"GEOFF TURNED, AND, DRAWING HIS REVOLVER, EMPTIED IT AT THE TWO MEN STILL PURSUING"
"Who are you?" demanded Geoff, pulling in Sultan.
"An Armenian, Excellency."
"And why with the Turks? You are not a soldier," said Geoff, noticing that the man was in civilian costume.
"A soldier? No, Excellency. A messenger merely, one who bears a missive to the British."
"Then a friend of the British, eh?" asked Geoff.
"A friend? Yes, always. In the service of a British Pasha these many years. A friend, at heart, of England."
Geoff stared at the man, and then, setting Sultan in motion, rode along, the man trotting his horse beside him.
"A message, eh?" asked Geoff after a while, having pondered deeply. "For the British, you say?"
"For the British, Excellency, for any whom it may concern. News of an English pasha who came but lately to this country."
"Oh, whom? The name? For whom is the message intended?"
"Excellency, I was to find the British force invading Mesopotamia. I was to hand my missive over to an officer of distinction, and I was to search amongst the officers who came from India for one, a youth, who might be with them."
"His name?" asked Geoff, now beginning to tremble with excitement, for who could this white man be who had sent a message? Who could the pasha be to whom this Armenian referred? Could it be Joe Douglas, his guardian, that excellent fellow who had befriended him these many years, and who had so recently gone on an expedition to Asiatic Turkey, and who, after his custom—a custom that Geoff knew so well—had disappeared entirely? There was no news from Joe Douglas these many weeks past, not a line, not a chirrup from him. But could this be his messenger? If so, Geoff should know him. Swinging round in his saddle he gripped the man's arm and stared into his face. A moment later he uttered a shout—a shout of happiness.
"You are Esbul, eh?" he asked.
"And you, Excellency, you are Keith Pasha."
"The message; give it to me," demanded Geoff fiercely, worked up by the occasion. "Yes, I am Keith Pasha, and your message comes from Douglas Pasha, my dear guardian."
It was with a shout of joy that he recognized the handwriting of that gallant soldier who had been as a father to him, and tearing the missive open he read it with an eagerness which was plainly apparent to the man who had brought it.
"If this reaches the hand of my ward, Geoff Keith, or of any British officer, let him give information of my position to the Commanding Officer of any expedition which may come from India to Mesopotamia. I have little time or space or means whereby to write a long message, and therefore must compress my information. I am a prisoner lying in a cell within a Turkish fort to the north and west of Bagdad, but where precisely I cannot say, nor do I know the name of this fortress. I was captured by a German named von Hildemaller. His agents trapped me at a place I sought outside Bagdad, and seized me. But for a friendly Turk they would have murdered me on the spot, and, as it is, they handed me over a prisoner. I make no complaint, but if the expedition advances towards Bagdad, let it make an effort to relieve me."
Geoff gasped, and re-read the message—devoured it in fact—for it was good to hear that Joe Douglas was alive, even though he were a prisoner.
"Tell me, Esbul," he said at last, while they continued to ride on slowly side by side, "this message—you received it from Douglas Pasha himself? You know where he is imprisoned?"
"Not so, Excellency, not so, Keith Pasha! This man—this devil, I call him—this German, the smiling, sweet-faced von Hildemaller. Ah! how I know the man, how I hate, detest, and fear him—he is too strong, too cunning, too artful to allow your servant or any other friend of Douglas Pasha to know of his whereabouts. Only von Hildemaller and Turks in high places can tell of the prison in which my master is shut up."
"But then," said Geoff quickly, "how—how came you to get the message?"
"It is shortly told, Excellency. There is a Jew, an Armenian Jew, in the city of Bagdad, a great admirer of my master, an old and trusted friend of his, who has been ever loyal to him."
"I know the man," said Geoff; "tall, angular, and bony; a man who sits in the market-place and sells embroidery."
"The same," said Esbul; "a wonderful man, who knows secrets that are hidden from many of us. He it was who brought the message to me in Bagdad, and bade me bear it in this direction. Yet, clever as this old Armenian Jew is, he too is ignorant of the place in which Douglas Pasha is imprisoned."
"But could help one to discover it," cried Geoff, still holding the message in his hand.
"Who knows, Excellency? This Jew, this Benshi, as they call him, is a man of parts, and, seeing that he is a friend of the pasha, he will surely help. But remember, Excellency, Turkey is now at war with your people; even I, riding towards your camp, and coming upon the Turks in this position, was seized upon. There was no time in which to cross-examine me, to find out why I came and whither, and for that reason, when the retreat began, they—the Turkish officers, and with them some Germans—were carrying me off with them. But you, Keith Pasha, they would know at once as an enemy, while I might pass, as indeed I have, through the country."
Geoff smiled at him, a smile of assurance.
