Before the band of horsemen had approached the edge of the little
plateau where the airship lay, the two men stepped forward through the
trees at its lower edge and waved to the oncomers with every sign of
welcome.
"I hope none of them will recognize me," said Sir Mark in a low tone to
Oliphant. "Probably few in this wild district have ever been in Tangier,
where my features are tolerably well known; and having been for some
time unable to shave--these followers of the Prophet are forbidden the
use of the razor, and Mr. Schwab does not carry one--I look perhaps a
little unlike myself."
The horsemen came up at a gallop, bringing their horses to a halt when
it seemed to Oliphant that he and his companion must be trampled to the
ground.
"Peace be with you!" said Sir Mark in Arabic, making a slight
inclination.
"And with thee, peace!" returned the leader of the party, looking not a
little surprised at this orthodox salutation from a N'zrani.
"In the name of the most Merciful!" Sir Mark continued. "Thou dost
behold us in sore straits, O Son of the Mountain. We are brothers under
our skin, thou and I, and I crave thy help."
"Bismillah! I am thy host, and all that I have is thine."
"Thou sayest well. Behold this strange monster that lieth on the ground
beyond us. It was made by a countryman of mine, to simulate the flying
of birds in the air--a most wondrous thing, and worthy to be seen by his
Shereefian Majesty the Sultan himself. I was indeed on my way to visit
the Sultan, but was prevented by a most untoward happening. (That is
strictly true, though the fact is somewhat post-dated," he added in an
aside.) "Even a bird tires with overmuch flying; and, as thou seest,
this thing that imitates the flying of a bird tires also, so much so,
indeed, that we saw that its wings would not carry us the full extent of
our journey, and we were on our way back to the coast in order to repair
its strength, when it failed us utterly. Wherefore, friend, we ask thee
to lend us the assistance of some sturdy men from your village to carry
our poor bird to Casa Blanca, or to any ship that may chance to be off
your shore. (They may have seen the yacht.) For this service we will
reward them liberally."
"Bismillah!" ejaculated the Moor. Oliphant, watching his face during Sir
Mark's address, had caught a fleeting expression of perplexity and
disappointment. Expecting to make an out-and-out capture, he was no
doubt somewhat nonplussed at this request for assistance. But he had the
Moor's ready adaptability to circumstances. His speech gave no sign of
his thoughts.
"Bismillah!" he repeated. "We are all in God's hands. Let my brother
give thanks to Allah the most Merciful that he came to a man so friendly
disposed as Salaam son of Absalaam. It shall be even as thou wishest,
Sidi. But first thou and thy son must come to my village, for your bird
yonder is too heavy to be carried without much preparation. It will need
the shoulders of a great number of men. But while the men are making
ready, enter my house, all too unworthy to shelter you: yet we will
comfort you with food, and do all that is in our power to please our
guests."
"We thank thee, O Salaam, for thy proffered hospitality, which we will
accept, knowing that all things will be provided for our comfort."
"So be it, Sidi. But within the walls of my village, when I first looked
heavenwards and saw this strange flying thing, did I not see three men
borne along in it, and one of them in djellab something like my own?"
Sir Mark smiled and, pointing to a part of the apparatus that was
coloured grey, said--
"No doubt in the distance my brother mistook that for a person. We are
two, as thou seest."
The Moor still looked somewhat mistrustfully around. Then, with an
appearance of being convinced, he dismounted, and ordered his followers
to dismount also, asking his guest to choose whichever of the horses he
pleased for himself and his son. At this imputation of kinship, Sir Mark
elevated his eyebrows; the young man was certainly a
disreputable-looking object. Thinking it policy to accept the offer, Sir
Mark mounted the head-man's own steed, Oliphant following his example
with the horse of one of his party. Then, bidding a score of the men
lift the airship on their shoulders, the head-man and the rest
remounted, and led the way to the village. Both Sir Mark and Oliphant
were glad that the distance was not great, for the high Moorish saddles
were a sore trial to their unaccustomed limbs. The envoy, at any rate,
was under no delusion as to the nature of the hospitality promised. From
the manner in which the tribesmen escorted the two Englishmen to the
village, there could be little doubt that they were prisoners.
