A RAID AND A RAIDER
It was between eight and nine o’clock when the first of the enemy
appeared on the road in the persons of two smart fellows in gleaming
kilts and braided jackets. It was no more than just dusk, and I saw
that they were strangers to me. One was tall and broad, the other
shorter and of very slight build. They came on towards us confidently
enough. I was looking over Denny’s shoulder; he held Constantine’s
rifle, and I knew that he was impatient to try it. But, inasmuch as
might was certainly not on our side, I was determined that right
should abide with us, and was resolute not to begin hostilities.
Constantine had at least one powerful motive for desiring our
destruction; I would not furnish him with any plausible excuse for
indulging his wish: so we stood, Denny and I at one window, Hogvardt
and Watkins at the other, and quietly watched the approaching figures.
No more appeared; the main body did not show itself, and the sound of
the fierce chant had suddenly died away. But the next moment a third
man came in sight, running rapidly after the first two. He caught the
shorter by the arm, and seemed to argue or expostulate with him. For a
while the three stood thus talking; then I saw the last comer make a
gesture of protest as though he yielded his point unwillingly, and
they all came on together.
‘Push the barrel of that rifle a little farther out,’ said I to Denny.
‘It may be useful to them to know it’s there.’
Denny obeyed; the result was a sudden pause in our friends’ advance;
but they were near enough now for me to distinguish the last comer,
and I discerned in him, although he had discarded his tweed suit and
adopted the national dress, Constantine Stefanopoulos himself.
‘Here’s an exercise of self-control!’ I groaned, laying a detaining
hand on Denny’s shoulder.
As I spoke, Constantine put a whistle to his lips and blew loudly. The
blast was followed by the appearance of five more fellows; in three of
them I recognised old acquaintances--Vlacho, Demetri and Spiro. These
three all carried guns. The whole eight came forward again, till they
were within a hundred yards of us. There they halted, and, with a
sudden swift movement, three barrels were levelled straight at the
window where Denny and I were stationed. Well, we ducked; there is no
use in denying it; for we thought that the bombardment had really
begun. Yet no shot followed, and after an instant, holding Denny down,
I peered out cautiously myself. The three stood motionless, their aim
full on us. The other five were advancing warily, well under the
shelter of the rock, two on the left side of the road and three on the
right. The slim boyish fellow was with Constantine on the left; a
moment later the other three dashed across the road and joined them.
In a moment what military men call ‘the objective,’ the aim of these
manœuvres, flashed across me. It was simple almost to ludicrousness;
yet it was very serious, for it showed a reasoned plan of campaign
with which we were very ill-prepared to cope. While the three held us
in check, the five were going to carry off our cows. Without our cows
we should soon be hard put to it for food. For the cows had formed in
our plans a most important _pièce de résistance_.
‘This won’t do,’ said I. ‘They’re after the cows.’ I took the rifle
from Denny’s hand, cautioning him not to show his face at the window.
Then I stood in the shelter of the wall, so that I could not be hit by
the three, and levelled the rifle, not at my human enemies, but at
the unoffending cows.
‘A dead cow,’ I remarked, ‘is a great deal harder to move than a live
one.’
The five had now come quite near the pen of rude hurdles in which the
cows were. As I spoke, Constantine appeared to give some order; and
while he and the boy stood looking on, Constantine leaning on his gun,
the boy’s hand resting with jaunty elegance on the handle of the knife
in his girdle, the others leapt over the hurdles. Crack! went the
rifle, and a cow fell. I reloaded hastily. Crack! and the second cow
fell. It was very fair shooting in such a bad light, for I hit both
mortally; my skill was rewarded by a shout of anger from the robbers.
(For robbers they were; I had bought the live stock.)
‘Carry them off now!’ I cried, carelessly showing myself at the
window. But I did not stay there long, for three shots rang out, and
the bullets pattered on the masonry above me. Luckily the covering
party had aimed a trifle too high.
‘No more milk, my lord,’ observed Watkins in a regretful tone. He had
seen the catastrophe from the other window.
