CHAPTER XVII
The Road to Bagdad
Free from prison, after an adventure the success of which might wellstimulate them to greater effort, to greater daring, and give them hopesbeyond any they had possessed during the weary weeks of waiting whichhad passed, it was yet not by any means certain that Geoff Keith and hischum Philip would ever win their way back to that Expeditionary Forcewith which they had landed in Mesopotamia. It was weeks and weeks, andit seemed to them years, since they had been captured with Esbul atNasiriyeh; and though their jailer had not been entirelyuncommunicative--for at heart he was quite a genial fellow, and thethought of reward warmed his heart wonderfully--yet they had failed tohear of the easy, bloodless capture of Amara. Indeed, all tidings of theMesopotamian invading force had ceased; and whether it had retired,whether it still hung on to the banks of the River Tigris, what itsfortunes were now, were withheld from them.
"If we don't get out soon there won't be an Englishman left in the wholeof Mesopotamia," Philip grumbled one day during their long and tediousimprisonment, when he was perhaps a trifle bilious, and feeling out ofsorts and out of temper. "Everything's wrong".
And Geoff had grinned at him, an irritating grin, which had roused theirate Philip to a state of anger which set him stuttering, and whichcaused him to clench those powerful fists of his--made powerful by theexercises he and Geoff practised. But just as suddenly as his cheeks hadflamed with anger, just as quickly as he had allowed natural vexationand irritation to get the better of him, Philip's better sense, hishonest heart, his real affection for his chum, caused him suddenly tobeam upon him.
"I'm in a rotten humour," he told him, "just the sort of humour in whicha fellow grumbles, asks 'What's the good of anything?' and grouses'Nuffin'."
"I've felt the same often enough," Geoff told him, "and I dare sayyou've known it, and have seen what a nasty sulky beast I could be. Yousee, fellows chained up like this, close together in a cell, get to knowall there is that's worth knowing about a chap--all the good side, youknow."
"And a precious deal of the bad side too," grinned Philip. "Trust acampaign to show up a man from every point of view. People say thataboard-ship life is the most trying of existences; but I imagine thatone of those Arctic Expeditions of ours, when a hundred men, perhaps,are bottled up in winter quarters for months together, must try officersand men to the last extremity, must prove their good feelings andtemper, and must bring them back to safety comrades for life--friendswho will never be forgotten."
Doubtless the fact of hearing nothing of the Expeditionary Force did trythe nerves and the temper of the two prisoners in their cell extremely.Yet what mattered such a trial now? Now that they were out of theirprison; now that they had dropped from the window of the Governor'squarters; now that they had worsted that odious fellow, vonHildemaller--that mass of perspiring flesh and fat, that ogling,cunning, scheming German?
"Jingo!" Philip kept on repeating, as he and Geoff crouched by the wall,and then let go a chuckle. "To think that we've done that von what's hisname--Hilde something--"
"Maller," grunted Geoff, sniffing his contempt of the fellow. "And now?"
"That's what I keep asking, now?"
"Well, we've the whole of Mesopotamia," Geoff told him a littlepolitely, a little icily in fact.
"Right oh! Then all we've got to do is to choose some spot in it. Ofcourse one naturally selects a part now occupied by our fellows."
Naturally enough that was the choice which any British officer or manwould have made under similar circumstances. But where was theExpeditionary Force which had sailed from India, and which had foughtits way by now into the heart of Mesopotamia? Unbeknown to these twoyoung subalterns, it had driven a path up the banks of the River Tigristowards Kut-el-Amara--some hundred and fifty miles above Amaraitself--and well on the road to Bagdad--the Mesopotamian Mecca, a city,almost a holy city in the eyes of the Arabs of that part, to which theireyes were attracted far more than to Constantinople. Driven fromNasiriyeh, from Basra, from every place down-stream on the banks of theShatt-el-Arab, of the Tigris and of the Euphrates, the Turks,nevertheless, had not abandoned Mesopotamia. They were in strong-forceat Kut, in prepared positions, engineered, sketched, and arranged byGerman instructors. And there, to be precise, some seven miles to theeast of Kut, the enemy took up his position astride the River Tigris,extending his trenches to some six miles from the left bank of theriver. Yet, in spite of those deep-dug trenches which gave such securityfrom shell-fire, in spite of wired entanglements which might havearoused the envy of Germans in Flanders and Poland, notwithstandingpreparations made without haste and hurry, and over a country which gavewonderful assistance, the enemy was defeated.
