THE RESCUE OF MOLE.
Mr. Mole's place of incarceration would have been difficult to find in
that large rambling old building, had not Jack, by similar threats to
those of the Arab chief, forced one of the gaolers to tell him the
number of the cell.
Armed with this information and a bunch of keys, Jack made his way to
the deepest dungeon, followed by the rest.
Mole's cell was the most remote, and therefore the last they came to.
"Mercy, mercy! don't kill an unfortunate prisoner, who has got three
wives somewhere about the world, and a lot of little black and white
children to look after!" cried Mr. Mole, still confused by the tumult
around him, and the ferocious aspect of the new-comers.
"Kill you, Mr. Mole; why, we've come to let you out," said the foremost
of the group, and he flung back the cowl of his Moorish cloak, thereby
revealing to Mole the startling fact, that instead of a murderous Arab,
it was young Jack Harkaway.
Harry was close to him.
A very few words now revealed to Mole the actual state of affairs.
"Oh, my boys, my boys," he exclaimed, "what I have suffered all through
you. But still, Jack, my boy, I was not afraid of them. No, my boy, I
intended to have fought to the last, and I have no doubt I should have
killed a dozen or two of 'em."
"No doubt, sir; but let us get out of this," said Jack. "Come on."
"But my hands are fastened with these heavy chains," said Mole.
"Bring a hammer and a chisel, you fellows," called out Jack, "and we'll
have 'em off in no time."
The ex-pasha was therefore operated upon, and in a few minutes the
chains were off, and Mole was nearly a free man--not quite free,
however, for by this time the whole neighbourhood was up in arms; the
pasha had been roused in a hurry, and mustering his troops, had hurried
off to the gaol.
"We shall have to fight for it, lads," cried Jack, drawing his Arab
sabre; "we must cut our way through them, or we're lost to a
certainty."
The Bedouins were prepared to follow their leader to the death.
The chief Zenaib, with his brother, Hadj Maimoun, led the desperate
enterprise, and the numbers of their followers were now increased by
all the escaped prisoners.
As they came rushing out, they were opposed by twice their number of
well-armed troops, whom they had to cut through as best they could.
It was a desperate conflict.
Hand-to-hand, cut-and-thrust, bullets discharged from pistols and
muskets, fierce charges with bayonets, continued for half an hour.
The confusion was dreadful, the noise deafening, numbers of men killed
and wounded on both sides making the result far more tragic than our
hero and his companion had ever anticipated or desired.
The prisoners fought to secure their liberty, the Arabs out of hatred
to the Turks, while Jack and Harry, with no particular animosity
against either party, now fought desperately in self-defence.
They received several severe cuts, and in a short time got entirely
separated from their friend Mole.
He, meantime, half propped up against the wall, was valorously holding
out against his former gaoler, who was trying to recapture him. At
length, the Arabs, finding it impossible to break their way through so
large a body of disciplined troops, fell back, and their destruction
would have been inevitable.
But, at this moment, one of the half-escaped prisoners called out that
he had discovered a back entrance, on the other side of a building,
through which they might all make their exit.
The Arab chief accordingly ordered an immediate retreat.
The Turkish soldiers, seeing this manoeuvre, gave chase to them, whilst
others were ordered round to intercept their flight at the back.
Jack and Harry having returned to Mole, took him between them; each one
holding an arm, they got along as swiftly as the cork legs and feet of
the _ci-devant_ pasha would allow.
But as ill-luck would have it, on emerging from one of the alleys, they
met the detachment of Turkish soldiers, who at once rushed upon them.
The whole three gave themselves up for lost.
Mole at length stumbled, and fell heavily to the ground.
"Save yourselves at once," he groaned. "Don't mind me; I'm done for, I
can't get a step further. Oh, dear, and my head's all bleeding from
that sword cut. Run! Make haste, my dear boy; the wretches are firing
at us!"
