The Persian Gulf
What a scene of movement it was as the transport bearing the
Expeditionary Force from India, destined to operate in Mesopotamia,
steamed slowly up the Shatt-el-Arab, its naval escort proceeding ahead
and gingerly feeling its way forward. Now and again excited Arabs were
to be seen near the bank of the river, some of whom brandished their
rifles, and then, as if fearing retaliation, disappeared amongst the
palms. Women and children gazed in amazement at the armada which had
come so unexpectedly to visit them, while the few Turks present looked
on placidly--for your Turk is the most placid of all individuals.
It was some way up the river that a site had been chosen for
disembarkation, and, almost before Geoff and his chum Philip could have
thought it possible, the troops were disembarking.
"Of course they'll get off some of the cavalry at once," said Geoff, as
he watched the horses being slung over the side. "They'll go off on a
reconnaissance, and we ought soon to hear whether the enemy are in the
neighbourhood."
"That's just what beats me," Philip rejoined, as he sucked at the
inevitable cigarette. "Now you'd have thought that a chap like you
would be sent with them, Geoff; for what do the officers with our Indian
cavalry know of Mesopotamia, of the Turks, of the Arabs, and of all the
different sorts of people you've told me of? They ought to be able to
speak the native lingo, so as to cross-examine people. No one doubts
that they are splendid horse-soldiers, but then, don't you know, there's
a limit to a fellow's usefulness. 'Pon my word," he went on, getting
quite indignant, "I really can't imagine what the G.O.C. can be doing!
I've a jolly good mind to somehow drop him a hint that there's a chap
called Geoff Keith along with the expedition. Eh! Oh!"
He gave a start as he turned round, for there was a movement on the deck
immediately behind him. Geoff, too, who had been lounging on the rail of
the ship, swung his form round to see what was happening. There was a
dusky soldier behind them--one of their own Mahrattas--standing, tall
and thin and erect and motionless, as is the case with native soldiers.
"The Officer Sahib," he said, as he held out a tiny "chit" (note). "From
the Colonel Sahib."
It was perhaps characteristic of Philip that he seized the missive and
glanced at the name written upon it.
"What! Not me! It's you, Geoff!" he exclaimed almost indignantly, and
certainly with disappointment. "My word! Wonder what it's about.
Supposing the Colonel has done just as I suggested a moment ago, and has
dropped a hint to the G.O.C. Open it, there's a good fellow, for I'm
full of curiosity."
Geoff obliged his friend in such leisurely style that Philip was almost
stamping with impatience before the missive was opened, and then
stretched out his long neck so as to be able to read the contents of the
letter.
"You will please report at my orderly room at once," was written in
pencil, while below there was his Commanding Officer's signature.
Philip whistled.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, and then looked sideways somewhat quizzically at his
friend. "Ructions, eh? Adjutant reported badly on you! Something wrong
with your parade this morning, I shouldn't wonder. Anyway, 'bang goes'
all hope of your getting special employment."
To speak the truth, a feeling of dismay oppressed our hero as he glanced
at those few words, while his brain got busily to work to discover the
reason for the message. So far as he was aware, there had been no
dereliction of duty for which he could be reprimanded. Indeed, Geoff's
keenness was well known to the Adjutant and to his Commanding Officer.
That the special knowledge he had of Mesopotamia should have anything to
do with this sudden and unexpected summons never crossed his mind for a
moment, in spite of Philip; for, after all, as we have said, Geoff was
an extremely modest fellow, and made light of those unusual attainments
which he had developed by a visit to this ancient Garden of Eden.
Colouring to the roots of his hair, he coughed loudly to clear his
voice, and, pulling down his khaki twill jumper, set off for the orderly
room at once. A knock on the open door was followed by a peremptory
command to enter, when he found himself face to face with his
Commanding Officer.
"Ha! That you, young Keith? Sit down. Now look at that; it's a message
from the Head-quarters of this expedition."
Geoff took the paper with fingers which almost trembled, for surely,
surely a message from the Commander-in-Chief concerning himself must
have reference to something far transcending in importance the question
of a trifling dereliction of duty on his part.
"My dear ----," he read, "I am told by one of my Staff Officers that
Douglas's young ward is with the force, and that the young officer knows
Mesopotamia and the native tongues. Please send him along to me at
once."
