CHAPTER XXBURSTING THE BONDSIt was Beresford that was quickest to profit by the instinctive act of veneration inspired by the sight of the head-dress which use and superstition had made a symbol of awful authority and power. Stepping forward, he spoke in slow, grave tones over the heads of the grovelling multitude."The Law of the Eye must be obeyed," he said in Chinese. "It changes not from age to age. As its minister, I bid you withdraw on your faces from the portal which you have polluted. You shall not stand upon your feet until you reach the wall yonder. Then you shall hear the judgment of the Master of the Eye."The priests began in silence to crawl back towards the garden wall. Mackenzie and Jackson, after a few moments of breathless suspense, smiled wanly at each other. Forrester, meanwhile, realising with amazement the wonderful effect produced on the crowd by the mere sight of the head-dress, had at once checked his pace, and now moved down the aisle with all the dignity he could muster, and stood motionless in the doorway, in full view of the priests. When they rose to their feet and saw him there, a shiver shot through them.[image]Forrester stood in the doorway, in full view of the priests."We must carry it through," Beresford murmured hurriedly. "Say two or three words slowly and in a loud tone, and extend your hand towards them. Keep up your dignity as Master of the Eye.""Arma virumque cano," recited Forrester, reflecting rapidly that while some of the priests might understand English, Latin would probably be unknown to them.Beresford bowed to the ground. Then lifting himself, he spoke in Chinese."Hear the decree of the Master of the Eye. The slaves shall depart from this place, with provisions, arms and gold, sufficient to carry them to their homes. The Master of the Eye, and we his servants, will accompany them. If any man of you molests our party, or seeks to stay our progress, he shall suffer the last punishment."The priests heard his words in silence. Their eyes were fastened immovably on the august head-dress."I must go down to the cavern and bring up the wretches there," said Beresford in a rapid undertone."Wait, wait, it's not safe," cried Mackenzie, wincing with the pain in his wounded arm. "Send them all back to their houses first.""He's right," said Forrester. "Who knows but some of them will go for you in a frenzy!"Beresford calmly gave the order; Mackenzie flung to the priests the key of the wicket gate, and they slowly passed through it, crossed the garden and the bridges, and retired into their dwellings on the farther side.Forrester heaved a great sigh of relief. "The blessed thing won't work," he said. "If they only knew it!""They don't! Your appearance was a stroke of genius," said Beresford."Not even a lucky fluke!" said Forrester. "I put the thing on to keep it safe. It's plaguey heavy: may I take it off now, d'you think?""Surely, for a few minutes at any rate--out of their sight. We must decide rapidly on the next step."They withdrew a few paces into the aisle, leaving the two Chinamen to keep watch on the priests. Jackson meanwhile did his best to bind up Mackenzie's wounded shoulder. Forrester put the head-dress on the ledge of the golden throne, and linking arms with Beresford, walked slowly towards the doorway."Have you found the way down?" asked Beresford."No. There's no sign of doorway or staircase, is there, Mac?""None whatever.""Then we must make the priests tell us," Beresford went on. "When I have got the prisoners from below, we must tell the slaves--I fancy by the noise that they are already in a great state of excitement beyond the wall. We'll send them down first into the rift and ourselves bring up the rear. One of the priests will have to guide us, of course.""And the negritos?""They can go too if they choose. But I fancy that as the aboriginal inhabitants of the plateau they won't care to migrate.""The Old Man?""Ah! What shall we do with him? We might fetch him down, I suppose, if we can find his secret door, and take him with us, though I don't know in the least what country would have the right and privilege to punish him as he deserves. On the whole I think we had better let him alone, report the whole matter when we get back, and leave the governments to squabble among themselves about the ownership of this valuable region.... But what on earth's the matter?"They heard frenzied shouts from the direction of the sanctum. In a few moments Hamid Gul came into view, running like a deer, and screaming "Hai! hai!" at the top of his voice. The Englishmen turned to meet him."By Jinks! He's got our rifles!" cried Forrester, in delight."But his cries sound more like fright than jubilation," said Beresford, puzzled."Well?" Forrester asked, as the Bengali rushed up panting, and thrust a rifle into his hand."One-armed bald-head, sahib!" he gasped. "Hai! my lungs and liver! With rifles in arms, lucky find in cupboard, I come through old gentleman's bedroom. Sight I saw knocked me silly, sahib. One-armed josser lost all his hair: bald as basin; went slap bang into wall, sahib.""Wen Shih?""Identical and no mistake, sahib, though hardly knew him without wig. And he had in hands old gentleman's funny old----""What!" broke in Forrester with a shout, glancing towards the spot where he had laid the head-dress. It was gone! Behind the throne a panel stood open in the wall."He's got it! He's taken it to the Old Man! We're dished!" cried Forrester.Instinctively he took a few rapid paces towards the sanctum. But he remembered in a flash that he had been unable to find the door in the wall. He started back, in his agitation not knowing for the moment what to do for the best. Then suddenly his eyes fell on the rifle Hamid Gul had thrust into his hands. With a rapid jerk he threw open the chamber. It was full of cartridges, just