After the skirmish which was fatal to poor Binks, and in which Grady
effected his clever capture, the convoy had not been annoyed, save now
and then by a distant shot which fell short; but in the afternoon of the
day that Kavanagh got his information about Harry Forsyth, such as it
was, out of the man Grady had taken prisoner, bullets fell closer again.
They had entered a wide valley, and there was water on the south side of
it, near the black rocks. No zereba was formed here, possibly because
troops could not be spared to guard it, or the spot was considered too
near the next wells, or there was good reason to know that there was no
force of the enemy of any consequence in the neighbourhood. Whether it
was the cause or not, this latter fact was probably the case, but there
were individual sharp-shooters about who were inclined to make
themselves a nuisance.
Perched high up among fantastic blocks of stone, which would have
tempted an artist to draw out his sketch-book, they got excellent shots
at the party below them, and as there was no chance of a return, they
being entirely concealed, and their presence merely indicated by the
little puffs of white smoke which spurted out here and there, there was
nothing to disturb their aim. For nothing spoils a rifleman's shooting
like being exposed to accurate fire himself; which was probably the
reason why duellists, who could perform wonders in the shooting gallery,
used so often to miss each other at twelve paces in the days of single
combat, when George the Fourth was Regent.
The range, however, was a long one, and the fire _plunging_, or
perpendicular. Now horizontal fire has this characteristic, that if a
bullet misses one object it goes straight on and may strike another; or
it may pass through a fleshy substance which does not offer too great
resistance, and strike another beyond. But a plunging fire, if it
misses the object aimed at, goes into the ground and is harmless.
And so it happened that no mischief was done for some time, though
several bullets came thudding down in the midst of men and camels. At
length, with the fatality which seemed throughout this campaign to
attend upon non-combatants, a shot struck a poor Egyptian camel driver
on the neck, passing through his spine, and shortly afterwards a surgeon
was wounded in the foot.
There did not seem to be more than two or three riflemen firing at them,
but they were far above the average in marksmanship, and more dangerous,
at a distance, than a score of ordinary soldiers of the Mahdi. Six men,
of whom Kavanagh was one, were told off to dislodge them; not more,
because they would certainly retire before a strong body, and return,
when they withdrew from the pursuit, to their former positions and
practice. Indeed, the officer who went with the six thought that number
too numerous to show, and advanced in front with a file only, while the
others had orders to creep up on the flanks, concealing themselves
entirely, if possible.
Those in front got fired at several times as they scaled the rocks, but
to hit a small object shifting behind cover was far beyond the Arabs'
skill yet, though they _had_ made a vast improvement, and the risk of
advancing upon them in this way was not great. And when the two men had
got within a couple of hundred yards of the nearest Arab's lurking-
place, the officer called to them to halt, keep under cover, and fire if
they got a chance, or even if they didn't, his object being to keep them
amused while the flankers gained higher ground, and obtained fair shots
at them.
But one of those in front was Macintosh, for whom the wilful waste of a
bullet was almost an impossibility, frugality and marksmanship combining
to render the task painful to his feelings. He prided himself on his
shooting, and did not like even to appear to make a miss. Not able to
catch a glimpse of a foe where he was, he crept thirty yards higher, to
a nice flat stone just breast high, which commanded a much wider view.
But still he could see nothing to shoot at; so he exposed himself,
standing fairly up. _Pat_! Came a ball against a rock five yards on
his right; it would not do for Wimbledon that.
"Eh! They must practise a wee bit afore they challenge the Scottish
team!" murmured Macintosh, as he dropped on one knee behind the stone
over which he held his Martini-Henry at the ready, his eye being fixed
on the spot the shot came from.
The Arab probably thought that he had dropped his man, for he raised his
head and shoulders above the cover to look. That was the opportunity
Macintosh was waiting for. He had him covered in a moment, his rifle
was as steady and motionless as if it grew out of the rock itself. His
finger pressed the trigger, and the Arab he aimed at fell forwards, his
arms hanging over the rocky parapet, the Remington falling from his
hands.
When they examined his body afterwards, it was found that the bullet had
struck him in the exact centre of the forehead.
"I am sorry for the puir mon, but it was an unco' good shot!" was the
complacent remark of Macintosh, as he contemplated his handiwork. But
that was later on. At the time he fired he remained still, as ordered,
looking out for another chance.