"At once, you see," said the Colonel, smiling kindly at our hero; "that
means a feather in your cap, my lad. But perhaps you'd rather stay with
the Mahrattas, eh?" he asked quizzically, now laughing loudly as he saw
the puzzled expression which spread across Geoff's features. "There!
There! Don't try to be polite," he told him. "I know exactly what you
want to say; you're keen on your own regiment, and you'd like to work
alongside the brother officers with whom you've been trained. You know
well enough that, if there's any fighting to be done, the Mahrattas will
be right in the midst of it; and, if they're not, it will be a piece of
atrociously bad luck. But there's this other billet. Though you like
your own regiment well enough, this order means special service. Now,
Geoff, off you go without delay. You'll find the General ashore, and
please give my compliments to him, and hand him this 'chit'."
A little more than ten minutes later, with his sword buckled on, his
revolver in place, and with his full kit in evidence, Geoff clattered
down the gangway and swung along the strand, and halted in front of the
native house where the General had taken up his quarters. He was ushered
in at once by one of the Staff Officers, and found himself face to face
with the brilliant soldier who had sent for him. We admit only the bare
truth when we state that it was a trying moment for our hero, for, after
all, subalterns--junior subalterns in particular--are very small fry as
compared with General Officers, and, unless cram-full of assurance, are
apt to feel extremely insignificant, almost humble, in fact, when
brought face to face with an officer of lifelong experience. Yet Geoff
had been born and brought up with the Indian army. Standing stiffly at
attention, he returned the General's gaze with a gaze which was as
frank, as unflinching, and almost as politely inquisitive as that which
had been turned on him.
"Mr. Keith, sir," one of the Staff Officers told the General. "You sent
a note to the Officer Commanding the Mahrattas, asking him to send this
young officer to you. You will remember, sir, that he is the son of
Major Robert Keith, killed in that Frontier Expedition in which you
served, and that Major Douglas has acted as his guardian."
That brought another penetrating glance in Geoff's direction--a glance
which seemed to take in every characteristic of the young fellow
standing so stiffly at attention: his tall, stout, active figure, his
clean-cut person, his undoubtedly refined and gentleman-like face, and
the intelligence which gleamed from behind the dark eyes which were
turned still politely, yet unflinchingly, upon the General.
The latter cleared his throat, and brushed away the flies which were
hovering in myriads about him.
"Of course," he said brusquely, "I remember perfectly. Mr. Keith, I
understand that you have been in Mesopotamia with Major Douglas; please
let me have some further information. I imagine that you must have gone
up country. What more?"
Thus encouraged, Geoff promptly stated how he and his old friend had
ventured to Bagdad and beyond, and had spent months in the country,
sometimes in a native city or village, sometimes amongst the Armenians
or Arabs, and often enough in the heart of some purely Turkish city.
"And you speak Turkish?" came the sharp question.
"Yes, sir."
"Well? Quite fluently, I mean."
"Like a native, I believe, sir," said Geoff modestly.
"Um! And Arabic? and other tongues?"
"Almost as well, sir."
"You can ride, of course?"
"Certainly," said Geoff.
There was a long pause, whilst the General once more inflicted upon
Geoff that cold, stern, penetrating, yet kindly glance of his. Evidently
he was thinking deeply, and just as evidently he was summing up the
character of the young fellow standing at attention before him.
"Remember his father well," he was saying to himself; "he was a nice,
clean-cut fellow, like the boy here; and, of course, everyone knows Joe
Douglas, one of the best officers, one of the best 'politicals', India
has ever possessed. This youngster looks as though he would go through
fire and water to carry out his duties. I like his modesty, both of
speech and of appearance, and, by Jove! he ought to be a very valuable
addition to us.
"Attached to the Head-quarters Staff," he suddenly blurted out, turning
to his Staff Officer. "Mr. Keith, I should be glad to avail myself of
your services, but please understand that they may very well bring you
into circumstances of very considerable danger. Recollect that we are
now at war with Turkey, while your previous visit was made at a time
when there was peace between us. That may very well have brought about a
drastic change in the usually gentle Turk; and to be captured by them
might result in serious consequences. I mention this question of unusual
danger, seeing that you are such a young officer, and, of course, should
you prefer to go back to your regiment, there is nothing to prevent
you."
