WITH GUN RUNNERS IN THE GULF
A glance at the sodden map showed Smith that he had been driven at
least fifty miles out of his course. He could not afford time to
return to the Euphrates: he would now have to follow the course of the
Tigris until it joined the larger river. It would be folly to attempt
a direct flight to Karachi, for in so doing he would have to pass over
the mountainous districts of Southern Persia and Baluchistan, where,
if any mishap befel the aeroplane, there would be absolutely no chance
of finding assistance. Luckily the moon was rising, and by its light
he was soon able to strike the Tigris near the spot where it flowed
between the hills Gebel Hamrin and Gebel Mekhul into the Babylonian
plain. From this point, keeping the hills well on his left, he steered
south-east until about midnight he came upon an immense expanse of
water, shimmering below him in the moonlight, which he concluded to be
nothing else but the Persian Gulf.
By this time he was both tired and hungry. Rodier and he had eaten a
few biscuits spread with Bovril, and drunk soda-water, while they
were examining the engine, but they both felt ravenous for a good
square meal. Smith, however, had set his heart on completing his
flight to Karachi, where his scheme would allow an hour or two for
rest and food, and he was the more determined to carry out his
programme, if possible, because of the delay caused by the storm.
His plan was to keep close to the left shore of the Persian Gulf, not
following its indentations, but never losing sight of the sea. The
coast, he saw by the map, made a gentle curve for some six hundred
miles, then swept southward opposite the projecting Oman peninsula,
and thence ran almost due east to Karachi. The coast was for the most
part hilly, and as he was now travelling at full speed there was
always a risk, unless he flew high, of his being brought up by a spur
or a rock jutting out into the Gulf; and as he did not wish to
maintain too great an altitude, he altered his course a point or two
to the south, flying over the sea, but not far from the shore.
Rodier and he took turns at the engine, each dozing from sheer
weariness during his spell off. They flew on all through the night,
and when dawn began to break, saw straight ahead land stretching far
to right and left. There was no doubt that this was the Oman
peninsula, which, jutting out from the Arabian mainland, almost closes
the Gulf. Steering now a slightly more northward course, and rising
to clear the hills of the peninsula, Smith passed over the neck of
land, and found himself in the Gulf of Oman, half-way between the head
of the Persian Gulf and Karachi.
Now that it was light, there was no longer the same necessity for
keeping out to sea. Indeed, it was merely prudent to come over the
land, so that if anything happened to the engine he would at least
have an opportunity of descending safely. The engine had worked so
well that he scarcely feared a breakdown, but he was not the man to
take unnecessary risks.
Glancing at his watch, he calculated that he was about two hours
behind time. As he had been flying at full speed except during the
storm, he could hardly hope to make up the lost time except by
diminishing the intervals for rest which he had allowed for before
starting. It was, at any rate, important to lose no more. He had just
come to this conclusion when there was a sudden snap in the framework
of one of the planes. Looking round anxiously, he at once reduced the
speed, feeling very thankful that the mischief had not developed
during the storm, when the aeroplane must have inevitably crumpled up.
Now, however, the weather was fair, and he could choose his
landing-place. He had no doubt that the accident was due to the
enormous strain which had been put upon the structure by the storm. A
glance showed him that the plane was still rigid enough to stand the
strain of motion at a lower speed, but that would neither satisfy him
nor achieve success, and so he decided to alight and try to remedy the
defect.
As he began to plane downwards, Rodier pointed to a cluster of huts at
the mouth of a small river. A dhow lay moored to a rough wooden jetty
beyond the hamlet. Between it and the huts was an open space of
considerable extent, and though when Rodier first drew his attention
to the place they must have been more than a mile distant from it, he
could see, even without his binocular, a crowd of people moving about
the open space.
"We may find a forge there," shouted Rodier.
Smith nodded, but he felt a little uneasy. It seemed likely that he
had now reached what is known as the Mekran coast, and he remembered
the ill reputation it bore with the officers of British ships who had
seen service in these waters. The people had been described as greedy,
conceited, unwilling, and unreasonable as camels, and their
treacherous and cruel disposition was such that, thirty or forty years
before, Europeans who landed on any part of their seaboard would have
done so at great peril. Smith, however, had a vague recollection of
their having been taught a salutary lesson by the Karwan expedition,
and no doubt the presence of British war vessels in the Gulf had done
something to correct their turbulence. He had to choose between
finding a landing-place inland, out of sight of the inhabitants of
this fishing village, and landing among them on the chance of getting
the use of a forge, for it would probably be necessary to weld the
broken stay. Deciding for the latter course, he steered straight for
the village, and, circling round it, dropped gently to earth in the
open space near the jetty.
