one was with me, I did not know what was actually
happening.
Presently the gunner arrived, with a very long face. "I was careful as I
could be, sir, but you know what it is, and things looked so precious
ugly at one time that we had to fire fast. It's my belief they simply
did it a' purpose, just to make us waste ammunition. They haven't lost
heart over it either, for they're skulking all over the place, down
among the trees round the Old Fort, and along the beach. They potted at
me all the way from the '_B.A._', that they did. They are firing at
everyone who shows his nose outside the wall, and none of these here
people can go on with levelling the breastwork. They've given that up
as a bad job and gone inside again.
"It's a nasty bit of work this, sir, and the sooner I have you safe and
sound aboard the '_B.A._,', sir, the better I shall be pleased. And the
little lady too; she ought to come and keep Mrs. Fisher company. Mrs.
Fisher, sir," he added, lowering his voice and smiling grimly, "tried to
come ashore again, but I locked her up in the cabin before I started,
and told Percy to shove her breakfast through the port-hole."
I smiled too, for I could quite imagine him doing this, and not wasting
any words over it either.
"It was the only thing I could do, for the cabin's made of good steel
plate, and if she'd been left to wander round she might have been hit by
some of them bullets," he explained.
"I'm certain we shall find them gone to-morrow morning," Mr. Fisher
cried, coming abruptly into the room; "and if we don't, the Muscat
people will know that the cable is interrupted and something wrong, so
will tell the _Intrepid_ as soon as she gets back from the coast. We
shall have her here in no time."
"Do you know that we've only got enough ammunition for one more show
like this morning? That's a fact," Mr. Scarlett growled, turning
furiously on him. "This is going to be a regular siege; none of your
rushing and firing, packing up and going home again. Them Afghans mean
to get inside here, and if we can't stop them you can't. The sooner
everyone comes aboard the '_B.A._' safe and sound, and waits there for
the _Intrepid_--well--the sooner the better. This isn't any darned
tomfoolery business, I tell you--twenty times I'll tell you. If your
chaps can't stand a few bullets smacking among 'em down by that trench,"
he went on savagely, "they'd better get along ramming sand into more
sacks, bags, anything they can get hold of, and make this house
shipshape."
I don't think that Mr. Fisher much cared about being spoken to like
that.
"If you can get any work out of them you're welcome to try; I can't," he
said sharply. "They've been awake and working, off and on, for the last
thirty hours."
"Right you are, sir; you bet I will. If I can't do a bit of
slave-driving there is no one in the British Navy who can," and, taking
him at his word, Mr. Scarlett darted off.
He had hardly gone when Hartley ran in to say that a hundred or more
Afghans had rushed up the slope from the Old Fort, and behind the
sand-hills there.
"They've gone and 'idden among those blessed huts, sir."
Firing broke out again almost immediately, and bullets came thudding
against the wall outside my room. Mr. Fisher darted away to line the
loopholed wall with his men, and Hartley, singing out: "They're trying
to knock out the Maxim; Ellis and me must get more sand-bags round it,"
disappeared too.
I knew that if one lucky bullet pierced the water-jacket the gun would
be useless, and I lay there listening to Ellis and Hartley cursing, as
they dragged heavy weights across the roof over my head, and to the
patter-patter of bullets thudding against the outer wall and parapet.
Those chaps must not be allowed to stay down by the huts--that was
imperative. If they got a firm footing there the others would join them
during the night, and they would be within a stone's throw of the
loopholed wall. Others could creep round at the foot of the rocks on
the east of the building and attack the wall on that side; we could not
stop them. Mr. Scarlett and Mr. Fisher both came to my room, and both
were of the same opinion.
"I'll signal to the '_B.A._' to plug in a few shells till they see us
come out of the door, and Ellis and Hartley can work the Maxim, whilst
we rush down and drive 'em out," Mr. Scarlett said, his eyes glowing
with excitement. What a change had come over him!
"And we'll burn the huts whilst we're about it," Mr. Fisher added in a
crest-fallen, disappointed, rather shamefaced manner.
The two of them went away to collect some men, and I heard either Ellis
or Hartley running down the stairs from the roof to join them. Firing
went on vigorously from the direction of those huts. I heard the buzz
of excited voices as people collected under the windows, somewhere near
the door in the wall, and waited to hear it opened and the sortie
commence. Presently "boom" came the report of the six-pounder from the
"_B.A._", and the Maxim overhead began rattling. Then the bolts of the
door were thrown back, and I heard Mr. Scarlett's voice yelling
hoarsely, "Come along," and the crush of people pressing out through the
door-way after him with rather half-hearted cheers.
