PRISON LIFE.
A person of weak constitution might have sunk under such sufferings
as Dermot Denis had had to endure; but he had a strong and vigorous
frame. Walter, who had arrived some time before him, and who saw
almost with horror the state of his unfortunate friend, as Denis sank
on the floor beside him, was surprised at the rapidity with which the
Irishman rallied when he had drained the contents of an earthen
vessel which Walter held to his lips.
"I'll live to be revenged on them yet," cried Denis, raising himself
to a sitting position, and shaking back the clotted hair from his
bruised and bleeding brow.
Walter did all he could for his comrade, but that all was little, as
he himself was in a destitute state. He pulled off his own
shooting-coat to cover Denis, and by entreaties persuaded Ali Khan to
bring a fresh supply of water, which he used in bathing the
sufferer's hurts.
Denis surveyed his prison, more to see what chance it afforded him of
future escape than what it could yield of present comfort.
Comfort! the word is a mockery! The room, or den, as Denis called
it, was about twelve feet square, on an upper storey in the fort.
There was a hole on the north side, about five feet above the floor,
which admitted air and light; of course it was unfurnished with
glass--in that place a luxury unknown. There was not even a scrap of
matting on the dirty floor, not an article of furniture of any
description; no fittings, unless one strong iron hook, which seemed
to have been built into the stone wall, could be reckoned as such.
Opposite to the hole was a door, which opened on a kind of
ladder-stair which led down into the open court-yard. This
court-yard was an irregular square; the side opposite to the prison
was bounded by a high strong wall, loop-holed for muskets, with a
massive gate in the centre, the only means of access to the fort.
The remaining three sides of the quadrangle were supported by rude
pillars of unhewn stone, supporting the upper storey. Under these
pillars were open recesses, which seemed to be the common abode of
the inhabitants of the fort and such animals as they possessed. The
cow and her calf, sheep kept for slaughter, poultry, their
half-starved dogs, women busy at their small primitive
spinning-wheels, or engaged in cooking operations, men smoking their
bubbling hookahs, or cleaning their arms, dirty children wearing more
jewels than clothes, occupied these recesses, or the open space of
the court. In the centre of all was the well, indispensable in a
fort which might any day have to stand a siege in that land of
blood-feuds and broils. A medley of sounds arose from the courtyard,
barking and bleating, singing and swearing, the crow of the cock and
the cry of the child. Such was the scene which the captives surveyed
through the open door of their prison.
The view from the window, or rather aperture in the wall, was of a
precipice, dotted here and there with thin clumps of brushwood--a
precipice so deep that the dwellers in the Eagle's Nest defied an
enemy to attack from that side, or a prisoner to make his escape.
The window commanded a wild and picturesque view, but the captives
were in no mood to think much of scenery then. They saw their den
draperied with cobwebs, which had hung undisturbed for many long
years. Insects crawled over the uneven floor and up the rude stone
walls, and the air was alive with mosquitoes. The place presented a
terrible contrast to Denis's luxurious home in his own green isle.
Even the gloomy privacy and silence of a prison were unattainable
luxuries here. The door of the room occupied by the captives opened
from the outside, and Ali Khan, after bringing the water, had
unfortunately left it open. A fit of curiosity was on the residents
of the fort. Afghans crowded up the narrow ladder-stair to gaze at
the unfortunate Feringhees, and load them with insults. The room was
crowded almost to suffocation with rude men and mocking, grinning
children; whilst women, staring up from the court-yard, added their
laughing comments on the appearance of the captives above. Walter
endured the annoyance in silence; Denis hurled back insult for
insult, but happily neither he nor his tormentors understood each
other's terms of abuse. This misery lasted for nearly an hour, when
happily some arrival in the Eagle's Nest diverted the attention of
the intruders, and the Afghans swarmed down the ladder-staircase as
hastily as they had swarmed up.
"Walter, a week of this would drive me stark mad!" exclaimed Denis.
"I will ask our good-natured Ali Khan to close the door when he comes
next time," said Walter; and as he spoke the young Afghan appeared
with the prisoners' food. This food consisted of a loaf, or rather
lump of black bread, most repulsive in appearance, only half-baked,
and the flour of which it was made mixed with bits of straw and
grains of sand.
