Captured by the Enemy
It was with a shout of astonishment that Geoff realized that he and
Philip and Esbul were discovered. Giving a loud shout of warning, he
flung himself against a figure bounding towards him, and, having no time
to seize his revolver, struck out wildly in the darkness, and the blow
he gave, delivered with all the force of which he was capable, meeting
with no greater resistance than the air, for it shot past the ear of the
individual at whom it was aimed, caused him to lose his balance and to
topple over.
"Ha! Infidel dog!"
The man was down upon him in a moment, and, seizing Geoff's throat,
pinned him to the ground, while, within an instant almost, our hero felt
the prick of the sharp-pointed dagger with which the man threatened to
transfix him. The sudden pain it caused sent a sickly chill all over his
body, and then stimulated him to action.
"Get off!" he roared, and, jerking himself over, swiftly had the man
beneath him. Then, holding the arm which wielded the weapon, he dealt
the man a furious blow between the eyes, and, shaking himself free,
leapt to the assistance of Philip.
"Coming!" he shouted, hearing his chum gasp and seeing his figure
indistinctly in the darkness. And then he went down again, for one of
the band of Turks who had crept so silently towards the three figures
watching their camp, leapt upon his shoulders and bore him, nose down,
to the sand.
"Infidel dog!" he heard again hissed into his ear. "Move, and I strike
life out of you. Move, utter a word, and I slit your throat from ear to
ear."
It was not very pleasant; indeed, a sharp stab of pain in the region of
his shoulder-blade sent another chill down Geoff's spine, and, together
with the increased weight which now held him so firmly to the sand,
helped to discourage further efforts. He was cornered, he knew; common
sense told him that there were many of the enemy about, that quite half
a dozen of them were already seated upon his body, his legs, and his
arms, that further resistance was useless, was madness in fact, and
could end in only one way--in sudden death for himself and Philip and
Esbul.
"Right!" he gasped, spluttering and blowing the sand out of his mouth.
"We surrender!"
"Ah! the dog speaks Turkish, eh! Pull him to his feet; let us see him."
It was another voice that spoke, the voice of a Turkish officer, and at
once those six lusty individuals who had thrown themselves on Geoff, and
who had almost squeezed the life out of him, jerked him to his feet and
held him in an erect position. Had they not done so, indeed, he would
have stumbled and fallen, for, though the contest had been but a short
one, the struggle, whilst it lasted, had been terrific: the efforts he
had made to throw off those men, his kicks and plunges, and the blows he
had endeavoured to aim had taken it out of Geoff in the most startling
manner. He was gasping for breath now, sweat was pouring from his face,
whilst his knees shook and refused to support him.
"So, infidel dog, you are one of the British who have dared to invade
our country!"
A dusky figure seemed to rise up in front of Geoff, and, approaching
quite close to him, thrust a heavily-moustached face close to his and
peered at him in the darkness. So close indeed was the man that his
breath blew on Geoff's face, and, acting as a tonic as it were, almost
stimulated him to further action. But again discretion, common sense,
told him that to renew the struggle would be futile. "Better wait till
another time," he told himself, gasping in the face of the Turkish
officer--spluttering, indeed, for still sand remained in his mouth,
whilst his nostrils were tickled with the same material. "Better wait
for a while and try our chances in a different manner. There's Philip!"
Men were approaching from a point but a few feet away, their figures
standing out against the reflection of the camp-fires dotting the
Turkish position, and in amongst them was Geoff's chum, held firmly by
the arms, his head pushed forward by a brawny individual who gripped the
nape of his neck, and his legs already encumbered by a rope which had
been passed loosely round them.
"So, a British officer. Ah!"
"A British officer. Yes!" Geoff admitted between his gasps.
"And one who speaks Turkish, eh?" the man who accosted him demanded.
"That is so."
"Then how?" asked the Turkish officer. "Where did you learn to speak our
tongue? You are British, you say, and few there are of that nation who
speak our language. Then how? Where? When did you learn it?"
"One moment; let me sit down for a while," said Geoff, panting so
heavily that he could hardly make the request. "In a little while I will
answer any reasonable question that you may put before me, and in the
meantime you need have little fear; for see, there are perhaps twenty or
thirty men here to support you."
