On the Road to Bagdad
A Story of Townshend's Gallant Advance on the Tigris
BY CAPTAIN F. S. BRERETON
Author of "With Joffre at Verdun" "Under French's Command" "With Our
Russian Allies" &c. &c.
_Illustrated by Wal Paget_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
1917
[Illustration: "THE CHIEF RETURNED THE OFFICER'S FRANK GAZE WITH A
GLANCE WHICH TOLD OF COURAGE AND PRIDE"]
Contents
CHAP. PAGE
I. A FRONTIER STATION 9
II. GEOFFREY KEITH AND ANOTHER 23
III. THE PERSIAN GULF 39
IV. THE FIRST ENCOUNTER 58
V. NEWS OF THE ENEMY 76
VI. AN EXPLORING-PARTY 94
VII. MAJOR JOSEPH DOUGLAS 117
VIII. THE MOTOR-BOAT IN ACTION 140
IX. A CUTTING-OUT EXPEDITION 159
X. GEOFF AND PHILIP MANOEUVRE 175
XI. A SOLDIERS' BATTLE 197
XII. ESBUL, THE ARMENIAN 214
XIII. AN AMPHIBIOUS EXPEDITION 232
XIV. CAPTURED BY THE ENEMY 251
XV. VON HILDEMALLER'S INTERVENTION 270
XVI. BREAKING OUT 290
XVII. THE ROAD TO BAGDAD 309
XVIII. NEWS OF DOUGLAS PASHA 327
XIX. TRACKING THE GERMAN 348
XX. SUCCESS AT LAST 365
Illustrations
Page
"THE CHIEF RETURNED THE OFFICER'S FRANK GAZE
WITH A GLANCE WHICH TOLD OF COURAGE AND PRIDE" (_Frontispiece_) 81
"WHAT WAS LEFT OF THOSE ARAB HORSEMEN SCATTERED AND FLED" 74
"GEOFF LEVELLED HIS OWN PIECE ON HIM" 144
"PHILIP HURLED HIMSELF AND HIS CAPTIVE OVER THE RAIL OF
THE VESSEL" 192
"GEOFF TURNED, AND, DRAWING HIS REVOLVER, EMPTIED IT AT
THE TWO MEN STILL PURSUING" 224
"THE ARAB SET OFF ALONG A PATH WITHIN SOME TWENTY YARDS
OF OUR HEROES" 337
ON THE ROAD TO BAGDAD
CHAPTER I
A Frontier Station
A gun, a small brass piece, an interesting relic of other days, boomed
forth the hour of noon from the lowest embrasure of a hill fort
overlooking the cantonment of the ---- Sikhs, and warned all and sundry
that it was time for tiffin. The cloud of grey smoke which blew upward
from the muzzle, and which was wafted ever so gently by the breeze
floating toward the hill-top from the depths of the giant valley below,
spread out into a thin white sheet, and, ascending slowly, first wrapped
the time-scarred walls of the old fort in its embrace, and then, getting
whiter as it ascended, reached the battlements above, and, percolating
through the many gun embrasures, floated over the roof of the fortress,
till the misty haze hung about the portals of the veranda of the
Officers' Mess bungalow.
There were a dozen or more figures, dressed in khaki or in pure white,
and stretched in every sort of attitude, and in every variety of chair,
beneath that veranda. There were young subalterns, joined but a month or
two since, and other subalterns whose hair at the temples was already
showing some suspicion of grey while still they failed to get promotion.
There was a rather stout old field officer who had seen more years of
service in India than many of the subalterns could boast of in their
lives. A rubicund, jolly officer he was, upon whom the detestable
climate of the many stations in which he had been forced to serve had
made not the slightest effect whatever. There was another officer, too,
short, slim, and active as a cat, whose hair and moustache were as white
as the snows capping the distant mountains. A glance told one
intuitively that here, too, was an old soldier, an old Indian soldier,
that is, who had spent the better part of a long life out in the
"shiney".
"Hallo! What's the time? Anywhere near time for tiffin?" asked one of
the "subs", whose cap had fallen over his face, and who now awakened
from the reverie into which he had fallen, and suddenly started upward.