The aeroplane had been seen and heard some time before it reached the
spot, and its flight was watched with open-mouthed curiosity by the
men, who paused in their work of carrying ashore bulky packages from
the dhow. When they saw the strange visitant from the sky descending
upon them, they gave utterance to shrill cries of alarm, dropped their
burdens, and fled in hot haste up the shore, disappearing behind the
huts. As he alighted, Smith noticed, close to the aeroplane, one of
these packages, which had burst open in the fall, and saw with
surprise that it contained rifles.
"I say, Roddy," he said; "this is rather unlucky. We have interrupted
a gun-running."
"Ah, no, it is lucky, mister," returned the Frenchman. "We shall not
need now to buy rifles _en route_; we can help ourselves; these are
contraband, without doubt."
"That's true, I suspect; rifles are sure to be contraband here; but
this is a wild district, and the people won't be too well-disposed
towards us, coming and stopping their little game. We've a right to
impound the rifles, I daresay, but I really think we had better look
the other way."
"Wink the other eye, as you say. Well, at present there is no one to
look at. The people do not speak French, I suppose?"
"Nor English, probably. They are Baluchis, I suppose, and perhaps
haven't seen a white man before. Just look and see what's wrong with
the stay while I go up to the village and parley."
Rodier stripped to his shirt, got his tools out of the little box in
which they were kept, and set to work in as unconcerned and
business-like a way as if he had been in the workshop at home.
Meanwhile Smith, puffing at a cigarette, walked slowly towards the
nearest hut. His easy manner gave no sign of alertness; but in reality
he was keeping a keen look-out, and had already descried some of the
natives peeping round the walls of the huts. Having taken a few steps
he halted, looked inquiringly around, and hailed the lurking villagers
with a stentorian "Ahoy!" At first there was no response, but on his
advancing a little farther and repeating the call two or three swarthy
and dirty-looking men came slowly from behind the nearest hut. Smith
noticed the long spears they carried. He smiled and held out his hand,
but the men stopped short and eyed him doubtfully, jabbering among
themselves. He bade them good morning, inviting them to come and have
a talk, but saw at once by the lack of expression on their faces that
they did not understand him.
Somewhat perplexed, and trying to think of signs by which he could
explain what he wanted, he saw a different figure emerge from the
background, a small, bent, olive-skinned old man, clad in a white
turban and dhoti. He came forward hesitatingly.
"Salaam, sahib," he said humbly.
"Oh, I say, can you speak English?" asked Smith eagerly, suspecting
that the man was a Hindu.
"Speak English very fine, sahib," replied the man, with a smile.
"Thank goodness! Well, now, is there a smith in the village? You know
what I mean: a blacksmith, a man who makes iron things?"
It was not a very clear definition, but the Hindu understood him.
"Yees, sahib," he said; "smif that way." He pointed to a hut at a
little distance.
"That's all right. Fetch the smith along, and I'll get you to tell him
what I want."
"I know, sahib, I tell them. I do big trade in this place. They silly
jossers, sahib; think you a djinn."
"Well, put that right, and hurry up, will you?"
The Hindu salaamed and returned to the group of villagers. An excited
colloquy ensued, the man pointing now to the Englishman, now to the
aeroplane, and now to the dhow alongside the jetty. Presently the
Hindu came back.
"Silly chaps say what for you come here, sahib. You know too much,
they say."
Smith guessed that they supposed his visit had something to do with
the smuggling operations in which they were engaged. He explained
quickly that he was merely an ordinary traveller, on his way to India
in one of the new air carriages in which Englishmen were accustomed to
make long journeys, and he promised to pay the smith well for any
assistance he could give in repairing a slight injury which the
carriage had suffered in a storm. The Hindu carried this message to
the villagers, who were now increasing in number as they regained
confidence, and after another discussion he returned, accompanied by a
big man, the dirtiest in the crowd, the others following slowly.
He found it no easy matter, through his smiling but incompetent
interpreter, to explain that he wanted the use of the smith's
appliances. To quicken their apprehension he produced a couple of
half-crowns, pointing out that they were worth four rupees, and
offered these as payment when the work was done. The Hindu recognized
the King's head on the coins, and eagerly assured the Baluchis that
they were good English money; but the smith, true to the oriental
habit of haggling, rejected them scornfully as insufficient, and was
backed up by a chorus of indignant cries from the crowd.
Smith, impatient at the loss of time, and forgetting that any show of
eagerness would merely encourage the natives to delay, was incautious
enough to show them a half-sovereign. Though the Hindu appeared to do
his best to persuade them that this was generous pay, they showed even
greater contempt, and became more and more clamorous.