The same dash, the same almost reckless bravery of the British andIndians, the same natural, friendly rivalry between those two races ofsoldiers, sent them forward against the Turkish trenches like anavalanche, caused them to turn the position, and rapidly effected thecapture of Kut-el-Amara. Not only that, it effected at the same momentthe capture of the northern end of the Kut-el-Hai, that watercourserunning roughly north and south between the Tigris and the EuphratesRivers, and which, unknown to the British, had permitted the Turks toreinforce their post at Nasiriyeh, and collect that army at Shaiba,which had threatened the rear of the Expeditionary Force when in theneighbourhood of Kurnah. It may be said, indeed, that the ExpeditionaryForce had now captured a solid wedge of Mesopotamia, a wedge of landwith its base pointing towards Bagdad, its lines of communicationopen--for the Tigris allowed of shipping reaching the British force atKut as easily and almost as safely as that shipping had been able toreach Kurnah. For the Tigris was still deep and wide, though notentirely free of sand-banks. As to the size of this wedge--Nasiriyeh wassecured, Ahwaz, the head of the Persian pipe-line, was in our hands, andthere remained Bagdad alone--a jewel which must have strongly temptedthe British Commanders. An expedition to that city, its capture in fact,would no doubt result in the crash of Turkish influence in Mesopotamia,would win over thousands of Arabs now wavering and prepared to join theside which looked like winning, and would inevitably destroy all Germaninfluence.
For many reasons then Bagdad was a magnet, a magnet which drew theExpeditionary Force onward. And in the heat of summer, even as Geoff andPhilip were making that adventurous escape, British and Indians wereonce more on the move from Kut _en route_ for Bagdad, hoping to capturethe city. Whether such an expedition were justified, whether the risksof an advance along the River Tigris to the city of Bagdad were out ofproportion to the advantages to be gained, and whether those in commandwere fully informed as to the strength of Turkish troops before them,one cannot venture an opinion, seeing that at this date littleinformation has been published, little indeed more than the fact thatsuch an advance took place, and its sequel.
If, however, actual news of our troops in Mesopotamia at this time ismeagre, and if a cloud covers their operations and leaves us in doubt asto what has actually happened, we have yet left to us news of Geoff andPhilip, and of others who participate in this story. There is, forinstance, the stout, perspiring, and odious von Hildemaller. Boilingwith rage, perspiring indescribably, he leant against that door outsidethe quarters of the Turkish governor, mopping his face perpetually withthat red handkerchief, while he gripped the rifle he had seized from oneof the Turkish soldiers, and glared from it towards the Governor.
"And--and--you are fooling me," he shouted at last, when he had got hisbreath; for that dash into the courtyard, the blows he had levelled atthe unfortunate jailer, and his race from thence to the hall of theprison and up those stairs had left him gasping. "What means this?" hedemanded. "You give me free entry into a cell in which these brutes areimprisoned; you--you--allow them to set upon me, to tie me hand andfoot, to gag me, and now--now--you bring me here to be faced with a doorthat is barred and bolted, when you should have taken me to some otherplace from which I could have shot down those ruffians."
Of a truth, the Teuton was positively boiling over w
ith wrath,indignation, and disappointment. Never before, in a somewhat long life,devoted in these latter years to crafty plotting, had von Hildemallerbeen so worsted. Like every other man, he had had his ups and downs tobe sure, his failures and his successes; but of late, since the "AllHighest", since the Kaiser had set his ambitious eye on Turkey, hadogled the Sultan, brow-beaten his particular adherents, and had gainedthe ear of the Young Turk Party, since, in fact, the influence of theGermans and of Germany had risen to such heights in Turkey, vonHildemaller had become quite an important person, one to be considered,an agent of the Kaiser to whom no doors were shut, who claimed entryanywhere and on any occasion. Yet here, when he had thought to succeedso easily, when he had planned to add these two British subalterns tothat Douglas Pasha--then in prison--why, see here, the door was bangedin his face, the tables had been turned most distinctly upon him, andall his plans had been shattered.