"What! So fast asleep that you didn't hear the gun?" cried a brother
officer, smacking him heartily on the back. "Man alive! The fort's still
shaking."
"And yet," smiled the rubicund Major who had seen so many years' service
in India, "and yet, my boys, I'll vouch for the fact that I've slept the
hot hours of the morning away on the roof of this fortress a hundred
times and more and failed to be awakened by the gun. What is more, that
report at twelve o'clock has become a sort of habit with me, so that
I've lain here smoking and perspiring in the heat, and though the gun's
gone off as usual, and, indeed, as it's never failed to do this last
twenty years or more, I've been startled when the mess waiter has come
out to announce tiffin. Ha! Listen! That should be proof enough that the
gun has gone; the burra Mem-sahib's butler is ringing for the Colonel.
Between you and me, my boys, the Colonel isn't half as punctual a man in
his own house as he is in the orderly-room, and, what's more, he expects
a great deal more of that commodity from us poor fellows than he
exhibits himself. But, tut-tut! That's heresy. That's preaching
revolution. Don't any of you fellows mention it."
He stretched his arms, and waddled, rather than strode, from the
veranda, across the roof of the fortress, and through those wisps of
smoke which still curled upward, till he was leaning upon the low wall
which protected the edge of the fortress; and there for a while he
stood, looking out upon a scene which enchanted him more on every
occasion when he went to view it. It was habit, indeed, with the old
Major to take stock of that view every day before tiffin, just as a _bon
viveur_ takes his _apéritif_ before luncheon.
"Braces a fellow up, don't you know," the jovial Major was wont to tell
his brother officers. "It's glorious; it's elevating; it's positively
exhilarating; and gives a fellow a right down sharp hunger! That's what
you boys want to cultivate out in this country. Look at me! Never sick
or sorry, and have always taken my meals like a good 'un. That's because
I've a cheerful heart, a sound digestion and constitution, and take a
delight in my surroundings and in all that's doing. No grousing for me,
my boys. Take everything as it comes and don't bother."
Everyone knew the Major, and not one of the Subs but listened to what he
said with respect and amusement.
"Decent old fellow," he was always voted.
"And teaches a fine lesson, too," the Colonel had told his officers on
more than one occasion. "Grousing's the curse of the British army in
some stations. I don't say that British officers are in the habit of
grumbling always; far from it. But when there's nothing doing, and a
fellow is tied by the leg in some frontier station, and must stay there
and groan under a roasting sun, why! if he doesn't keep himself fit and
in first-class condition he gets out of sorts, and then there's
grumbling."
Let us look over the wall of the fortress, where a number of officers
had by now joined the stout Major, and take stock of that view which he
had proclaimed to be "exhilarating". True enough, it was one of those
marvellous views only to be obtained on the frontier of India. The fort
stood perched on a projecting eminence, around which nature, guided by
the active hands of many a succeeding garrison of soldiers, had grafted
a most enchanting garden. A stream trickled from above and behind the
fort, and descending the gentle slopes of the mountain, and broadening
as it came, splashed through the very heart of the cantonment gardens,
and sent off a broad canal of shimmering water down beside the main
street. From that point it splashed over the edge of the precipice just
beneath the fortress, and, tinkling musically as it went, splashed its
way to the bottom. You could hear it from the roof of the fort. Often
enough the sun's rays, glancing through the mists and spray thrown up by
the fall, formed a most gorgeous rainbow; while in the height of summer,
when the sun, then almost overhead, poured down such furious heat that
the roof of the fortress glowed and almost simmered, then that same
misty spray would be wafted up by a cooling draught from the valley
below, and would fall upon the blistering skins of the officers who
gasped beneath the veranda.
Yes, even in those hill forts it can be hot enough, and where the ----
Sikhs were quartered there were seasons when, not long after the sun had
risen, no sane white man dared to venture abroad.