Miss Borsen entered the room and stood listening. "They've left me all
alone," she said; "I am frightened," and the next moment, with a scared
face, was at a window looking down the slope.
"They are rushing down," she cried. "Mr. Fisher and your gunner and the
man ahead of the others. A shell has just burst in the huts. I can't
see anyone firing at them. Oh, Mr. Fisher has tumbled down! He's up
again. He's catching up your gunner." The Maxim overhead ceased
firing. "Now they're right among the huts. The telegraph people are
nearly there--yes, they've got there too. Some of them have cans with
them--paraffin cans. There they go! there they go! The Afghans are
bolting down the slope! Smoke's coming out of the huts. Why don't they
come back?
"Now they're coming. Your gunner is helping Mr. Fisher. He's hurt; I
know he is. I must go and see" and she ran away again.
The "_B.A._" fired a few rounds of precious Maxim ammunition, and by the
time all was quiet Mr. Scarlett had come to tell me, with a chuckle,
that "That little business is all done correct, sir. Mr. Fisher got a
bullet through his left shoulder, but it ain't done much damage."
Soon I heard the crackle of the flames and smelt the smoke from those
huts, so knew they would not bother us any more.
That bullet through his shoulder muscles (I think it broke off a bit of
bone there) seemed to alter Mr. Fisher completely. When I saw him
next--rather pale, and with his arm in a sling--he had given up all
pretence of imagining that the Afghans would retire. In fact it was he
now who suggested, feverishly, doing things to make the house ready to
stand an assault. "But for goodness' sake," he told me, "don't let
anyone suggest abandoning the telegraph buildings or going aboard the
_Bunder Abbas_. I won't do so until the very last moment--I can't--I
daren't. If the Afghans got inside for even half an hour they'd wreck
the whole of the transmitting instruments, and it would be six months
before the cable would work again."
With Mr. Scarlett, Ellis, and Hartley to help him, the four of them
began to get things into order, divide the people into parties--those
they could trust with rifles into batches, under Eurasians, to man the
wall whilst the others rested; those for whom there were no rifles, or
who couldn't be trusted with them, being set to work to complete the
defence and provision the house.
All the rest of that day they laboured; the house was turned upside down
and a litter of sand-bags filled up every aperture in the walls and
along the verandas and balconies. Pillow-covers, blankets, sheets,
everything that could be made to hold sand was requisitioned--and I
could not help smiling when finally two burly nigger Zanzibaris dragged
through my room one of Mrs. Fisher's dresses bulged out with sand and
threw it on top of a wall of other sand-bags blocking a window. It was
a jolly good thing that she was safely out of the way, and I wished most
earnestly that Miss Borsen could be induced to go as well.
After the Afghans had been driven from the huts, and these had been
burnt to the ground, they remained quiet for the rest of the day. Mr.
Scarlett returned to the "_B.A._", the sun set, there was a very
unpleasant half-hour before the moon rose sufficiently to give light,
and almost as soon as it did so distant firing began--a scattered
occasional shot every now and again, quite sufficient, however, to keep
everyone on the alert and nervous. The old head boy brought me some
food and fed me. He also brought me a lamp, for which I was very
grateful, as on account of the sand-bags in the windows the moonlight
could not enter, and it was almost completely dark.
This was, I think, the worst night since my wound; for the atmosphere of
the room was stuffy and smelly, hardly a breath of air came through the
blocked windows, rifle bullets occasionally thudded up against the
sand-bags, and with Mr. Fisher wounded I did not know who was carrying
on in command in case the Afghans attacked during the night. Why they
didn't Heaven knows. If they had done so there was nothing to keep them
out; but I suppose that they would not depart from their usual habits.
At any rate they waited till dawn, when just the same awful din broke
out, and they made just such another rush up the slope. The "_B.A._"
chipped in as she had done before, and eventually the attack recoiled;
but I had counted twenty-three rounds of six-pounder, so knew that for
all practical purposes she had none left--not half a dozen, anyway.
Mr. Scarlett almost immediately reported by signal--ammunition
remaining--four six-pounder, twelve hundred Maxim and rifle. At the
same time Mr. Fisher, haggard and drawn, staggered in to tell me that
although the main body had been repulsed a large number had succeeded in
reaching the fifteen-foot wall on the east side and could not be
dislodged.