"You forget, Esbul," he said, "you forget that I too have been in Mesopotamia with Douglas Pasha, that I speak your tongue and Turkish like a native, and that a fez or Arab clothing can make a wonderful difference. Why indeed should I not make this attempt to relieve my guardian? Tell me, Esbul, if in your case your father were imprisoned by some enemy, and there lay danger and difficulty between you and him and his prison, would you then count the danger and the difficulty and allow them to deter you from an attempt at his rescue?"
The tall, lithe young Armenian brought his hand with a sounding flap against the neck of his horse, while he gave vent to a sharp exclamation.
"Master," he said emphatically, "I would not! There are many who count the Armenian people as a shameless, effeminate race, who look upon the denizens of Erzerum and the surrounding country in which our race dwells as beneath contempt, unfit for this world, who hate us—and who thereby show some jealousy of us. But yet, peace-loving as we are, there lies deep down in the hearts of my brothers a source of courage—courage which, should the opportunity present itself, will spur them to fight the Turk and attempt to throw off his governance. Yet the hour might never come; and, while we wait, massacres take place, and indeed, even now, my people are being slaughtered. Yes, my master, if there be danger and difficulty in a task such as the one you mention, it should not perturb you. For listen, have I, the humble servant of Douglas Pasha, not braved many dangers in my journey hither? And he, though a good and liberal master to me, is yet not my father."
Geoff brought his hand down on the Armenian's back with a smack, and smiled encouragingly at him.
"You've done splendidly, Esbul," he told him, "and you shall see that I will make the most of this message. Now let us make our way to Head-quarters."
Still riding slowly side by side, so as to give their horses an opportunity of cooling, they crossed the desert over which the Turks had retired, in many cases so precipitately, passing many dead and wounded. Then they rode their horses over the vacated trenches—that is, vacated by living men, and now tenanted only by the dead who had so bravely held them. Beyond, there was the space across which those British and Indian troops had come hurtling in their mad charge, as they threw themselves toward the enemy trenches. A little while ago the desert here had been dotted with figures, some lying prone and stiff and stark, while others were sitting up and looking about them, and others, yet again, crawling towards the position now captured by their comrades. A little farther and Geoff and his companion reached the broad belt of palms which clung to either side of the broad stretch of the Shatt-el-Arab, to find horses picketed in the shade, munching contentedly at their daily rations, to see carts of every description parked beneath the trees, while, in the open, motor ambulance-wagons purred their way to and fro, as they brought in the wounded or went off across the hard, sandy desert in search of others. And in a retired part, just beyond the wagon-park, they came upon and halted beside a huge tent, over which flew the flag of the Red Cross. British and Indian orderlies were moving briskly about, while through the open sides of the tent Geoff caught a glimpse of stretchers laid in rows, and upon them bandaged soldiers lying very contentedly, out of the heat of the sun and with the cool breeze playing in upon them. And out in front of the tent, with the shadows of the trees cast across it, stood a table whereon lay a wounded man in the hands of the surgeon. Geoff shuddered, and then looked again; looked and admired the calmness and unconcern of the officers attending to that wounded man, their dexterity, the swiftness and silence of the orderlies who assisted; and then, catching the eye of the wounded man himself—one of the Dorsets—he returned with a grin the wink with which that incorrigible individual greeted him.
Geoff turned away, and, dropping from his saddle, hunted up his friend of the Head-quarters Staff, to whom he presented his message.
"Hum! Douglas Pasha! Glad to know that he is alive. But in prison; eh, Keith! And he's your guardian!"
For a while the officer looked at the message, and from the message to Keith, studying his every expression, and then back again to the message, pursing up his lips and wrinkling his brows thoughtfully.
"Of course," he said, "if this expedition fights its way to the neighbourhood of Bagdad it might give us an opportunity of relieving the Major; but then Bagdad happens to be far away."
"Yes, sir," agreed Geoff, vainly attempting to make his voice sound jubilant and hopeful.
"A long way," repeated the officer, "and we may never cover the distance; in that case——But of course," he added thoughtfully, looking again at Geoff, "of course, seeing that you know the country and can speak the language, you might—eh?—you might make the attempt yourself, if you could get permission. But such permission is out of the question now, and you must leave it to the future."
And leave it to the future Geoff had to be content to do, though by night and by day he still remembered that message, and indeed discussed it and a prospective journey to Bagdad threadbare with his chum, Philip, and with Esbul.
"Of course I shall go the first moment I get the opportunity," he told them both.
"And, with you, Esbul," the Armenian answered him immediately.
"And what about me?" asked Philip. "Ain't I good enough for such a job? Don't I begin to know Mesopotamia by heart by this time?"
"We'll see," rejoined Geoff enigmatically. "If there's a chance though—well, you may be sure that I'll go, and take anyone I can with me."
CHAPTER XIII
An Amphibious Expedition
"Garden of Eden, indeed!" growled Philip, some few weeks after that fine combat in which the Indian Expeditionary Force had proved so successful, and had cleared the road to Kurnah. "Where's the garden?"