as when he last had it in the rift.His friends stared in amazement as he ran to the door, leapt over the fallen priests, and rushed into the courtyard. They followed him to the entrance. He was looking up into the air. On the far side of the enclosure the priests had emerged from their houses, and were standing in silence, gazing intently, eagerly upwards. When Forrester reached the wall he turned about, set the rifle to his shoulder, took steady aim, and fired. A dead silence followed the reverberations of the shot; then a yell of rage burst from the throng of priests, and they came leaping in one tumultuous mob towards the garden. At the same time, far to the left, a dark, bearded figure jumped down from the top of the outer wall, and rushed straight towards Forrester, spade in hand.Forrester stood for a few seconds steadily gazing up, and the spectators in the portal saw his face pale, and a strange look come into his staring eyes. Then he shivered as though a blast of icy wind had struck upon him, and ran staggeringly back to the doorway. A moment behind him Sher Jang dashed into the pagoda."I hit him!" Forrester said under his breath, in the hushed tone of one who has witnessed a tragedy. "He was carrying the head-dress up the stairway to the Old Man. He rolled from roof to roof, and plunged down, down, he and the head-dress, into the rift."He sank into one of the seats, and stared dully at the floor."Quick, you men!" cried Beresford, taking instant grip of the situation. "The rifles! The Chinamen are at us!""Have you got our revolvers, Hamid?" asked Mackenzie."They are there, sahib. I could not carry----""Away with you! Don't stand blethering there! Fetch them, and run like the wind."The priests were swarming across the garden, jostling one another in the narrow gate, leaping towards the pagoda. Infuriated at the loss of their colleague, just promoted to the higher rank, and at the trick played upon them, they knew that the "foreign devils" no longer had the Eye at their command, and already gloated over their slaughtered bodies. Venting shrill cries of frenzy, they made straight for the entrance, reckless and without order.But their vision of an orgy of carnage was rudely dispelled. Within the doorway Beresford, Jackson, and Sher Jang stood calmly awaiting them, rifle at shoulder. At twenty paces the rifles flashed; three men fell upon their faces; their comrades reeled back. Another volley crashed into the crowd surging on, and as the survivors staggered, the bark of the revolvers placed by Hamid in the hands of Forrester and Mackenzie mingled with the groans and shrieks of the frantic mob. They turned about, flung away their futile weapons, and fled, a wild rout, through the gate and over the garden towards their dwellings."After them!" cried Mackenzie. "No more firing!"The little garrison stepped out into the open. And there Sher Jang put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill blast. Instantly the long wall to the left was thick with men, who scrambled over, dropped to the ground, and pursued the panting priests, brandishing the implements of their servitude, and filling the air with fierce triumphant yells. The shikari, at the first sounds of commotion, had collected his fellow slaves and led them to the wall to await his signal.They swarmed after their oppressors. The passion for freedom throbbed in their veins. The pent-up fury of years of abject captivity burst the fetters that had chained their souls. No hireling valour could withstand them. The priests, their rage become terror, fled like stags before the hounds, across the bridges, through the stream, towards the further gate and their barracks beyond. The huddled mass choked the gate; a few turned at bay; some fell on their knees and prayed for mercy; they had shown no mercy, none they received. The slaves smote and spared not. They forced their way through the gate, hunted the priests to their doors, dashed in after them like terriers into a warren, drove them out at the rear, and chased them pell-mell across the plateau in all directions. And the Old Man still stood like a graven image on his gold-fenced platform aloft.The white men withdrew into the pagoda. They had neither the power nor maybe the will to interfere between the priests and their late victims."We may be thankful we are not all blown up," said Beresford, as they threw themselves wearily upon the golden chairs. "I was in terror lest they should break through into the cavern. One priest put his foot into the hole and fell sprawling over the embankment into the stream. But now our way is clear."They all turned and looked at the opening in the wall behind the throne."Wen Shih has opened the door for us," said Forrester. "He must have come up from below and run off with the head-dress when our backs were turned.""The irony of Fate!" said Beresford. "Now we will bring up the poor creatures still below, and make preparations to depart."CHAPTER XXIDOOMIt was a strange procession that filed some hours later through the rift towards the thundering falls. Sher Jang led the way, rifle on shoulder; the position suited his dignity, and Forrester, in giving it him, had been moved by a desire to separate him as far as possible from Hamid Gul. That worthy had again "sung his own praises quite a lot," and boasted so much of the part he had played in recent events that the shikari found him more offensive than ever.Behind the leader marched the old zamindar with his daughter, and the whole body of slaves, Chinese, Tibetans, Indians of all castes and none. They were light-hearted, even merry; the reaction from black despair was extreme. Every man bore his load. Many had stinted their supply of food, to cumber themselves the more heavily with gold; for in the final sack of the pagoda they had seized upon every golden