The company drew rein. All they could see in the darkness was a single
mounted figure in the middle of the road. The horseman rode nearer.
“Who are you?” asked the leader of the company.
“I keep the road for the Dakoon, for it is said that Cumner’s Son has
ridden to the Neck of Baroob to bring Pango Dooni down.”
By this time the chief and his men had ridden up. The horseman
recognised the robber chief, and raised his voice.
“Two hundred of us rode out to face Pango Dooni in this road. We had
not come a mile from the Palace when we fell into an ambush, even two
thousand men led by Boonda Broke, who would steal the roof and bed of
the Dakoon before his death. For an hour we fought but every man was cut
down save me.”
“And you?” asked Pango Dooni.
“I come to hold the road against Pango Dooni, as the Dakoon bade me.”
Pango Dooni laughed. “Your words are large,” said he. “What could you,
one man, do against Pango Dooni and his hillsman?”
“I could answer the Dakoon here or elsewhere, that I kept the road till
the hill-wolves dragged me down.”
“We be the wolves from the hills,” answered Pango Dooni. “You would
scarce serve a scrap of flesh for one hundred, and we are seven.”
“The wolves must rend me first,” answered the man, and he spat upon the
ground at Pango Dooni’s feet.
A dozen men started forward, but the chief called them back.
“You are no coward, but a fool,” said he to the horseman. “Which is it
better: to die, or to turn with us and save Cumner and the English, and
serve Pango Dooni in the Dakoon’s Palace?”
“No man knows that he must die till the stroke falls, and I come to
fight and not to serve a robber mountaineer.”
Pango Dooni’s eyes blazed with anger. “There shall be no fighting, but a
yelping cur shall be hung to a tree,” said he.
He was about to send his men upon the stubborn horseman when the fellow
said:
“If you be a man you will give me a man to fight. We were two hundred.
If it chance that one of a company shall do as the Dakoon hath said,
then is all the company absolved; and beyond the mists we can meet the
Dakoon with open eyes and unafraid when he saith, ‘Did ye keep your
faith?’”
“By the word of a hillsman, but thou shalt have thy will,” said the
chief. “We are seven hundred men--choose whom to fight.”
“The oldest or the youngest,” answered the man. “Pango Dooni or Cumner’s
Son.”
Before the chief had time to speak, Cumner’s Son struck the man with the
flat of his sword across the breast.
The man did not lift his arm, but looked at the lad steadily for a
moment. “Let us speak together before we fight,” said he, and to show
his good faith he threw down his sword.
“Speak,” said Cumner’s Son, and laid his sword across the pommel of his
saddle.
“Does a man when he dies speak his heart to the ears of a whole tribe?”
“Then choose another ear than mine,” said Cumner’s Son. “In war I have
no secrets from my friends.”
A look of satisfaction came into Pango Dooni’s face. “Speak with the man
alone,” said he, and he drew back.
Cumner’s Son drew a little to one side with the man, who spoke quickly
and low in English.
“I have spoken the truth,” said he. “I am Cushnan Di”--he drew himself
up--“and once I had a city of my own and five thousand men, but a plague
and then a war came, and the Dakoon entered upon my city. I left my
people and hid, and changed myself that no one should know me, and I
came to Mandakan. It was noised abroad that I was dead. Little by little
I grew in favour with the Dakoon, and little by little I gathered strong
men about me-two hundred in all at last. It was my purpose, when the day
seemed ripe, to seize upon the Palace as the Dakoon had seized upon my
little city. I knew from my father, whose father built a new portion
of the Palace, of a secret way by the Aqueduct of the Failing Fountain,
even into the Palace itself. An army could ride through and appear in
the Palace yard like the mist-shapes from the lost legions. When I had a
thousand men I would perform this thing, I thought.
“But day by day the Dakoon drew me to him, and the thing seemed hard to
do, even now before I had the men. Then his sickness came, and I could
not strike an ailing man. When I saw how he was beset by traitors, in
my heart I swore that he should not suffer by my hands. I heard of your
riding to the Neck of Baroob--the men of Boonda Broke brought word. So
I told the Dakoon, and I told him also that Boonda Broke was ready to
steal into his Palace even before he died. He started up, and new life
seemed given him. Calling his servants, he clothed himself, and he came
forth and ordered out his troops. He bade me take my men to keep the
road against Pango Dooni. Then he ranged his men before the Palace, and
scattered them at points in the city to resist Boonda Broke.
“So I rode forth, but I came first to my daughter’s bedside. She lies
in a little house not a stone’s throw from the Palace, and near to the
Aqueduct of the Falling Fountain. Once she was beautiful and tall and
straight as a bamboo stem, but now she is in body no more than a piece
of silken thread. Yet her face is like the evening sky after a rain.