The besiegers were checked. They leapt out of the pen with alacrity. I
suppose they realised that they were exposed to my fire while at that
particular angle I was protected from the attack of their friends.
They withdrew to the middle of the road, selecting a spot at which I
could not take aim without showing myself at the window. I dared not
look out to see what they were doing. But presently Hogvardt risked a
glance, and called out that they were in retreat and had rejoined the
three, and that the whole body stood together in consultation and were
no longer covering my window. So I looked out, and saw the boy
standing in an easy graceful attitude, while Constantine and Vlacho
talked a little way apart. It was growing considerably darker now, and
the figures became dim and indistinct.
‘I think the fun’s over for to-night,’ said I, glad to have it over so
cheaply.
Indeed what I said seemed to be true, for the next moment the group
turned and began to retreat along the road, moving briskly out of our
sight. We were left in the thick gloom of a moonless evening and the
peaceful silence of still air.
‘They’ll come back and fetch the cows,’ said Hogvardt. ‘Couldn’t we
drag one in, my lord, and put it where the goat is, behind the house?’
I approved of this suggestion; Watkins having found a rope, I armed
Denny with the rifle took from the wall a large keen hunting-knife,
opened the door and stole out, accompanied by Hogvardt and Watkins,
who carried their revolvers. We reached the pen without interruption,
tied our rope firmly round the horns of one of the dead beasts and set
to work to drag it along. It was no child’s play, and our progress was
very slow, but the carcase moved, and I gave a shout of encouragement
as we got it down on to the smoother ground of the road and hauled it
along with a will. Alas, that shout was a great indiscretion! I had
been too hasty in assuming that our enemy was quite gone. We heard
suddenly the rush of feet; shots whistled over our heads. We had but
just time to drop the rope and turn round, when Denny’s rifle rang
out, and then--somebody was at us! I really do not know exactly how
many there were. I had two at me, but by great good luck I drove my
big knife into one fellow’s arm at the first hazard, and I think that
was enough for him. In my other assailant I recognised Vlacho. The fat
innkeeper had got rid of his gun and had a knife much like the one I
carried myself. I knew him more by his voice as he cried fiercely,
‘Come on!’ than by his appearance, for the darkness was thick now.
Parrying his fierce thrust--he was very active for so stout a man--I
called out to our people to fall back as quickly as they could, for I
was afraid that we might be taken in the rear also.
But discipline is hard to maintain in such a force as mine.
‘Bosh!’ cried Denny’s voice.
‘_Mein Gott_, no!’ exclaimed Hogvardt. Watkins said nothing, but for
once in his life he also disobeyed me.
Well, if they would not do as I said I must do as they did. The line
advanced--the whole line, as at Waterloo. We pressed them hard. I
heard a revolver fired, and a cry follow. Fat Vlacho slackened in his
attack, wavered, halted, turned, and ran. A shout of triumph from
Denny told me that the battle was going well there. Fired with
victory, I set myself for a chase. But, alas, my pride was checked.
Before I had gone two yards, I fell headlong over the body for which
we had been fighting (as Greeks and Trojans fought for the body of
Hector), and came to an abrupt stop, sprawling most ignominiously over
the cow’s broad back.
‘Stop! Stop!’ I cried. ‘Wait a bit, Denny! I’m down over this infernal
cow.’ It was an inglorious ending to the exploits of the evening.
Prudence or my cry stopped them. The enemy was in full retreat; their
steps pattered quick along the rocky road; and Denny observed in a
tone of immense satisfaction:
‘I think that’s our trick, Charley.’
‘Anybody hurt?’ I asked, scrambling to my feet.
Watkins owned to a crack from the stock of a gun on his right
shoulder, Hogvardt to a graze of a knife on the left arm. Denny was
unhurt. We had reason to suppose that we had left our mark on at least
two of the enemy. For so great a victory it was cheaply bought.
‘We’ll just drag in the cow,’ said I--I like to stick to my
point--‘and then we might see if there’s anything in the cellar.’