"That stuff is not fit for hounds!" exclaimed Denis; "the very pigs
would despise it! I've a mind to fling it back at the fellow's head!"
"Do not make an enemy of the only being who has shown a grain of
humanity!" cried Walter. "I suppose that as regards our food,
prisoners must not be choosers." Then turning towards Ali Khan,
young Gurney with courtesy inquired who had just arrived in the fort.
"My uncle, our brave chief, Assad Khan."
Denis caught the sound of the name, and his whole countenance
brightened.
"Then it is as I hoped!" he exclaimed; "we are in the hands of a
gallant warrior whom we have laid under deep obligation, and who will
be delighted to serve us. It is the old story of Androcles and the
lion,--gratitude is the one virtue of savages and wild beasts."
"I hope not confined to them," said Walter; "nor would I have you
build your hopes too high on the gratitude of an Afghan."
"Bid Ali Khan tell his chief that the preserver of his child is here,
and with him his friend, able and willing to reward liberally all who
serve him faithfully. And let him tell Assad Khan that the first
favour which I shall ask at his hands is that he should soundly
bastinado the ruffians who have robbed, insulted, and imprisoned me
here."
Walter translated but a portion of Denis's speech, adding a request
to Ali Khan that the prisoners might not be subjected to sudden
inroads from crowds, at least till the captives had been granted an
interview with the leader.
"I will lock you in," said the youth, "and give the key to no one
unless the chief demands it."
The closing of the door was not an unmixed advantage, as it lessened
the circulation of air, and excluded from the captives all view of
the courtyard. Yet anything, at the time, seemed better than the
inroad of Afghan intruders.
Walter took up the black bread, and breaking it into two equal
portions, gave one to his comrade. "We need our breakfast," said he.
"You will hardly give thanks over it," observed Denis, with a look of
disgust.
"I shall give thanks, heartfelt thanks," replied Walter, with
animation, "not merely for food, but for preservation in imminent
danger from sudden and violent death!" and, with the bread in his
hand, he sank on his knees. Denis, solemnised for a while,
intuitively followed his comrade's example, and if he did not feel
all the gratitude which warmed the breast of his friend, he could at
least heartily join in Walter's prayer for help and deliverance. It
was perhaps the first time in Dermot's life that he had actually
prayed; and even now his desires did not rise above earth.
Thankful to have seen Denis for once on his knees, and hopeful that
to him tribulation might prove "an angel in disguise," Walter ate his
wretched food with something like relish. Denis was weary and
hungry, and left not a crumb of what he had judged unfit for hounds.
Both the prisoners then found in the sleep of exhaustion a short
respite from trouble.
The rest of the day was spent by Denis in feverish impatience for the
visit of the chief from which he hoped so much. He set diligently to
work to learn from Walter words and phrases in Pushtoo, finding his
ignorance of the language a perpetual source of annoyance. Denis
tried to get up speeches full of flowery compliments, and containing
splendid offers, which he assured his companion that no Oriental
could resist.
"I should like to have met the chief in a costume more befitting a
man of position," said Denis, passing his hand through his thick
curly hair for want of his ivory comb. "This wretched coat of yours
is so tight! made for a slender stripling like you, I can't stir my
arms for bursting the seams--it's like a straight-jacket for a
madman! I'd give something for a scarlet uniform, with epaulettes
and gold lace. With my battered face, and a coat like this, I look
like a ragamuffin!"
Walter could not help smiling at the handsome Irishman's pathetic
complaint.
Denis strode up and down the narrow apartment, exclaiming against the
heat and the mosquitoes, and often pausing before the hole of a
window to measure with his eye the depth of the precipice below, and
calculate the possibility of a descent. He always turned away
disappointed, yet in a few minutes was at the aperture again. As
long as enough of daylight remained, Walter occupied himself with his
father's translation, amidst frequent interruptions from Denis.
"It is growing quite dark!" cried the Irishman. "This interminable
day is coming at last to an end. I wonder what has become of the
chief; I thought he'd have hurried to see us at once."
"He is coming now," observed Walter Gurney; "do you not hear voices
approaching--yes, there are feet on the stairs."