Would he prefer to go back to the Mahrattas? Why, Geoff's two legs were
simply twitching and shaking so violently with excitement that he could
hardly keep his knees from hammering together. It wasn't fright. The
officer facing him knew that well enough. It was merely
keenness--keenness for the work to be entrusted to him. It wasn't
necessary even for Geoff to give a verbal answer; his decision was
written all over his face. Why, he was simply dying for some form of
active employment. It was a relief, then, to receive a kindly nod of
dismissal from the General, and to retire precipitately from his
presence. Outside the native hut a hand was laid firmly on his shoulder,
and once more he found himself addressed by the Staff Officer.
"We want you at once," he said. "You'd better go on board and get rid of
all this kit as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir."
"And----of course you've got your own saddlery and gear of that sort."
Geoff promptly assured the officer that he was fully equipped, and as a
matter of fact had brought his own stout little Arab with him.
"Then bustle, my lad. We've a couple of troops of cavalry ready
disembarked, and are anxious to find out what the Turks are doing.
You'll go with them, and I needn't tell you that you'll do your utmost
to help the officer who goes in command. You'll be under his orders, of
course, and I feel sure that you'll be able to render very great
assistance. Don't forget to take your water-bottle with you, and some
food too; but there, I was forgetting that I'm talking to a young
officer who knows the ground and has been in Mesopotamia before. Still,
there are no hotels in these days, I imagine, though it is to be hoped
that we shall come across friendly inhabitants, ready to feed us if need
be, and prepared to give us a welcome."
Geoff went along that strand as if he were possessed of wings, and raced
up the gangway.
"Half a mo'! Why in such a hurry? Look here, Geoff, what's all the
ruction about? You've been to Head-quarters, haven't you? My word! That
means something--either a frightful ruction and summary dismissal, if
not a general court-martial, and shooting in the cold, early morning,
or--or--what does it mean?" demanded Philip, gripping the unwilling
Geoff by the arm and firmly retaining him.
It was no use attempting to shake off his friend, or to plead that he
was in a hurry and that there was no time for delay. The utmost that
Geoff could do was to bid Philip follow him down to his cabin, where he
at once began to throw off certain of his kit and rummage for other
items amongst his half-packed baggage. A shout brought his native
servant, and another shout was echoed along the ship and soon sent his
syce racing towards him.
"You'll get Sultan disembarked at once, with all his blankets and
clothing," commanded Geoff. "Just run him up and down a little once you
get him ashore, for he'll be stiff after the voyage. Now, my beauty," he
went on, addressing his native servant, "just look lively with it, for
I'm due back at Head-quarters in a few minutes."
"And what's the game?" demanded Philip insistently, impatiently in fact,
already envying his chum immensely. Not that he was jealous of Geoff at
all, for, if Philip were himself eager for some form of special service,
he knew at least that Geoff had special attainments, special knowledge
which fitted him for a post of that description. How Philip bewailed the
fact that in his younger days--though to be sure he was still only a
youngster--he had made such ill use of his opportunities. For, like his
friend, Philip had been born in a cantonment, had lived the better part
of his young life in one or other of the hill stations in India, and had
grown up in the atmosphere which surrounds the army in British India.
Hindustani and native dialects had come naturally to him, had been
acquired without effort when he was a mere slip of a lad, but Turkish,
that was an altogether different question.
"Well," he demanded eagerly, "you've got a job, have you? A special job,
Geoff? Congratulations!"
He smacked his friend heartily on the back when he had heard the whole
story, and emitted a shrill whistle of amazement, perhaps even of envy,
when Geoff told him that he was to be attached to Head-quarters.
"Well, that's going it!" he exclaimed. "Attached to Head-quarters, eh!
And just off on a reconnaissance. Mind you ain't captured, Geoff, for
I've a very particular reason, and I'll tell you what it is. What's the
good of my being chums with a fellow whose attached to Head-quarters for
special service if that chap can't somehow or other squeeze me in one of
these days and take me along with him? That would be fine, wouldn't it,
Geoff? One of these days you'll probably want to sneak off, dressed as
an Arab or something of that sort. How'd I do to come with you, even if
only as a humble servant? But then----Oh, hang it! There's the language!
