CHAPTER IV.THE ALARM.
They rushed upon deck again as soon as the steamer was beyond rifle-shot. A distant roar, like the blended shouts of thousands of people, floated across the water from the town, and at intervals a shot was fired.
Smoke no longer hovered over the garrison. The last man had succumbed, and with the fall of the garrison the massacre seemed to have come to an end. The uprising had been directed against the British troops alone.
“This is a terrible thing,” said Melton, “and there is something back of it all. I can’t understand it. Can it be possible the wretches have designs on Zaila, I wonder? It’s a pity you interfered with that leopard, Chutney. If Makar Makalo had perished, this revolt might never have broken out. Makar is at the head of it, I know, and possibly he has influence behind him. He is an ally of that fanatical despot, Rao Khan, the Emir of Harar, who hates the English worse than poison, and——”
Guy started at the mention of this name.
“I want to see you a minute, Forbes,” he cried excitedly; and, leading Melton to one side, he pulled out the despatches from his pocket, and said, “Youhave come closer to the truth than you imagine. I am going to confide a secret to you, and you can tell what had best be done. These papers were intrusted to me for delivery into the hands of Sir Arthur Ashby, at Zaila, and they contain instructions bearing on the very matter you have just mentioned. The authorities at the colonial office in London told me in secret that the Emir of Harar was supposed to be plotting the capture of Zaila, and these despatches contain Sir Arthur’s orders in case of that emergency.”
“By Jove, that explains it!” cried Melton. “The emergency has come. I see it all. Makar had collected his Arabs and Somalis at Berbera by the Emir’s orders, and they were only waiting the arrival of that villainous Portuguese with the rifles. They have put the garrison at Berbera out of the way, and now they will march on to Zaila.”
“Then what can be done?” demanded Guy. “Shall we proced to Zaila, or get the captain to steam direct for Aden and collect all the available troops?”
“No, no,” groaned Forbes. “That would be useless. Zaila is sixty miles up the coast. We can beat the Arabs, and get there in time to prepare the town for defense. The garrison is wretchedly small, but they will have to hold out until assistance can come from Aden.”
Melton was still more astounded when Guy told him of the stealing of the despatches.
“Then Torres knows their contents,” he said, “and he will act accordingly. This is certainly a bad business, Chutney. Those papers must be delivered to Sir Arthur as soon as possible, though, to tell the truth, I fear Zaila is doomed. But we are losing precious time. Something must be done at once.”
They called the captain aside, and told him just enough to impress him with the danger threatening Zaila, and he readily fell in with their plans.
Twilight was now falling, and by the time darkness had settled over the blue waters of the gulf the steamer was plowing her way steadily northward, Berbera but faintly visible in the rear by the glow of the burning torches.
Hour after hour they steamed on. Neither Guy nor Melton could sleep, but sitting aft on camp stools they talked in whispers of the dread events they had witnessed, and of what might be before them.
At midnight the steamer came to a sudden stop. The machinery, exerted to the highest pressure, had broken in some part. A delay was inevitable, the captain assured them, but in a couple of hours the repairs could be made.
Morning came, revealing the distant yellow line of the African coast, but still the steamer lay at anchor, rocking gently in the early morning breeze. It may be imagined with what a fever of impatience Guy and Melton lived through those weary hours.
It was nearly midday when the repairs were completed, and the vessel forged ahead again. For fear of fresh accidents, the captain refused to crowd on steam, and when at last the turrets and brown walls of Zaila came in view, it was late in the afternoon.
At a distance, all seemed peaceful; the English flag was floating from half a dozen different buildings of the town. In the harbor lay three or four Arab dhows and a neat little steamer, which the captain said belonged to the governor, and was used for transporting troops or despatches.
Captain Waller anchored close by the town, and accompanied Guy, Melton, and Momba on shore in a small boat. So far, at least, all was well.
A few Arabs and Somalis were sitting around lazily on the sand, and troops of the Bombay Infantry were seen moving about the streets.
“Appear as unconscious as possible,” whispered Melton. “Let nothing be suspected.”
A close observer might have detected traces of suppressed curiosity on the faces of the Arabs and Somalis, but they were evidently deceived by the careless manner of the new arrivals, for after a keen scrutiny they settled back into lazy attitudes.