The disdainful Mahratta subaltern looked round him from the doorstep of the house in which he and a few of his brother officers had taken up their quarters, and to which at that moment his chum Geoff had paid a visit. And well might the youthful and disgusted Phil have turned up his nose, have scoffed, and have shown the most infinite displeasure, for rains had set in since the occupation of Kurnah, and the whole country-side was soaked. That smooth, sandy, and gravelly desert was covered a foot deep in sticky, sandy mud, different from any mud encountered elsewhere; mud which clung to the boots, which piled up on the feet of those who trudged about the camp, and who must needs therefore carry about with them so much extra weight.
A hot, stifling mist hung over the country and blotted out the River Tigris. For, bear in mind, the Expedition had now advanced beyond the junction of the Euphrates and the Tigris Rivers, and had camped on the banks of the latter. Time was, centuries before, when these two historic rivers had come together in the neighbourhood of Kurnah—the little town now captured—where the country-side was drained, and fertile, and productive, and where, no doubt, date-palms had offered grateful shade, and patches of green had relieved the dull, dirty yellow of the desert. But that was in days gone by. Now, a change in the course of the River Euphrates—a river which, like many a one in China, changes its course in the most fickle and unforeseen manner—had cut a channel for itself farther to the south, where it now met the Tigris. "Garden indeed!" The place was a muddy swamp, set amidst the most depressing surroundings.
"Not so very cheerful," Geoff had to agree, as he puffed at a cigarette and smiled at the indignant Philip; "but then we're campaigning, my dear fellow, and soldiers should take things as they come, and not grouse and grumble."
"Shut up!" Philip told him. "None of your Head-quarters airs for me! What's doing?"
It was always the way with Philip to demand of his chum what movements might be expected, as if indeed, though attached to the Head-quarters, Geoff was likely to be in the confidence of his seniors. Yet he knew something of their intentions at times, and knew well enough that further movement was anticipated.
"You see, it's like this," he told Philip, there being no one else about. "The party we sent off along the Karun River and the pipe-line into Persia have seized Ahwaz, and have secured the oil-supply for our battleships. Just look at this map I am making in the mud! Rather a good place for drawing one, ain't it? Now, here's the Tigris and Kurnah, and there are the swamps that we went into with Commander Houston. By the way, glad to hear that he's doing well. He's on his way to India now, and good reports have been received about him. Well, there are the marshes."
"Where our good friend the Turk did us the honour of joining us, eh!" grinned Philip. "What an adventure that was, Geoff! Wish we could have more of 'em!"
It was Geoff's turn to tell his friend to "Shut up!"
"Don't interrupt!" he said irritably, thrusting the point of his stick deep into the mud, and pointing impatiently to the map which he had been outlining. "Let a fellow get on with his description. There's the Tigris."
"You've said that already," grumbled Philip.
"Well, I say it again! There it is!"
"Yes, the Tigris, we all know that! Put a T against it!"
That made Geoff laugh, and obediently he sketched a huge T in the sand and mud before him.
"Right oh!" he said. "Tigris."
"Get on," growled Philip. "Here are the marshes," and bending swiftly he scraped a row of lines in the mud. "Marshes—M—there we are, and just about here, I suppose, will be the spot where our dear friend the Turk joined us."
He dug a finger deep into the mud in the midst of the patch which he had designated "marshes", and then, standing up, grinned irritatingly at Geoff.
"We know all about that," he went on. "T for Tigris, M for marshes! What next? K for Kurnah, I suppose."
"It's there—K!" said Geoff, laughing, for who could allow himself to be irritated with Philip? "K for Kurnah, and B for Basra. There's the head of the Persian Gulf, and there's Ahwaz. Now let's move up this line we call the Tigris. Perhaps a hundred miles up there is a place called Amara, from which the enemy can easily reinforce the troops they have in front of Ahwaz; there's nothing to prevent them but marshes and desert, and seeing that they've lived all their lives in such surroundings they know all about them. So the next move is there, to seize Amara, and make doubly secure that our pipe-line cannot be cut or damaged."
As a matter of fact, the sketch-map which Geoff had drawn in the mud for the edification of his chum, was not entirely complete or informative, and we hasten at this point to supplement the information he had given. Had he prolonged the line which represented the Tigris River farther to the north and west, as it bent in that direction, he would, when he had covered sufficient space to indicate perhaps another hundred miles of desert country, have come to a place called Kut-el-Amara, where at that very moment Turks were in force; and, arrived at Kut, he would no doubt have carried on the line, making it twirl and twist in many directions—for above Kut-el-Amara the Tigris winds considerably and is most difficult of navigation—to Bagdad, that city where Major Joseph Douglas had taken up his quarters, and where the onset of this huge world war had found him an alien in a nest of enemies.
