THE BREAKING-POINT.
Returning to his friends in company with the amazed and indignant
sheikh of their own party Mr Hicks explained how matters stood,
pointing out that discretion was preeminently the better part of
valour on this occasion.
“The enemy are between us and Damascus, and they don’t calculate to
let us through,” he said. “I guess the odds are a bit too long for
fighting, so all we can do is to select our camping-ground with an eye
to possibilities, and make tracks in the night, for if they once get
us to their tents we’re as good as squelched. With your leave, Count,
I’ll ride slightly ahead, to keep open communications with the other
platform, and also to look out for a suitable location.”
Leaving the scouts, who had now come in, to bring up the rear of the
convoy, the sheikh of the Beni Ayub and the main body of his men took
up their position in advance of the small party from Sitt Zeynab, and
Mr Hicks attached himself to them, doing his best to impress the
sheikh with the greatness of the Prince of the Jews. It was evident
that the man was already somewhat alarmed by his own temerity in
interfering with the journey of such an important personage, and Mr
Hicks spared no pains to add to his uneasiness. When sunset was at
hand, and the sheikh suggested that it would be advisable to halt for
the night, he was told curtly that the Prince had not yet given the
signal, and when the Prince, through his representative, Mr Hicks, was
pleased to direct that the journey should be at an end for the day,
the spot chosen was not by any means an ideal camping-ground in the
eyes of the Beni Ayub. It was a small hill--perhaps a large hillock
would be a better term--accessible on one side only, and not affording
space for more than Cyril and his party.
“I only hope they’ll conclude to camp all round it,” said Mr Hicks to
his leader, “for then they would be so scattered that we might allow
to creep through them, or charge right through at the weakest point,
any way. If we could stampede the horses we could get clean away, more
especially since we shall have our own men in a compact body.”
Mr Hicks’s hope proved fallacious. Making the best of a bad bargain,
the sheikh decided to concentrate his forces at the foot of the slope,
thus enclosing his unwilling guests in a trap, and his men set to work
at once on their preparations for the night.
“Well,” said Mr Hicks grimly, “it only means that we’ve got to land
the horses some way in that cañon back of us, and without making any
noise about it, either. Mr Mansfield, you just set your mighty
intellect to work on that problem, if you please. Now, how are we to
get these chaps to believe that we allow to sit up all night?”
“Make a fire of brushwood and keep it burning,” suggested Mansfield.
“I guess the light will just about give us away if we do.”
“Make two or three small fires across the slope,” said Cyril, “as if
to prevent the Arabs rushing us, and keep them low and smoky by
heaping on earth as well as wood. That ought to produce the desired
moral effect.”
“That’s so, sir. Well, Mr Mansfield, have you figured out anything to
help us at the back there?”
“I’m going to explore as soon as the enemy have settled down to their
supper,” answered Mansfield, and as the result of his explorations he
was able before long to announce that there existed on the steepest
side of the hill an apology for a path, almost invisible to the naked
eye, down which it ought to be possible to lead the horses.
“A sweet path it must be, if our friends the enemy haven’t sniffed it
out!” grumbled Mr Hicks; “and what a real elegant set of fools we
shall look when all the horses go down ker-smash one on top of
another! And what about the noise, Mr Mansfield? If you ask me, I
should say there would be a good deal of promiscuous language flying
around while that descent is taking place.”
“Nonsense, Hicks! these Arabs can control their emotions better than
that,” said Cyril. “If the horses’ feet are muffled, that’s the only
thing necessary.”
“Well, we can’t do more than try,” said Mr Hicks resignedly. “But all
the same,” he added to Mansfield, “you bet I wouldn’t do that but for
the boss. He is chafing fit to burst, and if we got carried off to the
tents of the Beni Ayub, I wouldn’t answer for him. And now for our
sheikh.”