"I--it is monstrous!" he shouted, using the native tongue butindifferently, his words bearing a strong Teutonic accent. "Are you,too, in the plot? Did you then plan for them to seize me? I--I----"
The poor fellow was stuttering more than ever, his flabby cheeks werepositively shaking, while his whole person was quivering. It lookedalmost as if he would have thrown himself upon the Governor, that otherstout man staring back at him now in frightened manner. No doubt, too,had von Hildemaller had breath sufficient for the task, he would havevented his wrath upon the Turk promptly. But, as it was, he cast therifle on the stone steps and sent it clattering down into the hallbelow. Then, wobbling badly, his knees shaking after such unusualexertion, perspiring still in horrible fashion, and displaying thatparticularly close-cropped pate, he went off after the rifle, stumblingdown the steps and into the hall, and from there out into the open. Itwas almost dark then, and for a while he stood still, blowing heavily,and enjoying the evening breeze as it played about his heated features.Then he gave vent to a faint and somewhat subdued whistle, and repeatedit a moment later. A figure slid up from some dark corner and stoodbeside him.
"Master," he said, "you whistled."
"Whistled? Yes, twice, and you were not there at the first summons,"snarled von Hildemaller, delighted to have someone else upon whom hecould turn his wrath and vexation. "How now? Where are these prisoners?You saw them escape from the place? You followed them, eh?"
"Prisoners?" said the man, startled, stepping back a pace or two, sothat a gleam of light, flashing through the open door of the prison froma lantern which had now been lighted, fell upon him. "Prisoners?But----"
"But--prisoners, fool!" the German retorted, eyeing the man severely ashe stood in the lamp-light. "You did not follow them then; you allowedthem to escape without troubling?"
His tones were even more angry as he watched the man; while those beamsof light, as they fell upon the German's companion, showed the featuresof that same rascal who had answered his signal in the Bazaar at Bagdadat that time when Major Joe Douglas had accosted von Hildemaller.Without a shade of doubt, indeed, this Turk was the ruffian who was inthe hire of the German, who was ready to carry out any piece of villainyfor him. Esbul knew it; that old Jew whom Douglas Pasha had questionedin the Bazaar at Bagdad knew it too; while the cautious yet seeminglyunsuspicious Douglas Pasha knew it better, knew it so well that he hadmade that hurried departure from Bagdad, knew it better still now,seeing that it was thanks to this rascal, and the German, that he lay inprison.
No doubt, had the man not been of such great use to von Hildemaller,the latter would then and there have vented all his wrath and vexationon him; but if the German were angry he was still not so furious that hewas altogether bereft of common sense and caution. Caution, indeed, wassomething which had helped the Teuton to be successful; it was hishard-headed common sense and cunning which had made of him such aplotter, and now that same common sense caused his anger to evaporate.In any case he became calm, and stood for a moment or so consideringdeeply.
"Listen, my friend!" he said at last, his tone completely changed. "Youdid well. You sat here, you tell me, and heard nothing. Then I will tellyou what has happened. The two prisoners we sought are gone--escapedwithin a few minutes of my gaining the prison; they are nowhere to befound, and we must seek them. Tell me now, you who are clever in suchmatters, supposing you to be in their place, and to have shaken yourselffree of the prison, whither would you turn? What quarter?"
The man answered him promptly, without a thought it seemed.
"Bagdad, Master."
"And nowhere else?"
"And nowhere else," the man repeated.
"Then in Bagdad you believe that we shall trace them?"
"I do, Master, and the sooner we can make our way there the better."