Going farther, Geoff's stick would have scratched the line in an almost due southerly direction till it struck that broad patch which Philip had contemptuously designated marshes. Unknown then to the leaders of the Indian Expeditionary Force, a channel runs from Kut-el-Amara down to the head of those marshes into the midst of which Geoff and his chum had so recently ventured, and ends at a spot on the River Euphrates where that broad, sluggish, and ever-changing stream plunges into the mass of sandy and reed-covered islets which form the marshes at Nasiriyeh, where at that very moment Turks were collecting. Not, let us add, that the Indian Expeditionary Force was entirely ignorant of their situation, for, indeed, the Intelligence Branch, thanks to the capture of that fat Turkish officer, had considerable news of a force of Turks collecting at Nasiriyeh. Yet they did not know of the Kut-el-Hai, connecting Nasiriyeh and Kut-el-Amara, and therefore were not aware that the Turks could reinforce the garrison already collected at the head of the marshes, and were at that moment hastily doing so. This force, joined by numbers of Arabs and tribesmen, was even then moving down beside the marshes, following their edge, and taking advantage of the drier parts where the desert was not submerged, their objective being Shaiba, hardly ten miles to the south-west of Basra.
Information of their coming reached the Head-quarters of the division within a few hours, in fact, at the moment when Geoff and Philip were so eagerly discussing the situation, and the blare of bugles, and the stir in the camp, immediately gave occasion to Philip to demand once more of his friend: "What's up?"
"Remember that old Turk?" asked Geoff.
"Not 'arf!" grinned Philip.
"And the tale he gave us of the Turks at the head of the marshes?"
"Get along with it!" Philip told him.
"Well, the enemy are said to be now at Shaiba, within striking distance of Basra, and we are sending back to reinforce our troops there."
"Mahrattas?" asked Philip eagerly.
"Can't say," came the short answer. "You'll know precious soon. So long, Philip! I'm busy."
Geoff was, as a matter of fact, frantically busy; so busy, and so engaged in carrying messages, that he might, had he been inclined to arrogance, have suddenly formed the idea that he was the most important individual with the division. Dashing backwards and forwards on Sultan's back, he had hardly time to think of the Mahrattas, of Philip, or of anything else but his present duties; and it was not until some days later that the two met in the neighbourhood of Shaiba.
"Somewhere about twenty thousand Turks opposite us," Geoff was able to tell his friend, "and plenty of guns. We're moving out to attack them. The beggars are entrenched at the foot of a slope along a line about two miles in length, and their supports occupy the high ground behind them. Of course there are German officers with them."
That early morning, was repeated in the neighbourhood of Shaiba the action which the Indian Expeditionary Force had fought on its way to Kurnah; for the troops advanced over the open, there being not a vestige of cover, while the cavalry manœuvred towards the flank of the enemy; a guard of Arab horsemen, and amongst them the chief whose acquaintance we have already made, supporting the regular cavalry and making ready for a dash upon the enemy.
To hardened campaigners, as Geoff and Philip had now become, the roar of guns, the splash of shells, and the detonations about them made hardly any difference; they were as cool as cucumbers, and went on with their work as though nothing were happening. And gradually, as the hours flew on, Indian and British—those gallant troops who had invaded Mesopotamia—advanced upon the Turks by little rushes, advanced, and then lay down, throwing up a parapet of sand in front of them to give them some protection, while British guns thundered in the rear and plumped shells into the Turkish trenches. And then that long blast was repeated, that shout down the line of attacking troops, the shrill shriek of officers' whistles, and the charge which was to carry our men into the enemy's position had begun. With those shouts there mingled the shrieks of hundreds of Arab horsemen—those excited individuals manœuvring at that moment towards the flank of the Turkish trenches. Their shrill cries could be heard right across the field of battle, while their robed figures, their waving arms, and their gesticulations could be observed from the far distance. Waiting till the British troops had plunged into the Turkish trenches, and until the enemy were broken and were fleeing, the Arabs burst like a bolt towards the open, and, swinging in behind those trenches, went charging amongst the enemy, cutting them down, shouting as they rode, riding over the unfortunate subjects of the Sultan and those scheming German officers who had come to train the enemy. One moment there was Bedlam—shouts and shrieks, the rattle of rifles, the sharp splutter of machine-guns and the deeper roar of cannon—and the next there was almost complete silence, save for the distant calls of those fierce Arab horsemen wreaking vengeance upon the Turks.
"And now commences the march on Amara," Geoff was able to tell his friend a few days later. "We've got the Turks running, and I expect the G.O.C. will make the most of it. A sharp and rapid advance might allow us to capture Amara with little opposition, and then we should be firmly posted on the river and able to take up a defensive position."