And what a valley it was below! Rugged and winding, narrowing here and
there, till from the height above it looked as though a wagon could not
be driven along it, and then widening most unexpectedly and suddenly
till there came a huge saucer, as it were, in which a whole city could
have been safely deposited. Trees clad the side of the mountain as it
descended into the valley, trees which, scattered at first, grew later
in thick clumps till they became almost a forest, and which, severed by
the river which wound its way through the valley, had taken root again
on its farther bank, and went straggling up the opposite heights till
almost the snow-line was reached. Those heights perhaps provided the
summit of grandeur to this magnificent scene. Wooded below, as we have
seen, they became rugged and broken and rocky as they ascended, till
there was presented a row of broken irregular pinnacles, which cut along
the sky-line right opposite the fortress, and which presented day in
and day out, even on those days when the sun's rays bore down so
relentlessly upon the roof of the fortress, a continuous line of snow,
hollowed here and there into deep crevasses and gullies, presenting most
gorgeous blue shades in the depths of a hundred dimples, and showing
elsewhere a smooth, unbroken surface of light, which altered only when
north-eastern gales were blowing.
"A sight for the gods! yes," the jovial Major told his comrades,
snuffing at the breeze as if he were a dog, "and who could be
down-hearted, or dull, or miserable, or even discontented, with such a
view to look upon?"
"More particularly when one knows so well that tiffin's ready, and that
the words of wisdom of our dear old friend the Major always precede the
announcement of that meal."
It was the white-haired senior officer who had spoken banteringly, and
who stood at that moment beside the Major, one hand affectionately on
his shoulder, the other on the parapet of the fortress.
"There, Charlie! Didn't I say so! Listen! There's the gong going."
The silvery notes of a gong reached their ears at that very moment, and,
turning, all saw a most magnificent personage--to wit, the mess
butler--standing at the door of the mess bungalow, sounding the call for
luncheon. Then all turned and trooped across the roof of the fortress,
across the veranda, and disappeared within the door of the bungalow.
It was perhaps three minutes later when a tall and immaculately dressed
officer sauntered on to the roof of the fortress, and having taken stock
of the view--as if he too must needs partake of some fillip before
venturing upon luncheon--then strode off into the mess bungalow. There
he found his brother officers already seated, and, striding down behind
them, sat himself down at his accustomed place.
"Hallo! Back again, Joe?" ventured the jovial Major, who occupied the
neighbouring chair. "Hardly expected you."
Major Joe Douglas dropped his eyeglass as he helped himself to curry,
and turned smilingly upon his brother officer.
"Oh! Really!" he said, in those very quiet tones for which he was noted.
"Never saw such a chap," laughed the jovial Major, as he attacked the
food which lay before him. "You come and go like a wizard. In fact,
you're here one day, and gone to-morrow, and goodness only knows where
you spirit yourself to. My dear old boy, you can't deny the accusation.
Mind you, I'm not trying to be inquisitive, very far from it, for I know
that inquisitiveness in the case of 'politicals', such as you are, is a
deadly sin; but let's call it simple curiosity, harmless curiosity--the
curiosity one's allowed to display with regard to one's brother
officers. You see, you come and go."
"Yes. Quite so," smiled Major Douglas.
"And sometimes you're here, kicking your heels about, and dawdling for a
month and more at a time. Then you disappear, where to, goodness alone
knows. If you were going on leave to England the whole station would be
aware of it. But you don't. You haven't been home for ten years at
least. Then where do you get to?"
Till that moment a babel of sounds had been proceeding from the members
of the mess, for a dozen subalterns can create quite a considerable
amount of noise between them. Yet, as they ate their meal and bantered
with one another, not one had failed to notice the arrival of Major
Joseph Douglas. They liked the man. Not that they saw very much of him,
nor could he be accused of ever being garrulous. He was just a smart,
tall, immaculately dressed officer, who had a great reputation for
smartness and soldierly qualities. At first sight his eyeglass rather
awed young subalterns, till they grew to know that the Major was like
Charlie, his fat brother officer, a most excellent and unaffected
fellow. Beyond their liking for him there was, however, a depth of
curiosity to which their senior officer had only just given expression.