“I don’t like the looks of those fellows,” saidMelton, “and another thing I don’t like is the presence of those Arab dhows in the harbor. But look, Chutney, there is the residency ahead of us.”
They were approaching a low building of sun-baked brick, with Venetian awnings at the entrance and windows. Half a dozen sentries were on guard, and an officer came forward to meet the little party.
Guy saluted.
“I am the bearer of important despatches for the governor of Zaila,” he said, “and must see him at once.”
The officer disappeared for a moment, and presently came back and announced that the governor would see them. They were ushered in through a wide hall, and, passing half along its length, they turned to the right, and found themselves in the presence of Sir Arthur Ashby. He was a very pompous looking man of middle age, with reddish mustache, and long side whiskers. He was seated on an easy chair beside an ebony table. Opposite him sat an English officer.
They were smoking cigars, and on the table were glasses and champagne bottles packed in ice. Lamps were lit, for already twilight was falling.
He half arose as his visitors entered, and then dropped back. Guy briefly introduced himself and party, and handed Sir Arthur the despatches, explaining how the seals came to be broken, but making no mention of Torres.
The governor knit his brow as he read them over, and then, to his companion, he remarked lightly, “All nonsense, all nonsense. Another government scare, Carrington.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Arthur,” said Guy, “but I was informed in London of the tenor of those despatches. Yesterday afternoon the Arabs at Berbera massacred the garrison to a man, and are doubtless now marching on Zaila. We barely escaped with our lives. Captain Waller and Mr. Forbes and his servant will confirm my statement.”
Sir Arthur sprang to his feet with a sharp cry.
“What is this you tell me?” he gasped. “Can it be true?”
Guy repeated his account, with all the particulars, but the governor actually seemed incredulous.
“Colonel Carrington,” he cried, “how many troops have we?”
“Five companies of the Bombay Infantry,” replied the colonel in a hollow tone. “We had six yesterday, but if this account be true——”
“Don’t delay a moment,” shouted Sir Arthur; “prepare for the defense, colonel, and see that the steamer is ready in case it comes to the worst.”
The governor’s condition was now truly pitiable. He was trembling with fright.
“There is indeed but little time,” said Guy. “There is danger at your very door. I see many Arabs and Somalis in the town.”
“True, true,” groaned Sir Arthur, and, turning over the despatches with trembling hands, he added, “I am instructed to order troops from Cairo and Suakim. What madness! What madness!”
Sir Arthur continued to talk in a rambling, excited way until Colonel Carrington assumed control of affairs.
“Your steamer is here now?” he said to the captain. “Then you must make haste to Aden, and bring us what troops you can. I doubt, though, if we can resist a heavy attack for twenty-four hours. And you, gentlemen, you will return on the steamer?”
“No, we will remain,” Guy and Melton replied almost in one voice.
The colonel glanced at them approvingly.
“You are brave men,” he said. “Stop!” he added suddenly. “You say you left Berbera at sunset last night, and were delayed by an accident. Were there any camels there?”
“A caravan of two thousand arrived two days ago,” replied Melton.
The colonel’s face paled.
“Then the enemy are due here now,” he said huskily. “On camels they could traverse the sixtymiles in from fifteen to twenty hours. It is already dark,” and he pointed out through the window.
At this Sir Arthur groaned aloud, and tossed down three or four glasses of champagne in rapid succession.
“To your steamer, quick!” cried the colonel, addressing Captain Waller; “and you, gentlemen, since you decide to throw your fate in with ours, come with me, and we will inspect the fortifications, and do what little we can.”
They had risen to their feet, and were giving a hasty look to their arms, when a bright flash lit up the gloom from without, followed by a sharp report, and at the same moment, from all quarters of the town, rose a continuous rifle-firing, a violent uproar and shouting, and a deep beating of drums.
Sir Arthur sprang to his feet, crying frantically, “To the steamer, to the steamer—it is our only hope;” but before he could take a step the outer doors were burst open, shouts were heard in the hall, and then, through the curtained entrance, staggered blindly an officer of infantry, his uniform torn and disheveled, and blood pouring from half a dozen wounds. He plunged forward, and rolled in a lifeless heap at the very feet of Colonel Carrington.