As a matter of fact, the capture of Amara was, in its way, a startling and most dramatic affair, and proved, if proof were necessary, that the nerves of the Turks had been considerably shaken. For though the advance-guard of the Expeditionary Force advancing towards Amara was of but slender proportions, it met detachments of Turkish troops coming towards it, troops anxious to surrender, so that the town of Amara was seized without so much as a shot being fired, and was promptly occupied by the British.
But the task of the Expeditionary Force to Mesopotamia was not yet completed, not by a great deal, for now there came news of that channel, the Kut-el-Hai, leading from Kut-el-Amara to Nasiriyeh, and it became necessary to seize both points before our troops could have any security. Preparations were therefore made to attack both places, and, to the delight of Geoff and Philip, they were both detailed to accompany an expedition, designed to strike at Nasiriyeh, through those marshes which they had already penetrated.
Meanwhile, to bring our tale up to date, one needs to mention that, as the months had gone by, as that trench line had been dug firmly across Belgium and France, and had held up the advance of the Germans on Calais and Paris, the Russian line too had checked the enemy, had advanced across Poland and into Galicia, and was within an ace of invading Austria-Hungary. In the Caucasus, a Turkish army corps had been severely dealt with by the Tsar's forces called to that inhospitable region; while an ambitious if reckless attempt on the Suez Canal, on the part of Turkey, had met with dismal failure.
The taking of Amara, in fact, coincides with the period when Britain had recovered from the first shock of this sudden and unexpected conflict, when she was training those hundreds of thousands of volunteers who had answered the call of their country, and when, while fighting beside the French in France, she still had troops sufficient to attack the enemy elsewhere. Even as those gallant Indian and British troops with the Mesopotamia Force charged down upon the trenches at Shaiba, other British troops—men from England, from Australia, and New Zealand—were gathering in the neighbourhood of Egypt. Indeed, within a few days there occurred a landing on the Peninsula of Gallipoli, a most desperate and gallant undertaking, which launched Great Britain and France into a conflict the difficulty of which was stupendous, and the result of which cannot be said to have been altogether a failure, though it failed to gain for us the capture of those forts which line the approach to Constantinople. A conflict, in fact, abortive, as it proved, yet one which struck the Turks an exceedingly heavy blow, and set up a record of bravery and determination on the part of British and French which will never be exceeded.
Was there ever such an expedition as that which set out for Nasiriyeh?
"Queer, ain't it?" remarked Philip, on the point of embarking with his chum Geoff on board the steam-launch which they had captured from the enemy in the midst of the same marshes whither they were now bound. "Did you ever see such a collection of boats and fellows? and the navy look as though they meant to make a race of the business."
There was a string of bellums—the shallow light craft common to that part of Mesopotamia, and used by the natives for progress through the marshes—towing at the tail end of the steam-launch—bellums crammed with British soldiers and with Indians. There were motor-boats near at hand, pushing their busy way across the Shatt-el-Arab; there were shallow-draft steamers brought from India, cranky, dilapidated, rusty vessels, which looked as though they had done long service, and had arrived at a time when they were fit for the scrap-heap only, or to be relegated to long and continuous rest. As a matter of fact, many of these curious craft—long since abandoned as useless by their owners—had been brought across from India, surviving in a most extraordinary manner a voyage which might have been expected to smash them to pieces, and to shake their already quivering sides so severely that if they had been swamped, if the ocean had poured through many a crevice, it would have been a wonder to no one. And there they were, at anchor in the river, their decks packed with men of the navy—men in duck white or in khaki, grinning fellows, who shouted to their comrades of the army.
"Cheer oh, navy'll be in first!" they bellowed. "We're in for the Turkish stakes, and back ourselves to beat the army."
What a scene it was when the expedition set off at length! The lighter craft finding their way through the marshes, and steering an irregular course amongst the muddy islets, whilst the vessels drawing deeper water ploughed their way along the uncertain course of the Euphrates, and stemmed the gentle flood down which Phil and Geoff had steamed with their Turkish prisoner. Little tails of open boats trailed at the stern of every steamer, while not a few, manned by natives, with soldiers aboard them, were paddled into the marshes farther afield on the outskirts of this huge inundation. There were other troops wading knee-deep, all with the one objective—Nasiriyeh and the Turkish camp. Perhaps never before had such an amazingly curious, amphibious expedition been undertaken, and it is quite certain that never before had British and Indian sailors and soldiers enjoyed a thing more hugely.
"A regular sort of mud lark," Phil called out as the launch ran on a submerged bank of mud, and came to an abrupt halt, causing the bellum towing nearest to her to collide violently with her stern and capsize promptly. There were roars of laughter as the men fell into the water and got to their feet again, dripping, and standing there with the water hardly higher than their knees, grimacing and shaking themselves like dogs.
"All overboard!" cried Geoff, who was in command of the launch. "There's no use in trying to pole her off, for she's hard and fast. Overboard with you!"