article that was portable.At the rear came the Englishmen with Hamid Gul and Beresford's sturdy little Tibetan, whom they had found in one of the underground cells, despairing about his master, but wholly uncowed by the green eye. The two servants carried their masters' possessions, found in one of the cupboards behind the armoury, among them three articles on which Beresford set much store. One was the tablet that had led him and Redfern to the spot. The second was a roll of parchment giving the Old Man's pedigree; apparently he was the last of a line which had held unbroken sway for many centuries. The third was a similar roll, less ancient, inscribed with the names of the Chinese prisoners who had been employed, during a period of fifty years, in transmuting the lead into gold. At the head of the list was a short statement which Beresford could not fully decipher, but from which he inferred that, fifty years before, a certain mandarin of Yunnan, having scented out a secret in those wilds, had organised an expedition to discover it, and coming into conflict with the father and predecessor of the present owner, had slain him in fight. The attack had been beaten off, and the Old Man had taken implacable revenge by kidnapping or otherwise impressing young members of every branch of the mandarin's family.The white men had decided in consultation to take the whole crowd back to Dibrugarh, lay all the facts before the Government, and leave it to determine the future. Hitherto the district had been a No Man's Land; when it became known that it concealed a manufactory of gold, no doubt there would be eager competition for its ownership. The breaking-up of the remnant community of priests was only a question of time.Towards the close of the day the procession reached the forest village in which Forrester's party had left their carriers. One of the liberated prisoners acting as interpreter, it was learnt that the Nagas, tired of waiting for their employers, and convinced that they had fallen victims to the mysterious Eye, had gone away about a week before."I wonder if they ventured into Dibrugarh?" said Forrester."It's not likely," Mackenzie answered. "They've no interest in us, and as they've taken our baggage, they'll appropriate that in lieu of pay.""I hope Redfern recovered," said Jackson."I've grave fears about that," said Beresford. "It is more than a month since we parted, and if he were well he would have sent up a relief force long before this. Poor old Runnymede!""He didn't know we came, of course," said Mackenzie. "Maybe we were asses not to tell somebody. They all think we are holiday making!""By Jinks! I'm ready for a holiday now," cried Jackson."A bath and a change of togs would be enough for the moment," said Forrester. "I've never been tempted to compare Dibrugarh to heaven before! We can't leave these people to wander without guidance, or I'd vote for pushing on faster to-morrow. I long to smell soap again."By dint of hard marching they made more rapid progress next day. In the afternoon, emerging from a tract of forest land, they recognised at some distance the well-remembered contours of the hill which Redfern had named Monkey-face. They had set their course towards its base when a glint of light on the hill-top attracted their attention."Nobody heliographing, surely!" exclaimed Forrester."There's somebody up there, though," cried Jackson. "Don't you see figures moving?"They halted, and gazing ahead, made out several small moving objects on the skyline. Every now and then there was a flash, reflected from the rays of the declining sun."Would you not say that's a tent?" asked Mackenzie presently, when they had moved a little nearer. He indicated an object of conical shape on the skyline."A tent it is!" answered Forrester. "And by Jinks! they've seen us! They're mounting horses! They're galloping down!"The distance was still too great for the forms of the riders to be clearly distinguished, and as a measure of precaution the Englishmen called a general halt, and placed themselves, with those of their followers who had firearms, in the van. They watched the horsemen steadily, and in growing excitement. Pith helmets, the khaki dress, the very manner of their riding, bred conviction."The Assam Light Horse!" Jackson declared.He waved his arms and cheered frantically. His companions took up the cry, and a faint response came from the galloping horsemen."There's old Jenkins!" cried Forrester presently, recognising a comrade."And McIlwaine!" Mackenzie chimed in."And Paddy!" from Jackson."And, on my life, dear old Runnymede himself!" shouted Beresford. "I knew he wouldn't fail us!"He started forward impetuously, the others following. The horsemen dashed down, reined up their steeds, and sprang to the ground. There was laughing and hand-shaking, a confused and deafening exchange of welcomes, protests, demands for explanation."You old frauds!""Dashed unfair!""You've had all the fun!""Why didn't ye give us all a chance, then?""What's kept you, you set of blighters?""A pretty set of scarecrows, by Jove!"Redfern and Beresford clasped hands in silence awhile."You're thinner, Harry," said Redfern at length."You're not looking very fit yourself," answered Beresford. "Had a shake, old man?""Rotten! You're quite sound, eh?""Yes, thank God! There's a heap to tell you. What were you doing on the hill?""Camping for the night. We've done fifty miles since morning. Were coming on to-morrow. Glad we're too late, old chump!"Presently, when all had cooled down, they fell to talking practically. It was near sunset, and they decided that Forrester and his party should mount the hill and share the planters' tents for the night, the mingled mass of Orientals camping at the foot.An hour later, gathered about the camp fire, the band of bronzed and stalwart young Englishmen