The sheikh approved highly of Cyril’s determination to outwit the
enemy, although he had little confidence in the success of the means
suggested, and in order to avert suspicion the camp on the hill-top
made ostentatious preparations for repose. Three men were told off to
move about round the fires and keep them supplied with fuel and sand,
and the rest wrapped themselves in their cloaks and lay down. As soon
as all was quiet in the camp of the Beni Ayub below, one man at a time
rose and crept softly to the spot where the horses were picketed. The
sheikh insisted on being the first to try the path, as his horse had
been trained to follow him like a dog, and to Mansfield’s intense
relief and secret pride the animal, its feet muffled in pieces of
cloth, picked its way down the hill after its master, reluctantly but
without accident. The rest followed one by one, with more or less
willingness, the men at the fires covering the occasional noises,
which were unavoidable in the case of a stumble, or when a stone was
set rolling, by a vigorous breaking of sticks, which sounded so
distinct in the clear desert air that Mr Hicks muttered it was enough
to wake all the Arabs for miles round. Then the men at the fires were
called down in their turn, the last to descend exhibiting marvellous
activity in producing dense clouds of smoke before he departed, and
the whole of the Sitt Zeynab party stood safely in the desert with
their horses. Mounting, they felt their way with extreme caution round
the flank of the Beni Ayub, and resumed their interrupted journey,
taking a direction that would enable them to reach Damascus without
coming upon the camp to which their enemies had intended to conduct
them. They had ridden some distance before any one had leisure to look
round, and it was Mr Hicks who perceived first that the forsaken
hill-top was no longer deserted, and uttered an exclamation. The eyes
of the rest followed his, to distinguish a number of figures outlined
against the red glow of the fires, which had by this time burnt up.
“That I should have been sold by a nigger chief!” groaned Mr Hicks.
“All the time we were busy circumventing them, they were calculating
to circumvent us, and all that old sinner’s respect and veneration was
only a cute dodge to put us off our guard. As soon as they guessed our
stokers had sneaked off to bed, up they come to rush our camp. Well,
that gentleman and I have got to meet again, and you bet he’ll be
surprised at the strength of my attachment for him,” and again Mr
Hicks patted the rope which hung from his saddle.
“The sons of Shaitan thought to laugh at our beards,” said the skeikh,
with a grim sound dimly suggestive of a chuckle; “but now their own
faces are black. They will not pursue us until dawn, and we may even
yet out-distance them.”
But in making this forecast the sheikh forgot that the enemy’s horses,
which had done little work the day before, were far fresher than those
of his party; and it was less than an hour after sunrise when one of
his men, halting a moment to repair a broken girth, called out that
the pursuers were in sight. Cyril uttered an angry exclamation.
“Look here, Hicks,” he said impatiently, “I can’t stand any more of
this foolery. I don’t want bloodshed; but if these fellows will have
it, they must. Our sheikh and two of his men have rifles, and with our
three we can diminish the enemy’s numbers effectually before they get
close to us, and then the revolver will settle the matter. I can’t
risk losing everything merely to save the skins of the Beni Ayub.”
“Gently, Count. If you once set up a blood-feud with the Beni Ayub,
your chance of making friends with them in future is gone. I guess
we’ll keep on as hard as possible right now, so as just to separate
the enemy. When we get to the locality I have in my mind, Mr Mansfield
and I and the two men with rifles will stay behind and go on the
shoot, while you ride ahead with the sheikh and the rest and draw the
enemy into chasing you.”
“Do you think it likely,” irritably, “that I shall consent to save
myself at the risk of your lives? We shall come out of this fight side
by side, as we went in, or go down together.”
“Now, now, Count”--Mr Hicks laid a soothing hand on Cyril’s arm--“we
aren’t going to hurl our lives away, you bet. There’s no sort of
sentimental self-sacrifice about me--no, sir! I have a smart piece of
business on hand, and I want a young fellow of large bodily strength
to help me put it through. You are just a bundle of nerves this
journey, and so used up with strain and anxiety that it’s only spirit
and nothing else keeps you on your horse. Mr Mansfield and I are
partners in this deal, and you watch how well things will pan out when
they recognise who’s got ’em in charge.”