Pulling his long boots off and his breeches higher up his legs, he was over the side in a twinkling, while the crew, enjoying the experience amazingly, followed him, Phil helping to set an example.
"Now, all together, boys!" shouted Geoff. "Pull her off! Pull her back! That's done it; she's moving!"
Not once, but half a dozen times, in the next two or three days, were they forced to extricate themselves from a similar sort of situation by similar methods. For, let us explain, there was no opportunity to take careful account of the obstacles before them, to steer a slow and cautious course, and to make a complete reconnaissance of the route they were to follow. Under ordinary conditions, with time at their disposal, Geoff would have steered his launch at a placid pace, and would have avoided enclosed waters where islands of mud abounded; but now, with this expedition, it was a case of each man for himself, of push ahead all the time. It was a race, in fact, a friendly race, between the army and the navy, each service vying with the other in its efforts to push onward, and each secretly determined to get to the goal before the other.
"If we don't look out we shall be running our heads into a hornets' nest," Geoff cried irritably, when, for the fifth time at least, he and his crew had had to leap into the shallow water and pull their vessel free of a mud-bank. "This sort of headlong course will not help us to beat the enemy, but will give them an enormous opportunity."
Whereat Phil grinned. He was one of those incautious, careless, happy-go-lucky sort of subalterns who never think of consequences, and who, perhaps for that very reason, so seldom come to grief. Perhaps it was a lucky star which always watched over Phil's progress, for, in any case, happy-go-lucky though he was, careless to an irritating degree, he yet had so far come through many a little adventure unscathed.
"Tremendous opportunity—yes!" he told Geoff. "But—but will they take it? Bet you they're already thinking of bolting; for don't forget, my boy, we've given them a pretty hard hammering. Besides, an expedition such as this is, spread out through the marshes, ain't so jolly easy to tackle. You could stop a portion, perhaps—say one flank, or the portion in the centre of the ground, or rather the water. What do you Head-quarters chaps call it? It would be called terrain if it was a question of land operations, and I don't happen to know the term under these conditions. But that's what might happen; one portion of our spread-out front might get stopped, but the others would push on like blazes! Cheer up, Geoff! It'll all come right, and you'll earn promotion yet."
It always ended like that with such a fellow as Phil, and Geoff, cautious and earnest young officer though he was, was forced to laugh uproariously, and join in Phil's merriment. And, after all, if caution had been thrown to the winds by all of them—which was far from being the case—caution on his part would hardly remedy the situation. Pushing on, therefore, and taking the most out of his steam-launch, thrashing her across every open strip of water till her bow waves washed almost aboard, and until the rope to which the bellums were attached was drawn like a bow-string, and the unfortunate individuals aboard those craft drenched with spray, he wriggled his way forward with other boats of the expedition, determined to be well in the van at the coming conflict. Then, as the dusk fell, and the boats tied up or anchored for the night, he selected a likely spot towards the edge of the marshes, and dropped anchor. Entering a bellum, he went off towards one of the bigger craft, aboard which the Staff conducting this extraordinary expedition were quartered.
"What's up?" asked Philip on his return, the inevitable question that young officer fired at his comrade. "Of course, everyone knows that we're jolly near this Nasiriyeh, so to-morrow there'll be something doing, eh?"
"Come over here," Geoff said, nodding towards the stern of the vessel.
"Secrets, eh?" grinned Philip, yet wonderfully eager to hear what Geoff had to say. "Now then, what's the business?"
"A forward move to-morrow, as you might expect, but before that a reconnaissance."
"A re—con—nais—sance! Jingo! Ain't that a mouthful? Put in simpler language, a sort of scouting expedition," smiled Philip, sucking furiously at a cigarette.
"Just that; an expedition by a small party to discover the actual site of the Turkish camp and to hear what they are saying."
"Oh! And—but you don't mean——George! That would be ripping!"
Geoff cooled his ardour most brutally. "What would be?" he asked curtly enough—coldly, in fact, knowing full well what would be the result of such action.
And, indeed, in a moment the hitherto eager and impulsive Phil was reduced to a condition almost of despair, was grumbling, was far less elated; and then, in the dim light which still existed, he caught just a glimpse of Geoff's bantering smile, and gripped him by the shoulder.
"So you're pulling my leg, eh? It—it——There's a job for us to do? Something special?"
"There is for me. I have orders to make my way forward as quickly as possible, and learn all that I can of the enemy. Of course, if you cared——"
"Cared!" Phil almost shouted, though Geoff warned him instantly to subdue his tone. For let us explain that if, during the first stage of this expedition, the rush and hurry and scurry of the navy and army had been accompanied by cheery calls, by shouts and laughter, by whistling and singing for some hours, now, at least, silence had been enjoined upon every man in the marshes. Orders were given by signs, men whispered to one another, while not an unnecessary shout came from the vessels of the expedition.