"They're there now," he said hopelessly. "We can't touch them; they're
firing up through the loopholes. They tried to climb the wall, but I
got some of my men and your man Ellis to fire from the roof of an
outbuilding close there, and they've cleared them off. What shall we do?
Could the _Bunder Abbas_ steam round and drive them away?" As this
seemed reasonable I wrote out a signal telling Mr. Scarlett to raise
steam at once and come round to the east bay. But the "_B.A._" could
not move for at least two hours, and meanwhile Ellis and his few natives
remained on top of that outbuilding, lying down behind the parapet ready
to pick off any Afghan who attempted to climb the wall. More ammunition
and some sand-bags were sent across to him to make his position more
secure. However, the Afghans were quite content to wait where they
were--under the foot of the wall--and made no offensive movement.
If they had done so the time might have gone by more quickly. As it
was, it seemed an eternity before Hartley reported that the _Bunder
Abbas_ was under way.
Perhaps half an hour afterwards I heard her Maxim firing--at a great
distance seemingly--firing only a few of her precious rounds and then
ceasing.
It turned out that she had driven the Afghans away from the rocks near
the cable house, but owing to the contour of the ground she could not
reach the fellows under the wall itself. She stayed there to prevent
any reinforcements joining them, and then had to come back hastily again
because more parties of enemy were taking advantage of her absence from
the west bay to creep along the beach there--the beach where we always
landed in the dinghy--to try to find a lodgment under the opposite wall
of the telegraph-station.
However, the Maxim on the roof kept those in check, and directly the
"_B.A._" appeared round the end of the peninsula they all fled back to
the New Fort.
One thing gave me much relief: we had not expended many rounds of
ammunition.
The situation was now alarming, to say the least of it. If those
fellows stayed where they were there was nothing to prevent them
climbing the wall during the night, and Mr. Fisher explained (and I was
perfectly convinced) that if they did this most of our natives would
simply bolt. The Eurasians might put up some sort of a fight, but there
were only eight of them now unwounded and they were almost exhausted.
We both realized that there were only two courses open: the first, to
abandon the telegraph-station and take refuge aboard the _Bunder Abbas_;
the second, practically to abandon the _Bunder Abbas_ and bring her
white crew on shore with their rifles and the few remaining rounds of
ammunition.
As Mr. Fisher absolutely refused to consent to the first, the second
plan was the only alternative. I decided to do this. First of all I
took the block of note-paper and wrote: "Miss Borsen must be sent to
_Bunder Abbas_"; but she, coming into the room at this moment, read what
I had written and shook her head. She said there was work for her to do
here and she wouldn't leave it; she stamped her foot angrily when Mr.
Fisher implored her to go.
So I sent for Mr. Scarlett, and with my scribbled notes and Mr. Fisher's
explanations we made him understand.
He was very furious, and "swung off" at Mr. Fisher for exposing everyone
to such risks, doing his utmost to point out the horrible consequences
which might happen if once the _Bunder Abbas_ was abandoned and escape
cut off, looking at me to back him up.
He felt that this second plan was more a disgrace to us than the
abandoning of the station would be to Mr. Fisher; instead, he offered to
bring ashore all the men he could spare, make a sortie, and drive the
Afghans away from that side wall just as he and Mr. Fisher had driven
them from the huts yesterday. He would bring his men ashore during the
few minutes of dark after sunset (when they might hope to escape
observation), lead them round the west wall and the wall towards the end
of the peninsula, and then swoop along the eastern fifteen-foot wall
from the top end. The Afghans would never expect an attack from that
quarter, and whilst he was doing this he wanted Mr. Fisher (if his
damaged shoulder let him), Ellis, and Hartley, with as many men as
possible, to make a sortie through the door in the wall facing the
slope, to creep along the face of that wall to the corner, and thus
catch the enemy between two fires.
I, too, hated so much the idea of abandoning the "_B.A._" that I nodded
my head in consent, and, having made all the arrangements with Mr.
Fisher, he went back to the dinghy, though not before Mr. Fisher had
implored Miss Borsen again, unavailingly, to accompany him. Not long
afterwards he made a signal that he had determined to bring all hands
with him, and that until they returned the "_B.A._" would be quite safe
at her anchor.
