THE NIGHT ON THE ROOF.
The tragic scene described at the close of the preceding chapter,
following on the very heels of the outbreak, was a fearful shock to all
who saw it, and for an instant they could only stare at one another with
mute, frightened faces.
Colonel Carrington broke the spell. With drawn sword he made a dash for
the door, closely followed by the rest, but before they could cross the
apartment a louder burst of firing came from the very courtyard, bullets
whistled through the windows, and then a scuffle began in the hall, and
angry voices were heard. It was over in a moment; a cry of pain, a low
groan, followed by the sound of bars dropped in their sockets, and then
into the room burst three Hindoo soldiers, grimy with blood and powder.
"Sahib colonel," cried the foremost, "we are lost. The Arabs and Somalis
have revolted. Hundreds of them surround the residency. Yonder in the
hall lies a dead Somali. We have barred the doors, but they will soon be
in."
Even as he spoke the portals shook under a succession of thunderous
blows.
"The rear door," cried the colonel. "We may escape that way."
"No, no; the building is surrounded," rejoined the Hindoo. "There is no
escape."
He was right. Shouts were heard on all sides, the blows on the doors
redoubled, and stray shots came in at the windows, both front and rear.
Sir Arthur lay prostrate in his chair.
"The roof! the roof!" he groaned. "We must take to the roof."
"By Jove, he's right," cried the colonel. "It's our last hope. Blow out
the lights and come on, quick!"
The lamps were out in a second, but a dim glare still shone into the
room from the torches outside. With an effort, Sir Arthur staggered to
his feet. Two of the soldiers assisted him, and then in great haste they
hurried through the hall to a rear room.
The building was of one story, and from this apartment a ladder led to
an open trap overhead.
Sir Arthur was pushed up first, followed closely by the rest, and just
as Momba brought up the rear and dragged the ladder after him, the great
residency doors gave way with a crash, and a wild yell of triumph told
only too plainly that the enemy had effected an entrance.
Guy's quick eye observed a big flat stone lying near, a precautionary
measure provided by some former governor, no doubt, and, calling on
Momba to assist him, he dragged it over the trap.
From below came a rush of footsteps and the sound of smashing furniture
as the Arabs hurried to and fro in search of their prey.
"We are safe for the present," said the colonel; "they can't possibly
reach us, and they may not even discover where we are."
The roof comprised the whole extent of the building, and was probably
thirty feet square. It was surrounded by a stone parapet three feet in
height, and from this parapet the little band of fugitives witnessed a
scene that none forgot to his dying day.
North and west of the residency the town seemed to be in comparative
quiet and darkness, for only stray lights were to be seen at intervals.
But off to the south lay the fortifications, and here a sharp conflict
was waging.
Through the darkness of the night the flash of every shot was seen, and
all along the line blazed out three continuous sheets of flame as the
beleaguered garrison poured their fire into the attacking parties that
advanced from both sides.
"They can't hold out an hour," said Melton. "The foe are too strong for
them."
A sharp cry from Captain Waller turned all eyes on the harbor, where the
water was illumined by twinkling lights and the flash of rifles. The
meaning of this was plain. The steamer had been attacked. No doubt
those innocent looking dhows had been filled with armed Arabs, waiting
for the signal, and now every escape was cut off. The firing was sharp
and severe for a while, and then it gave way to loud cheers.
The steamers had fallen into the hands of the enemy.
"There goes the last hope," said the colonel; "and look, even the
garrison has succumbed."
It was true. The firing had almost entirely ceased, and the few stray
shots that still rang out were drowned in the vast roar that rose from
all parts of the town.
The residency was cordoned by a surging mass of wretches, intoxicated
with triumph, and fresh hordes came pouring in, riotous from the
slaughter of the garrison.
"Some cunning fiend has planned all this," muttered Colonel Carrington,
"and planned it infernally well, too."
"The Arab, Makar Makalo, is the ringleader, sir," said Melton, "but he
is only acting for Rao Khan, the Emir of Harar, who has long desired the
port of Zaila."
"A swift retribution will come," replied the colonel, "but it will come
too late to aid us."
No person seemed inclined to talk. Sir Arthur sat up against the
parapet in a sort of stupor, the three Hindoos were grouped on one side,
and Momba mutely followed his master from point to point, as with Guy
and the colonel he made the circuit of the housetop.
And now for the first time it became evident that the presence of the
fugitives on the roof was known. Thousands of Arabs and Somalis
surrounded the building, their dark faces plainly seen in the glare of
the torches, but no hostile demonstration was made. They appeared to be
waiting on something or someone. It was very evident that the whole
population of the town was in revolt. It was equally plain, too, that
they had been prepared for this uprising, for it had apparently broken
out in all quarters of the town at once, and the expected signal had no
doubt been the approach of the Arabs from Berbera, for the vast number
of rifles used in the fight proved conclusively their arrival.
Wonderful success had crowned their plans. Yesterday the garrison at
Berbera had fallen to a man; and now Zaila was in their hands, and all
that remained of the British possessors was the miserable band of
fugitives on the residency roof.
With bitter feelings Guy looked down on the sea of faces. He was
wondering if he would ever see Calcutta or England again. But he had
been in bad predicaments before, and, hopeless as it now seemed,
something might turn up to save them yet.
Melton was inclined to think that the Arabs were only waiting for
daylight to make their attack, and yet they seemed to have no idea of
abandoning their position, but encircled the building with a sea of
torches, talking loudly and excitedly all the while.
Once Guy ventured to peer down over the parapet, and to his surprise he
saw Arab guards at the residency door, sternly keeping back the crowd.
Then he pulled aside the stone from the trap. All was dark and quiet
beneath. The solution to this mystery was close at hand.
Of a sudden a great hush fell on the vast crowd, the tumult died away to
a low murmur, and from the outskirts came a strange sound, at first low
and indistinct, and then louder and more vivid, like the tinkling of
bells mingled with the trampling of hoofs.
The Arabs and Somalis fell silently apart, leaving open a wide passage
like a swath cut through a field of standing corn that led straight to
the residency doors. Up this triumphal avenue trotted a dozen stalwart
Arabs bearing lighted torches, and directly behind came a gigantic
camel, decorated with gorgeous trappings and hung with strings of silver
bells. And on the camel's back, gazing haughtily around him, sat the
Arab, Makar Makalo.
"Behold Makar Makalo, the new ruler of Zaila!" cried the heralds, and
from the vast crowd burst one universal shout of satisfaction.