A grim, harsh chuckle came from the Turkish officer, and yet a laugh
which was not altogether disagreeable. If he had been a German officer,
no doubt he would have stormed and raved, and might even have suggested
shooting his prisoners on the spot, so as to get rid of them; but, being
a Turk--and Turkish soldiers, whether they be officers or fighting-men,
have ever proved themselves to be possessed of gentlemanly feelings--and
being moreover satisfied that the three prisoners he had captured were
completely in his hands, this Turk was by no means ill-pleased, was, in
fact, in quite a genial humour, and, if the truth be told, rather
curious as to the prisoner who spoke his language.
"Sit down," he said. "Now give me your word that you will not attempt to
escape, and I'll tell my men to stand away and to give you
breathing-space."
Seating himself upon the sand, in fact helped in the movement by the man
who had been holding him, Geoff remained for a while panting heavily,
while his guard, at a sharp order from the Turkish officer, stepped
aside and remained at some distance. Then Philip and Esbul were brought
along by the men who had captured them, and were allowed to seat
themselves beside him.
"Now," said the Turkish officer, after a while, when he was satisfied
that his prisoners were rested, "your promise. Say that you will make no
attempt at escape, and you shall march back to camp at my side as
friends, as you will, not as prisoners; only, when you arrive there, it
will be my duty to hand you over to the guard, and you must take the
consequences of your visit here this evening."
"We promise!" Geoff told him promptly.
"Then that is sufficient. Listen, my friend! Though I command a
detachment of Turkish troops down in this part of the world--this
terrible quarter, where there is nothing but sand and marsh and
water--yet I am from Constantinople, and, unlike many other Turks, I
have travelled somewhat. Thus it happens to have been my fortune to have
met many peoples, and amongst them men of your country. Always I have
heard that an Englishman's word is his bond. My friend, you have given
your word, and that is quite sufficient."
He showed his friendly spirit within a moment, for, diving a hand into a
pocket of his tunic, the officer produced a cigarette-case, and handed
it in turn to each of his prisoners; and then, as they sat on there, on
the sandy ridge above the twinkling camp-fires dotting the hollow below
them, this Turk became quite communicative, as friendly as one could
wish, chatted with Geoff as if he were an old friend, one with whom he
was well acquainted.
"Come!" he said encouragingly. "Be not so close, be as frank and as
friendly as I am, for let me tell you that I am more than interested in
you, for, as I said before, how many of your nation are there who can
speak our language? And you, you speak it as a native almost--fluently,
glibly, with the tone and accent of an educated gentleman. That you are
an officer I know, indeed I knew it from the moment of your capture. Now
tell me how it came about that you learnt our tongue."
There was no doubt about his earnestness, nor about the fact that his
curiosity was purely friendly; quite frankly, therefore, withholding
nothing, Geoff told him how he had once, not so very long ago, visited
Mesopotamia, and how his travels had taken him as far as Constantinople.
"I have a guardian," he told the Turkish officer, "a British officer,
one who for many years has taken the place of my dead father. He it was
who brought me to this country, who led me by the Tigris to Bagdad, and
with whom I sat in many an Arab camp making friends with the natives."
"Wait! A British officer who led you to Bagdad! Who lived as a friend
with Arabs! But surely," said the Turk, "there is but one British
officer who could have done that, one with whom I am well acquainted.
Had it been a German now, there would be a host of them, though it is
little friends they are of the Arabs inhabiting these deserts; but this
man, listen my friend, I will give you his name--Douglas Pasha, eh?"
"The same," Geoff admitted.
There was a long pause after that while the Turk slowly puffed at his
cigarette, the glowing end showing his features for a few brief seconds,
and then dying down between the puffs till it was only possible to make
out the dull outline of his figure. No doubt he was thinking hard,
thinking furiously, for a Turk, while he puffed clouds of smoke into the
dusk around him.