Cyril laughed shamefacedly, and turned his attention to keeping his
horse in hand in the headlong race which now ensued. Mr Hicks’s object
was to escape from the flat stretch of desert on which the enemy, with
their fresher horses, might easily surround his little party, and to
gain the shelter of the sandhills in front. Pausing to look back, he
observed with satisfaction that the Beni Ayub, no longer massed in a
compact body, were tailing off gradually, the sheikh and a few
better-mounted men alone seeming to gain perceptibly on the pursued.
When the sandhills were reached, he glanced back once more, and saw
that the sheikh, on his magnificent horse, was now considerably in
advance of his nearest followers. This was what Mr Hicks had hoped
for.
“Ride on, Count! ride on, sheikh! Turn aside, Mr Mansfield, and you
two, Abd-el-Kader and Nur-ed-Din. Dodge behind the sandhills, so. Have
your rifles ready.”
Shouting in alternate English and Arabic, and strengthening his
exhortations by means of vigorous pointing and shoving, Mr Hicks
marshalled his forces. He and Mansfield were stationed close to the
path between the sandhills, one on each side, the two Arabs a little
behind them.
“Stay where you are, Mr Mansfield; and when you see the sheikh
dismounted, round up his horse. That’s your business. You two men of
the Beni Ismail, ride forward the moment the sheikh of your enemies
has passed you and present your rifles at those who come after him. If
they still ride on, fire; but don’t waste your shots, and reserve the
second barrel.”
Having given his orders, Mr Hicks rode back a short distance from the
path, and, unhooking the rope from his saddle, arranged it on his arm.
This was scarcely accomplished to his satisfaction before Mansfield’s
raised hand told him that the sheikh was close upon them, thundering
on in hot pursuit of the party that was just disappearing round the
sandhills in front. Neither Mansfield nor the Arabs could ever succeed
in saying definitely what followed. That Mr Hicks rode forward across
the sheikh’s path, that the rope in his hand whizzed through the air,
and that in an instant the sheikh was prostrate on the ground and his
horse rushing wildly away--this they perceived, but had no time even
to wonder how it was done, for their own duties demanded their
attention. Mansfield effected the capture of the terrified horse in a
brilliant and wholly original manner; for when he grabbed frantically
at its bridle as it dashed towards him, and failed to seize it, he
kicked his foot free of the stirrup and caught it in the loose rein,
with the result that he was promptly jerked from his saddle and thrown
to the ground. Recovering himself immediately, he was in time to seize
the rein with his hand before the astonished horse had made up its
mind what to do. His own horse, which was equally amazed and
indignant, by reason of his unconventional descent, allowed itself to
be caught with less difficulty, and he turned to see how the other
actors in the drama were faring. The two Arabs were sitting
statue-like on their horses, covering with their rifles five or six of
the Beni Ayub, who, on seeing their chief fall, had halted just out of
range, and were afraid to follow him further, while the sheikh
himself, black in the face and half-strangled, was being bound hand
and foot in a most workman-like manner by Mr Hicks.
“Well done!” cried Mansfield. “Who would ever have thought of a lasso
in this part of the world?”
“Ah, I haven’t gone cowboying in New Mexico for nothing,” said Mr
Hicks complacently. “Go ahead, you fool! The more you kick, the
tighter the knots will be, you bet. Ah, Mr Mansfield, you inclined to
think I brought this lariat along to fix up my prisoners with before
they were caught, but you see it has caught ’em and tied ’em both. Now
I’m through, I guess I’ll mount this gentleman’s horse--for these
Arabs are so cute that it would make nothing of carrying him right
back to his friends all on its own hook, according to the
Sunday-school books--and he shall have a seat on mine. But wait a
minute first.”
He dragged his prisoner to a spot where he was in full view of his
dismayed followers, and drawing out his revolver, held it to his head.
“You see this, men of the Beni Ayub?” he cried in Arabic, accompanying
the words with appropriate gestures. “Your sheikh will go with us the
rest of our journey. If you attack us, the first shot we fire will
settle his business, and if you even molest us, we will take him to Es
Sham and deliver him to the Roumis there. Therefore beware!”