Early on the following morning, in fact, von Hildemaller could have beendiscovered in a shaky old country vehicle, drawn by a dilapidated pony,being rattled over an incredibly rough road close to that city. Perchedon the driving-seat was the rascal whom he had encountered outside theprison on the previous evening. A picturesque rascal to be sure, forthere was nothing about this man which denoted his calling. Very soonthey entered the gates, and were swallowed up amidst the narrow,tortuous streets of the city, and finally gained the quarters habituallyoccupied by the German. Yet we have to recount the fact that, quietly asthese two had entered Bagdad, unostentatiously as they had made theirway through the streets, much as they had sought to escape observation,yet one at least had watched their coming. It was that tall, skinny,bony Jew, who sat, as ever, it seemed, cross-legged on his stall,perched like a bird of evil omen above those embroidered goods, the saleof which appeared to trouble him so little. His beady eyes marked thepassing of that clattering vehicle and recognized, while they appearedto be looking at nothing, the picturesque rascal who drove it, and tookin in a single fleeting glance the fat features of the German.
"So, that man--the one who tracked Douglas Pasha----" he muttered,appearing to address the words rather to the embroidered goods he hadfor disposal than to any particular person. "Coffee, boy!" he called,clapping his hands. "Coffee, that I may sip it and think."
Almost motionless, merely his eyelids blinking, while occasionally hislong fingers played over the wares on his stall, the Jew waited for thecoffee, and then, taking the cup with a deliberation peculiar to him,lifted it slowly to his lips and sipped it thoughtfully. It was at suchtimes, too, that this curious old man, who had such a strong liking forDouglas Pasha, looked above the rim of the egg-shaped cup and cast hisglance over the Bazaar. It masked his movements, as it were, and thatcup disguised the fact, from any who might be looking, that he wasinterested in his immediate surroundings. Not that the man saw anythingin particular, merely walls, merely long shadows cast by a brilliantsun, and stalls upon which other figures rested much as hedid--motionless figures, men apparently indifferent to their success inbusiness, for not an effort did they make to attract the attention ofwould-be purchasers and extract money from them.
"So!" he muttered again into the coffee-cup. "That man is back, and Ihave heard tales of a journey to another prison. Perhaps Esbul may giveinformation; perhaps he followed. Who knows? We will wait till theevening."
And wait the old man did, placidly, with not the smallest show ofimpatience, till the shadows lengthened, till dusk fell over the Bazaar,and until other merchants were closing their places of business. Then,having seen his stall shut by the boy who did jobs small and large forhim, the Jew tottered away from the place, dived into a narrow alley,and wriggled his way to a house at some distance. Entering this from acourtyard at the back, he rapped twice with his stick on the floor, andwaited for an answer.
"What then?" a voice asked cautiously from the top of a flight ofstairs, "Who is that?"
"A friend!" the Jew replied, and ascended promptly. Gaining a room atthe top of the flight of stairs he sat down on a divan, and then turnedto the man who stood before him.
"So they have come--that German and the ruffian," he said. "You sawthem, Esbul?"
Esbul nodde
d.
"I saw them; they passed to their old quarters."
"And maybe you know from whence?" the Jew asked.
"Not so," Esbul told him. "They slipped from the city unbeknown to me,and were gone while I was sleeping. But--but--I have a feeling that theywere bent on business which concerned my master, or which concernedthose two who were captured with me at Nasiriyeh."
There was silence for some long while in that room, for the Jew was notgiven to much talking. Instead, he ate his humble evening meal slowlyand thoughtfully, gazing at the opposite wall as if he could read therethe mystery of Douglas Pasha's whereabouts, of the prison in fact wherevon Hildemaller had caused him to be sent. Let it be remembered, too,that though this Jew had means of learning much of what was happening,had learned, indeed, that Geoff and Phil had been incarcerated somewhereoutside the city, yet he had no knowledge of the German's movements, didnot dream, in fact, that von Hildemaller had so recently visited theplace where they were held, and did not suspect his mission. But heguessed that the Teuton's exit from the city and return had something todo with Douglas Pasha, though it might not be directly. He hated thisGerman--hated all Germans in fact--for, Armenian Jew though he was,Turkey was his country, and, as a wise man, he realized that Germany'sinterest in it was not disinterested. But the subject of Douglas Pashatouched him even more deeply, for he was devoted to the Englishman, hadreceived much kindness from him, had, in days past, to thank him for anact which saved his life--a deed of bravery which might have costDouglas Pasha his own quite easily. That was the secret of the Jew'sattachment to this British officer, the secret of his solicitude for hissafety, and part of the reason for his detestation of von Hildemaller.He turned after a while, solemnly and slowly, upon Esbul, who meantimehad waited for him to speak, with too great a respect for the aged Jewto disturb him.