listened raptly to the story told by Beresford. He related all the incidents of the weeks since Redfern was parted from him by the iron shutter. The silence of the audience was broken now and again by ejaculations of horror, rage, sheer amazement. When Beresford had finished, there were cries for Forrester, Mackenzie, Jackson in turn. Each added some detail of his own experience."And the villainous Old Man?" cried one."We left him standing like an ivory statue on his platform, surveying the wreck of his little empire," said Beresford."And the Eye--what became of it?" asked another."We don't know," Forrester answered. "None of us had the heart to look for the body of the poor wretch. I suppose the Eye opened; if it did, it is boring a hole somewhere in the rift.""That one-eyed freak of yours is a trump, Dick," said a third. "We've always wondered why you kept the chap.""Yes; I shan't forget him. The only grudge I have against Mac is that he didn't tell us in the cavern that Hamid was his postman above.""Och! I'm not a bletherskite," grunted Mackenzie."I vote we go on to-morrow and wipe out the whole rascally crew," cried another."And chuck the Old Man into his pit.""He's too tough and skinny to please the Monster.""But I say, what about that gold-making concern? Why shouldn't we make ourselves millionaires?""I wouldn't go down there again if I came out Rockefeller and Vanderbilt rolled into one," said Forrester emphatically. "Looking back on it, I can't imagine now how I climbed that chimney. When I was near the top, and heard the water gurgling overhead----""Well, what of that?"Before Forrester could reply, the darkening sky was lit up northward by a sudden blaze of light that brought everyone to his feet in consternation. As one of them afterwards remarked, it was like the blinding glare of ten thousand flashlights. It was gone in an instant, and the universe seemed plunged into utter blackness.The men stood at gaze. Perhaps a minute after the flash, a roar like the gunfire of all the world's fleets rolled and thundered dully about them. The earth trembled beneath their feet. Presently the air became hot, and a shower of fine dust mingled with stones bespattered them."A volcano!" cried one."No; that is the answer to your question," said Beresford quietly."What do you mean, sir?""What we feared might happen, has happened. I haven't a doubt of it. Our mining must have weakened the embankment, the stream broke through and plunged into the pit, tons of water were decomposed by the mysterious rays, and the explosion has shattered everything with volcanic force.""Ay, and there's the end of the Old Man of the Mountain," Mackenzie said gravely.The workers in the Laibach observatory recorded a seismic disturbance, locating it somewhere in the steppes of Central Asia. No authentic information, accredited by responsible men of science, ever reached them. But in course of time fantastic stories came to this country in private correspondence, and found their way into the newspapers. They were pooh-poohed, laughed at, pronounced incredible. Certain adventurous spirits did indeed slip off with more or less secrecy and hurry by the quickest route to the unknown country watered by the middle Brahmaputra. A company was even formed in London for exploiting gold in that region; but it lived feverishly and died forlorn. Persistent explorers ranged over mile upon mile of desolate country in quest of a gigantic waterfall, a marvellous cañon, and a fertile plateau that was said to be inhabited by an aboriginal race of pigmies. Of the canon they found no trace; only a number of scattered bones, large and small, announced that human beings and strange monsters had once inhabited what was now a rocky waste. A hitherto unknown river was discovered, broken for miles of its course by foaming rapids; but rapids are not waterfalls, as everybody knows.In his rooms at Cambridge Henry Beresford sometimes shows his visitors a painted tablet from Khotan, and some strangely inscribed rolls of parchment. If pressed, he will tell a singular story, which they listen to politely, and with murmurs of "How very interesting!" totally disbelieve. The fact is that neither he, nor his friend Captain Redfern, nor certain young planters in Assam, care very much to talk about the events of those few weeks when the currents of their lives were mingled, and danger welded them into a comradeship which nothing will sever.[image]TailpieceHERBERT STRANG'S STORIESSTORIES OF THE GREAT WARFIGHTING WITH FRENCH: A Tale of the New Army.FRANK FORESTER: A Story of the Dardanelles.A HERO OF LIÉGE: A British Scout in Belgium.ROMANCESPALM TREE ISLAND: A Story of Adventure in the South Seas.THE ADVENTURES OF DICK TREVANION: A Story of the Smuggling Days.JACK HARDY: A Story of 1805.TALES OF EMPIRE AND FOREIGN ADVENTURETHE AIR SCOUT: A Story of National Defence.THE AIR PATROL: A Story of the North-West Frontier.TOM BURNABY: A Story of the Congo Forest.SAMBA: A Story of the Congo.SETTLERS AND SCOUTS: A Story of Adventure in East Africa.SULTAN JIM: A Story of Adventure in Central Africa.ROMANCES OF MODERN INVENTIONKING OF THE AIR; or, To Morocco in an Aeroplane.ROUND THE WORLD IN SEVEN DAYS: The Story of an Aeroplane.THE MOTOR SCOUT: The Story of a Motor Bicycle.LORD OF THE SEAS: The Story of a Submarine.SWIFT AND SURE: The Story of a Hydroplane.THE FLYING BOAT: The Story of a Hydro-Aeroplane.THE CRUISE OF THE GYRO-CAR: The Story of a Two-Wheeled Motor Car.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN***
CHAPTER XX
BURSTING THE BONDS
It was Beresford that was quickest to profit by the instinctive act of veneration inspired by the sight of the head-dress which use and superstition had made a symbol of awful authority and power. Stepping forward, he spoke in slow, grave tones over the heads of the grovelling multitude.