The other man had taken what he was told more literally, and fired once
or twice at spots from which flashes had issued, without a hope of
hitting anything but stones, and uncertain, indeed, whether the Arab who
had last fired was still there or had shifted his quarters. And shots
were fired back, principally at the officer, who showed his head as he
peered about, trying to see how his men were getting on.
Meantime, the files on the flanks were climbing cunningly, Kavanagh
being one of the two men on the right, until they got rather above the
level of the Arabs in ambush, and a man on the left got the first shot.
The Arab was lying down, peering to his front, and afforded a steady
aim, not fifty yards off. It was almost impossible to miss him, unless
the marksman were flurried, and the soldier was as cool as if on parade,
and hit him in the back, between the shoulder-blades: that made two.
The last report showing they were enfiladed, three other Arabs bolted
from their hiding-places, and made for the higher ground. Bang! Bang!
Bang! Went the rifles from below and each side: there they were still,
active as monkeys, darting between and over the fantastic boulders;
bang! Bang! As they re-appeared, without effect. Then five rifles
exploding together, like a volley, as a retreating Arab paused, and
turned to fire a shot back; and this time the bullets found a billet,
for he sank down in a heap. The other two got away, in spite of the
leaden invitations to stop sent after them.
Directly the first flanking shot was heard, the officer in front cried
"Forward!" to the two men with him, Macintosh and the other, and all
three pushed up amongst the rocks. As they worked up higher, the
surface of the mountain side became so rugged that they could not keep
sight of each other, and hunt about in a satisfactory manner at the same
time. While firing was going on, indeed, they had a guide as to the
direction of their friends, but when that ceased, they were somewhat
more scattered and isolated than prudence dictated. But prudence is apt
to be forgotten in the excitement of a hunt, and a manhunt is the most
thrilling of all chases. They searched about, with bayonets fixed, and
fingers on trigger-guards, expecting an antagonist behind each new rock.
Kavanagh, making for a point where he last saw the end of a bernouse
vanishing, wandered further than the others, perhaps, and came suddenly
on a hole in the side of the rock. Not a natural fissure, but evidently
a man-made doorway; oval, with carved pillars at the sides, and an
inscription over the door. Kavanagh's first impulse was to go in, his
second one not to. Why, there might be an army inside! But by the time
the risk occurred to him he was through the portals, and he was afraid
of turning, not knowing what was behind him. So he took a pace to his
rear, still looking into the interior, and holding his rifle at the
ready.
It was by no means dark inside, though coming out of the intense glare
it seemed so at the first moment. But light came in from openings high
up, showing a chamber which would _not_ contain an army, but was of
handsome dimensions for all that, and empty. Empty to all appearance,
so far as human beings were concerned that is, but inhabited by stone
heroes of the past. There they sat, solemn and gigantic, heedless of
the lapse of ages, staring into the future with blind eyes.
The walls and the bases of the statues were covered with hieroglyphics,
which would no doubt have told all about them to officials of the
British Museum not present.
What a long time it must have taken to write a letter when you had to
draw a dog to express a dog, a man when you meant a man, and so forth.
It would be rather amusing reading, though, so far as some of my
friends, who are not good artists, are concerned. And yours? If a
fellow could draw a little bit, however, one might spend nine or ten
hours after breakfast very pleasantly in deciphering his correspondence;
though it must have been annoying, if one wanted some such matter as a
pyramid in a hurry, to have to draw a stag and a knight for "Dear Sir,"
an eye for "I," and so forth throughout the piece. And when ingenious
innovators took prominent curves and angles of these drawings to express
the things, and so invented hieroglyphics, no doubt busy men with a
large correspondence found advantage in it!
Kavanagh had little time for these reflections, for he had hardly made a
rapid inspection of this curious old temple, burying-place, or whatever
it was, before he heard a shot in the distance outside, and running to
the entrance he saw an Arab, who had doubtless been unearthed on another
side and bolted here, pausing a hundred yards off to have a return shot
at the man probably who had fired at him, and the report of whose rifle
had disturbed Kavanagh's day-dream. Of course he did not know that an
enemy was up there, or he would not have stopped for his shot.
As he was getting his sight to bear on some one below, Kavanagh was
doing the same for him, and just as he was going to pull he got a
violent shock on the hip, which disconcerted his aim; and perhaps that
was lucky for Macintosh, whom he had got nicely at the end of his fore-
sight Kavanagh had hardly fired, however, and had not time to open the
breach and put another cartridge into his rifle, before he heard a noise
in the cavern-temple behind him, and, turning sharply, saw a figure with
a sword in the right-hand and a shield on the left arm, literally
bounding towards him.
The Arab must have been concealed behind one of the figures, or in a
recess which had escaped the explorer's notice, and, not possessing
fire-arms himself, had not chosen to attack while his enemy's rifle was
certain to be loaded; but directly he heard him fire he seized his
opportunity with the promptitude of a really good soldier, and went for
him before he could re-load.
Kavanagh brought his weapon down to the charge and waited for him, and
now a really interesting set-to began, and it was a pity there was no
one to witness it. The Arab, a fanatic fakir, approached with his
shield well advanced, and his sword, which a man might have shaved with,
in his strong right-hand, watching for an opening. He made a cut;
Kavanagh turned it with his bayonet and re-posted. The thrust was
parried by the shield, but the force of it made the Arab stagger back.
Kavanagh followed, feinted low, and when the shield went down delivered
the point over the top of it, just touching his opponent's chest, who
saved his life by jumping back with a slight wound. Kavanagh followed
further into the cavern. Each now knew that the other was not to be
trifled with, and they circled round, eyes glaring into eyes, trying to
draw on an attack, the statues around looking straight before them,
heedless witnesses of the conflict. Kavanagh feinted again, but the
Arab was not to be caught by the same trick a second time, and instead
of warding the thrust seized that moment to make a dash and a cut, and
his sword bit deeply into the other's side, cutting through bandolier
and kharkee into the flesh.
Kavanagh, wounded, but not disabled, at the same moment dashed his
rifle, held across, into his opponent's face, and as he staggered back
darted his bayonet at him over the shield, piercing his shoulder. Yet
he could still swing his right arm, still wield his razor-edged weapon.
And still they faced each other, bleeding freely. Kavanagh had this in
his mind fixedly, that if he thrust the point of his bayonet through the
shield, and so got it entangled, he was done, for his active opponent
would step within distance, and cut him down in a moment. As if to
force him to risk this, the Arab suddenly crouched down, and covering
himself well with his shield, made a spring at him, cutting at his left
arm. Kavanagh jumped back and saved his wrist, but it was so near a
thing that the edge of the sword touched his hand, severing the little
finger, which fell on the ground, and making a deep cut in the rifle
stock. Unaware of the mutilation, Kavanagh re-posted, darting out his
weapon over the shield with his right-hand, and piercing his enemy
through the neck.
But even for such a wound as that the brave Soudanese would not be
denied, but forced his way to close quarters, and cut his enemy over the
side of the head; a blow which would have been instantly fatal had it
been delivered with his accustomed force, but the wound through the
shoulder took the strength out of it, and loss of blood and the shock of
the throat wound helped to weaken him; indeed, his sword dropped from
his hand with the effort. Kavanagh, almost blind with the blood which
deluged his face, shortened arms and sought to transfix his assailant,
who, however, managed to seize the muzzle of the rifle and close, and a
species of rough-and-tumble conflict ensued for about half a minute,
each striving to throw the other, and both as weak as babies.
Kavanagh, however, had most strength left, for though both were losing
much blood, that which ebbed from the Arab drained more important veins,
and the wound in his throat especially was terrible. His grasp relaxed,
his eyes lost the light of fanaticism and the joy of combat, and grew
filmy and expressionless, and he fell heavily at the foot of a gigantic,
blubber-lipped statue.
Kavanagh caught up his rifle and turned the bayonet downwards, but there
was no fight left in his foe, and in spite of the customs of this
barbarous war he could not thrust. So he left the Arab lying there, and
staggered to the portal, where he was forced to lean against a pillar,
so giddy and faint was he. He had enough strength and wits left,
however, to slip a cartridge into his rifle and fire it off, as a guide
to his friends where to find him; and it was as well he did so, as they
were searching for him close by, and might not have hit upon the
entrance to the cave-temple for some time, so curiously was it masked by
the rocks. The report, however, directed them right, and just as
Kavanagh was slipping from the pillar to the ground, he heard a voice
say--
"Here he is, sir!" and saw comrades close, though their voices sounded
somehow a long way off.
"My eye, you have had a good bout, mate;" one said to him, "but where is
the other fellow?"
"In there," replied Kavanagh, faintly; "don't kill him, he's a good
'un."
"Dinna kill him, indeed!" said Macintosh, presently, as he bent over the
body of the Arab and took his scarf for bandages. "There's nae much
need for any one to do that!"
Kavanagh's wounds were rudely bound up, just to check the bleeding for
the present, and the officer having some spirits in a flask gave him a
drain, and asked him if he thought he could walk down to camp. Being
somewhat revived, he said he could, and set out, supported by a couple
of men, one on each side. It was a slow progress, but the distance was
not great, and he managed to get down all right, and then a surgeon
dressed his wounds for him.
"The bandolier and a tobacco-pipe in the pocket of your kharkee jacket
have done you a good turn, my lad," he said; "for the body cut has gone
right through them, and might have been fatal but for that resistance.
It is pretty deep as it is, but you will be all right; and your other
hurts are not serious, only sword cuts. But your little finger will not
grow again, you know."
The wounds might not be serious in a surgeon's estimation, but they were
very painful, and to feel so weak and helpless was depressing to the
spirits. The attack, however, had been successful, and the handful of
sharp-shooters killed or effectually dispersed, for no more shots were
fired at the convoy either that evening, during the night, or on the
following morning, when it got under weigh again. So he had the
pleasure of reflecting that his discomforts were not altogether incurred
in vain. The most provoking thing he found was to be told that he was
so very lucky only to be slashed all over with sword cuts, and not to
have any bullet wounds. What he had got ached and smarted and throbbed
to an extent calculated to try the patience of Job, and what was the use
of endeavouring to persuade him that he was one of the favourites of
fortune? He succeeded to the seat on a camel vacated by the ill-fated
Binks, and every jolt hurt his side; the head and hand wounds were not
much affected by the motion, but every violent jerk caused the other to
gape and bleed, and the dressing had to be renewed at every halt where
water was obtainable. But the comrade who rode alongside and
congratulated him on not having any gun-shot wounds meant well, and he
restrained his impatience. Only when Grady, whom he credited with more
sense, went on the same tack, he said, "Thank you, Paddy; did you ever
see a codfish crimped?"
"No, sure, but I have seen a salmon."
"Alive?"
"In course; it's no use doing it after he's dead."
"And did you congratulate him?"
"Indeed, I did not, and it was a cruel thing I thought it," said Grady.
"Ah, and sure I see what you are after! And it is like a crimped fish
ye are with the deep slashes, and only those would think light of them
who have not got them. But you will soon be all right again after the
clane cuts, while a poke or a bullet-hole is a long time haling if it
does not kill ye entirely. That is what the boys mane."
It was after a couple of days that Kavanagh was able to hold this
conversation. Before that he was incapacitated for talking not only by
weakness, but also because the cut on the side of his head had reached
his cheek, and slicing through it nicked the tongue.
Taking food and drink was therefore quite painful enough just at first
without talking. But it was surprising how quickly this part began to
heal. He could not smoke yet, however, and that resource for whiling
away some of the long hours failed him.
"It was a regular duel ye had with the haythen in his temple, and ye won
it fair and square, anyhow, without shooting," said Grady. "The other
was as dead as Julius Sayser when the boys saw him, for I was not to the
fore myself, having had my little tour the day before."
"I remember," said Kavanagh. "And how is your prisoner getting on? He
has not slipped away yet, has he?"
"Sorra a bit of it, he seems quite plazed to be living with dacent
people for a change. He tould the interpreter that it was a mighty
great friend of the Mahdi's ye killed; a man some people reckoned very
holy--a _faker_ he called him. At least, a man like that lived up by
that cavern ye discovered."
"I don't know who he was," said Kavanagh, "but I wish he had recovered.
He was a game one that, to fight as he did after he got his death-
wound."
Sergeant Barton, who came up just then, heard this last remark, and
said, smiling--
"That is true enough, but his opponent must have a good bit of pluck,
too, it seems to me."
"Not so much as you think," replied Kavanagh, meditatively. "I do not
say it out of mock modesty, but it is a simple fact that fear of that
sharp edge made me strain all my faculties to keep it at a distance.
But I was horribly afraid of it all the same."
"Well, I suppose that the other was afraid of your bayonet point, if you
come to that."
"I don't believe it; he did not mind it more than a pin, if he could
only kill me at the same time."
Here an officer came up and asked Kavanagh how he was; adding, "I have
good news for you. We shall reach Korti to-day, and then you will be
more comfortable."