I only hoped that she would, and I lay there dejected in the extreme, to
think that now, of all times, I was helpless. It was no use pretending
that I was not. Even without Miss Borsen to assure me that my only
chance lay in remaining absolutely still, there was a funny feeling in
my chest that the least exertion would finish me altogether. One or two
drops of blood had come into my mouth during the day, and I
instinctively knew that more was only waiting its chance. It was an
extremely unhappy position to be in.
The remainder of the afternoon passed fairly quietly, and the dread of
the coming night seemed to make the hours of daylight fly very quickly.
Miss Borsen brought me some tea, and whilst she was in the room I
remembered some signal I wanted to make to Mr. Scarlett. But the pencil
had dropped off the bed and broken its point, so that it would not
write, and I motioned to her that there was a knife in my dispatch-box.
Whilst she was looking for it, jumbling among my letters and other
papers, out slipped that little velvet bow, the one which had stuck to
my button the night I had carried her over the swamp and made her so
angry.
She picked it up, grew red, and I thought she was very angry at being
reminded of the quarrel; because she shut up the box, said: "Bother the
knife; it isn't here," and went away, sending in Hartley to help me with
the signal.
This added to my worries.
As dark came on--very completely in the room, because of the
sand-bags--I pictured the dinghy pulling to and fro to land Mr. Scarlett
and the rest of the crew, and had a horrid feeling that they ought never
to have left her. I feared, too, that they had not done this
unobserved, because a good deal of firing broke out from the direction
of the beach. However, there was no one to tell me what was happening,
so I had to guess, listening anxiously to the murmur of voices outside,
below the balcony, as Mr. Fisher and the others gathered near the door
in the wall and prepared for their sortie.
I could hear them filling the magazines of their rifles, occasionally
dropping a cartridge on the ground, and my ears were straining to hear
the bolts fly back and to hear them rushing out; but instead of this a
tremendous fusillade broke out down the slope, and the same yelling
which had always accompanied the previous attacks broke the silence. So
fearfully excited was I that more blood came into my mouth, and
thoroughly frightened I lay flat, hardly able to breathe. The noises
seemed to grow until they became one awful roar, dinning into my
ear-drums till they seemed to overpower my brain altogether, and I must
have lost consciousness.
I had a dim recollection of men running through my room, of rifles going
off, and then woke to the fact that rifles were being fired quite close
to me, outside on the balcony, their flashes lighting up the room, and
that from every quarter came the most fearful uproar. People were
running backwards and forwards, up and down the stairs; Zanzibari
niggers came dragging sand-bags back through my room; the old butler,
without his turban, came and went without giving a glance at me; no one
seemed to take the least notice of me, and for some time I thought it
must be another of those nightmares and I should presently waken.
Then the uproar seemed to grow more distant; a red glow filled the room
with weird shadows, and what finally brought me to a realization that I
was actually awake was Miss Borsen's hand sliding down to my wrist to
feel my pulse.
"Hush!" she whispered; "keep still; you're all right now. They've got
inside the walls and have gone off to burn down the other buildings. Mr.
Fisher is down below--most of the others too; we are safe for some
time."
I remembered that Mr. Scarlett and all the rest of my men ought to be on
the outside of the wall, and wondered what had become of them.
"Mr. Scarlett?" I muttered, but she put a finger on my lips. "Be quiet;
be still."
The niggers and servants must have torn away some of the sand-bags to
make better openings to fire through or to take them somewhere else, for
the room now was filled with a red glare. The crackling noise of flames
seemed to grow more furious and closer; but above everything I heard
Hartley's voice down below shouting orders.
It was a comfort even to know that he was there.
Then men began to climb the stairs outside the room, panting heavily and
running down again. Miss Borsen went out to see what they were doing.
She crept back, terrified.
"They're carrying water up to the roof--the flames are so close. It's
awful--awful!" and she crouched on the floor with her hands over her
eyes. She pulled herself together when Hartley--bleeding from a wound
on his head--rushed in to tell me that we were fairly safe for the
present, but that Ellis and a few natives on the top of that
outbuilding, where they had been all day, were cut off, and that no one
knew what had become of Mr. Scarlett and his party. "What with the
moonlight and these 'ere flames from the mess buildings," he said, "it's
as light as day now, and the Afghans won't come out in the open.
They're skulking in the shadows under the walls, and daren't run across
the open spaces."