But never mind, somehow or other you'll manage to take me with you."
Not for one moment did the eager Philip cease to chatter and
cross-examine Geoff, as the latter and his servant plunged into the
midst of the half-packed baggage and extracted sundry articles likely to
be of use to him. As to agreeing to take Philip with him on some
expedition, of course Geoff could not even give so much as a thought to
the matter at that moment, though, to be sure, as he told himself,
having Philip with him would be tremendous fun, and would add to his
enjoyment. However, there was little time for thought, and none for
discussion. In the course of half an hour he had selected all the kit he
required, and had dispatched his servant ashore with the remainder. Then
he dived down to the orderly room to formally report his impending
departure, while he received the congratulations of his Commanding
Officer and the Adjutant.
"Don't forget, Keith, you're one of the Mahrattas," he was told, "and
the regiment looks to you to maintain its high reputation wherever you
may go. But you'll do that, Geoff. I knew your father, and if I know you
at all--and I ought to seeing that you've been trained under my
eye--you'll follow in his footsteps, and will do well in the post for
which you've been selected."
A firm grip of Philip's hand as he stepped upon the gangway, a cheery
good-bye, and a nod to others of his brother-officers, and Geoff was
ashore, where the first object that his eyes lit upon was Sultan being
walked up and down the strand, tossing his handsome head and shaking his
mane, caracolling, and looking as if such a thing as a voyage from India
were of no consequence. Patting his animal and talking to him for a few
moments, Geoff then went on briskly to the native hut selected as
Head-quarters, near which the two troops of Indian Horse he had been
told were about to move away on a reconnaissance were already drawn up,
the men at their horses' heads, standing expectant and immovable, and
the officers strolling to and fro, smoking cigarettes and showing as
much impatience as any of the soldiers. Striding up to the senior of
the officers, Geoff at once reported himself.
"I've been ordered to accompany you, sir," he said.
"Lieutenant Keith, Mahrattas."
"And glad to meet you, Keith," came the hearty answer, whilst his hand
was gripped. "I understand you've been in Mesopotamia, and know
something of the country and the languages. Ward of my old friend, Joe
Douglas, aren't you?"
It made Geoff glow with pride to hear so many eulogistic remarks made
concerning the old friend who had cared for him now for so many years,
and who indeed had filled the place of his father. That Major Joe
Douglas was appreciated wherever he was known in the Indian army--and to
be sure this "political" was known in very many stations, and to a host
of officers--was a fact that Geoff could not fail to know, for in India
all that concerns the army is known by its officers. Yet to hear him
spoken of so very highly now by senior officers, to hear him eulogized,
and to realize that the welcome extended to himself, Geoff Keith, was
due, in part at least, to the old friendships made by his guardian,
could not fail to make every impression on our hero. It made him then
and there register a silent vow that, come what might, he would do
nothing that would not reflect favourably upon the Major.
"He stood by me all these years," he thought, "he taught me all I know,
though I fear I am still very young and an ignoramus. But he's tried
hard I know to impart all his own special knowledge to me, and he's
given me chances that many a young officer would give his ears for.
Right! I've got to remember that always; and if I don't carry out this
job to the satisfaction of my seniors, well I'll just deserve kicking."
The voice of the officer commanding the Indian Horse awakened him from
the short reverie into which he had fallen.
"We'll be off in five minutes," he told Geoff; "we're just waiting for
maps of the country to be issued, and for special instructions from
Head-quarters. Now, Keith, since you've reported, I presume that you're
quite ready to move off with us."
"Quite, sir!" Geoff told him with energy.
"Then what about a mount? Of course you will have brought one, seeing
that all Indian officers are mounted, but if by chance your horse has
not yet been disembarked, we'll leave one of our men behind and you can
make use of his mount for the time being."
Geoff turned at once, and, looking towards the strand where Sultan was
being exercised, signalled to his syce to bring him along immediately. A
minute later Sultan was prancing and circling close at hand--the admired
of all admirers.