Such a cross-questioning of Major Douglas not one of the subalterns
would ever have ventured upon. For somehow it had come to be generally
known in the mess that the Major's movements were essentially secret. He
was a political officer, they all knew, though what "political" meant in
his case few of them had but the faintest idea. Yet one and all were
very naturally consumed with a desire to know something of this quiet,
reserved, yet exceedingly pleasant brother officer. Thus it happened
that even in the midst of their banter they heard the old field officer
cross-examine the Major, and promptly became silent.
"Well, now," they heard him say, "I've cornered you, Joe; you're here,
next door to me, and can't get away; and remember it's just friendly
curiosity. Do, for goodness' sake, tell us something about yourself:
where you've been of late, what you've done, and what's the meaning of
it."
All eyes were turned promptly upon Major Joseph Douglas. He groped for
his fallen eyeglass, and fixed it very deliberately in his eye, then he
signalled to one of the mess waiters and just as deliberately helped
himself to another share of curried chicken.
"I--Oh--Why, Charlie!" he began. "Have you--er--that is, did you try
this curried chicken? I declare it to be the best that I've tasted for a
year or so. What's happened? Have you fellows been indulging in a new
cook since I last went away, or----Do try some, Charlie, there's a good
fellow."
Those who did not know the officers of the ---- Sikhs, and didn't know
either Major Charles Evans or Major Joseph Douglas, might have expected
at this moment quite an explosion on the part of Major Evans. The jovial
fellow had had the audacity to show curiosity. Taking advantage of his
age and of his seniority, he had ventured at the mess table to
cross-examine a "political", and now, just as he was listening with
bated breath for the answer, he received--merely a "put-off", and heard
his brother officer asking him, in that suave, quiet voice he knew so
well, whether he would not indulge in a helping of curried chicken. Yet
those unacquainted with the officers of the ---- Sikhs would have found
themselves signally in error when expecting an explosion. Those two
bright eyes, of which Major Evans boasted, twinkled as he listened to
his brother officer. Then the corners of his mouth dimpled, and a moment
later he was roaring with laughter.
"Beaten, hopelessly beaten!" he cried jovially; "and I might have
expected it. For an oyster, my dear boy, you really are exceptional. Now
any other fellow, any other "political", that is to say, would have
indulged in some sort of hint to relieve our curiosity, would have
pitched some sort of yarn, even though it were not an exactly true one.
But you--well, you're hopeless, incorrigible, and most utterly
disappointing. Boy! Bring me some iced water, I must cool myself down
after such a rebuff, and I'll----Hallo! Hallo! Here's a message."
A native soldier stood saluting at the door of the ante-room, and
presented an official envelope to the mess butler.
"The Major Sahib," he said.
"The Major Douglas Sahib," the mess butler corrected him severely. "The
Major Douglas Sahib. Quick! Important!"
He placed the envelope on a silver salver, and, holding it there with
the tip of his thumb, came swiftly and silently round to the seat
occupied by that officer.
"From the Colonel, Sahib," he said as he leant over Joe Douglas's
shoulder.
Very slowly and deliberately, as if unconscious of the fact that every
eye in the mess was surreptitiously fixed upon him, Joe Douglas tore
open the envelope and read the contents of the missive.
"Proceed at once to Bombay. There call for orders at Governor's office.
Mesopotamia--urgent," he read, and those who watched him saw not so much
as a flicker of an eyelash or the smallest change of expression. He
folded the letter up again and very deliberately placed it back in the
envelope and very leisurely deposited it in a pocket. Then he finished
his curried chicken, called for a cup of coffee, and sat smoking a
cigarette and chatting with his brother officers.
"Well?" asked Major Evans, as Joe Douglas rose to leave. "I'm serious,
my boy, this time. Everyone knows that things are moving over in Europe
and elsewhere, and everyone can guess that you are off again on some
expedition. Here's good luck! If I can do anything for you in your
absence don't fail to write, for you know that Charlie Evans will stand
by you."
Joe Douglas nodded to the dozen subalterns seated about the table, and
puffed a cloud of tobacco smoke above their heads.