She is much alone, and only in the early mornings may I see her. She is
cared for by an old woman of our people, and there she bides, and thinks
strange thoughts, and speaks words of wisdom.
“When I told her what the Dakoon bade me do, and what I had sworn to
perform when the Dakoon was dead, she said:
“‘But no. Go forth as the Dakoon hath bidden. Stand in the road and
oppose the hillsmen. If Cumner’s Son be with them, thou shalt tell him
all. If he speak for the hillsmen and say that all shall be well with
thee, and thy city be restored when Pango Dooni sits in the Palace of
the Dakoon, then shalt thou join with them, that there may be peace in
the land, for Pango Dooni and the son of Pango Dooni be brave strong
men. But if he will not promise for the hillsmen, then shalt thou keep
the secret of the Palace, and abide the will of God.”’
“Dost thou know Pango Dooni’s son?” asked the lad, for he was sure that
this man’s daughter was she of whom Tang-a-Dahit had spoken.
“Once when I was in my own city and in my Palace I saw him. Then my
daughter was beautiful, and her body was like a swaying wand of the
boolda tree. But my city passed, and she was broken like a trailing
vine, and the young man came no more.”
“But if he came again now?”
“He would not come.”
“But if he had come while she lay there like a trailing vine, and
listened to her voice, and thought upon her words and loved her still.
If for her sake he came secretly, daring death, wouldst thou stand--”
The man’s eyes lighted. “If there were such truth in any man,” he
interrupted, “I would fight, follow him, and serve him, and my city
should be his city, and the knowledge of my heart be open to his eye.”
Cumner’s Son turned and called to Pango Dooni and his son, and they came
forward. Swiftly he told them all. When he had done so the man sprang
from his horse, and taking off the thin necklet of beaten gold he wore
round his throat, without a word he offered it to Tang-a-Dahit, and
Tang-a-Dahit kissed him on the cheek and gave him the thick, loose chain
of gold he wore.
“For this was it you risked your life going to Mandakan,” said Pango
Dooni, angrily, to his son; “for a maid with a body like a withered
gourd.” Then all at once, with a new look in his face, he continued
softly: “Thou hast the soul of a woman, but thy deeds are the deeds of a
man. As thy mother was in heart so art thou.”
......................
Day was breaking over Mandakan, and all the city was a tender pink.
Tower and minaret were like inverted cups of ruddy gold, and the streets
all velvet dust, as Pango Dooni, guided by Cushnan Di, halted at the
wood of wild peaches, and a great thicket near to the Aqueduct of the
Failing Fountain, and looked out towards the Palace of the Dakoon. It
was the time of peach blossoms, and all through the city the pink and
white petals fell like the gay crystals of a dissolving sunrise. Yet
there rose from the midst of it a long, rumbling, intermittent murmur,
and here and there marched columns of men in good order, while again
disorderly bands ran hither and hither with krises waving in the sun,
and the red turban of war wound round their heads.
They could not see the front of the Palace, nor yet the Residency
Square, but, even as they looked, a cannonade began, and the smoke of
the guns curled through the showering peach-trees. Hoarse shoutings
and cries came rolling over the pink roofs, and Cumner’s Son could hear
through all the bugle-call of the artillery.
A moment later Cushnan Di was leading them through a copse of pawpaw
trees to a secluded garden by the Aqueduct, overgrown with vines and
ancient rose trees, and cherry shrubs. After an hour’s labour with
spades, while pickets guarded all approach, an opening was disclosed
beneath the great flag-stones of a ruined building. Here was a wide
natural corridor overhung with stalactites, and it led on into an
artificial passage which inclined gradually upwards till it came into
a mound above the level by which they entered. Against this mound
was backed a little temple in the rear of the Palace. A dozen men had
remained behind to cover up the entrance again. When these heard Pango
Dooni and the others in the Palace yard they were to ride straight for a
gate which should be opened to them.
There was delay in opening the stone door which led into the temple,
but at last they forced their way. The place was empty, and they rode
through the Palace yard, pouring out like a stream of spectral horsemen
from the altar of the temple. Not a word was spoken as Pango Dooni and
his company galloped towards the front of the Palace. Hundreds of the
Dakoon’s soldiers and terrified people who had taken refuge in the great
court-yard, ran screaming into corners, or threw themselves in terror
upon the ground. The walls were lined with soldiers, but not one raised
his hand to strike--so sudden was the coming of the dreaded hillsman.
They knew him by the black flag and the yellow sunburst upon it.