"So," he said at last, giving vent to a low-pitched whistle, "you are
Douglas Pasha's ward--and Douglas Pasha is an old friend of mine, one to
whom I am much beholden. Well, it is the fortune of war, my friend. The
fortune, or shall we say for a moment, while there are none to overhear
us, yes, the misfortune? For see the dilemma in which I am placed. As a
loyal Turk I have taken steps to make you a captive, you, who were
discovered in the act of watching our camp and making a reconnaissance.
As a loyal Turk I have made captive the ward of one whom I admit my
friend, one whom I would go far to help, and whose esteem is of value to
me. Yet, see the dilemma in which I am placed. This I have done as a
loyal man, and one who does his utmost for his country; though all the
while I know that it is not my country for which I fight, but that Young
Turk Party which, alas! controls its destiny. Listen! There are none to
hear us, and therefore I can speak the words. Had the Sultan been able
to control the affairs of our nation, there would have been no war with
Russia, no war with our ancient friends the British, no alliance with
these hated Germans. There! I have said enough. Let us walk as friends
as far as our Head-quarters, and after that, well after that you pass
out of my hands, though Tewfic Pasha will think of you kindly, and maybe
might help you on some occasion."
Truly the adventure which had befallen Geoff and Philip and Esbul was
turning out to be as strange as it had been sudden and unexpected; for
here, captives in the hands of the enemy, they were yet friends already
with at least one of them, while Geoff had discovered in this Turkish
officer one who in other times would have gone out of his way to be
helpful, considerate, and friendly. But Turkey was at war with Britain,
and whatever Tewfic Pasha's private feelings may have been towards our
country he had a duty to perform, like every other loyal man; and Geoff,
realizing that fact, honoured him the more when at length he gave a
sharp order and called his men about them.
"You'll fall in round the prisoners, allowing them to march freely," he
said. "When we reach the centre of the camp two of you will attach
yourselves to each of these three men, and will escort them to
Head-quarters. But listen, ye dogs! No violence, no brutal treatment,
for these young men have behaved most gallantly, have fought for their
freedom, and now, having lost to us, who are the more numerous, are
content with their lot, are cheerful, and are facing the future with
courage."
"After all, things might have been worse," chirped Philip, as the trio
marched along in the centre of their escort, the officer now at the head
of his men. "Quarter of an hour ago I thought my last moment had come,
particularly when one of these fellows round us indicated to me in the
most unpleasant manner that he was armed with a knife, and was longing
to push it through me. Ugh!"
He gave vent to an exaggerated grunt of horror, which set Geoff
giggling, for it reminded him of his own feelings, of that cold shiver
which had gone down his spine, of the extraordinary indescribable
shudder which had shaken him from head to foot, and which, courageous
though he hoped he had been, had set his limbs trembling.
"Jolly nasty!" he said, sympathizing with his chum immediately. "I had
the same sort of experience, and it isn't nice, particularly on a dark
night, and when it comes so unexpectedly. But we've been wonderfully
lucky when you come to think of it--though it's awfully unfortunate that
we should have been captured--for this officer in charge of the party
actually knows Major Douglas, and if it weren't war-time I believe he
would himself see us to a place of safety."
"And might even now look the other way if there was a chance of our
escaping," suggested Phil.
"No, decidedly no!" Geoff answered. "He's loyal to the core, this
Turkish officer, unlike so many of them."
"Then what's to be done?" asked Phil. "You don't mean to tell me that
you are going to allow yourself to be taken as a prisoner, say, into the
interior of the country, and give up all hope of joining the other
fellows?"
Geoff laughed, a gruff, determined sort of laugh, which sounded rather
impressive in the darkness. There was a note of satire in it too, a note
seldom indulged in by our hero.
"Sorry that's the impression you've got of me after all these months,"
he told Philip curtly. "Sorry you think I'm so soft, so lacking in
spirit, as to give up just because I am captured. What about that trip
we proposed which was to carry us to Bagdad, and was to allow us to make
a search for Major Douglas?"