We did drag in the cow; we dragged it through the house, and finally
bestowed it in the compound behind. Hogvardt suggested that we should
fetch the other also, but I had no mind for another surprise, which
might not end so happily, and I decided to run the risk of leaving the
second animal till the morning. So Watkins ran off to seek for some
wine, for which we all felt very ready, and I went to the door with
the intention of securing it. But before I shut it, I stood for a
moment on the step, looking out on the night and sniffing the sweet,
clear, pure air. It was in quiet moments like these, not in such a
tumult as had just passed, that I had pictured my beautiful island;
and the love of it came on me now and made me swear that these fellows
and their arch-ruffian Constantine should not drive me out of it
without some more, and more serious, blows than had been struck that
night. If I could get away safely and return with enough force to keep
them quiet, I would pursue that course. If not--well, I believe I had
very bloodthirsty thoughts in my mind, as even the most peaceable man
may, when he has been served as I had and his friends roughly handled
on his account.
Having registered these determinations, I was about to proceed with my
task of securing the door, when I heard a sound that startled me.
There was nothing hostile or alarming about it; rather it was pathetic
and appealing, and, in spite of my previous fierceness of mood, it
caused me to exclaim, ‘Hullo, is that one of those poor beggars we
mauled?’ For the sound was a faint distressed sigh, as of somebody in
suffering; it seemed to come from out of the darkness about a dozen
yards ahead of me. My first impulse was to go straight to the spot,
but I had begun by now to doubt whether the Neopalians were not
unsophisticated in quite as peculiar a sense as that in which they
were good-hearted, and I called to Denny and Hogvardt, bidding the
latter to bring his lantern with him. Thus protected, I stepped out
of the door in the direction from which the sigh had come. Apparently
we were to crown our victory by the capture of a wounded enemy.
An exclamation from Hogvardt told me that he, aided by the lantern,
had come on the quarry; but Hogvardt spoke in disgust rather than
triumph.
‘Oh, it’s only the little one!’ said he. ‘What’s wrong with him, I
wonder.’ He stooped down and examined the prostrate form. ‘By heaven,
I believe he’s not touched--yes, there’s a bump on his forehead, but
not big enough for any of us to have given it.’
By this time Denny and I were with him, and we looked down on the
boy’s pale face, which seemed almost deathlike in the glare of the
lantern. The bump was not such a very small one, but it could hardly
have been made by any of our weapons, for the flesh was not cut. A
moment’s further inspection showed that it must be the result of a
fall on the hard rocky road.
‘Perhaps he tripped on the cord, as you did on the cow,’ suggested
Denny with a grin.
It seemed likely enough, but I gave very little thought to the
question, for I was busy studying the boy’s face.
‘No doubt,’ said Hogvardt, ‘he fell in running away and was stunned;
and they didn’t notice it in the dark, or were afraid to stop. But
they’ll be back, my lord, and soon.’
‘Carry him inside,’ said I. ‘It won’t hurt us to have a hostage.’
Denny lifted the lad in his long arms--Denny was a tall powerful
fellow--and strode off with him. I followed, wondering who it was that
we had got hold of: for the boy was strikingly handsome. I was last in
and barred the door. Denny had set our prisoner down in an armchair,
where he sat now, conscious again, but still with a dazed look in his
large dark eyes as he glanced from me to the rest and back again to
me, finally fixing a long gaze on my face.
‘Well, young man,’ said I, ‘you’ve begun this sort of thing early.
Lifting cattle and taking murder in the day’s work is pretty good for
a youngster like you. Who are you?’
‘Where am I?’ he cried, in that blurred indistinct kind of voice that
comes with mental bewilderment.
‘You’re in my house,’ said I, ‘and the rest of your infernal gang’s
outside and going to stay there. So you must make the best of it.’
The boy turned his head away and closed his eyes. Suddenly I snatched
the lantern from Hogvardt. But I paused before I brought it close to
the boy’s face, as I had meant to do, and I said:
‘You fellows go and get something to eat, and a snooze if you like.
I’ll look after this youngster. I’ll call you if anything happens
outside.’