After this--for a time--there was but little rifle firing near us, and
the glare from the burning building died down somewhat. Outside on the
balcony I could see the Zanzibaris there moving about in the shadow
behind the sand-bags and peering over them to look below. Presently one
of them saw something to fire at, for he let off his rifle and called to
the others. A regular fusillade broke out, and in the midst of it I
heard, to my intense relief, Mr. Scarlett's stentorian voice roaring
out: "Stop that firing," and then shouting something in Hindustani.
Before I realized what was the meaning of this Miss Borsen sprang to her
feet and was out on the balcony in a moment, pulling the wretched
servants and Zanzibaris away from the sand-bags and calling out: "Stop!
stop!
"It's Mr. Scarlett and your men climbing over the loopholed wall," she
cried. "They are crawling over the corner just below us."
In a very few minutes Mr. Scarlett was standing in the room.
"We got caught on the 'hop' that time, sir; they saw us coming ashore
and we had a fight for it. Managed to get up the slope near the wall,
but then had to fall back again. Couldn't make headway against them.
Jones was wounded again--badly this time. Most of the chaps were
knocked about, so we dragged him back among the rocks and kept the
Afghans off till they cleared out up here to join in the loot. We found
the dinghy on the rocks with her bottom stove in, so couldn't send Jones
on board, and we've brought him along with us--dodged the Afghans and
hoisted him in over the wall. He's down below--pretty comfortable; but
Moore's missing. No one's seen him since we had the first 'scrap', poor
devil. I hope he's killed outright.
"Don't you go fussing," he went on. "There's five of us, besides
Hartley and me, and we'll pull you through--and the little lass too.
We're just off to line the veranda and the sand-bags there till those
devils come at us again at daybreak. They'll come sure enough then.
I'm off now, sir."
He left me alone again, for Miss Borsen had slipped away directly she
had heard that there was another wounded man below, and she did not come
back.
To know that Mr. Scarlett and his men were safe and were on the veranda
below put heart into me; but the position seemed so desperate that I
wonder my brain didn't throb itself out of my skull that night. It
seemed to be trying to do so. The noise of the flames had died down;
but scattered rifle shots rang out in the compound below every few
minutes hour after hour, and the room seemed to be so full of smoke that
I could hardly breathe. The old butler, going out to the balcony with
food for the people there, gave me some water once, and I was very
grateful.
Towards dawn there was an almost complete lull, as if everyone was too
tired to go on shooting. Mr. Scarlett took this opportunity to come in
and tell me that, so far, the Afghans had not broken into the building
where the transmitting instruments were. They had to cross the concrete
tennis-court to get to it, and Ellis and his people had kept them out so
far. "We've done our little bit too, sir," he added, quite pleased with
himself.
As dawn broke the Afghans first turned their attention to that
outbuilding from the roof of which Ellis had punished them so heavily
during the night. Of course I could not see this, but heard the uproar
and the shooting, and in the middle of it Mr. Scarlett and Mr. Fisher
came in (his left arm bound to his side) looking very anxious.
"We'll have to go along and bring Ellis out of it," the gunner said; "he
and his chaps can't hold out much longer. Don't you worry, sir; we'll
be back in a 'brace of shakes'." Stooping, before he left me, he placed
a revolver on the chair at the head of the bed. "If you want it, sir,"
he said, and I understood.
They both went away, and I knew that they were going to lead another
sortie across the compound and that open tennis-court. I heard them run
down the stairs, heard the burst of cheering as they and others dropped
down from the veranda, whilst the natives still on my balcony crowded
away to the right of it and opened fire.
Almost immediately the noise of fierce hand-to-hand fighting came
through the windows, and I waited, tremblingly, to hear the cheers which
would tell me that Mr. Scarlett's people were coming back with Ellis;
but, instead, the Afghans began yelling triumphantly, as if they were
getting the upper hand. I turned my head and saw Miss Borsen stagger
into the room, her face whiter than the dress she wore.
She stood still for a moment, listening, then saw the revolver, glided
across and steadied herself to pick it up and to open it. She made sure
it was loaded, and then, in a broken voice, told me that Mr. Fisher, Mr.
Scarlett, and the rest had been cut off and forced back against the
telegraph building.
"The Afghans are flocking down here now, and there is no one left in the
house--only a few of the telegraph people down below, and they can't do
it," she moaned. Then she stood at the side of my bed and handed me the
revolver, saying, in a very low voice: "If the Afghans break in I want
you to kill me."