"My son," he said, and the beady old eyes flickered wisely at Esbul,"there has been a deep plot hatching in these parts, and the German hasbeen weaving a web to cast about these British people. As I, a goodArmenian Jew and subject of the Sultan--though he has sorely ill-treatedus Armenians--as I hate this German, so he loathes all those British. Hefears the influence of Douglas Pasha amongst the Turks; when there wasno war he feared him, for even against their will our Turkish pashascould not help having a liking for the Briton, while for this Teutonthey had nothing but contempt. Thus von Hildemaller was jealous ofDouglas Pasha, feared his strength, and made plans to rid Bagdad andMesopotamia of him. The chance came when war burst over the land, andthe German seized it. Yet, surrounded by enemies as he was, DouglasPasha evaded the danger for a while, evaded it till the hirelings of vonHildemaller tracked him down and cast their net about him. Then, butfor those Turkish friends of our master, but for the news of DouglasPasha's capture which I sent swiftly to them, the German would havekilled him. Against the wishes of the Turks he could do no such thing,and therefore had to be content with his imprisonment. Now see whatfollows: the ward of Douglas Pasha is captured also, and with him acompanion. The news comes to the ears of this scheming German. He can dono worse, for the time being at any rate, to Douglas Pasha himself, buthe can hurt him through this young soldier--this young officer who isdear to him. Who knows? It may be that his journey outside the city wasto secure the person of young Geoffrey Keith. Who knows? But it islikely."
"More than likely," Esbul told him respectfully.
"That we shall learn in time," the Jew answered. "I have ways ofgathering news unknown to you--unknown to anyone, in fact. We shalllearn. But you, Esbul, in the meantime you will set a watch upon thesepeople, will disguise yourself and hover about the streets of the city,and perchance it may be that information will come to you sooner than tome, in which case you will be lucky."
Esbul, indeed, might consider himself an extremely well-favouredindividual if it turned out that he was more successful in unearthingthe secret doings of von Hildemaller than was Benshi, this aged Jew,this extraordinarily silent man who hovered the day long over hisembroidered wares, and seemed to take no interest in things outside hisnarrow stall, and to possess no energy for doing so; for, indeed, Benshiwas a deep, discreet, and clever individual--one to whom tales came inthe most uncanny manner, to whom reports of doings outside the city ofBagdad were sent almost before they reached the Governor's palace. Andyet the exact whereabouts of Douglas Pasha was hidden from him; whilebeyond the fact that Geoff and Philip had been imprisoned--a factcommunicated by Esbul--he had no knowledge of them.
Donning a garb which was calculated to deceive easily any who might meethim, Esbul slipped out of the house that evening and plunged into theintricacies of the thoroughfares of the city. No need for him to seekfor the quarters of von Hildemaller, for they were already known to him,and no need, therefore, to ask questions. But arrived at the house--onedetached from its fellows, standing aloof and alone in a compound--therewas little to encourage him to wait, nothing to prove that the Germanand the arch-scoundrel he employed were in residence. Not a lightflickered from the windows, not a gleam came through a crack in theshutters; the place was clad in darkness, while not a sound came fromit.
"But yet it may be that they are there, these crafty fellows," thoughtEsbul; "we'll see, we'll investigate the premises carefully."
To clamber over the containing wall was an easy matter, while the dropon the far side was nothing. With stealthy steps the Armenian passedround the house, squinting in through keyholes, staring at the shutters,seeking for something which might prove of interest. Yet, though hespent a good half-hour in the compound, not a sound reached his ears,and nothing rewarded his efforts.