Reluctantly the two youths obeyed the instinct of self-preservation, by
letting go the hands of the old tutor, and turning round, they
immediately dived into one of the adjoining alleys.
It was just in time, for at that moment, two musket balls whizzed so
close to them that the difference of a mere inch would have been
certain death.
It was a narrow escape for them; but once out of sight of the soldiers,
they finally reached a place of perfect safety, and after all, as Harry
remarked--
"A miss is as good as a mile."
Meanwhile, Mole's catalogue of misfortunes were still being added to.
Picked up, bleeding and exhausted, by the soldiers, he was instantly
taken before the officer commanding the troops.
Several Arabs, a few Turkish soldiers, and two of the gaolers had been
killed, and there were many wounded men that required attending to.
The commander had enough to do in restoring matters to order, therefore
he left the punishment of Mole to his lieutenant.
"Remove all the prisoners, for the present, to the guardroom," said the
lieutenant. "When I open my council at noon in the divan bring them all
before me."
"Your excellency's word is law," answered the head gaoler, bowing.
The lieutenant turned his horse, and, followed by his bodyguard, rode
home in a very ill temper.
An hour or two's rest, however, and the soothing effects of pipe and
coffee, had somewhat restored his equanimity by the time he re-entered
the divan.
Punctually at noon, the prisoners were brought before him by the head
gaoler.
"Let me see," said the lieutenant, referring to the document, and
checking off the captives as they were identified; "horse-stealing,
highway robbery, drunkenness, assault--yes, I have resolved what to do.
As these offences seem comparatively light, and as our prison is for
the present inefficient, I shall order all these men to be punished
with the bastinado."
"There is one more," said the lieutenant. "This, I find, is the
wretched Frank who dared to personate our great pasha."
"Nothing escapes your honour's penetration," answered the vizier.
"Such a crime deserves a heavier punishment. However, when his turn
comes, give him twenty-five blows."
"It shall be done, illustrious governor," was the response.
And forthwith were summoned the two burly officials whose unpopular
duty it was to administer castigation.
One bore a stout rattan, the other several pieces of strong rope.
The frame to which they were to be lashed was then brought into the
room, it being the lieutenant's intention that the punishment should be
administered in his presence.
The first prisoner was then seized, and his slippers--stockings not
being worn by the majority of Turks--taken off.
He was then bound hand and foot, and securely tied to the frame.
The two executioners then took it in turns to administer ten heavy
blows upon the bare soles of the criminal.
At the first blow, the patient set up a howl, which seemed but to
increase the vigour and energy of the operator.
It was indeed a terrible sight for any person of sensitiveness to see a
human being--though deserving--suffer in this manner.
Mole, however, didn't feel any anxiety on that score, and he made up
his mind to do the brave and noble Englishman, for he knew that they
might hammer away at his cork soles for ever, without hurting him much.
What troubled him was the probability that they would take his
stockings off, and discovering the insensate nature of his
"understandings," order him some other and more deadly punishment.
So, after the infliction of seeing several men suffer, with various
degrees of bravery and cowardice, and all variety of groans and
contortions, Mole heard himself called up for similar castigation.
He had, in the meantime, thought of a _ruse_.
Then, marching up boldly to the lieutenant, he addressed him--
"I know I fully deserve your dreadful but just sentence and quietly
will I submit myself to the torture; but, I entreat you, do not compel
me to remove my stockings, which, among my countrymen, is considered
the deepest degradation and never inflicted, save upon criminals
sentenced to death."
"H'm!" said the lieutenant, somewhat moved. "For my part, I would just
as soon suffer the infliction with bare feet as through a thin layer of
stocking."
"But my feelings as an Englishman," pleaded Mole.
"Well, be it as you wish. Take off your shoes only; but, Hamed,
remember to give it to him a little harder, to make up for the
stockings."
"Great lieutenant, I will obey. The force of the blows shall be
doubled."