From his perch in the tree Tom noticed that although the majority of the
horsemen accompanied his friends towards the walls, four or five
detached themselves from the party and returned to the plantation, which
they proceeded to search pretty thoroughly. He made himself as small as
he could among the foliage when they passed beneath him, but they did
not look up; apparently it did not occur to them that any one should
have mounted into a tree. When they had finished their fruitless search,
they went, not in the direction their fellow-villagers had taken, but
towards the coast. Tom saw them spread out as they rode from the
plantation, and watched them until they were mere specks in the
distance. Then, when they were, he supposed, perfectly satisfied that
the suspected third member of the English party could not have escaped
them, they wheeled round and returned one by one again passing not far
from his hiding-place. Clearly, if they were so suspicious, it would be
expedient for him to remain for some time in the tree--an unpleasant
prospect, for he was becoming very stiff and cramped, and suffering
rather severely from hunger and thirst.
It was some hours before he ventured to slip to the ground. Even then he
did not dare to leave the shelter of the wood, knowing that in the open
he would inevitably be observed. But he stretched his limbs and found a
few blackberries, which somewhat appeased his hunger. Every now and then
he again climbed the tree to find out whether any one was approaching,
or whether a watch was still being kept. Late in the afternoon he
descried, on the further side of the village, a horseman approaching
from the direction of the hills. He came at full gallop, and rode
straight into the village, disappearing there from Tom's view.
"Hope to goodness he isn't a messenger from the sheikh!" thought Tom.
At last, when the sun had set, and the sky was darkening, he deemed it
safe to leave his hiding-place. If the yacht had remained where he had
last seen her--and it was scarcely likely that Mr. Greatorex would shift
his anchorage--he conjectured that a five mile walk would bring him to
the nearest point of the shore. Fortunately it was a beautiful night,
clear and starlit, though the moon had not yet risen. Taking his
bearings very carefully by the stars, in anticipation of a return
journey, he started, going very slowly and cautiously, watching every
shadow lest it should indicate the presence of a Moor. Ignorant of their
language, he knew well that he had no chance whatever of slipping past
if he were once accosted. In such a case he could trust only to his
lightness of foot. But nothing happened to cause him uneasiness, and
after trudging along for nearly two hours he was beyond measure
delighted to see what was evidently a masthead light some distance out
at sea. No native craft would show a light; he could hardly doubt that
the _Dandy Dinmont_ and his friends were before him.
He was quickening his step in the pleasure of this discovery, when
suddenly, without warning, he found himself at the edge of an encampment
lying in a slight hollow at the summit of the cliffs. He started back,
but it was too late. A Moor, swathed in his hooded djellab, came out of
the darkness and spoke to him. Tom saw that it might be fatal to run
now; he walked on, hoping that he might pass without replying. But the
Moor spoke again, more sharply, in a more questioning tone. Tom, whose
head was covered with the hood, mumbled something beneath his breath;
but his unpractised tongue could not achieve the hard guttural accent of
the Moorish speech, and the sentinel took a hasty step towards him.
There was now nothing for it but to take to his heels. Disguise was no
longer possible, and, to free his limbs, he cast the djellab from him,
and dashed at full speed across the grass to the edge of the cliff. The
slope was steep, but he scarcely gave a thought to the risks he ran.
Scrambling over, he lay down and rolled from top to bottom, with many a
gash and bruise from sharp edges of the rock.
Loud shouts pursued him. The camp was aroused. Picking himself up,
feeling breathless and dazed, he sped across the sandy stretch of beach
and sent a sounding hail in the direction of the yacht; perchance his
voice might carry above the rustle of the surf and the cries of his
pursuers. He heard men scurrying down a path in the cliff somewhere
behind him; then their footsteps on the light shingle that lay above the
sand. Even if his cry had been heard on the yacht, it was impossible
that a boat should reach him before he was overtaken. There was only one
way to safety. He plunged into the surf, and struck out towards the
vessel. A shot followed him, but he cared nothing for that; in the
darkness it would puzzle an expert marksman to hit him, when nothing of
him could be seen but a head bobbing up and down. Not till he had swum
well out of the reach of his pursuers, who had not followed him into the
sea, did the thought of sharks cross his mind. Then he trod water for a
little, and, making a bell of his hands, sent another prolonged cry
across the water.
Is that an answering hail? He shouts once more; yes, a cry comes back to
him: "Ahoy-o!" But at the same moment he hears also the sound of
paddles, to his right, apparently from a bend of the shore. The Moors
have not given him up, then. Again he presses on, putting all his force
into a strong side-stroke. Now another sound falls upon his ear; the
welcome sound of oars plied sturdily in rowlocks. The yacht's boat is
coming to meet him. But the pursuers are the nearer--will his friends
arrive in time? His long exertions since he left the yacht, his want of
food and sleep, have robbed him of his strength. His pace becomes slower
and slower. The pursuers' boat is coming up behind, while yet the beat
of oars before him sounds terribly distant. But he is still swimming;
every yard he makes is a yard added to the speed of the friendly boat.
