CHAPTER XX.
THE COMING OF THE FRENCH ZOUAVES.
Perhaps Mustapha Cadi, as a true Mohammedan, may have a certain amountof respect for this odd tomb of a _marabout_, but, as the saint's boneshave been removed, he has no hesitation about making a fort out of therocky recess.
When all have entered he closes the opening. The door is broken, butthere are many loose stones around that can be made to serve.
There is no time just now to use them, for the rush of horses' hoofs areheard up the road, as the men of Bab Azoun come racing along, intentupon overhauling the fugitives.
They sweep past the rocky tomb like a young cyclone; it is a spectaclenone of those who gaze upon it will ever forget. The moonlight rendersit perfectly plain, and they can even see the savage expression of eachArab face as the riders dash by.
Now they are gone, and Mustapha begins to pile up the rocks against thedoor.
The others see what he is about, and immediately assist him, so thatwhen a couple of minutes have elapsed they have made use of everyavailable stone, and can regard their work with considerablesatisfaction.
The roof of the tomb is the worst part, and, being made of wood, itshows signs of decay. They locate themselves as best the circumstanceswill allow and await the sequel.
It is too much to hope that their enemies will long be deceived by thetrick that has been played. When they overtake, or sight, the riderlesshorses, they must grasp the situation, and whirling about, look for thefugitives upon the back trail. No doubt their shrewdness will at oncetell them just where those they seek may be found.
Even as they finish their labor and take their positions, those in thetomb discover that a change has come; the shouts of the robbers aregrowing, louder, showing that they no longer race away. Their tenor haschanged, too, and they sound vindictive in their anticipated triumph.
"Ready! they come!" remarks the sententious guide, who takes matters ina cool manner, showing no sign of emotion.
There can be no mistaking the fact, for in another minute the angry bandis in front of the old tomb.
Then begins a scene that savors of horrid war. The clamor of battle isin the air, loud shouts ring out, men charge, shots are fired, and withserious result.
Those who defend the fort know their lives are at stake, and theyendeavor to make each shot tell. Even Sir Lionel has managed to reloadhis revolver, and this time makes sure that it contains lead.
The professor is bound not to be left, and as he has secured the longgun which was fastened to the saddle of the bony steed he rode, he sendsits contents among the assailants, even as they make their rush.
The result is disastrous to Philander, since it knocks him off hisperch; but, scrambling to his feet again, he looks out in time to seethat his shot has played havoc among the animals of the attacking force.Three are down, and their riders crawl from underneath, doubtlesspretty well scared, if not seriously injured.
The first assault is over--the result is disastrous to the Arabs, whohave received severe wounds among them.
They will probably reason the thing over now, and proceed upon newlines, which will possibly bring them nearer success than they have beenthus far.
Our friends are not over-confident, even though they have won the firstround. They know the tenacious character of the foe against whom theyare pitted, and feel sure this is only the beginning. What the end maybe only Heaven knows.
The breathing spell is occupied by them in reloading. Lady Ruth and AuntGwen arise to the occasion, and beg to be allowed to do anything thatfalls in their line. If there was only a spare weapon, the English girldeclares she could easily load it, but it happens they have none.
Once more breaks out the noise of battle. Whatever may have been theoriginal plans of Bab Azoun and his men, they have long since beenforgotten. Revenge is the leading fact in their minds now, revenge forwhat has been done on this night.
An Arab is a good hater, especially if the object of his animosity be aChristian dog, an unbeliever. Nothing can be too cruel to inflict uponsuch a foe.
Those within the tomb have aroused the worst passions of the robbers,and can look for no mercy.
The engagement is bitter, indeed, for the Arabs have separated, andcreep upon the place on all sides. They discover the weakness of theroof, and bend their energies toward crushing this in.
There is a hot scene, and more than one of the sailants feel the breathof flying lead, together with the sudden sting that tells of a burningwound.
It would be hard to say how the affair might have terminated were theoriginal combatants allowed to carry it to a conclusion, for both sidesare desperate, and one of them would have to win.
John has not been without hope. He believes the French zouaves from theKasbah must long ere this have started on their secret march toward theold mines of Metidja, and he feels sure the noise of battle must directthem to the spot where the fierce engagement is in progress.
Men will fight like tigers when all they have in the world is at stake.John is nerved to greater deeds of valor by the fact that Lady Ruth ispresent. He shudders at the thought of her falling into the hands ofthese wild desert rovers.
Finding their efforts to beat in the door useless, the assailants turntheir whole attention toward the roof. Great stones are hurled upon it,and the chances of its holding out are few indeed.