She looked me through and through as I took it, as though she was not
certain that she could rely on me; but then she seemed satisfied, for
she knelt down close to the bed, with her head just above the edge of
it, staring fixedly out to where the daylight grew and to where a
surging wave of roaring, savage yells seemed to be beating round and
against the whole house.
The Zanzibaris began coming back into the room from the balcony, grey
with fright, running, throwing away their rifles and looking for
somewhere to hide, taking not the slightest notice of us.
It was "all up" with us now, I felt sure, and I had to speak to her
before the end did come.
"Will you forgive me?" I asked. "You know what for! I'm sorry."
She put out a hand and touched mine, the one which held the revolver,
and said: "I have--for a long time." Then she turned her head away.
There we stayed--for how long I do not know--and although every moment I
expected to hear the Afghans breaking into the rooms below us and
charging up the stairs, and knew what I should have to do then, I felt
quite happy.
Suddenly, among all the furious tumult and clamour below and all round
us, I heard, we both heard, another sound--the sound of
cheering--cheering loud and lusty. All the noises seemed to die away
before it; it grew; nearer and nearer it came; it swelled through the
windows, across those sand-bags, in a continued shout of victory; rifle
firing died down as though by magic, then burst out again; those shouts
of despair which we knew so well by this time filled the whole of the
compound, and Miss Borsen, springing to the balcony, tore away a
sand-bag, looked down, and rushed back to me.
"The _Intrepid_!" she cried, fell on her knees, and sobbed as if her
heart would break.
*CHAPTER XIX*
*The Grey-eyed Lady Decides*
Dear old Popple Opstein was the first to find us, rushing up the stairs
two steps at a time, calling out my name, and bursting into the room,
his yellow hair standing up from his forehead like a parrot's, and his
eyes staring out of his violet face.
Miss Borsen flung herself at him, clinging to his great sunburnt hands,
laughing and crying hysterically. She would not let him do more than
grip my hand, taking him away very quickly for fear the excitement
should start the bleeding again, although I imagined that if the agony
of that last half-hour had not done so nothing else would.
Presently she brought Nicholson, who came lumbering into the room, fat
and jolly as ever, felt my pulse, heard what she had to say about me,
and told me the same old thing: "Just you lie still, absolutely still,
and don't speak". He promised to come and overhaul me properly later
on.
"I've a terrible lot of jobs on hand now," he said.
He must have given orders for no one to visit me, because I was left
entirely alone, impatient to hear of all that had happened, and
listening to the heavy booming of guns--the _Intrepid's_ guns, out at
sea--shelling the retreating Afghans. At least I imagined that was what
they were doing.
In about an hour's time the old head boy brought another trestle-bed
into my room, and, whilst I was wondering who was going to use it, Mr.
Scarlett was carried in, quite unconscious, his head swathed in
bandages.
Nicholson followed, and told me that he had had "the devil's own whack"
with the butt end of a rifle, and there was no knowing what would
happen.
The reaction after the strain of the last four days was now very great,
and there was no disguising the fact that I was as weak as a cat. I had
had no real sleep for at least four nights, and listening to the long,
slow, snoring noise coming from Mr. Scarlett's bed made me drop off to
sleep too. When I woke it was night, but by the light of the lamp I saw
Percy--a melancholy-looking figure in white--squatting on the floor at
the side of the gunner's bed, with his eyes fixed on his hero's bandaged
head. He turned and smiled at me when I moved, but only for a moment,
turning again like some big faithful dog to watch the gunner.
For two whole days the only other people I saw were Nicholson, who
doctored me, and the head boy--his yellow turban once more as smart as a
new pin--who brought me food and fed me.
At the end of those two days Mr. Scarlett began to show signs of
returning consciousness, and Percy, who had not left him day or night,
wept tears of joy when his eyes opened and he asked where he was.
Popple Opstein was now allowed to come and talk to me.
From him I heard how the _Intrepid_ had been called away from Muscat, on
what turned out to be a wild-goose chase, after some dhow reported to be
loading rifles down the coast; how she had heard on her return that Jask
telegraph-station had been attacked in force and the telegraph cut; and
how she had come across at full speed.