Meanwhile, one may wonder what had happened to Geoff and Philip aftertheir adventurous escape from the Governor's quarters of the prison.
"Where now, then?" asked Philip, darkness having fallen completely. "Isay, Geoff, I'm sorry about that fall of yours and the fruit, for thesupply I've brought is precious scanty; let's finish it now, and thenconsider matters."
It was, indeed, rather an unfortunate thing that the breaking of therope and Geoff's fall upon the cushions--which they had had forethoughtenough to drop out of the Governor's window--had resulted in the pulpingof the supply of fruit he was carrying on his person. Yet, if they weredeprived of that, they had gained something immeasurably greater, forthey had gained their liberty.
"And mean to keep it now," Geoff was whispering to himself, as theycrouched beside the wall of the prison. "But what to do, where to go,and how to fare now that we are free?"
It was, indeed, rather a problem, and yet not so difficult after all;for, consider, Bagdad, they knew--they had learned from theirjailer--was within a day's march of them, and Bagdad was just as much amagnet to these two young subalterns as it was to any Arab or any Turkin Mesopotamia--just as much a magnet, indeed, as it was to the BritishExpeditionary Force then fighting its way towards the city fromKut-el-Amara.
"Of course it's got to be done; we've got to get to Bagdad," Geoffexclaimed, when they had finished their small supply of fruit. "Nextquestion is--in what direction?"
Philip scratched his head; it was, indeed, a problem which floored him.
"Which direction, eh?" he muttered. "Yes, that does want deciding, forI've no notion."
"But here's an idea--a good idea, too," said Geoff. "Naturally enoughthe prison must be on some road, else how would one get to it? How couldwe have been driven here?"
"Brilliant! Of course, naturally enough--on a road. We look for it."
"Quite so; we look for it, and then----"
"Then we march along it, eh?" Philip told him cheerfully.
"Which direction?" asked Geoff satirically. "Supposing it runs west andeast, do we turn west or east? And if north and south, which way,please, Philip?"
It was Philip's turn again to cogitate, to scratch his head even harder,and to wonder. It made him quite irritable and angry when he discoveredhow hopeless the situation really was; and then, seizing upon abrilliant idea, he almost gave vent to a shout of triumph.
"Of course; easy as smoking; we just get on to the road and wait forfolks to come along it."
"Brilliant!" Geoff scoffed at him. "People don't travel so often duringthe night in these parts, but at any rate it's the only solution of ourdifficulties. We'll get on to the road and see what happens."
What actually happened was that, after a while, voices were heard in theneighbourhood of the prison; for by then Geoff and his friend had passedround the place, had found the road, and had sat down beside it. Theyheard the rattle of wheels somewhere on the road, and the ring ofhorses' hoofs. Creeping nearer, they heard those voices more distinctly,and after a little while, getting nearer still, Geoff was convinced thatit was von Hildemaller himself who was talking.
"Go easy," he told Philip; "keep as far away as we can and listen tothem. Von Hildemaller's in a nasty temper, I expect, and is quitting theprison. There! He's mounting into some sort of Turkish vehicle, and he'sabout to drive off. What's that he's saying? To Bagdad?"
"To Bagdad!" exclaimed Philip in an excited and eager whisper. "That'swhere we're going."
"I hope so, certainly," agreed Geoff.
"Then why not accompany our dear friend Hildemaller?" asked Philip,starting forward.
"Accompany him!" exclaimed Geoff; "you're fooling."
"Never hung on the back of a trap before?" said Philip immediately. "Ihave. Come along; let's get this German fellow to give us a lift to ourdestination."
The young subaltern had never given expression to a more brilliantproposal. Geoff seized upon it on the instant, and the two, runningswiftly across the road in their stockinged feet--for they still kepttheir boots tucked close to their bodies--were within a few feet of therickety chaise in which the German was riding. As it drove off,clattering heavily over the rough road, they raced up behind it, and,unknown to the German, clung on behind and accompanied him towardsBagdad.