"'Pon my word, Keith, I admire your choice of horse-flesh," the officer
told Geoff with enthusiasm as he walked slowly round the fretful Sultan,
noting every handsome point. "No need to ask you whether you can ride or
whether you've only recently gone through a school of instruction, for
no fellow would dare to put his leg over that beast who hadn't had any
amount of experience. Easy to handle, eh?" he asked, bending down, the
better to take a look at Sultan's feet and legs. "My word! but there's
pace there, and there's strength in those shoulders, while, if I know a
horse at all, this fellow will be a stayer."
If you had wanted to give Geoff Keith some particularly great pleasure,
or desired to pay him some extraordinary compliment, you could not have
done it better or more easily than by admiring Sultan. Let us explain at
once that Sultan had once upon a time belonged to Major Douglas--indeed,
he had been bred by the Major, and came of a famous stable. He had, one
might almost say, grown up with our hero; though to be sure he was yet
only a six-year-old, full of life and youth and strength. Nor had
Geoff's temporary absence from India in Mesopotamia, and during those
months he had spent in England, been sufficient to allow Sultan to
forget his young master. It was with a whinny of pleasure that he had
greeted his return to the "Shiney", and though there were many who would
not have dared to mount the animal, and, indeed, few whom Sultan would
allow to ride him, yet in the hands of Geoff Keith this fiery beast
became as gentle as a lamb, as docile and as easily handled as any
horse. To be short and explicit, Sultan was a most splendid Arab, one in
a thousand, and a steed of which even a General would have been proud,
and the possession of which might easily have turned the head of any
junior subaltern.
"A nice little horse. Yes, as nice a little horse as ever I set eyes
on," declared the officer in command of the two troops of Indian
cavalry, as he paced round Sultan, patting him now and again, talking to
him, and admiring his handsome points and his general appearance. "A
grey was always my fancy, Keith, but they want a heap of handling.
Let's see what he looks like with a man on his back. I'll wager that his
paces are as good as his looks; trot him along, lad, and open him out a
little. Our horses have already had a gallop, and they needed it after
their confinement on board ship."
It was with a keen discerning eye that the officer watched Geoff pick up
his reins and swing himself into the saddle. It was all done in an
instant, though, indeed, the fretful Sultan made it difficult for anyone
to mount him. But a word from Geoff quieted him for just a few seconds,
and in that brief space of time the lad had gripped his mane, had thrust
one foot into the stirrup, and was well home in his saddle.
"Let go!" Geoff told the syce, and there for a moment he sat motionless,
Sultan standing as still as any statue--his head thrown back, his muzzle
raised, and his eyes gleaming wickedly. Then with a bound he leapt to
one side--a leap which would have thrown the average rider--and a second
later, shaking his head free, he went off towards the desert like the
wind, as if determined to have his freedom.
"Steady! Steady, boy, steady!" said Geoff, holding him firmly with the
reins. "You're here to do what I want and not what you want; and,
besides, a burst of speed so soon after coming ashore might be bad for
you; you're coming back to let those officers take a good look at you."
The mad impulse of the Arab to be off, to be galloping wildly across the
loose sand and gravel thereabouts, to be hurtling amongst the palms
which covered the country-side, was controlled in an instant, and with
such little effort that those officers who watched could not discern
it. Geoff brought his mount back towards the troops of horse at a steady
trot, a trot in which Sultan showed magnificent action, so much so that
riding him gracefully was a matter of difficulty. Then a gentle pressure
of the reins again brought him to a standstill, his feet well spread,
his head held high, those eyes of his gleaming and shining. Indeed, all
could see the spirit of the horse, and none were surprised when, a
moment later, as the Officer in Command approached, Sultan rose on his
hind legs and thrashed the air, Geoff sitting him and talking to him
gently.
"A very handsome piece of goods, Keith," he heard, "'pon my word! I'm as
envious as I can be; but in fairness to all of us you ought to take him
out a little bit and give him a breather. Gently at first, and then some
quick pace, so as to let him get rid of a little of that spirit.
Otherwise he'll be kicking other horses in the ranks or disabling one of
the officers."
A gentle word from Geoff, the merest relaxation of the reins, and Sultan
was off again, but curbed this time ever so gently; off at a trot again,
showing that magnificent action with his fore legs, his quarters
gleaming in the sunshine. And, slowly as they went, the pace increased
till it became a canter, which Geoff allowed his mount to keep up until
they had covered a good mile of desert--until, in fact, he was well out
in the open and away from the palms which spread themselves some
distance from the bank of the river. Then he pulled up his mount and
patted him on the shoulder.