CHAPTER V.THE NIGHT ON THE ROOF.
The tragic scene described at the close of the preceding chapter, following on the very heels of the outbreak, was a fearful shock to all who saw it, and for an instant they could only stare at one another with mute, frightened faces.
Colonel Carrington broke the spell. With drawn sword he made a dash for the door, closely followed by the rest, but before they could cross the apartment a louder burst of firing came from the very courtyard, bullets whistled through the windows, and then a scuffle began in the hall, and angry voices were heard. It was over in a moment; a cry of pain, a low groan, followed by the sound of bars dropped in their sockets, and then into the room burst three Hindoo soldiers, grimy with blood and powder.
“Sahib colonel,” cried the foremost, “we are lost. The Arabs and Somalis have revolted. Hundreds of them surround the residency. Yonder in the hall lies a dead Somali. We have barred the doors, but they will soon be in.”
Even as he spoke the portals shook under a succession of thunderous blows.
“The rear door,” cried the colonel. “We may escape that way.”
“No, no; the building is surrounded,” rejoined the Hindoo. “There is no escape.”
He was right. Shouts were heard on all sides, the blows on the doors redoubled, and stray shots came in at the windows, both front and rear.
Sir Arthur lay prostrate in his chair.
“The roof! the roof!” he groaned. “We must take to the roof.”
“By Jove, he’s right,” cried the colonel. “It’s our last hope. Blow out the lights and come on, quick!”
The lamps were out in a second, but a dim glare still shone into the room from the torches outside. With an effort, Sir Arthur staggered to his feet. Two of the soldiers assisted him, and then in great haste they hurried through the hall to a rear room.
The building was of one story, and from this apartment a ladder led to an open trap overhead.
Sir Arthur was pushed up first, followed closely by the rest, and just as Momba brought up the rear and dragged the ladder after him, the great residency doors gave way with a crash, and a wild yell of triumph told only too plainly that the enemy had effected an entrance.
Guy’s quick eye observed a big flat stone lying near, a precautionary measure provided by someformer governor, no doubt, and, calling on Momba to assist him, he dragged it over the trap.
From below came a rush of footsteps and the sound of smashing furniture as the Arabs hurried to and fro in search of their prey.
“We are safe for the present,” said the colonel; “they can’t possibly reach us, and they may not even discover where we are.”
The roof comprised the whole extent of the building, and was probably thirty feet square. It was surrounded by a stone parapet three feet in height, and from this parapet the little band of fugitives witnessed a scene that none forgot to his dying day.
North and west of the residency the town seemed to be in comparative quiet and darkness, for only stray lights were to be seen at intervals. But off to the south lay the fortifications, and here a sharp conflict was waging.
Through the darkness of the night the flash of every shot was seen, and all along the line blazed out three continuous sheets of flame as the beleaguered garrison poured their fire into the attacking parties that advanced from both sides.
“They can’t hold out an hour,” said Melton. “The foe are too strong for them.”
A sharp cry from Captain Waller turned all eyes on the harbor, where the water was illumined by twinkling lights and the flash of rifles. The meaning of this was plain. The steamer had been attacked. No doubt those innocent looking dhows had been filled with armed Arabs, waiting for the signal, and now every escape was cut off. The firing was sharp and severe for a while, and then it gave way to loud cheers.
The steamers had fallen into the hands of the enemy.
“There goes the last hope,” said the colonel; “and look, even the garrison has succumbed.”
It was true. The firing had almost entirely ceased, and the few stray shots that still rang out were drowned in the vast roar that rose from all parts of the town.
The residency was cordoned by a surging mass of wretches, intoxicated with triumph, and fresh hordes came pouring in, riotous from the slaughter of the garrison.
“Some cunning fiend has planned all this,” muttered Colonel Carrington, “and planned it infernally well, too.”
“The Arab, Makar Makalo, is the ringleader, sir,” said Melton, “but he is only acting for Rao Khan, the Emir of Harar, who has long desired the port of Zalia.”
“A swift retribution will come,” replied the colonel, “but it will come too late to aid us.”