He struggled on; and the Moors were still some distance behind when,
gasping and spent, he was helped by Timothy and another into his ark of
safety.
But the boat did not head at once for the yacht.
"Give way, men!" cried Captain Bodgers himself, at the tiller.
He pointed the nose of the boat straight for the Moors' light craft.
Eight sturdy British sailors pulled with a will. There was a crash, a
cry, and a dozen Moors were in the water, struggling to right their
capsized boat.
"That's all right. Now we'll get back, my men," said Captain Bodgers,
and some few minutes thereafter Tom was assisted up the side of the
yacht, and into the arms of Mr. Greatorex.
"God bless my soul, what has happened?" said the worthy merchant.
"We've got him--Ingleton," murmured Tom faintly. "He's with Oliphant,
captured again. Schwab's in the cave with Abdul."
"He's light-headed, poor fellow!" said Mr. Greatorex. "Here, some one,
blankets, and brandy--look _alive_ now."
Tom was soon stripped, dried, swathed in warm blankets, and dosed with
brandy till his blood tingled. Mr. Greatorex fussed round him, waiving
his proffered explanations until he was thoroughly recovered. Then Tom
gave him an account of all that had happened since he left the yacht,
Mr. Greatorex breaking in every now and then with "Dear, dear!" "You
don't _say_ so!" "The villains!" "What a _mercy_!" and such like
exclamations. Early in the narrative he interrupted with a question:
"You say Oliphant! Who's Oliphant? Am I on my _head_ or my _heels_?"
"Oh, I forgot you didn't know," said Tom with a smile. "Your new stoker
was Oliphant in disguise. You see, Byles, your late stoker, had to
remain at home and attend to his sick mother."
"No more sick than I am!" declared Mr. Greatorex. "Don't believe he
_had_ a mother! M'Cracken, indeed! I'll M'Cracken him! I hope his father
will get him well _thrashed_ when he goes back to school."
"He's rather big for that, don't you think?"
"The bigger the better! I never _heard_ of such a thing! The impudence
of it! And taking us all _in_ so! What things are coming to I don't
know. No obedience, no respect for age--pretending to be Scotch, too----"
"Well, he is Scotch, you know."
"Don't tell _me_! He's only Scotch when it suits him. There are others
like him in the Lords. He was never Scotch in _my_ house--where he shall
never show his face again, _never_!"
Tom was not deceived by this explosion of wrath. He knew very well that
Mr. Greatorex was only relieving the tension of his feelings, and
working off his nervous excitability on the most convenient object. "Les
absents ont toujours tort," he remembered. Mr. Greatorex presently
calmed down, and heard the rest of the story in comparative quietude.
"And what are we to _do_?" he said at the close. "Swob doesn't matter;
we're not bound to lift a finger for _him_; but we can't leave Ingleton
and M'C---- and Oliphant in the hands of those wretches. They'll break up
our machine, too, and play the very deuce with _my property_. What are
we to _do_?"
What Tom answered is shown by subsequent events. Two or three hours
after his return to the yacht, when he had had a thorough rest and a
good meal, a well-armed party, consisting of the whole ship's company
except the cook and one seaman, left the yacht, on which all lights had
been extinguished, and rowed with muffled oars to a sheltered cove on
the south side of the bay--that furthest removed from the Arab
encampment. Mr. Greatorex had insisted on joining the party. In vain Tom
pointed out that a hard march was before them, suggesting delicately
that Mr. Greatorex was not so light as he once was. The merchant puffed
the objection away. They disembarked in dead silence, and, leaving two
of their number to take the boat back to the yacht, made their way
cautiously up the cliff.
Led by Tom, the party, ten in all, struck off in the direction of the
village. Thanks to the light of the moon, which now lay a little above
the horizon, Tom was able to make a fairly straight course for the
plantation in which he had hidden during the previous day. Once or twice
he strayed from the proper track, and ultimately found that he was
nearly a mile from his objective; but this was not bad, considering that
there was no beaten road, and they had to tramp across rough country.
When he reached the plantation he was no longer in doubt as to the true
direction; during his long stay among the trees he had had time to take
his bearings pretty thoroughly.
Mr. Greatorex was blown by the time they came to the clearing in which
the airship had descended, and Tom begged him to remain hidden in the
plantation while the rest went on to the village.
"Pff!" panted the perspiring old gentleman. "Never gave up _anything_
yet; on you go!"