"You'll call the enemy down on us," said Geoff severely. "Of course you'll come. Everyone knows that, I more than anyone. We'll take Esbul with us to paddle the bellum, and with a little luck and a little care I think we shall be able to discover something. You see, Phil, we have, as it were, a better chance than the other fellows, for we've been in these marshes before, and know quite a heap about them."
Standing aboard the steam-launch, now that darkness had settled down over the River Euphrates and the stagnant marshes stretched out to the south of it, one would have found it difficult indeed, on this particular night, to imagine that there were other inhabitants of this inundated area. Broken up as the surface of the water was, by innumerable muddy islands, by heaped-up patches of sand, and by banks of reeds, it was difficult enough even in the daytime to catch a full view of any other vessel, and now that the night had fallen and hidden the ships entirely not one was to be seen, though here and there, in fifty odd places, perhaps, the ruddy glow of pipes could be seen as the men smoked tranquilly. A gentle hum rose, too, above the water and the islets—the hum of voices of men of the expedition, men who talked in undertones, who giggled and laughed and joked only just above a whisper, and who, eager for the success of the morrow and for the defeat of the enemy, implicitly obeyed the orders which had been issued.
Geoff stripped off his service-coat and put his belt round his shoulder, thus raising his revolver well above the water. Pulling off his long boots, he donned a pair of tennis shoes—the only change he had from the heavy pair he wore during the daytime—then, followed by Phil, he stepped into a bellum, which had been drawn alongside the steam-launch, and, pushing away from her, at once felt the thrust of Esbul's paddle.
"Directly ahead!" he told the Armenian; "and don't stop unless we are brought up by a mud-bank, or unless I snap my fingers."
It was uncannily still all round them, once they had got some two hundred yards from the somewhat irregular position taken up by the expeditionary vessels, and banks of reeds and columns of mist seemed to spring up out of the darkness at them, to hover round them, and to settle right over them in the most ghostly and inexplicable manner. Once Geoff snapped his fingers with unexpected suddenness, and gripped Phil by the wrist to enjoin silence upon him.
"Eh?" asked that young officer rather breathlessly a few moments later.
"Thought I saw something," said Geoff.
"So did I. I thought I saw somebody or something half an hour ago. I've thought it every moment since we left the steam-launch. Bogies, Geoff?"
"Not nerves, I hope!" came the cheerful answer. "But it's rather uncanny work, ain't it? I could have sworn just now that a fellow stood on the edge of an island into which we were running, and I snapped my fingers; but the way of the boat carried us right on to the very point where he was standing, and right over it. He had gone though."
"Like a nasty nightmare!" said Phil. "Let's go ahead; it's cold and chilly here, and takes the courage out of a fellow."
It was perhaps an hour later, when they had slowly crept forward towards the Turkish position, and when they had caught sight of a glow in the distance—the glow of camp-fires—over the position occupied by the enemy, that the bellum suddenly came to an abrupt halt, grinding noisily upon the edge of the desert.
"Hard ground," said Geoff. "Looks as though we'd come to the edge of the marsh land, and—and—I've thought it for some while, the sky over there shows the reflection from camp-fires. We're near them, Phil."
"Then let's get nearer. But how are we to find this bellum again, supposing we leave it?"
That set them cogitating for a few moments while they stepped ashore, followed by Esbul, and, lifting the bellum clear of the water, carried her into a bank of reeds which could be heard rustling beside them.
"How to find her, that's it!" said Geoff, while the respectful Esbul listened.
"My master," he said of a sudden, for thanks to Major Douglas's tuition the man could speak English tolerably well. "My master, perhaps were we to return from the Turkish camp before the dawn breaks these reeds would aid us. There may be other banks; but, on the other hand, there may be no more, and thus we should be aided."
"In any case we've got to chance it," said Geoff lightly. "Now, come along, and let's make direct for the glow of those camp-fires."
Stealing away from the place where they had hidden their boat, the three crept cautiously but swiftly towards the enemy's position, and, ascending slowly as they went, soon gained a ridge, from which they were able to look right down into the camp where the Turkish soldiers were concentrated. Lying flat on their faces, they were busily engaged in taking full stock of what they saw, when a sudden exclamation came from Esbul.
"Excellency, something behind us!" he whispered.
"Stop! There's someone coming up from the Turkish camp," muttered Philip, making a dive for his revolver.
Glancing swiftly in both directions, Geoff was on the point of leading his comrades to one side, so as to escape the danger of discovery which seemed to threaten them, when shouts resounded all about them, and in a trice figures dashed up from every direction, surrounding the three, and throwing themselves upon Geoff and his friends with a swiftness that was dramatic.
