A ROUGH WAY.
"Hold off, or I'll blow your brains out!" exclaimed Denis, suddenly
starting up to a sitting position, and looking wildly around him.
"Oh, Walter, is it only you? I dreamed that I had half-a-dozen
Afghans upon me!--why, what is that horrible noise?"
"Only the jackals," said Walter drowsily, coiling himself up in his
rug.
"Dismal noise--worse than the screeching of owls! One would think
that some venerable grandfather jackal had departed this life, and
that all his descendants had collected together to howl at his wake."
Walter made no observation; he was already asleep.
He was roused at daybreak to prepare for the morning's journey. The
Europeans did not find it easy to start. The muleteers were
unwilling to go forwards, and demanded _bakhshish_,* and leave to
return. They refused to reload the mules, though Denis used very
strong Hibernian language, which Walter did not care to translate.
The fiery young Irishman then used the argument of the stick, which
was for the time more effectual.
* A present.
The mules were laden at last; but scarcely had the party started
before one of the beasts of burden was found to be lame. The
slowness of progress had sorely tried the philosophy of Denis on the
previous day; he now became fiercely impatient at having to curb in
his steed to suit a lame mule's halting pace.
"I'd bet anything that sneaking fellow had something to do with the
beast's lameness!" he exclaimed. "I'll give him another taste of my
cane."
"Mr. Denis--Dermot! nothing is gained, everything hazarded by making
enemies of these men!" cried Walter. "That poor creature cannot limp
on with its burden; we shall have to leave something behind."
"Put the boxes on your pony," suggested Denis; "your gun, rug, and
other light chattels we'll heap on the top of the other mule's
burden, and then turn this wretched brute adrift."
"That arrangement will never do," said Walter, who had a good deal
more common sense than his older companion. "My pony could not carry
a mule's burden, and the other animal is overladen already. It is
absolutely needful to leave something behind. We must part with the
least important part of the luggage."
Dermot Denis was reluctant to part with anything. His weapons, of
course, must be kept; his ammunition and provision for man and horse
by the way, his cooking-vessels and cash--all were necessaries not to
be left behind. But his choice cigars, his yellow-backed novels,
crockery, glass, and plate, his looking-glass, dressing-case, brandy
and champagne,--Denis made a fight for each article, was pathetic
over his _eau-de-cologne_, and grudged his box of fine soap. A great
deal of time was consumed in opening, unpacking, arranging,
rearranging, and trying to force down lids on overflowing trunks that
obstinately refused to be shut. It was long before the luggage was
so readjusted, that one mule, with some help from the pony, could
carry the needful part of what had been heavy burdens for two. More
than one trunk had to be left behind, and a quantity of most
heterogeneous articles strewed the ground--objects of great interest
to curious spectators.
For, by twos and threes, a little crowd of most inquisitive Afghans
had arrived on the spot. Bejewelled women appeared who had been
carrying burdens--one, in addition, with a child seated on her hip,
and another led by the hand. Most picturesque men, swathed in
striped blankets, with long black hair hanging wildly over Jewish
features, each with a gun in his hand, or a formidable knife stuck in
the scarf which he wore as a belt. All looked as if they had never
been washed in their lives, but would have made fine subjects for an
artist. The articles on the ground were freely handled; an
embroidered smoking-cap found its place on the head of a little
urchin who had no clothing besides; the silver-topped bottles of the
dressing-case were speedily appropriated, and vanished somewhere
under the blankets. Denis was indignant at seeing his property
disappearing under the very eyes of its owner.
"Walter, I say, drive these harpies away!" he exclaimed in an angry
tone.
"We could not do so without using our weapons," replied Walter; "and
were blood once shed, our lives would not be worth a day's purchase.
In Afghanistan revenge is reckoned as a virtue."
"The Sahib had much better return," said one of the muleteers, who
had been from the first most reluctant to advance.
"The Sahib is a great hero,--the Sahib never retreats," observed
Hanif the Pathan, with a grin.
"Don't trust that man--he's an Afghan; he would urge you to go on,"
said Walter, as Denis looked to him for an explanation of words
which, he could not understand.
"I need no urging--I'm resolved to go on; do you think me a weak girl
to want to go back now? No, not if I had to go alone."
The Afghans not only used their eyes and their fingers, but they
poured forth a volley of questions. "Who were the travellers? whence
had they come? whither were they going? Were they merchants? were
their camels behind them? why did they go without an escort of armed
men?" Such, and many more, were the interrogations made on all
sides. Walter had not time to translate half to his comrade.
"Tell them I'm a Feringhee nobleman," cried Denis, "a great friend of
their Khan; that he expects me, that I bring him rich presents; that
he'll hang any man, woman, or child that dares to lay a finger on my
goods!"--he snatched his umbrella from the hand of a boy, and sent
him spinning and howling. "Tell them that I've lots of powder and
shot, and could bring down a sparrow half-a-mile off, to say nothing
of a thief of an Afghan!"