But a slight halt was made while Tom completed arrangements for his
night raid. The village was walled; the gates would no doubt be shut, as
at Ain Afroo; the wall must be scaled. Captain Bodgers selected the
biggest men to give their more active comrades a "leg-up." These latter
were provided with ropes, by which they might haul up the others when
they had themselves gained a footing on the wall. Tom impressed on them
all the necessity of maintaining dead silence. He estimated that the
village contained about a hundred fighting men, and if the approach of
the raiders were discovered in time for the walls to be manned, the
chance of a successful coup would be small indeed.
All carried firearms except Mr. Greatorex. He had a knobbed stick,
capable of dealing a very damaging blow.
"There's bound to be a _fight_, I suppose?" he had said when Tom was
discussing his plans on the yacht. "I don't like _that_, you know. I'd
punch a man's nose and knock him down without scruple, of course; but
that needn't _kill_ him, you know. Besides, how do I _stand_? This is
uncommonly like a piratical raid--like Jameson's, and he might have been
_hanged_. However!"
Tom assured him that no blood should be shed if it could possibly be
avoided; but he had small hopes that the night would end without a
fight, and a very brisk one.
The party set off for the village, stealing along under what cover was
afforded by bushes and inequalities in the ground. When about three
hundred yards from the wall all such protection ceased; the ground was
level and apparently open. Tom's heart was in his mouth lest their
footsteps should be heard as they crossed this. He dared not set them at
a run, for the soil all around was stony, and the sound of near a dozen
men rushing at speed could not fail to be heard in the village. So he
kept up the same stealthy approach, and his caution was justified, for
level as the space had appeared at a distance, it proved to have patches
of loose stones, and some yards of boggy land, through which ran a
narrow and evil-smelling creek; to rush would have ended in disaster.
They arrived beneath the wall without having heard any alarm raised
within. In a trice the men began to clamber up. It was made of mud and
rubble, and was not in so ruinous a condition as the wall of Ain Afroo.
The first man reached the top. Immediately there was a shout and the
sound of hurrying feet, and Tom sprang up to the sailor's side in time
to see a Moor in long djellab dashing from the nearest house towards the
wall. Suddenly he halted, and fired. The young sailor winced as the
bullet struck him; but he was not badly hurt, and letting down his rope,
calmly proceeded to haul up one of his comrades. After firing, the Moor
made a rush along the wall. Tom grappled with him; both fell, dropping
their weapons, and Tom felt in an instant that he was no match for the
sinewy figure that had him in his arms. The Moor forced him down; his
hands were already at Tom's throat, when Timothy Ball, who had
accompanied the party in spite of his half-healed wound, threw himself
upon the enemy from behind, dragged him backwards, and left him
half-strangled, but yet alive.
When Tom rose dizzily to his feet, all his party were within the wall.
One or two shouts were heard from the village, but apparently the Moors
were not yet quite awake to what was happening. Tom pulled himself
together, and led the way straight for the kasbah, which, from his lofty
perch in the tree during the day, he had seen slightly to the right of
the place at which the entry into the village had been made. When they
dashed up to the main gate, this was being opened to give exit to a
couple of men who were apparently about to inquire into the cause of the
slight commotion and the rifle shot that had been heard. The two were
instantly bowled over by the onrush of British seamen, the party swarmed
through into the kasbah, the gate was shut, and they came face to face
with the head-man.
"What have you--got to--_say_ for yourself?"
The Moor had naturally nothing to say for himself. He saw himself
confronted by an elderly whiskered foreigner, in a yachting cap and blue
serge suit, brandishing a formidable stick. Mr. Greatorex was in a
passion. The exertions of the march, the pains of being hauled up a
wall, not without bumps, the scamper at the rear of his men into the
Moor's kasbah, had deprived him equally of breath and of self-control.
Determined not to be left ignominiously out of the hurly-burly, he
forced himself to the front, and thrust his stick under the very nose of
the Moor--who stood a foot above him--calling him to account in the
spluttering sentence recorded above.
For a few moments there was a deadlock, and Tom felt the need of an
interpreter. Eventually he persuaded Mr. Greatorex to give way, and
managed to make the Moor understand that if he valued his life he must
at once bring out the Firangi whom he had recently introduced to his
house. Finding himself shut off by the gate of his own kasbah from the
support of his men, the Moor recognized that he had no choice but to
comply, and at a command from him one of his servants brought Sir Mark
Ingleton and Oliphant from the upper floor into the patio, looking none
the worse for their brief incarceration.
"_Delighted_ to see you," said Mr. Greatorex, stepping forward and
wringing the diplomatist's hand; Oliphant he studiously ignored.
"Mr. Greatorex, I presume," returned Sir Mark. "I hope to make your
better acquaintance, sir. Meanwhile, if I may be allowed----"
His quick eye had taken in the situation at a glance.