"I'm almost certain Jassim was the chap who brought the news which took
us down the coast. We heard he'd shot you dangerously, and I put two and
two together. My dear old chap, I was in the dickens of a funk. The
skipper had the men all ready waiting to land; they were over the side
and in the boats almost before the anchor dropped, and we were only just
in time. Your fellows were all pushed up against the side of the
building, with a crowd of chaps howling round them, and were getting the
worst of it, half of them laid out already. Another half-hour and it
would have been 'finish'."
He gave me a list of the casualties, and they were very severe. Jones
had died of his wounds, and Moore's body had been found on the rocks
close to the smashed dinghy, with three dead Afghans near him; so the
poor, irritating chap had made a great fight for his life. There was
not a single one of the "_B.A._"'s who had not a wound of "sorts".
Mrs. Fisher had come ashore from the "_B.A._", but her nerves were so
completely shaken that she intended to go down to Karachi very shortly.
Miss Borsen was to accompany her. Both of them visited me occasionally,
but always together, and I was longing for the day to come when
Nicholson would give me permission to talk, because I had much to tell
the little, sad, grey-eyed lady, and much, very much, to ask her. At
last came the great day when I was allowed to sit out on the veranda and
talk--just a little--as long as I did not raise my voice. By this time
Mr. Scarlett was very nearly his old self, or, rather, his new self,
once more; and Percy was so happy that we had to make the head boy kick
him--half a dozen times a day--to stop him singing to himself. We now
had crowds of visitors, from Commander Duckworth, Mr. Fisher (his
shoulder nearly well), and Popple Opstein, down to Jaffa, clean and
white and as impenetrable as ever. The one I wanted most was Miss
Borsen, but she seldom came, and then only with Mrs. Fisher. As I
recovered, so she seemed to shrink from coming near me, and I counted
the days before she was to sail for Karachi in fear lest I should never
have a chance of speaking to her alone.
One evening, as Mr. Scarlett and I were sitting on the veranda, watching
the last glow of the sunset on the Baluchistan mountains, Popple Opstein
came bounding up the stairs and out to us.
"We've just got the news!" he cried excitedly. "There's going to be a
great 'show' here. The Indian Government is sending a whole brigade
from Karachi, the Persian Government has ordered round the old
_Persepolis_ with a lot of troops, the flagship's on her way from
Bombay, and we're going to land a naval brigade--with guns. There's to
be a regular expedition into the mountains to punish those Afghans, and
who d'you think is going in charge of the guns? Why, you, old chap, you!
The skipper has just sent me along to tell you the great news. The
Indian Government has asked for you. Just fancy that! It's a reward
for collaring that caravan. 'Nick' says you'll be as fit as ever by the
time everything's ready to start. I am so glad, old chap, and you bet
I'll find some excuse for coming along as well, even if it's only to
carry old Nick's 'first-aid' bag."
"What a ripping show!" I said, tremendously pleased, and Mr. Scarlett
came over to congratulate me, as pleased as I was.
My chum fidgeted about, and although it was now too dark for me to see
his face I knew that he had something else to tell me.
"Out with it! What is it?" I asked.
Smacking his knees, he burst out with: "I've done it! Old Martin, I've
done it!"
"Done what?"
"Don't you know? Can't you guess? Little 'Grey-eyes' and I are
engaged--engaged! What d'you think of that, old tongue-tied? I've felt
it would come ever since we met her in the steamer coming out, and the
last few days have done the trick. Isn't it glorious? She goes home
to-morrow, worse luck! but I couldn't let her go without telling her,
and we're to be spliced as soon as ever I get back to England. You'll
have to do 'best man'. You will, won't you?"
It was dark. I stuttered out how pleased I was, and he, too excited to
suspect anything, dashed downstairs again, singing lustily.
"D'you think you could manage to take me along with you, sir, when you
land in charge of those guns?" Mr. Scarlett asked me diffidently.
"I will," I told him. "We'll land together, and have another smack at
those Afghans--the treacherous brutes. We'll go back to the old
'_B.A._' to-morrow morning, doctor or no doctor. We can't stay loafing
round here any longer. I'm sick of being a cripple."
The night air seemed to have turned cold, so we went back into our
whitewashed room with its bullet marks on the wall behind my bed, and as
Mr. Scarlett lighted the lamp we heard Popple Opstein whistling "Two
Eyes of Grey" somewhere down the slope towards the beach.
"That used to be your tune," Mr. Scarlett said as he closed the
shutters; "d'you remember, sir--a while back? It used to get on my
nerves at times; that it did!"