"The Law of the Eye must be obeyed," he said in Chinese. "It changes not from age to age. As its minister, I bid you withdraw on your faces from the portal which you have polluted. You shall not stand upon your feet until you reach the wall yonder. Then you shall hear the judgment of the Master of the Eye."
The priests began in silence to crawl back towards the garden wall. Mackenzie and Jackson, after a few moments of breathless suspense, smiled wanly at each other. Forrester, meanwhile, realising with amazement the wonderful effect produced on the crowd by the mere sight of the head-dress, had at once checked his pace, and now moved down the aisle with all the dignity he could muster, and stood motionless in the doorway, in full view of the priests. When they rose to their feet and saw him there, a shiver shot through them.
[image]Forrester stood in the doorway, in full view of the priests.
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Forrester stood in the doorway, in full view of the priests.
"We must carry it through," Beresford murmured hurriedly. "Say two or three words slowly and in a loud tone, and extend your hand towards them. Keep up your dignity as Master of the Eye."
"Arma virumque cano," recited Forrester, reflecting rapidly that while some of the priests might understand English, Latin would probably be unknown to them.
Beresford bowed to the ground. Then lifting himself, he spoke in Chinese.
"Hear the decree of the Master of the Eye. The slaves shall depart from this place, with provisions, arms and gold, sufficient to carry them to their homes. The Master of the Eye, and we his servants, will accompany them. If any man of you molests our party, or seeks to stay our progress, he shall suffer the last punishment."
The priests heard his words in silence. Their eyes were fastened immovably on the august head-dress.
"I must go down to the cavern and bring up the wretches there," said Beresford in a rapid undertone.
"Wait, wait, it's not safe," cried Mackenzie, wincing with the pain in his wounded arm. "Send them all back to their houses first."
"He's right," said Forrester. "Who knows but some of them will go for you in a frenzy!"
Beresford calmly gave the order; Mackenzie flung to the priests the key of the wicket gate, and they slowly passed through it, crossed the garden and the bridges, and retired into their dwellings on the farther side.
Forrester heaved a great sigh of relief. "The blessed thing won't work," he said. "If they only knew it!"
"They don't! Your appearance was a stroke of genius," said Beresford.
"Not even a lucky fluke!" said Forrester. "I put the thing on to keep it safe. It's plaguey heavy: may I take it off now, d'you think?"
"Surely, for a few minutes at any rate--out of their sight. We must decide rapidly on the next step."
They withdrew a few paces into the aisle, leaving the two Chinamen to keep watch on the priests. Jackson meanwhile did his best to bind up Mackenzie's wounded shoulder. Forrester put the head-dress on the ledge of the golden throne, and linking arms with Beresford, walked slowly towards the doorway.
"Have you found the way down?" asked Beresford.
"No. There's no sign of doorway or staircase, is there, Mac?"
"None whatever."
"Then we must make the priests tell us," Beresford went on. "When I have got the prisoners from below, we must tell the slaves--I fancy by the noise that they are already in a great state of excitement beyond the wall. We'll send them down first into the rift and ourselves bring up the rear. One of the priests will have to guide us, of course."
"And the negritos?"
"They can go too if they choose. But I fancy that as the aboriginal inhabitants of the plateau they won't care to migrate."
"The Old Man?"
"Ah! What shall we do with him? We might fetch him down, I suppose, if we can find his secret door, and take him with us, though I don't know in the least what country would have the right and privilege to punish him as he deserves. On the whole I think we had better let him alone, report the whole matter when we get back, and leave the governments to squabble among themselves about the ownership of this valuable region.... But what on earth's the matter?"
They heard frenzied shouts from the direction of the sanctum. In a few moments Hamid Gul came into view, running like a deer, and screaming "Hai! hai!" at the top of his voice. The Englishmen turned to meet him.
"By Jinks! He's got our rifles!" cried Forrester, in delight.
"But his cries sound more like fright than jubilation," said Beresford, puzzled.
"Well?" Forrester asked, as the Bengali rushed up panting, and thrust a rifle into his hand.
"One-armed bald-head, sahib!" he gasped. "Hai! my lungs and liver! With rifles in arms, lucky find in cupboard, I come through old gentleman's bedroom. Sight I saw knocked me silly, sahib. One-armed josser lost all his hair: bald as basin; went slap bang into wall, sahib."
"Wen Shih?"
"Identical and no mistake, sahib, though hardly knew him without wig. And he had in hands old gentleman's funny old----"
"What!" broke in Forrester with a shout, glancing towards the spot where he had laid the head-dress. It was gone! Behind the throne a panel stood open in the wall.
"He's got it! He's taken it to the Old Man! We're dished!" cried Forrester.
Instinctively he took a few rapid paces towards the sanctum. But he remembered in a flash that he had been unable to find the door in the wall. He started back, in his agitation not knowing for the moment what to do for the best. Then suddenly his eyes fell on the rifle Hamid Gul had thrust into his hands. With a rapid jerk he threw open the chamber. It was full of cartridges, just as when he last had it in the rift.