Presently Pango Dooni gave the wild battle-call of his tribe, and every
one of his seven hundred answered him as they rode impetuously to the
Palace front. Two thousand soldiers of the Dakoon, under command of his
nephew, Gis-yo-Bahim, were gathered there. They were making ready to
march out and defend the Palace. When they saw the flag and heard the
battle-cry there was a movement backward, as though this handful of
men were an overwhelming army coming at them. Scattered and disorderly
groups of men swayed here and there, and just before the entrance of the
Palace was a wailing group, by which stood two priests with their yellow
robes and bare shoulders, speaking to them. From the walls the soldiers
paused from resisting the swarming herds without.
“The Dakoon is dead!” cried Tang-a-Dahit.
As if in response came the wailing death-cry of the women of the Palace
through the lattice windows, and it was taken up by the discomfited
crowd before the Palace door.
“The Lord of all the Earth, the great Dakoon, is dead.”
Pango Dooni rode straight upon the group, who fled at his approach, and,
driving the priests indoors, he called aloud:
“The Dakoon is living. Fear not!”
For a moment there was no reply, and he waved his men into place
before the Palace, and was about to ride down upon the native army, but
Cumner’s Son whispered to him, and an instant after the lad was riding
alone upon the dark legions. He reined in his horse not ten feet away
from the irregular columns.
“You know me,” said he. “I am Cumner’s Son. I rode into the hills at the
Governor’s word to bring a strong man to rule you. Why do ye stand
here idle? My father, your friend, fights with a hundred men at the
Residency. Choose ye between Boonda Broke, the mongrel, and Pango Dooni,
the great hillsman. If ye choose Boonda Broke, then shall your city be
levelled to the sea, and ye shall lose your name as a people. Choose!”
One or two voices cried out; then from the people, and presently from
the whole dark battalions, came the cry: “Long live Pango Dooni!”
Pango Dooni rode down with Tang-a-Dahit and Cushnan Di. He bade all but
five hundred mounted men to lay down their arms. Then he put over them a
guard of near a hundred of his own horsemen. Gathering the men from the
rampart he did the same with these, reserving only one hundred to remain
upon the walls under guard of ten hillsmen. Then, taking his own six
hundred men and five hundred of the Dakoon’s horsemen, he bade the gates
to be opened, and with Cushnan Di marched out upon the town, leaving
Tanga-Dahit and Cumner’s Son in command at the Palace.
At least four thousand besiegers lay before the walls, and, far beyond,
they could see the attack upon the Residency.
The gates of the Palace closed on the last of Pango Dooni’s men, and
with a wild cry they rode like a monstrous wave upon the rebel mob.
There was no preparation to resist the onset. The rush was like a storm
out of the tropics, and dread of Pango Dooni’s name alone was as death
among them.
The hillsmen clove the besiegers through like a piece of pasteboard,
and turning, rode back again through the broken ranks, their battle-call
ringing high above the clash of steel. Again they turned at the Palace
wall, and, gathering impetus, they rode at the detached and battered
segments of the miserable horde, and once more cut them down, then
furiously galloped towards the Residency.
They could hear one gun firing intermittently, and the roars of Boonda
Broke’s men. They did not call or cry till within a few hundred yards
of the Residency Square. Then their battle-call broke forth, and Boonda
Broke turned to see seven hundred bearing down on his ten thousand, the
black flag with the yellow sunburst over them.
Cumner, the Governor, and McDermot heard the cry of the hillsmen, too,
and took heart.
Boonda Broke tried to divide his force, so that half of them should face
the hillsmen, and half the Residency; but there was not time enough;
and his men fought as they were attacked, those in front against Pango
Dooni, those behind against Cumner. The hillsmen rode upon the frenzied
rebels, and were swallowed up by the great mass of them, so that they
seemed lost. But slowly, heavily, and with ferocious hatred, they drove
their hard path on. A head and shoulders dropped out of sight here and
there; but the hillsmen were not counting their losses that day, and
when Pango Dooni at last came near to Boonda Broke the men he had lost
seemed found again, for it was like water to the thirsty the sight of
this man.
But suddenly there was a rush from the Residency Square, and thirty men,
under the command of Cumner, rode in with sabres drawn.
There was a sudden swaying movement of the shrieking mass between Boonda
Broke and Pango Dooni, and in the confusion and displacement Boonda
Broke had disappeared.
Panic and flight came after, and the hillsmen and the little garrison
were masters of the field.
“I have paid the debt of the mare,” said Pango Dooni, laughing.
“No debt is paid till I see the face of my son,” answered Cumner
anxiously.
Pango Dooni pointed with his sword. “In the Palace yard,” said he.
“In the Palace yard, alive?” asked Cumner. Pango Dooni smiled. “Let us
go and see.”
Cumner wiped the sweat and dust and blood from his face, and turned to
McDermot.
“Was I right when I sent the lad?” said he proudly. “The women and
children are safe.”