"Greedy chaps want more, sahib," said the Hindu deprecatingly.
"Very well," replied Smith, pocketing the coin. "We'll do without
them."
He turned his back on them, and returned at a saunter to the
aeroplane, the crowd, now swelled by the arrival of apparently all the
inhabitants of the village, old and young, pressing on behind. It was
evident that they had now lost their fear of the strange machine.
"How are you getting on, Roddy?" he asked. "These asses won't take
half-a-sovereign to lend a hand."
"Imbeciles! But the stay must be welded."
"Well, we'll pretend we can do without 'em. I daresay that will bring
them round."
For a few minutes the two men made a great show of activity,
completely disregarding the crowd curiously watching them. The plan
had the desired effect. The Hindu came forward and said that the smith
would accept the gold piece, if he were paid in advance.
"Not a bit of it. If he likes to help he shall have it when the work
is done," replied Smith, turning to resume his interrupted work.
The smith, now fearful of losing his customer, began to abuse the
Hindu for not completing the bargain. At length, with a show of
reluctance, Smith relented, and with the aid of the villagers the
aeroplane was wheeled to the smithy. It proved to be very poorly
equipped, having a very primitive forge and a pair of clumsy native
bellows; but Rodier set to work to make the best of it, welding the
broken stay with the smith's help, while his employer remained outside
the hut to keep watch over the aeroplane, which the people were
beginning to examine rather more minutely than he liked. To drive them
off, Smith set the engine working, causing a volume of smoke to belch
forth in the faces of the nearest men, who ran back, holding their
noses and crying out in alarm.
Smith filled in the minutes by opening a tin of sardines and eating
some of the fish sandwiched between biscuits. The sight of small fish
brought from a box struck the villagers with amazement, which was
redoubled when he removed the stopper from a soda-water bottle and
drank what appeared to be boiling liquid. Presently, however, he
noticed that some of the men were quietly withdrawing towards the
huts, behind which they disappeared. Among them was the Hindu, who was
apparently summoned, and departed with a look of uneasiness. Smith
went on with his meal unconcernedly, though he was becoming
suspicious, especially when he found by-and-by that all the men had
left him, the crowd consisting now only of women and children.
"Nearly done, Roddy?" he called into the hut.
"Yes, mister. The smith has took his hook, though."
"All the men have gone behind the huts. I wonder what they are up to."
Rodier took up a hammer, and gently broke a hole in the flimsy back
wall of the hut.
"There's a big crowd beyond the village," he reported. "Having a
pow-wow, too. They've got spears and muskets."
"That looks bad. Hurry up with the stay. The sooner we get out of this
the better."
He noticed that the smith had now rejoined the crowd. No doubt he
intended to make sure of getting his money. The mob behind the huts
was growing noisy, and Smith gave a sigh of relief when Rodier came
out with the mended stay and proceeded to fix it in place. While he
did this, Smith beckoned some of the lads forward, and made them
understand by signs that he wished them to help him wheel the
aeroplane round. The slope between it and the sea was very rough
ground, but it afforded space for starting off, and the moment Rodier
had finished his job he swung the aeroplane round and started the
engine. The smith, looking on suspiciously, took this as a signal for
departure and rushed forward, clamouring shrilly for the promised
payment. Smith gave him the half-sovereign, then jumped into his
place, Rodier running beside the machine as it moved down the slope.
At this moment there was a shout from the village, which swelled into
a furious din as the men came rushing from behind the huts, and saw
the white men preparing to leave them. The aeroplane gathered way.
Rodier was on the point of clambering into his place, as he had often
done before, by means of the carriage supporting the wheels. But the
machine jolting over the rough ground delayed him. The yelling crowd
rushed down, some hurling spears, and others endeavouring to seize the
Frenchman. He kept his grip on the rail, but another jolt forced him
to loosen his hold, the machine suddenly sprang upwards, and Rodier
fell backward among his captors.
Smith scarcely realized what had happened until he was many feet in
the air; but seeing at a glance over his shoulder that Rodier was left
behind, he put the helm over and warped the planes to a perilous
degree. The aeroplane was fifty or sixty yards from the starting place
when Smith's action caused it to swerve like a wounded bird; then it
recovered itself, and turning in a narrow circle swept back towards
the confused knot of men on the beach. Smith planed down straight upon
them, intending to land and rush to Rodier's assistance. But
perceiving that the Frenchman was struggling on the ground, with a
dozen turbaned figures clustering over him, he steered straight for
the middle of the group. There was a dull thud, and then another, and
he felt a harsh jolt as the chassis struck some of the standing men.
Smith had stopped the engine when he turned, and the aeroplane,
brought up by this obstruction, sank to the ground, being saved from
damage only by the spring attachments of the carriage.