His friends stared in amazement as he ran to the door, leapt over the fallen priests, and rushed into the courtyard. They followed him to the entrance. He was looking up into the air. On the far side of the enclosure the priests had emerged from their houses, and were standing in silence, gazing intently, eagerly upwards. When Forrester reached the wall he turned about, set the rifle to his shoulder, took steady aim, and fired. A dead silence followed the reverberations of the shot; then a yell of rage burst from the throng of priests, and they came leaping in one tumultuous mob towards the garden. At the same time, far to the left, a dark, bearded figure jumped down from the top of the outer wall, and rushed straight towards Forrester, spade in hand.
Forrester stood for a few seconds steadily gazing up, and the spectators in the portal saw his face pale, and a strange look come into his staring eyes. Then he shivered as though a blast of icy wind had struck upon him, and ran staggeringly back to the doorway. A moment behind him Sher Jang dashed into the pagoda.
"I hit him!" Forrester said under his breath, in the hushed tone of one who has witnessed a tragedy. "He was carrying the head-dress up the stairway to the Old Man. He rolled from roof to roof, and plunged down, down, he and the head-dress, into the rift."
He sank into one of the seats, and stared dully at the floor.
"Quick, you men!" cried Beresford, taking instant grip of the situation. "The rifles! The Chinamen are at us!"
"Have you got our revolvers, Hamid?" asked Mackenzie.
"They are there, sahib. I could not carry----"
"Away with you! Don't stand blethering there! Fetch them, and run like the wind."
The priests were swarming across the garden, jostling one another in the narrow gate, leaping towards the pagoda. Infuriated at the loss of their colleague, just promoted to the higher rank, and at the trick played upon them, they knew that the "foreign devils" no longer had the Eye at their command, and already gloated over their slaughtered bodies. Venting shrill cries of frenzy, they made straight for the entrance, reckless and without order.
But their vision of an orgy of carnage was rudely dispelled. Within the doorway Beresford, Jackson, and Sher Jang stood calmly awaiting them, rifle at shoulder. At twenty paces the rifles flashed; three men fell upon their faces; their comrades reeled back. Another volley crashed into the crowd surging on, and as the survivors staggered, the bark of the revolvers placed by Hamid in the hands of Forrester and Mackenzie mingled with the groans and shrieks of the frantic mob. They turned about, flung away their futile weapons, and fled, a wild rout, through the gate and over the garden towards their dwellings.
"After them!" cried Mackenzie. "No more firing!"
The little garrison stepped out into the open. And there Sher Jang put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill blast. Instantly the long wall to the left was thick with men, who scrambled over, dropped to the ground, and pursued the panting priests, brandishing the implements of their servitude, and filling the air with fierce triumphant yells. The shikari, at the first sounds of commotion, had collected his fellow slaves and led them to the wall to await his signal.
They swarmed after their oppressors. The passion for freedom throbbed in their veins. The pent-up fury of years of abject captivity burst the fetters that had chained their souls. No hireling valour could withstand them. The priests, their rage become terror, fled like stags before the hounds, across the bridges, through the stream, towards the further gate and their barracks beyond. The huddled mass choked the gate; a few turned at bay; some fell on their knees and prayed for mercy; they had shown no mercy, none they received. The slaves smote and spared not. They forced their way through the gate, hunted the priests to their doors, dashed in after them like terriers into a warren, drove them out at the rear, and chased them pell-mell across the plateau in all directions. And the Old Man still stood like a graven image on his gold-fenced platform aloft.
The white men withdrew into the pagoda. They had neither the power nor maybe the will to interfere between the priests and their late victims.
"We may be thankful we are not all blown up," said Beresford, as they threw themselves wearily upon the golden chairs. "I was in terror lest they should break through into the cavern. One priest put his foot into the hole and fell sprawling over the embankment into the stream. But now our way is clear."
They all turned and looked at the opening in the wall behind the throne.
"Wen Shih has opened the door for us," said Forrester. "He must have come up from below and run off with the head-dress when our backs were turned."
"The irony of Fate!" said Beresford. "Now we will bring up the poor creatures still below, and make preparations to depart."
CHAPTER XXI
DOOM
It was a strange procession that filed some hours later through the rift towards the thundering falls. Sher Jang led the way, rifle on shoulder; the position suited his dignity, and Forrester, in giving it him, had been moved by a desire to separate him as far as possible from Hamid Gul. That worthy had again "sung his own praises quite a lot," and boasted so much of the part he had played in recent events that the shikari found him more offensive than ever.
Behind the leader marched the old zamindar with his daughter, and the whole body of slaves, Chinese, Tibetans, Indians of all castes and none. They were light-hearted, even merry; the reaction from black despair was extreme. Every man bore his load. Many had stinted their supply of food, to cumber themselves the more heavily with gold; for in the final sack of the pagoda they had seized upon every golden article that was portable.