No person seemed inclined to talk. Sir Arthursat up against the parapet in a sort of stupor, the three Hindoos were grouped on one side, and Momba mutely followed his master from point to point, as with Guy and the colonel he made the circuit of the housetop.
And now for the first time it became evident that the presence of the fugitives on the roof was known. Thousands of Arabs and Somalis surrounded the building, their dark faces plainly seen in the glare of the torches, but no hostile demonstration was made. They appeared to be waiting on something or someone. It was very evident that the whole population of the town was in revolt. It was equally plain, too, that they had been prepared for this uprising, for it had apparently broken out in all quarters of the town at once, and the expected signal had no doubt been the approach of the Arabs from Berbera, for the vast number of rifles used in the fight proved conclusively their arrival.
Wonderful success had crowned their plans. Yesterday the garrison at Berbera had fallen to a man; and now Zaila was in their hands, and all that remained of the British possessors was the miserable band of fugitives on the residency roof.
With bitter feelings Guy looked down on the sea of faces. He was wondering if he would ever see Calcutta or England again. But he had been in bad predicaments before, and, hopeless as it nowseemed, something might turn up to save them yet.
Melton was inclined to think that the Arabs were only waiting for daylight to make their attack, and yet they seemed to have no idea of abandoning their position, but encircled the building with a sea of torches, talking loudly and excitedly all the while.
Once Guy ventured to peer down over the parapet, and to his surprise he saw Arab guards at the residency door, sternly keeping back the crowd. Then he pulled aside the stone from the trap. All was dark and quiet beneath. The solution to this mystery was close at hand.
Of a sudden a great hush fell on the vast crowd, the tumult died away to a low murmur, and from the outskirts came a strange sound, at first low and indistinct, and then louder and more vivid, like the tinkling of bells mingled with the trampling of hoofs.
The Arabs and Somalis fell silently apart, leaving open a wide passage like a swath cut through a field of standing corn that led straight to the residency doors. Up this triumphal avenue trotted a dozen stalwart Arabs bearing lighted torches, and directly behind came a gigantic camel, decorated with gorgeous trappings and hung with strings of silver bells. And on the camel’s back, gazing haughtily around him, sat the Arab, Makar Makalo.
“Behold Makar Makalo, the new ruler of Zaila!” cried the heralds, and from the vast crowd burst one universal shout of satisfaction.
CHAPTER VI.A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH.
At the sight of the daring Arab chief Guy could scarcely restrain himself. He would have drawn his revolver and shot him down then and there, but Colonel Carrington interfered.
“Don’t excite them,” he said cautiously; “their punishment is sure in the end. How can they defend Zaila against the British gunboats that will be sent here? We have possibly a chance for our lives yet. Don’t destroy that last chance.”
The colonel plainly had strong hopes. It is well enough in some cases to fight to the very last, and have your names printed in the army list as heroes who died at their post, but in this case the safety of Sir Arthur was plainly the important point, and any concession must be made to secure this. So all idea of making a fight of it was given up. Short and brief would have been the struggle for Guy and Melton, as the three Hindoos were the only ones armed, and they had but a scant supply of ammunition.
Makar held a short conversation with three or four Arabs, and then, slipping down from his camel, he walked off a little from the residency and shouted loudly, “Inglis men, come down. You no be killed. You prisoners of war.”
The idea of Kakar’s investing this bloody outbreak with all the dignity of legitimate warfare was ridiculous, and the colonel laughed.
“What’s that about prisoners?” cried Sir Arthur, coming eagerly forward. “Will they spare our lives, I wonder? Let me talk to the fellow. I’ll try to conciliate him.”
He walked pompously to the parapet and bent over. Perhaps the champagne he had drunk had affected his head. At all events he leaned a little too far, and, suddenly losing balance, he toppled over and fell with a thud plump on the heads of two Arab sentries at the door. All three came to the ground in a heap, and it was a great relief to the anxious watchers above to see Sir Arthur stagger to his feet apparently unhurt.
The effect on the Arabs was electric. The remaining guards glanced up apprehensively, and very speedily changed their location.
As for Makar, he evidently believed that Sir Arthur had come down expressly in response to his summons, for he waited for the rest to follow his example.