Having shouted his warning, Mr Hicks mounted the sheikh’s horse, and
with Mansfield’s assistance bound the prisoner firmly on his own;
then, with the two Arabs bringing up the rear, they rode on after the
rest. Great was the joy and exultation with which the Beni Ismail
beheld the unpleasant plight of their hereditary foe; but Cyril
interposed to forbid any indignities being offered to the captive, who
might yet serve as a useful intermediary with his tribe. The novel
method of his capture had produced a strong effect upon his mind, and
largely increased his respect for the Prince of the Jews, and this
feeling was enhanced by the continued failure of his own tribesmen to
rescue him. They followed the party at a distance, and prowled round
the camp at night in the hope of taking its defenders by surprise; but
Mr Hicks and Mansfield kept watch and watch all night through, and
this unceasing vigilance had its reward. By dint of long marches and
little rest, the desert was safely crossed in six days after leaving
Sitt Zeynab, and within three hours’ ride of Damascus the cavalcade
paused while Cyril gave orders for the prisoner to be unbound, and his
horse and rifle restored to him.
“Return to thy tribe, O Sheikh of the Beni Ayub,” he said, “and tell
them of the clemency of the Prince of the Jews. I might have carried
thee bound into Es Sham, and left thee to rot in a Roumi dungeon, but
I send thee back to thy people, that they may know that I desire to be
their friend, and that it is my will there shall be peace throughout
the desert.”
The bewildered sheikh listened apathetically as Mr Hicks translated
the words, but when the Beni Ismail drew aside to allow him to pass,
he seemed to recognise all at once that he was free, and setting spurs
to his horse, darted off into the desert like the wind. As his late
custodians stood watching him, he reined up when almost out of sight,
and returned.
“O Prince of the Jews, the Beni Ayub are thy servants,” he cried.
“Never would I have laid wait for thee but for the words of the old
man who came to our tents with the servant of the Consulate of
Scythia, and tempted thy servant with great gifts to detain thee in
the desert for a space. Now that I know thy power and thy wisdom,
never again will I or the Beni Ayub raise a spear against thee or thy
servants the Beni Ismail.”
Dismounting, he raised the hem of Cyril’s cloak to his lips, exchanged
greetings with the sheikh of the Beni Ismail, and rode away again.
“All’s well that ends well,” said Cyril. “And now for Damascus!”
They rode on briskly, only to halt again an hour later. This time it
was to bid farewell to the Beni Ismail, who in their enthusiasm for
their new leader had accompanied him far beyond their usual limits,
although for some time they had been looking askance at every hillock,
lest it should conceal that abomination of the desert Arab, a house.
The sheikh received Cyril’s messages for the Queen--including another
earnest recommendation not to cross the desert until the Beni Ayub had
returned to their usual haunts--his men salaamed, with frank
admiration beaming in their bold eyes, and stood gazing lingeringly as
Cyril and his two companions rode away. There were no more halts now,
and as the cultivated land was reached, the roads became better. The
unpleasant passage through the burying-ground was accomplished at a
reckless pace, and a judicious _bakhshish_ prevented awkward inquiries
at the city gate. Riding more cautiously through the crowded streets,
the three adventurers, worn out with hard travelling and want of
sleep, drew rein at the door of the house which they had left just
three weeks before. Paschics rushed into the courtyard to meet them,
with bloodshot eyes and the dishevelled aspect of a man who has slept
for several nights in his clothes, and wept tears of joy when he saw
Cyril.
“Your Excellency is come. Then all is not lost!” he gasped.
“Well, what is it?” asked Cyril, dismounting.
“Oh, Excellency, it is partly my fault, and yet how could I have
prevented it? It was that elderly official of the Princess of
Dardania’s--Colonel Czartoriski. The first two or three days after you
started he was continually sending letters and desiring to see you,
though I assured him you could receive no one. Then he disguised
himself with a false beard and green spectacles--yes, Excellency!--and
told the people of the house that he was a doctor for whom you had
sent, and they showed him which were your rooms. He did not approach
by the staircase, knowing that I should be on the watch, and Dietrich
also, but came up the steps leading from the garden, and crept along
the verandah, and so peeped in at the window of your room. Dietrich
caught sight of him first, and rushed out. Hearing a scuffle, I
followed, and penetrated the man’s disguise immediately. We delivered
him over to the police, after handling him not too gently, but the
Scythian Consul came to his assistance, and got him released at once.”
“But what has all this led to?” demanded Cyril, who had been listening
with what patience he might as the Thracian poured out his tale while
they were crossing the courtyard.
“Why, Excellency, your enemies had learnt that you were away, and they
took advantage of the news immediately. There is a recrudescence of
Anti-Semitism all over Europe, especially in Neustria. The great
Lutetian preacher is delivering a course of sermons against the Jews,
and the ‘Petite Parole’ opens its columns daily to correspondents
urging the most atrocious measures. All the other papers are following
suit, members of the Government have denounced the Palestine scheme in
the Chamber, and there are signs that the different political parties
are willing to meet on the common ground of hatred of the Jews.”
“Well, we know how to manage Neustria.”
“But that is not the worst, Excellency. M. Lucien Salomans is dead.”
“What, murdered?”
“They call it suicide. He was present at some public entertainment, at
which one of the performers made a violent attack on the Jews. He
remonstrated, and became involved in a heated discussion with several
gentlemen near him. It is alleged that he left the hall exclaiming
that, Jew though he was, it was in his power to destroy Neustria if he
chose----”
“Blatant fool!” cried Cyril furiously.
“Excellency, he is dead. He was arrested that evening, and his house
searched. In prison he was visited by two high officials, who spent
some time in his cell. This was late at night, and in the morning he
was discovered to be dead. They say that he shot himself to avoid
being surprised into disclosures, but it is whispered that one of his
visitors, enraged by his persistent silence, killed him with the
revolver which had been held to his head to extort a confession.”
“But surely he had not had the madness---- Did things end there?”
“Oh no, Excellency. Since his death the houses of the principal Jews
interested in our movement have been repeatedly subjected to sudden
visits from the police.”
“Good. They are baffled so far, then. And in other countries?”
“When the excitement began in Neustria, Excellency, the Continental
press in general reserved judgment, as though alarmed at the temerity
of the Lutetian papers. But when two or three days passed, and there
was no sign from you, they grew bold, and revived all their old
infamies, busying themselves also with the future of Palestine. It is
now recommended everywhere that Jerusalem shall be occupied by the
Powers jointly, and the Jews excluded from it. The Powers are also to
have charge of all the foreign relations of the new state, the Jews
regulating only such of its affairs as are purely national and
domestic. The alarm in the Jewish world is very great. The Chevalier
Goldberg has telegraphed again and again, asking for some assurance
that you have the situation in hand. He is afraid to take any steps
lest he should jeopardise some plan of yours, and I could not reassure
him, for you did not contemplate such a crisis as this in your
instructions.”
“No, I had not foreseen this,” said Cyril slowly. He had been
glancing, while Paschics spoke, through the piles of letters and
telegrams stacked on the table, flinging some aside and arranging
others carefully in order. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand now,
and was flicking them through absently.
“Sit down and write, Paschics,” was the sharp order which startled the
secretary. “And you, Mansfield----”
“Land alive, Count! you don’t allow to fix up all the affairs of
Europe before you get a bath and a sleep?” cried Mr Hicks, aghast.
“That’s exactly what I have to do. You take a rest, Hicks, if you
like.”
“Not much,” was the emphatic reply. “I won’t offer to write for you,
Count, since these two gentlemen know your ways better than I do. But
if you have any despatches to send off I can take them to the bureau
for you, and let daylight into any one that offers any objection. I
can operate the instrument if it’s necessary, you bet.”
“A hint at the nature of the hold we have over Neustria would make the
fortune of your paper if it got wind of it. But it must not, you
understand? If the responsibility is too great for you, I won’t burden
you with it.”
“I guess my conscience is asleep on the paper side just now, Count. Go
ahead, and make use of me right away.”
“The immediate business of the moment is to send an ultimatum to the
Neustrian Minister of Foreign Affairs. Unless this persecution--moral
and material--of the Jews ceases instantly, there will be presented to
the United States Government a memorandum of the secret convention
entered into between Scythia and Neustria with reference to the Darien
Canal. When American attention is distracted, owing to troubles
elsewhere, it is agreed that the two Powers shall take joint action
with regard to Darien.” Cyril looked sharply at Mr Hicks, who nodded
calmly.
“Good card, Count. It never struck me you had that up your sleeve.”
“You knew of the convention, then?”
“That is so, sir. I’m keeping it back for the next war-scare, or the
next time a war-scare is needed, any way. But you can just play it for
all it’s worth now. You see I know a Jew or two as well as you; but I
didn’t guess that you were able to put your fingers upon the missing
document.”
“Salomans and I were the only men who knew where it is concealed. Now
that he is dead, without revealing the secret to his brother, it will
have to be got at by means of a long chain of intermediaries. Each man
knows only his particular link in the chain; but we must be ready to
produce the paper at once if it is wanted.”
“And you don’t calculate that the Judenhetze has gone too far to be
stopped?”
“Certainly not. They can stop it fast enough if they like. They will
have to take strong measures--possibly illegal measures--in the name
of the public safety, as they have done often enough when the result
would inflict injury upon the Jews. When Neustria is settled, we shall
have time to think of the rest of Europe. Ready, Paschics?”
Cyril laid down the telegrams, which he had been looking through as he
spoke, and glanced, with the faintest shadow of a smile, at Mansfield,
who was fast asleep, his head pillowed on his arms on the table. “Wake
up, Mansfield!” a firm hand gripped his shoulder. “You can rest
afterwards, but you must work now.”
For several hours Paschics wrote unceasingly, Mansfield laboured at
the typewriter, Mr Hicks hurried in and out with telegrams and their
answers, and still Cyril sat in his place, dictating to one, giving
directions to another, exchanging missives with the third. He seemed,
as Mr Hicks had said, to have the affairs of all Europe in his hands.
Reassuring messages went to one community of Jews, curt commands to
another, stern reproofs to yet another; while to high government
officials, and personages in situations even more lofty, were
despatched brief reminders of the unpleasant consequences that would
follow a breach of faith with the United Nation Syndicate. From the
Hercynian Chancellor to the editor of an obscure Jargon journal, no
one seemed either too high or too low for his notice, and Mr Hicks
observed in admiration that he had no need to refer to any note-book
for so much as a single name or address. Paschics was a pitiable
object as he laboured in vain to keep up with his employer’s
dictation. Mansfield had fallen into a state of semi-somnambulism as
he translated into suitable terms, in a purely mechanical way, the
brief instructions he received. Mr Hicks himself was inclined to think
that the ‘Crier’ office on a summer night, with a big sensation coming
in just as the paper had gone to press, was not so much worse than
this; but Cyril showed no sign of hurry or exhaustion as he issued his
directions without a pause, and the pile of papers before him grew
smaller and smaller. The stream of fresh telegrams ceased at last, for
the office was closed for the night, the typewriter rested from its
clicking and clacking; Paschics was engaged upon the last letter.
“Is there anything more, Excellency?” he asked, looking up, for Cyril
had suddenly ceased speaking.
“I believe not. No, I cannot think of anything more. Hicks,” he turned
to the American, “it’s a curious thing, my brain is an utter blank. If
you asked me what all these letters have been about, I could not tell
you. And yet my head has never been clearer than it was until just
now. It is like the sudden snapping of a thread.”
“You had better get to bed at once, Count,” was the answer, the
roughness of which masked a fierce rush of anxiety.