"Peace be with thee!" he said in Arabic, turning with a bland smile to
the scowling Moor, "You perceive, O Salaam, that my friends also, being
alarmed at my absence, have availed themselves of your generous
hospitality. They are distressed at the unceremonious manner of their
entry, but you will assuredly deign to pardon it, for have you not
professed yourself my devoted servant? You will be the first to forgive
an intrusion due solely to the too great zeal of my friends."
The Moor, chagrined and bewildered, had no option but to acquiesce in
this polite fiction, though it is to be feared his reply lacked
something of the diplomatist's ease and suavity.
"But we are a large company," Sir Mark went on, "and should be loth to
trespass on your hospitality. You will be relieved, I am sure, if we
betake ourselves to the vessel that awaits us off your coast. You will,
of course, honour us by giving us your company so far. Indeed, if you
will do us the favour to accompany us on board our vessel, we shall
endeavour to return in some slight measure the gracious hospitality that
has been vouchsafed to myself and--my son. If you add to your favours by
assisting us in the march--by showing us the easiest road and defending
us from the perils that may beset us, such as are known to you, O
Salaam--you may be assured that we shall show our gratitude in very
tangible form. There are, as you know, even in Morocco, evil
counsellors, men of violence, some who would even dare to lift their
hands against the Sultan himself. If there be any such in this village,
which truly I am loth to believe, I advise you, as brother advises
brother, to exhort them to mildness of demeanour. These friends of mine
who now enjoy your hospitality are men of war; they have arms, you
perceive, in the use of which they are well skilled; and since, in our
progress to the shore, you will of course occupy the place of honour at
my right hand, in all likelihood you would suffer hurt if there are
among your followers any men of Belial whose hearts incline towards
bloodshed; that would be a great grief to us. And now, O Salaam, as the
night draws towards dawn, it will be well if you perform your morning
ablutions and devotions and prepare to lead us forth. Bismillah!"
Sir Mark, as he laughingly informed Mr. Greatorex afterwards, had
purposely made his address somewhat lengthy, so as to give Salaam plenty
of time to regain his self-possession and to weigh the pros and cons.
The upshot was that, shortly after dawn, the whole party, with Salaam
son of Absalaam in their midst, set off towards the coast, the airship
being carried on the shoulders of a troop of the villagers who had been
promised liberal bakshish in return for their services.
On arriving at the shore, Captain Bodgers signalled to his men on the
yacht to send a boat, and with it a fresh supply of fuel for the
airship, which had been deposited just above high-water mark. While this
was being done, Mr. Greatorex emptied his pockets of small coin, to
redeem the promise to the carriers, and Sir Mark kept up an even flow of
amicable talk, apparently quite oblivious of the throng of Arabs who had
observed the proceedings from their encampment on the cliff, and by and
by came down to the shore and stood around, listening with looks of
amazement to this fluent Nazarene who discoursed so pleasantly of things
intimate to them.
The men soon arrived with a large tin of the fuel-paste. It was placed
in the car; Tom made an inspection of the machinery to assure himself
that it had suffered no hurt while in the charge of Salaam; then
Oliphant joined him. A few moments later, with a mighty whirring sound,
the airship rose gallantly into the air, to the great wonderment of the
Moors. While they were intently watching the manoeuvres of the airship,
filling the air with their cries of "Mashallah!" Sir Mark and the rest
of the party embarked and pulled out into the bay, two of the men
sitting in the stern of the boat with their faces to the shore and their
rifles held conspicuously ready. Salaam indulged in a burst of fury at
the manner in which he had been outwitted. His followers gathered around
him and held excited consultation, some being apparently inclined to
fire on the departing boat, others to pursue the airship. But they had
made up their minds to neither course by the time the party reached the
yacht; and when Captain Bodgers trained on them the two brass guns she
carried, they hurriedly broke up and disappeared over the cliffs.
"You were just in time, Mr. Greatorex," said Sir Mark Ingleton as they
sat together in the boat. "A messenger came in from the sheikh yesterday
afternoon, and I shrewdly suspect that arrangements had been made to
transfer us to our old quarters in the kasbah. I say 'our old quarters,'
forgetting that Mr. Oliphant----"
"Oliphant!" interrupted Mr. Greatorex. "_There_ now! What do you think
of _this_, Sir Mark?"
And he proceeded to delight his guest with a vigorous indictment of
M'Cracken, and Byles, and Byles' sick mother, and Lord Langside for
having sent an English gentleman on a mission to such an abominable
country, and for having such an outrageously impudent son.