“Bless my heart!” muttered Sir Arthur. “What a narrow escape!”
He started toward Makar, but two Arabs laid hold of him and pulled him roughly to one side.
“We’d better go down,” said the colonel, and raising his voice he shouted,
“Do you swear to preserve our lives if we come down?”
“By the shades of Mohammed, I swear it. Come down,” replied Makar.
“We’ll have to trust to his word,” said the colonel. “Put the ladder in position.”
The ladder, with one end on the ground, failed to reach the top of the parapet by four or five feet. It was a ticklish business to drop down on the upper round, but one by one they accomplished it, and, descending to the ground, were speedily seized and relieved of everything on their persons.
Perhaps Makar doubted his ability to keep his word, for he hurried his prisoners into the residency, away from the turbulent crowd, and left them in the hall in custody of a dozen armed Arabs.
They had not been here five minutes when a commotion was heard outside, and the shattered doors were pulled apart to admit half a dozen weary, blood stained soldiers of the garrison. They were the last survivors, and they told a fearful story.
The fortifications had been attacked, they said, at the same time by the population of the town on one side, and on the south by a vast horde of Arabs and Somalis, who suddenly appeared over the sand-hills mounted on camels. They alone had been madeprisoners. All others had been shot, including the officers, the port surgeon, and the native assistant resident.
This sad story brought tears to the eyes of all, and even Sir Arthur waxed terribly indignant and prophesied speedy retribution.
But now the guards sternly forbade conversation. An hour or more passed on, during which time many persons indistinguishable in the gloom, passed in and out of the residency.
Then came a summons to appear before the chief.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Sir Arthur reassuringly. “We shall be sent across the gulf of Aden. This wretch will not dare do injury to her majesty’s representatives.”
Sir Arthur’s sudden change of spirits was not shared by the rest.
“Nerve yourself,” Melton whispered to Guy. “I have an idea of what is coming,” and before Guy could reply they were ushered into the very apartment which they had left so hastily a few hours before.
It had undergone no change. The lamps had been relit, the wine bottles and glasses still stood on the table, and in Sir Arthur’s chair of state sat Makar Makalo, very stern and dignified, while around him, squatted on the rugs, were four Arabs of superior caste and intelligence, comprising, no doubt, thefreshly formed cabinet of the great governor of Zaila.
Makar waited until his captives had ranged themselves along the wall, and then, with greatsang froid, he helped himself to a cigar from Sir Arthur’s choice box of Partagas, lit it, and poured off a glass of champagne which he despatched at a gulp.
Having thus proved beyond a doubt that he possessed all the chief qualifications of a British political resident, he settled back in his chair and surveyed his prisoners with lowering brow.
“Bless my heart!” ejaculated Sir Arthur. “What most amazing imptu—” a sudden rap on the head from one of the guards cut short his speech, and he relapsed into indignant silence.
Makar was plainly a man of iron nerve, for he met calmly and even boldly the indignant, defiant glances that were turned upon him as he scanned the row of prisoners ranged before him.
Glancing toward the windows he dispersed with a wave of his hand the dark swarm of faces peering eagerly within, and then at last he deigned to break the silence which had become so ominous.
“I have promised ye your lives,” he said. “Makar never breaks his word. Allah is great, and it is the will of Allah that Zaila should belong to the true followers of the prophet. Already has his will been fulfilled. The hated Inglis soldiers are dead. RaoKhan is the ruler of Zaila, and Markar is his servant.”
He paused and helped himself to another glass of champagne. It was evident that Makar was not at heart a true follower of the prophet, for the Koran strictly forbids all intoxicants.
Another impressive pause followed. Guy glanced at Melton and was alarmed to see the dead white pallor on his face. Melton alone perhaps know what was coming. On the rest the blow fell with crushing severity.
“Have I not said that Makar’s word is inviolate?” the Arab resumed, leaning forward and uttering each syllable sharply and distinctly.
“Can Makar break his pledge?” and he turned to his solemn visaged ministers.
“No, no, no,” they muttered in guttural accents, and solemnly shaking their heads.
“Then hark ye all,” Makar went on. “I have sworn on the Koran that whatsoever prisoners fell to my lot should be delivered over as slaves to the Somalis of the Galla country. I have spoken. It is Kismet. At daybreak ye start for the interior.”
