The Struggle at the Breach
LEAVING two hundred men to guard the gateway in case the Baggaras
should rally, Reeves hastened to the breach, whilst Hugh and Gerald
were told off to see that the guns mounted on the walls were directed
against the Arabs who were devoting their energies to this part of
the fortifications. Bringing up the Krupp at this stage of the
proceedings would be futile. The correspondent realized, in spite of
the fact that he had already loaded and trained the piece, that the
manipulation of the time fuses of the shells was for the present
beyond him; he must rest content in the knowledge that the enemy
could no longer gall the city with impunity. There was still danger,
however, and every available man was required to defend the ominous
gap in the walls.
By the glare of the enormous wood fires, that had been lighted upon
the battlements, Reeves could form some idea of what was going on.
Already the Arabs, with their customary fanatical zeal, were throwing
themselves upon the knights and archers, who, led by Sir Jehan in
person, were performing prodigious acts of valour.
Slowly, yet surely, the Croixilians were being driven back. The
knights, hampered for want of sword room, were gripped by the ankles
by their ferocious foes, who did not hesitate to toss the bodies of
their fellow-tribesmen upon the lanceheads of their mail-clad
opponents. The archers, unable to loose their shafts for fear of
hitting friend as well as foe in the mêlée, could only join in the
conflict with their swords and spears. Groans, curses, and cries of
pain, triumph, and dismay rose on the night air, mingling with the
sharp clash of steel, or the dull swish of swordcut falling upon hide
shield or human flesh.
Drawing his pistol, Reeves forced his way between the ranks of the
men who fringed the scene of conflict. Ten shots he fired, quickly,
yet deliberately. None missed its mark. This temporarily cleared a
path for Sir Jehan and his hauberk-clad men, and the tide of battle
changed. Fighting with a superb courage, that even the Croixilians
could not help admiring, the foremost of the Arabs were forced back
till they were stopped by the press of those behind. Then, with a
gigantic spring, the Moslems charged again, and the ebb of the
fortunes of Croixilia began once more.
Having discharged his automatic weapon, Reeves discreetly slipped out
of the throng, retired to a safe distance, and thrust ten more
precious cartridges into the magazine.
"What's up with those guns?" he muttered impatiently, for on either
side of the breach he could see the walls black with the soldiers of
Croixilia. "Hang 'em! Why don't they open fire?"
But he soon saw that there was something to be done without asking
questions, and once again he dashed into the press, checking the Arab
rush as before.
"This won't do!" he exclaimed. "Twenty of my precious cartridges gone
already, and no permanent good done! If the beggars press another
attack as determined as this, it will be touch and go with us. Ugh,
you brute!" This last to an apparently-wounded Baggara, who, leaping
up from the ground flourishing a keen-bladed spear, rushed straight
upon the practically unarmed Englishman.
Up went Reeves's pistol; but the son of the desert, once he is
enjoying the lust of battle, cares not for a loaded firearm, let
alone an empty one. Here was his chance to send an unbeliever on his
path to the kingdom of Shaitan, and himself to an assured paradise.
Hurling his useless weapon at the Baggara, and missing his
shock-haired head by an inch, Reeves threw himself into the approved
boxing attitude. But ere the Arab's blade came within striking
distance, a man threw himself bodily upon Reeves on his left or blind
side. The Englishman, taken completely by surprise, staggered a good
half-dozen paces, and finally, tripping over a dead archer, sat
half-dazed upon the ground.
Even as he sat there he saw a great blade flash in the torchlight,
and the Baggara, his hide shield and muscular chest shorn through by
a single blow, fell lifeless.
"You could be ill spared, my brother," shouted a well-known voice, as
Garth stooped and grasped the Englishman by the hand.
"Thanks!" replied Reeves shortly but nevertheless gratefully; and
recovering and reloading his pistol he followed his comrade-in-arms
once more into the fray.
Suddenly, with a terrific, ear-splitting detonation, two guns upon
the wall sent their death-dealing charges of grapeshot into the
thickest of the Arab assailants. The result was similar to that of a
sharp scythe cutting wheat, and a double line appeared in the
compact, howling, surging press. With redoubled shouts of
encouragement and triumph the Croixilians swept away those of their
foes who were immediately opposed to them, and before the discomfited
Arabs on the outer side of the sloping bank of stone rubble could
rally, they too were forced back across the choked moat. Now there
was room for the archers, and from the walls, the houses behind the
breach, and the deadly gap itself flights of arrows sped into the
Moslem ranks. Once again the guns, reloaded with desperate haste,
added to the carnage. This was more than fanatical courage could
stand; the repulse became a disorderly retreat.
Many of the Croixilian knights besought Sir Jehan to let them lead
the cavalry in pursuit, but to their entreaties he turned a deaf ear.
Enough lives had been lost already, although not thrown away, and he
knew the risk of following a fierce and wily foe too far into the
open country.