"That's your first breather, old chap!" he said; "now I'll allow you to
have a burst of speed till we are near the trees again, just to get rid
of the devil in you. After that you'll behave yourself, and go along
quietly like the rest of them. Now off!"
"Handles the beast as if born to it," declared the Commanding Officer,
as he watched the figures of man and horse racing towards him, while his
brother officers crowded about him. "That lad has hands and a seat to be
proud of, and the beast he rides is the best bit of horse-flesh I've
seen--and that's saying something."
There was no doubt, in fact, that Geoff's arrival on the scene, his
unexpected attachment to these horse-soldiers, his unconscious
exhibition of horsemanship, and his possession of that fine Arab, had
created quite an enviable impression upon the officers who were to be
his companions.
"A young chap, such as he was, who could ride so well, who had the pluck
to manage such a horse, must be a good fellow," they told themselves;
and, thinking that, the information which was now given them--that Geoff
was no new-comer to Mesopotamia, but had spent some months there with a
famous Indian "political", and even knew the languages--prepossessed
them still more in his favour.
"You'll do, my lad," the Commanding Officer whispered in his ear some
few minutes later, when Geoff had dismounted, and had handed over Sultan
to the syce. "It wants judgment to ride a beast like that, and
judgment's the virtue required for the job to which you have been
appointed. Now, Keith, our orders have come, and here are the maps; pop
this one into your map-case. I shall take the troops up beside the
river towards Basra, and if it seems necessary I shall send one troop
off to my right to see what's happening farther out in the desert."
There were sharp words of command, and then a whistle blew, at which
those stalwart Indian soldiers mounted their horses as one man, and sat
there like so many dusky statues; then the whistle sounded again, and
the cavalcade moved off, Geoff, at the invitation of the Commanding
Officer, riding beside him.
It was as well, perhaps, for our hero that he was all unconscious of the
fact that those Indian cavalry officers were not the only witnesses of
that exhibition he had given with Sultan, and that other eyes than the
curious ones of the natives of those parts followed the troops of horse,
and his own upright figure, as they swung away from the site of
disembarkation. It might have turned his head, and robbed him of his
natural modesty, had he known that numbers of the Head-quarters Staff
were outside their hut, looking on at this first movement of the
expedition in Mesopotamia; and it would most certainly have caused a
flush to rise to his cheeks, and possibly, had he not been a steady,
sensible fellow, might have induced a degree of swollen-headedness, had
he been able to hear the remarks of some of those senior officers. For,
like those with the Indian horse, they, too, had fixed their eyes on
Sultan, had seen the masterly way in which he was managed, and had
admired the horsemanship of this new-comer amongst junior officers.
"He's a find," declared one of the Staff Officers, "and I'll eat my hat
if young Keith doesn't prove a most promising officer!"
But that was a question for the future. To make good resolutions, to
register silent vows, is, after all, a very easy matter, and one to
which we all of us are prone. Promises are, we know, very much like
pie-crust, so easily are they broken, and good intentions and vows, made
ever so solemnly and so secretly, are difficult to keep. Would Geoff,
with all his youthful enthusiasm, with all his keenness, with his
undoubted steadiness of character, do well? Or would he prove only an
egregious failure?
"Trot!" The command rang out loudly, and in a moment the troops of horse
were swinging away across the now fast-opening desert, their horses'
feet kicking up clouds of sandy dust and gravel debris. Those palms were
left behind in a trice it seemed, and within half an hour the
landing-place was little more than a memory. It was perhaps two hours
later when an officers' patrol, which had been riding well in advance,
signalled the troops to halt, and one of their number came back at a
gallop.
"A strong force of horsemen away on our left front, sir," he reported.
"Turks, I think, but I am by no means certain."
"Halt! Mr. Keith, you will ride forward to the patrol, and if necessary
beyond them. Let me have your report at the first possible moment," came
the sharp order.
A second later Sultan was bounding forward, and in a little while Geoff
had joined the officers' patrol at the point where they had now halted.
Yes, there was a force of horsemen away in front, and to all appearances
the campaign in Mesopotamia was about to open.