Drawing his revolver, Smith leapt from his seat and dashed towards the
group. Six or eight men lay on the ground, some of them too badly hurt
to rise; the rest of the crowd had taken to their heels, and the whole
population was in full flight, the children screaming with terror. In
an instant, to Smith's relief, Rodier sprang to his feet. Together
they turned the machine once more towards the sea.
"Are you hurt, Roddy?" asked Smith.
"Ah, the villains! they have given me a dig or two. Let us get away
from this, mister. We are getting later and later."
He jumped into the car; Smith again started the engine; and as the
machine rose into the air it was followed by a howl of rage from the
baffled Baluchis. Half-a-dozen slugs pattered about it, piercing
several holes in the planes. Already one of these had been gashed by a
spear, which still stuck in it. But no serious damage had been done,
and in a few seconds the aeroplane was flying at full speed over the
sea.
It is one of the drawbacks of aerial travel that conversation can only
be carried on in shouts. Smith would have liked to talk over things
with Rodier, but the noise of the engine and the boom of the air as
the machine cut through it smothered his voice unless he bellowed.
Only a few words passed between them as they flew along a little
distance out to sea. Rodier bathed two slight wounds he had received
in the scuffle with water from the pots filled during the storm, and
assured Smith that they were nothing to trouble about.
Some few minutes after leaving the inhospitable village they noticed
the smoke of a steamer, a good deal nearer the shore than the dhows
which they had seen occasionally on the Gulf. It was too far distant
for them to determine its size and nationality, or to guess the
direction in which it was bound. Smith decided to speak it in passing,
but, observing that the stay had not been thoroughly fixed in the
hurry of their departure, he looked about for a suitable
landing-place, where the finishing touches might be given. The coast
was rocky and precipitous, and the tops of the cliffs were strewn for
a considerable distance inland with innumerable boulders, large and
small, which would render landing dangerous, and starting perhaps more
dangerous still. At length, however, just as he was thinking of
running inland, in spite of the loss of time, Rodier caught sight of a
large expanse of smooth rock, left bare by the falling tide. He
pointed it out to Smith, who made a hasty calculation of its extent,
and judged that it would serve his purpose. Steering to it, he circled
round it and dropped gently upon its western end, scaring off a
flamingo that was sunning itself there in solitary state.
"We came well out of that, Roddy," he said, as they set to work on the
stay.
"But we lose time by all these stops, mister," replied Rodier. "We can
perhaps make it up if you keep your gold in your pocket."
"I made a mistake there, certainly. If anything of the kind occurs
again our motto must be 'take it or leave it.'"
"Just as you say to a cabby."
"You are sure you are not hurt much?"
"No more than with a cat's scratches. You came in the stitch of time,
though."
"'A stitch in time saves nine,'" quoted Smith, smiling a little at the
Frenchman's mistake. "That's why we had better make a good job of
this. We don't want to stop again."
Ten minutes' work sufficed to fix the stay firmly in its place. Smith
again started the engine, the aeroplane taking the air when it was
only half-way across the rock. They looked around for the steamer when
they were again going at full speed, but it was no longer visible. In
a few minutes, however, the smoke again came into view, and as they
rapidly approached it Smith was delighted to see that it came from the
funnel of a small gunboat, which was steaming in the same direction as
their own flight, making probably for Bombay or Karachi. The chances
were that such a vessel in these waters was British, so Smith steered
towards it, shouting to Rodier that they might perhaps arrange a
tit-for-tat with the Baluchis.
There was much excitement on board the gunboat when the aeroplane
planed down and soared over it at its own pace, just high enough to be
out of reach of sparks from the funnel.
"Who are you?" shouted Smith through a megaphone.
"Gunboat _Penguin_, Captain Durward, bound for Bombay. Who are you?"
came the answer.
"Lieutenant Thesiger Smith, of the _Imperturbable,_ bound for
Karachi."
"The deuce you are! What do you call that vessel of yours?"
"My pet lamb," replied Smith, grinning. "I say, sir, I've no time for
explanations. Are you policing these seas?"
"This is my beat. Why?"
"Some Baluchis are gun-running fifty miles up the coast, that's all.
Thought you'd like to know."
"Are they, begad! Thanks for the tip. Can you describe the spot?"
"A tiny village lying behind a point. A river runs through it, and
there's a short jetty. Sorry I can't give you latitude and longitude.
You'll catch 'em if you hurry up. Hope you will, and--run 'em in.
Good-bye."
He set the engine at full speed again, and as the aeroplane soared on
like a swallow its departure was followed by a lusty British cheer.
"Three hours late, mister," Rodier bawled in Smith's ear.