Sir Arthur staggered back against the wall with a dismal groan, the Hindoos fell on their knees begging piteously for mercy, Colonel Carrington seemed dazed, stupefied, Guy clinched his hands and made a desperate effort to bear up bravely, whileMelton’s face wore the same pale, hopeless expression.
No one spoke. Supplications and prayers would alike be useless. The Arab’s stern, pitiless countenance spoke plainer than words. Mercy was an unknown word in his vocabulary.
“Spare us, spare us!” moaned Sir Arthur, coming forward a pace or two and making as though he would fall on his knees.
“I have spoken,” cried Makar harshly. “Words will avail ye nothing.”
He made a signal to the guards, who at once closed in on the wretched captives and led them away.
CHAPTER VII.SOLD INTO SLAVERY.
The party were taken to a rear apartment of the residency and placed under strong guard. During the remainder of that night no one slept, of course, nor did they hold much conversation, for all instinctively avoided a subject which could only add to their wretchedness.
Slavery among the Somalis was a fate worse than death. It was a living death indeed, for hope of escape there was none. Far better if Makar had ordered them to be shot at daybreak.
Guy spoke hopefully to Melton of the situation, counting somewhat on the claim he had on Makar; but Melton seemed to think that the Arab had ignored the affair, and would not interfere with Guy’s fate.
All too soon gray dawn came stealing into the residency, revealing the haggard faces of the captives, and with it came a summons from Makar to prepare for the journey. Food was brought and partaken of with some relish, for, under even the most distressing circumstances, men seem able to eat. Closely watched, they were led into the open air, and halted for a brief space in the court.
The sun was not up yet, and the blue waters ofthe gulf stretched afar until lost in the pale mist. In the harbor lay the two steamers, but the British flag no longer floated over their decks.
Finally they were led through a curious rabble of Arabs and Somalis to the outskirts of the town, where the caravan was in process of formation. It was no ordinary caravan. There were no bales of goods lying about, no camels laden down with burdens, but surrounded by many of the population drawn hither by curiosity were about fifty camels with simple trappings, and a group of Somalis and Arabs all heavily armed, the Arabs with rifles, the natives with long spears.
Simultaneously with the arrival of the captives, Makar made his appearance with an armed escort and proceeded to hold a close conversation with the two Arabs who seemed to be the leaders of the caravan. He spoke earnestly for quite a while, making many gestures, and pointing from time to time at the prisoners. Then he turned away, and instantly all was excitement.
The Arabs and Somalis quickly pulled themselves upon their camels, and with the aid of the guards the Englishmen were mounted in the same way, each man being hoisted up beside an Arab or a Somali.
No resistance was made. The Hindoo soldiers were in a state of deep dejection, and poor Sir Arthur seemed hardly to realize his position.
The caravan was now ready to start. At the last filed at a slow trot over the sandy plain in a southerly minute Makar Makalo passed carelessly by Guy and whispered, “Keep good heart. Makar no forget.” Then he vanished in the crowd, and, with a loud cheer to speed them on their way, the line of camels direction.
Guy turned his head for a last look at Zaila and the harbor, now beginning to glimmer in the first rays of the sun, and then a stretch of sand-hills hid the town from view.
Little did he realize that which he must pass through before he saw the coast again.
From the ruined fortifications of the town an unseen observer watched the departure of the caravan. It was Manuel Torres. The crafty Portuguese was well pleased to see the hated Englishmen speeding away to their doom.
He was a cunning knave, and had laid his plans well. Perhaps he feared the stability of the new government. If the English came into possession of Zaila again, he could invent some clever tale to disprove his connection with the Arab revolt; and who could bear witness against him? None, indeed, for the lips of those who alone knew his guilt would be hopelessly sealed. Africa never gives up her slaves.
To the wretched captives that day’s journey overthe scorching desert was a fearful experience. Nothing is more painful to the novice than riding camel-back, and when at last a halt was made at sunset every man was aching from head to foot.
The heat, too, had been fearful, though the Arabs had provided them with big sun helmets before starting. No intercourse was permitted. The captives were kept rigorously apart. But little sleep was allowed. The caravan started again before dawn, and, as before, traveled rapidly and steadily until sundown.
At the end of the second day they had become in a measure accustomed to the motion of the camels, and no longer suffered so much. Yet in all this time no words had been exchanged. Each man was kept apart. The Arab with whom Guy rode could speak some English, and from him he learned that the chief object of the caravan was to carry to Rao Khan the news of the capture of Zaila. Further information the Arab refused to give.
The caravan comprised a dozen Arabs and thirty or forty Somalis of the Galla country. It was to these crafty savages that the captives belonged. The Somalis had assisted Makar in the revolt, and these slaves were their reward. Their chief, who accompanied the caravan, was none other than Guy’s vindictive enemy, Oko Sam.
Late in the afternoon of the fifth day the caravancame to a sudden halt. In the distance were visible green hills and rolling plains covered with verdure. The desert seemed to have ended. It was evident that something of importance was about to happen.
All dismounted, and while the Arabs and Somalis entered into an excited conversation, the captives were for the first time allowed to converse.
Their hopeless situation was too well understood for discussion. Strange to say, Sir Arthur was the only one who had not abandoned hope.
“The government will save us,” he repeated gloomily. “They will send an army into the interior.”
No one ventured to dispute this assertion. They talked in low tones of their probable destination, and regarded with some uneasiness the conference going on among the Arabs, which had now assumed a more excitable phase.
“They are quarreling over something,” said Guy. “Why do you suppose they have stopped here?”
“I don’t know,” replied Melton, “unless they intend to separate, the Arabs going on to Harar, the Somalis to their own country, which lies to the south of Harar.”
Melton’s theory was very plausible, but before anyone could reply the conference terminated suddenly, and the Arabs, drawing apart, came quickly up to the captives, and, laying hold of Sir Arthurand the colonel, led them over to the Somalis.
This was repeated with Momba, Captain Waller, and the Hindoo soldiers, but, to their surprise, Guy and Melton were ordered to remain where they were.
Foremost among the Somalis stood Oko Sam, his leopard skin dangling about his loins, and a fiendish expression on his face.
He advanced a step or two, talking fiercely, and pointing with his spear to Guy and Melton. The Arab leader strode out toward him, and cried in a loud voice, “Makar has ordered it. The two white men must go to Harar.”
Scarce had the words left his lips when the Somali chief poised his spear and hurled it forward with such force and accuracy of aim that it passed through the Arab’s body and the point came out at the back. With a cry he dropped on the sand.
A second of terrible suspense followed, and then snatching another spear from one of his followers, the maddened Somali leaped furiously at Guy, who unfortunately was standing directly in his path.
SUDDENLY GUY DREW HIS REVOLVER AND SPRANG FORWARD.SUDDENLY GUY DREW HIS REVOLVER AND SPRANG FORWARD.
CHAPTER VIII.THE SEPARATION.
But help was at hand. Before Oko Sam could reach his victim, an Arab directly behind Guy fired, and the fellow stumbled blindly on the sand.
A shout of rage burst from the Somalis, and, hastily pushing their captives to the rear, they advanced in a very ugly manner, shaking their long spears.
Leaving the dead Arab and the wounded Somali where they had fallen, the Arabs moved back a short distance, taking Guy and Melton with them, and shouted to the Somalis to remain where they were.
The Arabs were reluctant to fire, and would have avoided further bloodshed, but the enraged savages continued to press forward, and finally let fly a shower of spears that wounded one of the Arabs, and unfortunately killed a camel. The Arabs at once retaliated with a rifle-volley, and to such good effect that three or four of the Somalis were killed.
This brought them to their senses. Their spears could not compete with the firearms of the Arabs. They moved back to their animals, and, with a few farewell shouts of vengeance, rode away to the south, while the Arabs hastily bestrode their camels, and, taking the two Englishmen with them, calmly resumed their journey to the southwest.
For a time the two caravans, moving on the sides of an acute angle, as it were, remained close together; but, gradually diverging, the sharp outlines of the Somalis began to fade into the twilight, and at last, as Guy and Melton strained their tear-dimmed eyes into the distance, the shadows obliterated the last traces of their captive friends. To Momba Melton had been deeply attached, and their separation was a hard blow.
And now a terrible feeling of desolation came over them, and they were half inclined to wish that they, too, had been led away to share the fate of Sir Arthur and the colonel.
Though it was now fast growing dark, the Arabs evinced no intention of stopping. With long, sweeping strides the unwearied camels swept over the sandy plain, and their riders from time to time spurred them to greater speed.
Melton was back in the rear, but Guy rode in front, with the Arab who had assumed the leadership since the death of his companion.
Guy ventured to address him, and was surprised to find him grown somewhat communicative. He explained to Guy in broken English that by Makar’s orders he and Melton were to be delivered up to Rao Khan instead of being sent into slavery among the Somalis. Harar, he said, was a day’s journey away, and by traveling all night they would arrive at sunrise. His account of Rao Khan, the Emir, was by no means reassuring, but Guy did not allow this to trouble him much. Makar’s last words were still ringing in his ears, and he felt certain that their deliverance from the Somalis was the first step toward the fulfillment of Makar’s promise.
The little caravan moved on in silence. The Arabs were probably uneasy. They may have feared an attack from the Somalis or some other foe, for they kept a close watch, and held their rifles in constant readiness. But presently the moon came up in the east, casting a pale glamour over the desert, and tracing on the sand in weird, fantastic designs the shadows of the camels and their riders.
As the night wore on the Arabs relaxed their caution, and, dropping their rifles to their sides, began to refresh themselves with crackers brought along from Zaila, together with dates and figs, which they washed down with water.
The Arab with whom Melton was mounted now rode up beside the leader, and, to their great joy, Guy and Melton were permitted to converse. Though they had had no rest or sleep since the previous night, excitement had driven away all fatigue, and they looked forward with deep interest to their arrival at Harar.
To Guy’s surprise, Melton did not believe that he had been singled out to accompany Guy.
“No, no, Chutney,” he said, “depend upon it, Makar has some other object in view. I believe now that he will effect your escape in some way, but don’t be surprised to find yourself sent back to Zaila alone. Makar’s clemency will be extended to no one but yourself.”
“Nonsense,” returned Guy. “I tell you he means to save you, too. However, we shall not be parted, Melton. I assure you of that. I will accept no deliverance that does not include you, too.”
Forbes made no reply, and for a time they rode on in silence. Absorbed in conversation, they had failed to observe that the aspect of the country had begun to change. They were now ascending a slight ridge, and from its crest could be seen the vague outline of mountains on both the right and the left, while all around them, in place of the dreary sand, were low bushes and vegetation. The camel’s thorn and tamarisk shrub of the desert had disappeared. Once some huge animal glided across their path, and one of the Arabs half raised his rifle, but lowered it again.
With feelings which they would have found it hard to express, Guy and Melton saw the dawn come creeping over the sky, and just as it became fully light, they rode over the crest of a hill and perceived in the distance a mass of walls and turrets stamped against the pale-gray sky.
A pleasant breeze blew from the mountains which rose steep and rocky on all sides, while the valleys were richly wooded, and a silver thread, curving to and fro, marked the presence of a hillside stream.
The little caravan now descended into a narrow gorge and traveled rapidly along the course of a brawling torrent for nearly an hour. Then, crossing the stream, they rounded a sharp spur of rocks, and the dreaded city of Harar was before them.
Thirty years before the intrepid Burton had penetrated to that hotbed of fanaticism, and had by a miracle come back alive. From that day to this none had dared to emulate him.
Well might the two young Englishmen shrink from meeting that detestable despot, Rao Khan, who ruled his people by the sword, and hated all Christians with, hatred that fanaticism alone can breed.
The caravan ascended the hill, and across the brow of the ridge stretched the massive, irregular wall of the town. The great brazen gates were closed, and in the oval turrets that rose sentinel-like above the wall appeared no sign of life or motion.
Then with startling suddenness came a trumpet blast and the quick, sharp roll of drums; and from the town burst a tumult and volume of sound, and then over the walls, and peering curiously from the turrets, appeared a swarm of dark, repulsive faces.
The tumult deepened and changed to one vast murmur as the caravan moved in dignified state up to the very gates of the ancient city of Harar.