At the rear came the Englishmen with Hamid Gul and Beresford's sturdy little Tibetan, whom they had found in one of the underground cells, despairing about his master, but wholly uncowed by the green eye. The two servants carried their masters' possessions, found in one of the cupboards behind the armoury, among them three articles on which Beresford set much store. One was the tablet that had led him and Redfern to the spot. The second was a roll of parchment giving the Old Man's pedigree; apparently he was the last of a line which had held unbroken sway for many centuries. The third was a similar roll, less ancient, inscribed with the names of the Chinese prisoners who had been employed, during a period of fifty years, in transmuting the lead into gold. At the head of the list was a short statement which Beresford could not fully decipher, but from which he inferred that, fifty years before, a certain mandarin of Yunnan, having scented out a secret in those wilds, had organised an expedition to discover it, and coming into conflict with the father and predecessor of the present owner, had slain him in fight. The attack had been beaten off, and the Old Man had taken implacable revenge by kidnapping or otherwise impressing young members of every branch of the mandarin's family.
The white men had decided in consultation to take the whole crowd back to Dibrugarh, lay all the facts before the Government, and leave it to determine the future. Hitherto the district had been a No Man's Land; when it became known that it concealed a manufactory of gold, no doubt there would be eager competition for its ownership. The breaking-up of the remnant community of priests was only a question of time.
Towards the close of the day the procession reached the forest village in which Forrester's party had left their carriers. One of the liberated prisoners acting as interpreter, it was learnt that the Nagas, tired of waiting for their employers, and convinced that they had fallen victims to the mysterious Eye, had gone away about a week before.
"I wonder if they ventured into Dibrugarh?" said Forrester.
"It's not likely," Mackenzie answered. "They've no interest in us, and as they've taken our baggage, they'll appropriate that in lieu of pay."
"I hope Redfern recovered," said Jackson.
"I've grave fears about that," said Beresford. "It is more than a month since we parted, and if he were well he would have sent up a relief force long before this. Poor old Runnymede!"
"He didn't know we came, of course," said Mackenzie. "Maybe we were asses not to tell somebody. They all think we are holiday making!"
"By Jinks! I'm ready for a holiday now," cried Jackson.
"A bath and a change of togs would be enough for the moment," said Forrester. "I've never been tempted to compare Dibrugarh to heaven before! We can't leave these people to wander without guidance, or I'd vote for pushing on faster to-morrow. I long to smell soap again."
By dint of hard marching they made more rapid progress next day. In the afternoon, emerging from a tract of forest land, they recognised at some distance the well-remembered contours of the hill which Redfern had named Monkey-face. They had set their course towards its base when a glint of light on the hill-top attracted their attention.
"Nobody heliographing, surely!" exclaimed Forrester.
"There's somebody up there, though," cried Jackson. "Don't you see figures moving?"
They halted, and gazing ahead, made out several small moving objects on the skyline. Every now and then there was a flash, reflected from the rays of the declining sun.
"Would you not say that's a tent?" asked Mackenzie presently, when they had moved a little nearer. He indicated an object of conical shape on the skyline.
"A tent it is!" answered Forrester. "And by Jinks! they've seen us! They're mounting horses! They're galloping down!"
The distance was still too great for the forms of the riders to be clearly distinguished, and as a measure of precaution the Englishmen called a general halt, and placed themselves, with those of their followers who had firearms, in the van. They watched the horsemen steadily, and in growing excitement. Pith helmets, the khaki dress, the very manner of their riding, bred conviction.
"The Assam Light Horse!" Jackson declared.
He waved his arms and cheered frantically. His companions took up the cry, and a faint response came from the galloping horsemen.
"There's old Jenkins!" cried Forrester presently, recognising a comrade.
"And McIlwaine!" Mackenzie chimed in.
"And Paddy!" from Jackson.
"And, on my life, dear old Runnymede himself!" shouted Beresford. "I knew he wouldn't fail us!"
He started forward impetuously, the others following. The horsemen dashed down, reined up their steeds, and sprang to the ground. There was laughing and hand-shaking, a confused and deafening exchange of welcomes, protests, demands for explanation.
"You old frauds!"
"Dashed unfair!"
"You've had all the fun!"
"Why didn't ye give us all a chance, then?"
"What's kept you, you set of blighters?"
"A pretty set of scarecrows, by Jove!"
Redfern and Beresford clasped hands in silence awhile.
"You're thinner, Harry," said Redfern at length.
"You're not looking very fit yourself," answered Beresford. "Had a shake, old man?"
"Rotten! You're quite sound, eh?"
"Yes, thank God! There's a heap to tell you. What were you doing on the hill?"
"Camping for the night. We've done fifty miles since morning. Were coming on to-morrow. Glad we're too late, old chump!"
Presently, when all had cooled down, they fell to talking practically. It was near sunset, and they decided that Forrester and his party should mount the hill and share the planters' tents for the night, the mingled mass of Orientals camping at the foot.
An hour later, gathered about the camp fire, the band of bronzed and stalwart young Englishmen listened raptly to the story told by Beresford. He related all the incidents of the weeks since Redfern was parted from him by the iron shutter. The silence of the audience was broken now and again by ejaculations of horror, rage, sheer amazement. When Beresford had finished, there were cries for Forrester, Mackenzie, Jackson in turn. Each added some detail of his own experience.