"Come out for a moment, Charlie," he said. "Good-bye, you fellows, I'm
just off on a little trip. Keep things going till I come back again to
the mess."
He was on his feet by now, and strode clanking out on to the roof of the
fortress, followed by Major Evans. Then the two men walked to the
parapet of the fortress and stood side by side looking out over that
gorgeous scene, neither of them venturing to speak for a few minutes. At
length Joe Douglas turned to his companion.
"Listen to this, Charlie," he said. "I'm off on something bigger than
I've had to tackle before, though I'm to cover much of the ground that
I'm used to. It's Mesopotamia again."
"Ah! Mesopotamia--a nasty place, up North of the Persian
Gulf--heat--mosquitoes--Arabs," muttered Major Evans.
"Not to mention Turks and Germans and ruffians," said his brother
officer quietly; "but I'm used to them all, Charlie, and am not thinking
of myself. I'm thinking of Geoff. You know I've been his guardian ever
since my old friend, his father, was lost in that Frontier expedition.
He's joining the Mahrattas almost at once, and I badly wanted to keep an
eye on him. You'll do that for me, eh?"
"Willingly."
"And will take charge of his father's papers?"
"Everything."
"Then good-bye."
The two men gripped hands most cordially and firmly, and then Major
Joseph Douglas turned on his heel and strode from the roof of the
fortress, just as quietly and unostentatiously as he had strolled into
the mess bungalow. This going away at a moment's notice was nothing new
to him. An hour was sufficient in which to see that his servant had
packed all his belongings. Half an hour later, in fact, saw him riding
down the rough track which led from the mountain, and three days later
he was in Bombay itself. The journey before him was something a little
out of the ordinary. There was war in the air. There was already talk of
a giant European conflagration, and of an outbreak of hostilities
between Germany and Austria on the one hand, and France and Russia on
the other. We all know now that that war quickly drew into its toils
other combatants. That Great Britain came into the struggle to uphold
her honour, and with the object of retrieving the downfall of Belgium
and of wrecking the power of the German Kaiser. Yet this tale has little
to do with the main theatre of that gigantic conflict. It deals with a
part of the world hardly known in Europe, a part consisting of wide
wastes of sand and gravel, and peopled by Arab and Turk and Armenian and
Jew, not to mention Persians and peoples of other Asiatic races.
What Major Joseph Douglas did not know of Mesopotamia and of the valleys
of the Euphrates and of the Tigris may be said to have been hardly worth
knowing. As a "political" he had made perhaps a dozen trips to this
out-of-the-way part of the world, and being by nature attracted by the
desert, and being vastly interested in the peoples living therein, those
trips had become a source of huge enjoyment to him, so that return to
his regiment in India had, after a while, become a sort of penance. His
heart leapt at the thought of a further trip, yet, when he had read the
papers, and when he had had an interview with the Governor at Bombay,
even he--even light-hearted, cheerful, confident Joe Douglas--could not
fail to see that danger, perhaps death, lay before him in those deserts.
Yet he took ship for the Persian Gulf without hesitation, and, having
landed at the township of Basra, disappeared entirely.
The desert had swallowed him up, and thereafter, within a short while of
his coming to this outlandish post, that Armageddon, that gigantic
conflict, which now tears Europe to shreds, and which has already seen
so many of her people slaughtered, began along the frontiers of France
and Belgium and of Russia, and, proceeding in violence as the months
went by, slowly immersed the Balkans in its turmoil. Turkey, too, was
dragged into its trail, so that the venturesome Joe Douglas, the
"political", sent on a secret mission from India, found himself in the
heart of a country in the occupation of Britain's enemies. Indeed, when
this gallant officer reached the neighbourhood of historic Bagdad, those
elements of the city other than Turkish were in a turmoil. Soldiers were
elbowing their way through the bazaars, and the Turks alone, those
people the placidity of whom nothing can destroy, seemed to be the only
inhabitants of the city who had not escaped from Bedlam. It was in
Bagdad, then, that Major Douglas found himself surrounded by enemies,
and in danger of instant capture.