Walter did not think it necessary to give a literal translation of
the words of his angry companion; what he did say could hardly be
heard amidst the Babel of voices, for Hanif and the muleteers were
all taking on themselves to answer the questions, which they did, in
true Oriental style, with wildest exaggerations.
Some of the tin cases of luxuries were on the ground, glittering in
the sun. An Afghan seized on one, perhaps in hopes that the metal
was silver, wrenched it open, then flung it from him with an
exclamation of disgust, and a curse.
"Dogs of _Kafirs_! (unbelievers); they eat the unclean beast!" he
cried, surveying the Europeans with a look of intense hatred.
"If we are to proceed, we had better go at once," said Walter to
Denis. The Irishman's quick temper was as a lighted cigar, and
Gurney saw that those around him were as gunpowder ready for
explosion.
"I'm ready to go!" cried Denis fiercely; "but I should like to kick
those fellows all round first."
"It is well that they do not understand you," observed Walter Gurney.
Denis mounted his horse, which had attracted many admiring and
covetous looks from the Afghans. He shouldered his gun with a very
determined expression, and glanced down significantly at the pistols
stuck in his belt.
The party then moved on, the unladed mule with difficulty managing to
keep up with the rest. For at least a mile the travellers were
accompanied by a most unwelcome escort of Afghans; more would have
come but for the temptation afforded by the loot which the strangers
had left behind. Denis had insisted on Hanif's carrying for him his
valuable fur-lined cloak. At the point where the Europeans at last
parted company with the Afghans, Denis looked round for Hanif, but
neither the guide nor the cloak were anywhere to be seen!
"The villain has robbed me!" Denis exclaimed.
"One could hardly have expected anything else," thought Walter.
Indeed it was rather a matter of surprise to young Gurney that the
remainder of the day passed without any attempt at attack. The road
had grown steeper, the cliffs higher; it was at least impossible here
to miss the way, as there was no visible opening on either side.
Walter felt as if walking, with his eyes open, into a trap; but even
if retreat were possible, he would not for an instant entertain the
thought of deserting his friend. The march took longer than that of
the previous day, but much less ground had been passed over. Before
sunset men and beasts were thoroughly tired out (always excepting
Denis and his high-mettled steed), notwithstanding the mid-day rest.
Again the party bivouacked, and Walter prepared the meal, which was
eaten almost in silence. The mishaps of the day had greatly damped
the high spirits of Denis.
"I don't care to lie on the bare earth," he said, "with nothing to
keep off the night dews. Just lend me your rug."
Walter complied at once with the request, and parted with the only
warm wrap in his possession.
The day had been a trying one to the missionary's son; but he had
more steel in his composition than had his more excitable friend;
Walter was less easily elated than Denis, was less impetuous in
action, but had greater power to endure.
Yet Walter felt the need of a brief period of perfect solitude to
compose his troubled mind, and hold communion for a-while with the
invisible world. No trace of an Afghan was in sight. The rich red
glow of the setting sun was bathing cliff and stream, and lighting up
with beauty a copse to the right, a little oasis of green in the wild
and sterile mountain landscape. This copse formed a tempting place
of retreat; Walter would be within call of his travelling companion,
yet be completely screened from observation. He made his way over
some stones and tangled brushwood to the spot, buried himself in the
copse, and then, in a half-reclining posture, gave himself up to
thought.
"How mysterious are the dealings of Providence! When, led by
gratitude for past kindness, and hope of future independence, I
linked my fortunes to those of the only being on earth who seemed
willing and able to help me, I thought that I was following the
guidance of the heavenly pillar. Yet into what a desert has it led
me! It were childish folly to close my eyes to the fact that it is
more than probable that I may never return from this mad expedition;
it is more than possible that my blood may stain an Afghan dagger, my
body feed the mountain eagles. What then would become of all my
cherished hopes of following in my father's steps with (such was my
vain presumption) a wider field for missionary enterprise than was
given to him upon earth. I would not, I thought, lead so dull, so
monotonous a life; I would acquire knowledge, distinction, eloquence,
that I might devote every gift to my Master's work, lay every talent
at His feet. I hoped to become a sharp and polished instrument to be
used for the welfare of men, and I find myself a kind of travelling
servant to a man who cannot sympathise in my views, cannot understand
my aspirations--a man whom I seem to have no power to influence for
good!
"Shall I then doubt the wisdom of Him whose guidance I have sought in
prayer; shall I think myself forgotten by my Master even if He let me
perish here? No!" and Walter raised his eyes to a light cloud
floating above, flushed with the rosy light of the sun, which was
itself hidden from view by the tall cliff behind which it had set.
"No! though _He slay me, yet will I trust in Him_! I have seen the
child of fortune stripped of some of the things which he valued;
gradually he and I may have to part with all--perhaps liberty,
possibly life. But there is that of which no power either of earth
or hell can deprive the Christian; _nor life, nor death, nor things
present, nor things to come, can separate him from the love of Christ
Jesus our Lord. Let what will come, my best treasure is safe; the
Lord is the strength of my heart and my portion for ever_."