"And the villainous Old Man?" cried one.
"We left him standing like an ivory statue on his platform, surveying the wreck of his little empire," said Beresford.
"And the Eye--what became of it?" asked another.
"We don't know," Forrester answered. "None of us had the heart to look for the body of the poor wretch. I suppose the Eye opened; if it did, it is boring a hole somewhere in the rift."
"That one-eyed freak of yours is a trump, Dick," said a third. "We've always wondered why you kept the chap."
"Yes; I shan't forget him. The only grudge I have against Mac is that he didn't tell us in the cavern that Hamid was his postman above."
"Och! I'm not a bletherskite," grunted Mackenzie.
"I vote we go on to-morrow and wipe out the whole rascally crew," cried another.
"And chuck the Old Man into his pit."
"He's too tough and skinny to please the Monster."
"But I say, what about that gold-making concern? Why shouldn't we make ourselves millionaires?"
"I wouldn't go down there again if I came out Rockefeller and Vanderbilt rolled into one," said Forrester emphatically. "Looking back on it, I can't imagine now how I climbed that chimney. When I was near the top, and heard the water gurgling overhead----"
"Well, what of that?"
Before Forrester could reply, the darkening sky was lit up northward by a sudden blaze of light that brought everyone to his feet in consternation. As one of them afterwards remarked, it was like the blinding glare of ten thousand flashlights. It was gone in an instant, and the universe seemed plunged into utter blackness.
The men stood at gaze. Perhaps a minute after the flash, a roar like the gunfire of all the world's fleets rolled and thundered dully about them. The earth trembled beneath their feet. Presently the air became hot, and a shower of fine dust mingled with stones bespattered them.
"A volcano!" cried one.
"No; that is the answer to your question," said Beresford quietly.
"What do you mean, sir?"
"What we feared might happen, has happened. I haven't a doubt of it. Our mining must have weakened the embankment, the stream broke through and plunged into the pit, tons of water were decomposed by the mysterious rays, and the explosion has shattered everything with volcanic force."
"Ay, and there's the end of the Old Man of the Mountain," Mackenzie said gravely.
The workers in the Laibach observatory recorded a seismic disturbance, locating it somewhere in the steppes of Central Asia. No authentic information, accredited by responsible men of science, ever reached them. But in course of time fantastic stories came to this country in private correspondence, and found their way into the newspapers. They were pooh-poohed, laughed at, pronounced incredible. Certain adventurous spirits did indeed slip off with more or less secrecy and hurry by the quickest route to the unknown country watered by the middle Brahmaputra. A company was even formed in London for exploiting gold in that region; but it lived feverishly and died forlorn. Persistent explorers ranged over mile upon mile of desolate country in quest of a gigantic waterfall, a marvellous cañon, and a fertile plateau that was said to be inhabited by an aboriginal race of pigmies. Of the canon they found no trace; only a number of scattered bones, large and small, announced that human beings and strange monsters had once inhabited what was now a rocky waste. A hitherto unknown river was discovered, broken for miles of its course by foaming rapids; but rapids are not waterfalls, as everybody knows.
In his rooms at Cambridge Henry Beresford sometimes shows his visitors a painted tablet from Khotan, and some strangely inscribed rolls of parchment. If pressed, he will tell a singular story, which they listen to politely, and with murmurs of "How very interesting!" totally disbelieve. The fact is that neither he, nor his friend Captain Redfern, nor certain young planters in Assam, care very much to talk about the events of those few weeks when the currents of their lives were mingled, and danger welded them into a comradeship which nothing will sever.
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HERBERT STRANG'S STORIES
STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR
FIGHTING WITH FRENCH: A Tale of the New Army.FRANK FORESTER: A Story of the Dardanelles.A HERO OF LIÉGE: A British Scout in Belgium.
ROMANCES
PALM TREE ISLAND: A Story of Adventure in the South Seas.THE ADVENTURES OF DICK TREVANION: A Story of the Smuggling Days.JACK HARDY: A Story of 1805.
TALES OF EMPIRE AND FOREIGN ADVENTURE
THE AIR SCOUT: A Story of National Defence.THE AIR PATROL: A Story of the North-West Frontier.TOM BURNABY: A Story of the Congo Forest.SAMBA: A Story of the Congo.SETTLERS AND SCOUTS: A Story of Adventure in East Africa.SULTAN JIM: A Story of Adventure in Central Africa.
ROMANCES OF MODERN INVENTION
KING OF THE AIR; or, To Morocco in an Aeroplane.ROUND THE WORLD IN SEVEN DAYS: The Story of an Aeroplane.THE MOTOR SCOUT: The Story of a Motor Bicycle.LORD OF THE SEAS: The Story of a Submarine.SWIFT AND SURE: The Story of a Hydroplane.THE FLYING BOAT: The Story of a Hydro-Aeroplane.THE CRUISE OF THE GYRO-CAR: The Story of a Two-Wheeled Motor Car.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN***