THE ALARM.
They rushed upon deck again as soon as the steamer was beyond
rifle-shot. A distant roar, like the blended shouts of thousands of
people, floated across the water from the town, and at intervals a shot
was fired.
Smoke no longer hovered over the garrison. The last man had succumbed,
and with the fall of the garrison the massacre seemed to have come to an
end. The uprising had been directed against the British troops alone.
"This is a terrible thing," said Melton, "and there is something back of
it all. I can't understand it. Can it be possible the wretches have
designs on Zaila, I wonder? It's a pity you interfered with that
leopard, Chutney. If Makar Makalo had perished, this revolt might never
have broken out. Makar is at the head of it, I know, and possibly he has
influence behind him. He is an ally of that fanatical despot, Rao Khan,
the Emir of Harar, who hates the English worse than poison, and--"
Guy started at the mention of this name.
"I want to see you a minute, Forbes," he cried excitedly; and, leading
Melton to one side, he pulled out the despatches from his pocket, and
said, "You have come closer to the truth than you imagine. I am going
to confide a secret to you, and you can tell what had best be done.
These papers were intrusted to me for delivery into the hands of Sir
Arthur Ashby, at Zaila, and they contain instructions bearing on the
very matter you have just mentioned. The authorities at the colonial
office in London told me in secret that the Emir of Harar was supposed
to be plotting the capture of Zaila, and these despatches contain Sir
Arthur's orders in case of that emergency."
"By Jove, that explains it!" cried Melton. "The emergency has come. I
see it all. Makar had collected his Arabs and Somalis at Berbera by the
Emir's orders, and they were only waiting the arrival of that villainous
Portuguese with the rifles. They have put the garrison at Berbera out of
the way, and now they will march on to Zaila."
"Then what can be done?" demanded Guy. "Shall we proceed to Zaila, or
get the captain to steam direct for Aden and collect all the available
troops?"
"No, no," groaned Forbes. "That would be useless. Zaila is sixty miles
up the coast. We can beat the Arabs, and get there in time to prepare
the town for defense. The garrison is wretchedly small, but they will
have to hold out until assistance can come from Aden."
Melton was still more astounded when Guy told him of the stealing of the
despatches.
"Then Torres knows their contents," he said, "and he will act
accordingly. This is certainly a bad business, Chutney. Those papers
must be delivered to Sir Arthur as soon as possible, though, to tell the
truth, I fear Zaila is doomed. But we are losing precious time.
Something must be done at once."
They called the captain aside, and told him just enough to impress him
with the danger threatening Zaila, and he readily fell in with their
plans.
Twilight was now falling, and by the time darkness had settled over the
blue waters of the gulf the steamer was plowing her way steadily
northward, Berbera but faintly visible in the rear by the glow of the
burning torches.
Hour after hour they steamed on. Neither Guy nor Melton could sleep, but
sitting aft on camp stools they talked in whispers of the dread events
they had witnessed, and of what might be before them.
At midnight the steamer came to a sudden stop. The machinery, exerted to
the highest pressure, had broken in some part. A delay was inevitable,
the captain assured them, but in a couple of hours the repairs could be
made.
Morning came, revealing the distant yellow line of the African coast,
but still the steamer lay at anchor, rocking gently in the early
morning breeze. It may be imagined with what a fever of impatience Guy
and Melton lived through those weary hours.
It was nearly midday when the repairs were completed, and the vessel
forged ahead again. For fear of fresh accidents, the captain refused to
crowd on steam, and when at last the turrets and brown walls of Zaila
came in view, it was late in the afternoon.
At a distance, all seemed peaceful; the English flag was floating from
half a dozen different buildings of the town. In the harbor lay three or
four Arab dhows and a neat little steamer, which the captain said
belonged to the governor, and was used for transporting troops or
despatches.
Captain Waller anchored close by the town, and accompanied Guy, Melton,
and Momba on shore in a small boat. So far, at least, all was well.
A few Arabs and Somalis were sitting around lazily on the sand, and
troops of the Bombay Infantry were seen moving about the streets.
"Appear as unconscious as possible," whispered Melton. "Let nothing be
suspected."
A close observer might have detected traces of suppressed curiosity on
the faces of the Arabs and Somalis, but they were evidently deceived by
the careless manner of the new arrivals, for after a keen scrutiny they
settled back into lazy attitudes.
"I don't like the looks of those fellows," said Melton, "and another
thing I don't like is the presence of those Arab dhows in the harbor.
But look, Chutney, there is the residency ahead of us."
They were approaching a low building of sun-baked brick, with Venetian
awnings at the entrance and windows. Half a dozen sentries were on
guard, and an officer came forward to meet the little party.
Guy saluted.
"I am the bearer of important despatches for the governor of Zaila," he
said, "and must see him at once."
The officer disappeared for a moment, and presently came back and
announced that the governor would see them. They were ushered in through
a wide hall, and, passing half along its length, they turned to the
right, and found themselves in the presence of Sir Arthur Ashby. He was
a very pompous looking man of middle age, with reddish mustache, and
long side whiskers. He was seated on an easy chair beside an ebony
table. Opposite him sat an English officer.
They were smoking cigars, and on the table were glasses and champagne
bottles packed in ice. Lamps were lit, for already twilight was falling.
He half arose as his visitors entered, and then dropped back. Guy
briefly introduced himself and party, and handed Sir Arthur the
despatches, explaining how the seals came to be broken, but making no
mention of Torres.
The governor knit his brow as he read them over, and then, to his
companion, he remarked lightly, "All nonsense, all nonsense. Another
government scare, Carrington."
"I beg your pardon, Sir Arthur," said Guy, "but I was informed in London
of the tenor of those despatches. Yesterday afternoon the Arabs at
Berbera massacred the garrison to a man, and are doubtless now marching
on Zaila. We barely escaped with our lives. Captain Waller and Mr.
Forbes and his servant will confirm my statement."
Sir Arthur sprang to his feet with a sharp cry.
"What is this you tell me?" he gasped. "Can it be true?"
Guy repeated his account, with all the particulars, but the governor
actually seemed incredulous.
"Colonel Carrington," he cried, "how many troops have we?"
"Five companies of the Bombay Infantry," replied the colonel in a hollow
tone. "We had six yesterday, but if this account be true--"
"Don't delay a moment," shouted Sir Arthur; "prepare for the defense,
colonel, and see that the steamer is ready in case it comes to the
worst."
The governor's condition was now truly pitiable. He was trembling with
fright.
"There is indeed but little time," said Guy. "There is danger at your
very door. I see many Arabs and Somalis in the town."
"True, true," groaned Sir Arthur, and, turning over the despatches with
trembling hands, he added, "I am instructed to order troops from Cairo
and Suakim. What madness! What madness!"
Sir Arthur continued to talk in a rambling, excited way until Colonel
Carrington assumed control of affairs.
"Your steamer is here now?" he said to the captain. "Then you must make
haste to Aden, and bring us what troops you can. I doubt, though, if we
can resist a heavy attack for twenty-four hours. And you, gentlemen, you
will return on the steamer?"
"No, we will remain," Guy and Melton replied almost in one voice.
The colonel glanced at them approvingly.
"You are brave men," he said. "Stop!" he added suddenly. "You say you
left Berbera at sunset last night, and were delayed by an accident. Were
there any camels there?"
"A caravan of two thousand arrived two days ago," replied Melton.
The colonel's face paled.
"Then the enemy are due here now," he said huskily. "On camels they
could traverse the sixty miles in from fifteen to twenty hours. It is
already dark," and he pointed out through the window.
At this Sir Arthur groaned aloud, and tossed down three or four glasses
of champagne in rapid succession.
"To your steamer, quick!" cried the colonel, addressing Captain Waller;
"and you, gentlemen, since you decide to throw your fate in with ours,
come with me, and we will inspect the fortifications, and do what little
we can."
They had risen to their feet, and were giving a hasty look to their
arms, when a bright flash lit up the gloom from without, followed by a
sharp report, and at the same moment, from all quarters of the town,
rose a continuous rifle-firing, a violent uproar and shouting, and a
deep beating of drums.
Sir Arthur sprang to his feet, crying frantically, "To the steamer, to
the steamer--it is our only hope;" but before he could take a step the
outer doors were burst open, shouts were heard in the hall, and then,
through the curtained entrance, staggered blindly an officer of
infantry, his uniform torn and disheveled, and blood pouring from half a
dozen wounds. He plunged forward, and rolled in a lifeless heap at the
very feet of Colonel Carrington.