When an opening is made a dark face appears at it, and the fellowattempts to push his gun in so that he may fire. Before he can succeed,Mustapha Cadi has leaped upward, and fastened his hand upon the man'sthroat, and by the weight of his body pulls the fellow through.
Philander snatches up the gun with a cry of delight. He seems to have aweakness for these Arab weapons, on this night, at least, three havingpassed through his hands. There is heard the sound of a desperatetussle, as the faithful guide battles with his victim.
Again the hole above is darkened, as a human figure attempts to pushthrough, but the British soldier is ready this time. He has the gunPhilander threw aside as useless, and, with all his power, he dashesthis against the human wedge that fills the opening, sending the fellowwhirling over to the ground, shrieking out Arabic imprecations, andcalling upon Allah to give the unbelieving dogs into their hands.
More stones are served. They begin to drop through, and it looks seriousfor those who crouch within. Certainly they cannot hold out much longer.
Heaven is kind, Heaven is merciful. The silent prayers of the two womenwho kneel within the old tomb are heard.
Just when the clamor of battle is at its height, when the climax isnear at hand, they hear a sound that brings joy to the little band,struggling against unequal numbers--a sound that has many times beenheard upon the great war-fields of the world--the clear notes of abugle.
Then come fierce shouts, the cheers of charging zouaves. It is athrilling period to those who have been almost at the last gasp.Louis Napoleon, struggling at Sedan, could not have heard the zouavebattle-cry with more complete satisfaction than they do now.
The Arabs are caught in the very trap they have so long eluded, and itlooks like a bad job for them. As to our friends, they are no longer inthe affair, and proceed to remove the stones from the door, in orderthat they may look upon the last scene of the tragic drama.
When this has been done, they see a spectacle that is more pleasing totheir eyes than any recently enacted--a scene made up of strugglingArabs and French zouaves, where the latter are five to one--whereflashing bayonets meet the cruel yataghan, and the dark deeds of manypast years are avenged by the brave soldiers of France.
It is quickly over.
Bab Azoun and his desperate followers expect no mercy, and the Frenchgive none. The few Arabs who are uninjured, make a determined assault inone quarter, and literally hew their way through, leaving half of theirnumber on the field.
Few indeed are they who escape, but the victory is shorn of itsprincipal feature, when the fact is disclosed that the dread terror ofthe desert, the notorious rebel, Bab
Azoun, is not among the slain.
He was seen to fall, and yet they cannot find his body, search as theymay.
Not being mounted, the French soldiers are unable to give pursuit tothe little band that hewed a way out. Besides, they have plenty to doattending to the wounded.
Up to the now open door of the _marabout's_ tomb rushes a figure thathas leaped from a horse.
"_Mon Dieu!_ tell me, are you safe, ze ladies also?" gasps this party.
It is Monsieur Constans. He has faithfully carried out his part of thecontract, and is warmly greeted by those whom the coming of the zouaveshas saved.
Lady Ruth is pale--she has looked upon sights such as are not usuallyseen by her sex--sights that make strong men shudder until they becomebattle hardened, for war is always cruel and bloody.
"Let us get to the hotel as soon as possible," she says to Aunt Gwen.
"My goodness, are you going to faint?" exclaims that good soul.
"Oh, no, I don't think so, but the sooner I am at the hotel the better,"replies the girl.
"There comes John Craig. He has been talking with the officer in commandof the soldiers, and I guess has made some sort of arrangements for us."
What Aunt Gwen says is true enough, for John leads them to capturedhorses, and ere long they are moving in the direction of Algiers,escorted by a detachment of the zouaves on foot.
Their trials for the night are over, but they will never forget whatthey have seen and endured. John is secretly fuming, as he ponders overthe facts. If he could only prove that Sir Lionel is the direct cause ofall this trouble, he would demand satisfaction from the Briton in someshape. That is where the trouble lies, in proving it. What he haslearned thus far can be put down as only suspicions or hints, thoughthey look bad for the Briton.
If Lady Ruth has observed enough to open her eyes with regard to theveteran soldier, John will call it quits.
A thought occurs to him, even as he rides toward Algiers, that causesa grim smile to break out upon his face. It is a thought worthy of aRichelieu--an idea brilliant with possibilities.
"Here are Sir Lionel and Pauline--two despairing people who long for theunattainable. Why should they not be mated? It is perhaps possible, andwould be a master stroke of genius on my part. Jove! I'll see what I cando! Great pity to have all the plotting on one side of the house."
From that hour John Craig devotes his whole mind to the accomplishmentof this purpose, for he sees the benefit of diplomacy.
This is the great idea that is struggling in his mind as he rides along.