A sudden exclamation escaped from Philip's lips, and, diving at Geoff's
arm, he gripped the wrist with a suddenness which was almost
disconcerting:
"And--and, why not?" he said in a hoarse whisper, "why not? Aren't we
now away from the expedition, aren't we more in the heart of Mesopotamia
than ever we were before? Just think for a moment, and suppose you had
gone off on that expedition that you've been planning, that you've been
dreaming about every day and night since that letter came from your
guardian. Supposing you'd slipped away from the British camp and had got
behind the enemy's lines: where's the difference?"
Geoff brought his eloquence and enthusiasm to a somewhat sudden end by
giving him a disagreeable reminder.
"Difference! Difference!" he remarked caustically. "Only this, that
whereas, in that case, we should be behind their lines, but free; in
this, we are in the midst of their lines, not free, but captives."
But you could not damp Phil's ardour or his spirits however much cold
water you threw upon them. He gurgled for a while, gasped rather loudly,
and took to whistling. Then, when they had covered perhaps a hundred
yards, he again opened the subject; indeed, he proceeded with the
discussion as though it had never been broken off, as if there had been
no such thing as an interruption.
"Well," he said testily. "Well, who wants to be told that sort of thing?
Don't I know just as well as you do that the case ain't quite the same,
that we are prisoners and in the enemy's lines, instead of being free
and behind them? But it's near enough, surely. A chap has only got to
escape from these fellows who have bagged us, and--and--and there you
are!"
"And--and--there you are!" laughed Geoff, catching his enthusiasm
instantly; indeed, our hero had already been thinking furiously as to
how he and his friends were to circumvent this difficult position in
which they found themselves, and to shake off the hold which the Turks
had cast upon them. And why, as Philip said, if only they could make
their escape, seeing that they would then presumably be behind the lines
of the enemy, why should they not turn their faces towards Bagdad, and
go on with the rescue of Douglas Pasha.
"Jingo! We'll do it," he told his friend.
"You--you--you consent? You think it's possible?" asked Phil, his voice
eager, his face lit up--though, to be sure, it could not be seen because
of the darkness.
"Hush! We're in the centre of the camp, and the guard is closing in on
us," Geoff warned him. "But, just a last word in case we are separated,
I am going to do my best to escape, and if I succeed, and can get you
and Esbul free also, I am off for Bagdad."
"Done, with you! Shake hands on it!" cried Phil, gripping his chum's
palm and shaking it warmly. "Ripping! The thought of such an expedition
makes up for this ghastly business; perhaps to-night we'll do it,
perhaps to-morrow, and--and--well, you can rely on me standing by you,
old fellow. If they separate us, and the chance comes to me to slip my
cable, you know, don't you, Geoff, that I'll stand by until I get you
and Esbul out, so as to complete the party?"
There was no time for Geoff to make a reply, no time to thank his chum
for an expression of loyalty which was just like him, for the guard had
already closed in, men were gripping their arms on either side, while,
despite the caution of Tewfic Pasha, one at least of the men showed
little love for the captives.
"Dog," he whispered in Geoff's ear, "you infidel who speak our language,
be silent, or I will screw the head from your body."
"Unpleasant fellow," muttered Geoff, yet smiling serenely, for he knew
well enough that a call to Tewfic Pasha would relieve him of this
threatening fellow's attentions. "Ah! That appears to be the Turkish
Head-quarters."
It was lighter now that they had arrived at what appeared to be the
centre of the Turkish concentration; for numerous camp-fires were dotted
about the place, lighting up the surroundings with their reflection, and
indeed making the outer darkness even denser, even more impenetrable.
There loomed up now in front of them a row of tents, one larger than the
others, over which a flag could be heard fluttering in the breeze,
though its folds could not be seen so easily. There were lamps burning
in the tent, and towards it the guard escorted their prisoners.
"Halt!" commanded Tewfic Pasha, and then entered the tent.
"Master," whispered Esbul at that moment, taking advantage of the fact
that the guard had released their grip of their prisoners, and were now
standing at attention dressed in two lines, one in front and one behind
their captives. "Master, let me say a word in your ear while there is
time. Listen! I am an Armenian."
It was a fact of which Geoff was thoroughly well aware, and yet a fact
the seriousness of which had not struck him till that moment.
"An Armenian! An Armenian, yes!" he said, speaking his thoughts in a
whisper; "and the Turks have no love for that nation."
"Love, Excellency!" exclaimed Esbul, with a bitterness which was strange
to him. "Love, my master! Of a truth, where the Armenian race is
concerned, the Turk has nothing but bitterness and hatred to show. You
have heard maybe of their doings in past years?"
"I have," Geoff said consolingly.
"How these Turkish fiends massacred our people, how they hate us perhaps
because we are Christians, and how they have done their utmost to
exterminate us, to grind us under their heel, to rid this land of Turkey
of us."
"I have heard the tale," Geoff told him sadly enough, for for many years
the massacre of unfortunate and helpless Armenians in Turkey had been
carried out by the Sultan's people, and had more than once roused the
bitter anger of peoples in Europe. Yet who could control the Turk in the
centre of his own country? What nation could prevent the Sultan from
wreaking his fiendish hate upon these people? And now that this gigantic
war had broken out, and Turkey had declared herself in favour of the
Germans, who could prevent the agents of the Kaiser, those sinister
individuals, from persuading the Young Turk Party once more to commence
their hideous work in the neighbourhood of Erzerum and the Caucasus
Mountains? Already, urged on by those satellites of the Kaiser--those
ruthless individuals, possessed of as little mercy as their fellows in
Europe--massacres of the Armenians had once again begun, and ere they
were finished were to account for almost a million of these miserable,
unfortunate individuals. No wonder Esbul was trembling--Esbul, the
Armenian, the faithful servant who had followed Douglas Pasha into the
heart of Mesopotamia, and who had borne that message to our hero.
"Master," he said again, making violent efforts to control his words,
"for you, who are a prisoner, and for your comrade, things may be well
enough, for at heart the Turk is kindly disposed, and thinks well of the
British, but for me, an Armenian, what is there to hope for?"
"What indeed?" Geoff sighed, when he grasped the full import of what
Esbul had been saying. For he knew well enough the hardships of the
Armenian race, and was well acquainted with the fact that the Turks
hated, despised, and tortured them. Were, then, these captors of theirs
likely to treat Esbul leniently once they discovered that one of the
trio they had laid their hands on was an Armenian? Would they treat him
as an honoured captive?--as Geoff hoped would be the case with Philip
and himself. Or would they drag him aside, stand him out in the open,
and shoot him like a dog?--the treatment they were meting out to his
brothers.
"Listen!" he told him. "Listen, Esbul; you must go, you must go now; you
must slip away; you must never let them see you! Wait! I will fall to
the ground and feign illness, which will create a disturbance. Go then,
take advantage of the opportunity; and, later, when you are free, and
perhaps have reached Bagdad, look out for me and my comrade, and search
for the whereabouts of Douglas Pasha."
He pressed the hand of the faithful fellow, and then, coughing
violently, suddenly fell to the ground and writhed there, rolling from
side to side, groaning and creating as much noise and fuss as was
possible. At once Philip leapt to his side, kneeling on the ground and
bending over him.
"What's the matter?" he asked distractedly, for he was thoroughly
startled by this strange occurrence.
"Shut up!" Geoff told him. "I'm shamming. I'll tell you why later."
"What ails the dog? Come, what has happened to him?"
Turks in the rear rank, drawn up behind the captives and nearest to
them, had darted forward almost at once as Geoff fell to the ground, and
now one of them bent over him and gripped him by the shoulder, while he
bawled into his ear. A second later a figure darted from the tent--the
figure of Tewfic Pasha--and, pushing men of the front rank aside
unceremoniously, came upon the scene.
"Hold your tongue!" he commanded the man shouting at Geoff. "What has
happened? Ah! This officer is ill. Carry him into the tent, two of you
idle fellows."
Picking their burden up, the men bore him into the tent, illuminated by
swinging oil-lamps, while Philip followed unbidden.
"And the third?" asked Tewfic Pasha, casting his eyes upon Geoff and
Philip, and seeing them clearly for the first time since he and his men
had laid hold of them. "The third, that other fellow; where is he?"