After a few unselfish protests they did as I bade them. I was left
alone in the hall with the prisoner; soon merry voices from the
kitchen told me that the battle was being fought again over the wine.
I set the lantern close to the boy’s face.
‘H’m,’ said I, after a prolonged scrutiny. Then I sat down on the
table and began to hum softly that wretched chant of One-Eyed
Alexander’s, which had a terrible trick of sticking in a man’s head.
For a few minutes I hummed. The lad shivered, stirred uneasily, and
opened his eyes. I had never seen such eyes; I could not
conscientiously except even Beatrice Hipgrave’s, which were in their
way quite fine. I hummed away; and the boy said, still in a dreamy
voice, but with an imploring gesture of his hand:
‘Ah, no, not that! Not that, Constantine!’
‘He’s a tender-hearted youth,’ said I, and I was smiling now. The
whole episode was singularly unusual and interesting.
The boy’s eyes were on mine again; I met his glance full and square.
Then I poured out some water and gave it to him. He took it with a
trembling hand--the hand did not escape my notice--and drank it
eagerly, setting the glass down with a sigh.
‘I am Lord Wheatley,’ said I, nodding to him. ‘You came to steal my
cattle, and murder me, if it happened to be convenient, you know.’
The boy flashed out at me in a minute.
‘I didn’t. I thought you’d surrender if we got the cattle away.’
‘You thought!’ said I scornfully. ‘I suppose you did as you were bid.’
‘No; I told Constantine that they weren’t to--’ The boy stopped short,
looked round him, and said in a surprised voice, ‘Where are all the
rest of my people?’
‘The rest of your people,’ said I, ‘have run away, and you are in my
hands. And I can do just as I please with you.’
His lips set in an obstinate curve, but he made no answer. I went on
as sternly as I could.
‘And when I think of what I saw here yesterday, of that poor old man
stabbed by your bloodthirsty crew--’
‘It was an accident,’ he cried sharply; the voice had lost its
dreaminess and sounded clear now.
‘We’ll see about that when we get Constantine and Vlacho before a
judge,’ I retorted grimly. ‘Anyhow, he was foully stabbed in his own
house for doing what he had a perfect right to do.’
‘He had no right to sell the island,’ cried the boy, and he rose for a
moment to his feet with a proud air, only to sink back into the chair
again and stretch out his hand for water.
Now at this moment Denny, refreshed by meat and drink and in the
highest of spirits, bounded into the hall.
‘How’s the prisoner?’ he cried.
‘Oh, he’s all right. There’s nothing the matter with him,’ I said, and
as I spoke I moved the lantern, so that the boy’s face and figure were
again in shadow.
‘That’s all right,’ observed Denny cheerfully. ‘Because I thought,
Charley, we might get a little information out of him.’
‘Perhaps he won’t speak,’ I suggested, casting a glance at the captive
who sat now motionless in the chair.
‘Oh, I think he will,’ said Denny confidently: and I observed for the
first time that he held a very substantial-looking whip in his hand;
he must have found it in the kitchen. ‘We’ll give the young ruffian a
taste of this, if he’s obstinate,’ said Denny, and I cannot say that
his tone witnessed any great desire that the boy should prove at once
compliant.
I shifted my lantern so that I could see the proud young face, while
Denny could not. The boy’s eyes met mine defiantly.
‘Do you see that whip?’ I asked. ‘Will you tell us all we want to
know?’
The boy made no answer, but I saw trouble in his face, and his eyes
did not meet mine so boldly now.
‘We’ll soon find a tongue for him,’ said Denny, in cheerful barbarity;
‘upon my word, he richly deserves a thrashing. Say the word, Charley!’
‘We haven’t asked him anything yet,’ said I.
‘Oh, I’ll ask him something. Look here, who was the fellow with you
and Vlacho?’
Denny spoke in English; I turned his question into Greek. But the
prisoner’s eyes told me that he had understood before I spoke. I
smiled again.
The boy was silent; defiance and fear struggled in the dark eyes.