But, though the attack had been beaten off, there was no rest that
night for the harried and wearied defenders. Knights, commoners, and
serfs all worked with a will, clearing the moat and piling up the
dislodged masonry so as to form an efficient breastwork should
daylight bring with it another desperate onslaught.
With the dawn the magnitude of the sanguinary conflict became
visible. Within and without the breach the ground was covered with
corpses, many lying in ghastly heaps. Outside the gate, which the
Arabs all but succeeded in carrying, the carnage had been almost as
great; while in the direction of the main Arab encampment a long line
of dead men and horses showed how stubbornly the gallant five hundred
Croixilian horse had fought in the endeavour to regain the city.
Perhaps the strangest view of all was that of the site of the hostile
camp. Every tent had vanished, and only the sinister line of trenches
and more still and silent bodies marked the former position of the
foiled invaders. They had taken the opportunity afforded by the few
remaining hours of darkness to strike their tents and beat a retreat
eastwards.
It was the same with the other encampments. The Arabs, disheartened
by their losses, had once more fallen back from before the walls of
the city that for centuries had defied their efforts.
"Whatever have you been up to, Gerald?" asked Reeves, as the two
lads, powder-blackened, dog-tired, yet wild with delight, rejoined
their comrade. Almost all the hair from young Kirby's face and head
had been scorched off: his eyebrows were marked only by a few
frizzled hairs, while his pate was as bald as a monk's.
"It's a wonder he wasn't blinded," said Hugh. "One of the guns
apparently missed fire, and as he was placing fresh powder in the
touchhole the stuff went off."
"It's nothing," replied Gerald. "We both managed to get one home at
the same time."
"Lucky for us you did," growled Reeves approvingly; "but you were a
precious long time about it."
"Couldn't do it quicker," replied Hugh inconsequently. "We had to
push half a dozen of the niggers off the wall--not us alone, of
course. Look here!" and the correspondent noticed for the first time
that Hugh's right leg was bound round with a strip of linen.
"Oh, it's nothing!" the latter continued cheerfully; "only a slight
cut from a knife--at least I think it was."
"And the Arabs were already on the wall?" asked Reeves, in
astonishment. "Rather! They were trying to swing the guns round when
we came up."
The correspondent said no more. He now realized how near to success
the Arabs had been. Had those two guns been turned upon the defenders
it would have been "all up". It was owing solely to the initiative
displayed by his two youthful comrades that the green banner of the
Prophet was not floating over the Mound of Pharamond, and the city in
the hands of the Mohammedans.
After a hasty meal and a bath the three Englishmen were ready to
accompany Sir Jehan to the site of the Moslem camp. The tents had
been struck with great haste, as was made apparent by the articles
left lying about in all directions; but everyone's attention was
drawn to the silent story told by the wedge-shaped mass of dead
bodies representing the gallant Croixilian cavalry and their
formidable and far more numerous foes. The line of the fierce charge
was clearly defined till it reached almost the centre of the camp,
where the tent of the Moslem commander-in-chief had been pitched.
Here the bodies of the hauberk-clad knights lay thickest, yet in a
very small compass; and right in the forefront, with no less than
seven honourable wounds, was the corpse of Sir Oliver Fayne. By the
few survivors of the desperate enterprise it was told that the
gallant knight had pledged his word to reach the Arab commander's
tent or fall in the attempt, and indeed he had all but carried out
the first part of his vow.
While Sir Jehan was gazing mournfully yet proudly upon the scene of
this achievement, three mounted men, with loose rein and hot spur,
came with the news that the retiring host had already placed five
leagues betwixt them and the city, and that there were no signs of
their rallying.
"That is indeed good news," exclaimed Sir Jehan. "We are safe from
assault for some years to come, I hope."
"I shouldn't care to take that for granted," observed Reeves. "Even
now their retreat may be a skilfully-planned ruse. Are there any more
of our men following them up?"
"It is not necessary," replied Sir Jehan. "They have vanished from
our territory for good and all. I ought----"
The ruler of Croixilia's words were interrupted by a crashing volley,
delivered at less than a hundred yards' distance. Hugh's horse sank
on its knees and flung its rider in the dust, while Reeves felt a
bullet plough through his hair.
"Dismount and take cover," he shouted, and even as he was in the act
of throwing himself out of the saddle he saw Sir Jehan leaning over
the neck of his charger. Ere the correspondent or any of those around
him could rush to the knight's assistance, the head of the
Croixilians fell to the earth with a thud. Quickly Reeves turned him
over. One look was enough. Sir Jehan de Valx was dead. Two shots had
struck him, one passing through the temples, the other slightly above
the heart.
But there was no time for grief. Springing from the cover of a
shallow trench, above which the smoke of the volley still rose idly
in the calm air, there came a body of at least thirty Arabs, who,
with brandished weapons and loud shouts of fierce joy, bounded
swiftly towards the astonished Croixilians and their English
comrades.
The surprise was complete.