Yes, where? There was a hue and cry outside: men were rushing to and
fro, shouting and bellowing at one another, while a couple of the guard
were speeding across the camp calling a warning to the sentries. For
Esbul had disappeared. He had been at Geoff's side just a second before
he tumbled, and those men in the rear rank of the Turkish guard could
have sworn that he had knelt beside his comrade and had bent over him;
and yet--and yet the darkness had swallowed him up; he had gone, slipped
away like a will-o'-the-wisp, and no one had caught sight of him.
Meanwhile Geoff had made a reasonably rapid recovery, and stood now
beside Philip, swaying just a little--for he had to act the part--his
face flushed just a trifle after his exertions, his breath coming in
panting grunts.
"I'm sorry," he told Tewfic Pasha; "but the thing is over now; merely a
spasm, a sudden dizziness, perhaps produced by those lusty fellows of
yours who sat so heavily on me."
"And the promise you made has been kept," Tewfic smiled back at him,
indeed his eyes twinkled--twinkled knowingly. "You gave me your word
that you and your comrades would march towards this spot without
attempting an escape, and when my guards laid their hands on you, within
sight of this tent, and marched you forward, you were absolved of your
promise. Listen!" he whispered in Geoff's ear a moment or so later, when
he had an opportunity. "It is as well, my friend; it is just as well,
for that other man was not of your country. Maybe he was of ours, maybe
he was an Armenian."
The bright friendly eyes of the Turkish officer twinkled again, and a
smile lit up his face, then, turning away, he accosted a Turk who
approached at that moment from an ante-room erected behind this tent,
which served as the Head-quarters of the Turkish Concentration.
"Prisoners, Excellency!" he said. "We captured three of them on the
ridge, and doubtless they are scouts of an enemy party coming in this
direction. They are British officers, Excellency, and once they were
captured have behaved well and quietly. I have given them your word--the
word of a man of honour--that they shall be well and kindly treated."
As a matter of fact, Geoff and Phil had no cause to complain of the
treatment meted out to them, for, as we have said before, the Turks had
already given many an illustration of the fact that they were both good
and stanch soldiers and most excellent fellows. Once the fighting was
done, once they had made captives or been captured, they forgot their
enmity, and in the case of those they had made prisoners, treated them
like human beings.
"You are to be sent up the Kut-el-Hai to the Tigris," said Tewfic Pasha,
when the General in Command of the Turkish Concentration had inspected
the prisoners and had cross-examined them. "I am commanded to see that
quarters are found for you, and that you are given food and clothing.
You will start on your journey to-morrow."
The following morning, in fact, at an early hour, found the two young
officers aboard a small steam-launch, which at once set out for
Kut-el-Amara. Arriving at that place on the River Tigris some three days
later, they transhipped to a larger vessel, a paddle-steamer--as rusty
and dilapidated as any of those which had come to the Shatt-el-Arab from
India for service with the British. Then they were carried up the
winding Tigris, and in due course, after days of twisting and turning
along the numerous bends of the river, after running aground on
sand-banks on many occasions, they reached at last the city of
Bagdad--the Mecca of the Turks of Eastern Turkey and of the Arabs of
Mesopotamia--and there, having been interrogated again by a Turkish
officer, they were sent to a prison--a fort outside the city--the
clanging gates of which shut on them with a force and a jar which, in
spite of their buoyant spirits, sent a chill of despair through them.
"Nasty strong sort of a place," Philip whispered to his chum, as they
passed under a low flat roof and along a stone passage. "No picking a
hole through these walls with a penknife, my boy. It will have to be a
case of strategy."
Geoff looked round him, for the bright sunlight outside sent slanting
rays into the passage and lit up their surroundings.
"Beastly strong place," he agreed with Philip; "built of stone, and
every piece set close to the other. But we'll see, Phil; the cage that's
to hold the two of us will have to be a pretty strong one, for I'll tell
you this, I've made up my mind that I'll break out of this place, and
carry on that little business."
"Douglas Pasha, eh?" asked Phil.
"Of course. Ah! The fellow's opening a door, and in we go! A cell big
enough for the two of us! My word! Breaking out will take a lot of
doing."