At this moment, Mole saw the eyes of Tinker fixed upon him, and he knew
he should yet get help.
Mole then submitted himself resignedly to the hands of the torturers.
Binding him like the others, hand and foot, they tied him to the frame,
and the chief castigator, rolling up his sleeves, proceeded to belabour
Mole's soles with terrific energy.
The blows sounded fearfully loud and sharp, and each was given with
such vigour that even the framework creaked under it.
But the victim showed no pain or terror.
He did not cry out, nor flinch in the least, nor strive to mitigate the
pain by twisting about.
Thus ten heavy blows were given, and the inflictor paused.
A murmur of astonishment ran round the assembly.
"Truly the Frank hath wondrous strength and courage," exclaimed the
lieutenant.
"Englishman are generally brave," said an old Turk; "but I never knew
one who would silently undergo such pain as this."
"Make the next ten blows harder."
The second man, therefore, in his turn, rained down upon the inanimate
soles of the ex-pasha, such fearful blows as resounded through the
place, and made many spectators shudder.
But still the victim neither flinched nor cried out.
"_Bismallah!_ this is truly wonderful, that a giaour so old, so grey,
so apparently feeble, should thus bear so terrible a punishment.
Harder, Selim. Now do you not feel it, prisoner?"
"Of course I feel it, great pasha; it even tickles my beard," replied
Mole; "but heaven hath given me power to withstand this terrible
torture, and the high spirit of an Englishman forbids me to cry out."
"I could scarcely have believed it, did I not behold it with my own
eyes," said the puzzled lieutenant. "Selim, a little harder."
"Your eminence, the tale of blows is fully counted," said the man,
laying aside his cane.
"Five-and-twenty already? I was so interested with the prisoner's
fortitude, that I didn't count them. He has not suffered enough yet;
give him five blows more."
"I am ready," said Mole, stroking his false beard. "Remember, an
Englishman fears not pain. Strike away."
And he stretched out his cork legs to their full extent.
Five blows more were given, but had no more effect than the previous
ones.
"By the holy kaaba! but this amounts to a miracle," exclaimed the
lieutenant. "I shall begin to respect the infidel for his heroism.
Hamed, give him ten more blows; no, make it twenty, and do you, Selim,
assist. That will be fifty; just double the amount of the sentence. If
he flinches not this time, he will deserve being let off altogether."
And in truth, it would, under ordinary circumstances, have wanted
well-nigh the strength of Samson or Hercules to endure such torture as
now came upon the schoolmaster.
Hamed and Selim, each armed with a heavy rattan, rained down
alternately thick and fast, a shower of blows upon Mole's wonderful
feet, which even shook the room, but still couldn't shake Mole's
resolution.
He writhed not, nor uttered cry, and showed not the faintest sign of
giving way.
On the contrary, he jeered at the men.
"Bah! see how an Englishman can bear pain," exclaimed Mole.
And to the intense astonishment of the Turks, he plucked out a
good-sized handful of hair from his beard and threw before the officer.
"Allah is--ah!"
And the Turk stopped in the midst of his speech to spit out a second
handful which Mole, with good aim, had thrown into his mouth.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed the bystanders, as Mole tore away at his false
beard till he had nearly stripped the framework, while the tormentors
worked away at his feet with redoubled energy.
"Stop, stop," cried the pasha, for the men in their energy had exceeded
even the fifty blows without knowing it, and seemed to be going on
_ad libitum_, "stop; unbind and release the prisoner."
The two men, who were bathed in perspiration through their exertions,
accordingly removed Mole's bonds, assisted him to his feet, and helped
him put on his shoes.
"Prisoner," said the lieutenant, "your heroic conduct this day has won
my deepest admiration. Be seated, and rest your poor feet, and then
tell me something of your history."
"My poor feet will still support me, therefore I will not be seated,
but standing thus," said Mole, stamping his cork feet on the ground,
"will show you something wonderful."