‘You see he’s an obstinate beggar,’ said Denny, as though he had
observed all necessary forms and could now get to business; and he
drew the lash of the whip through his fingers. I am afraid Denny was
rather looking forward to executing justice with his own hands.
The boy rose again and stood facing that heartless young ruffian
Denny--it was thus that I thought of Denny at the moment; then once
again he sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands.
‘Well, I wouldn’t go out killing if I hadn’t more pluck than that,’
said Denny scornfully. ‘You’re not fit for the trade, my lad.’
I did not interpret this time; there was no need; the boy certainly
understood. But he had no retort. His face was buried in those slim
hands of his. For a moment he was quite still: then he moved a little;
it was a movement that spoke of helpless pain, and I heard something
very like a stifled sob.
‘Just leave us alone a little, Denny,’ said I. ‘He may tell me what he
won’t tell you.’
‘Are you going to let him off?’ demanded Denny, suspiciously. ‘You
never can be stiff in the back, Charley.’
‘I must see if he won’t speak to me first,’ I pleaded, meekly.
‘But if he won’t?’ insisted Denny.
‘If he won’t,’ said I, ‘and you still wish it, you may do what you
like.’
Denny sheered off to the kitchen, with an air that did not seek to
conceal his opinion of my foolish tender-heartedness. Again I was
alone with the boy.
‘My friend is right,’ said I gravely. ‘You’re not fit for the trade.
How came you to be in it?’
My question brought a new look, as the boy’s hands dropped from his
face.
‘How came you,’ said I, ‘who ought to restrain these rascals, to be at
their head? How came you, who ought to shun the society of men like
Constantine Stefanopoulos and his tool Vlacho, to be working with
them?’
I got no answer; only a frightened look appealed to me in the white
glare of Hogvardt’s lantern. I came a step nearer and leant forward to
ask my next question.
‘Who are you? What’s your name?’
‘My name--my name?’ stammered the prisoner. ‘I won’t tell my name.’
‘You’ll tell me nothing? You heard what I promised my friend?’
‘Yes, I heard,’ said the lad, with a face utterly pale, but with eyes
that were again set in fierce determination.
I laughed a low laugh.
‘I believe you are fit for the trade after all,’ said I, and I looked
at him with mingled distaste and admiration. But I had my last weapon
still, my last question. I turned the lantern full on his face, I
leant forward again, and I said in distinct slow tones--and the
question sounded an absurd one to be spoken in such an impressive
way:
‘Do you generally wear--clothes like that?’
I had got home with that question. The pallor vanished, the haughty
eyes sank. I saw long drooping lashes and a burning flush, and the
boy’s face once again sought his hands.
At that moment I heard chairs pushed back in the kitchen. In came
Hogvardt with an amused smile on his broad face; in came Watkins with
his impassive acquiescence in anything that his lordship might order;
in came Master Denny brandishing his whip in jovial relentlessness.
‘Well, has he told you anything?’ cried Denny. It was plain that he
hoped for the answer ‘No.’
‘I have asked him half-a-dozen questions,’ said I, ‘and he has not
answered one.’
‘All right,’ said Denny, with wonderful emphasis.
Had I been wrong to extort this much punishment for my most
inhospitable reception? Sometimes now I think that I was cruel. In
that night much had occurred to breed viciousness in a man of the most
equable temper. But the thing had now gone to the extreme limit to
which it could go, and I said to Denny:
‘It’s a gross case of obstinacy, of course, Denny, but I don’t see
very well how we can horsewhip the lady.’
A sudden astounded cry, ‘The lady!’ rang from three pairs of lips,
while the lady herself dropped her head on the table and fenced her
face round about with her protecting arms.
‘You see,’ said I, ‘this lady is the Lady Euphrosyne.’
For who else could it be that would give orders to Constantine
Stefanopoulos, and ask where ‘my people’ were? Who else, I also asked
myself, save the daughter of the noble house, would boast the air, the
hands, the face, that graced our young prisoner? And who else would
understand English? In all certainty here was the Lady Euphrosyne.