CHAPTER XIV
Captured by the Enemy
It was with a shout of astonishment that Geoff realized that he and Philip and Esbul were discovered. Giving a loud shout of warning, he flung himself against a figure bounding towards him, and, having no time to seize his revolver, struck out wildly in the darkness, and the blow he gave, delivered with all the force of which he was capable, meeting with no greater resistance than the air, for it shot past the ear of the individual at whom it was aimed, caused him to lose his balance and to topple over.
"Ha! Infidel dog!"
The man was down upon him in a moment, and, seizing Geoff's throat, pinned him to the ground, while, within an instant almost, our hero felt the prick of the sharp-pointed dagger with which the man threatened to transfix him. The sudden pain it caused sent a sickly chill all over his body, and then stimulated him to action.
"Get off!" he roared, and, jerking himself over, swiftly had the man beneath him. Then, holding the arm which wielded the weapon, he dealt the man a furious blow between the eyes, and, shaking himself free, leapt to the assistance of Philip.
"Coming!" he shouted, hearing his chum gasp and seeing his figure indistinctly in the darkness. And then he went down again, for one of the band of Turks who had crept so silently towards the three figures watching their camp, leapt upon his shoulders and bore him, nose down, to the sand.
"Infidel dog!" he heard again hissed into his ear. "Move, and I strike life out of you. Move, utter a word, and I slit your throat from ear to ear."
It was not very pleasant; indeed, a sharp stab of pain in the region of his shoulder-blade sent another chill down Geoff's spine, and, together with the increased weight which now held him so firmly to the sand, helped to discourage further efforts. He was cornered, he knew; common sense told him that there were many of the enemy about, that quite half a dozen of them were already seated upon his body, his legs, and his arms, that further resistance was useless, was madness in fact, and could end in only one way—in sudden death for himself and Philip and Esbul.
"Right!" he gasped, spluttering and blowing the sand out of his mouth. "We surrender!"
"Ah! the dog speaks Turkish, eh! Pull him to his feet; let us see him."
It was another voice that spoke, the voice of a Turkish officer, and at once those six lusty individuals who had thrown themselves on Geoff, and who had almost squeezed the life out of him, jerked him to his feet and held him in an erect position. Had they not done so, indeed, he would have stumbled and fallen, for, though the contest had been but a short one, the struggle, whilst it lasted, had been terrific: the efforts he had made to throw off those men, his kicks and plunges, and the blows he had endeavoured to aim had taken it out of Geoff in the most startling manner. He was gasping for breath now, sweat was pouring from his face, whilst his knees shook and refused to support him.
"So, infidel dog, you are one of the British who have dared to invade our country!"
A dusky figure seemed to rise up in front of Geoff, and, approaching quite close to him, thrust a heavily-moustached face close to his and peered at him in the darkness. So close indeed was the man that his breath blew on Geoff's face, and, acting as a tonic as it were, almost stimulated him to further action. But again discretion, common sense, told him that to renew the struggle would be futile. "Better wait till another time," he told himself, gasping in the face of the Turkish officer—spluttering, indeed, for still sand remained in his mouth, whilst his nostrils were tickled with the same material. "Better wait for a while and try our chances in a different manner. There's Philip!"
Men were approaching from a point but a few feet away, their figures standing out against the reflection of the camp-fires dotting the Turkish position, and in amongst them was Geoff's chum, held firmly by the arms, his head pushed forward by a brawny individual who gripped the nape of his neck, and his legs already encumbered by a rope which had been passed loosely round them.
"So, a British officer. Ah!"
"A British officer. Yes!" Geoff admitted between his gasps.
"And one who speaks Turkish, eh?" the man who accosted him demanded.
"That is so."
"Then how?" asked the Turkish officer. "Where did you learn to speak our tongue? You are British, you say, and few there are of that nation who speak our language. Then how? Where? When did you learn it?"
"One moment; let me sit down for a while," said Geoff, panting so heavily that he could hardly make the request. "In a little while I will answer any reasonable question that you may put before me, and in the meantime you need have little fear; for see, there are perhaps twenty or thirty men here to support you."
A grim, harsh chuckle came from the Turkish officer, and yet a laugh which was not altogether disagreeable. If he had been a German officer, no doubt he would have stormed and raved, and might even have suggested shooting his prisoners on the spot, so as to get rid of them; but, being a Turk—and Turkish soldiers, whether they be officers or fighting-men, have ever proved themselves to be possessed of gentlemanly feelings—and being moreover satisfied that the three prisoners he had captured were completely in his hands, this Turk was by no means ill-pleased, was, in fact, in quite a genial humour, and, if the truth be told, rather curious as to the prisoner who spoke his language.
"Sit down," he said. "Now give me your word that you will not attempt to escape, and I'll tell my men to stand away and to give you breathing-space."
Seating himself upon the sand, in fact helped in the movement by the man who had been holding him, Geoff remained for a while panting heavily, while his guard, at a sharp order from the Turkish officer, stepped aside and remained at some distance. Then Philip and Esbul were brought along by the men who had captured them, and were allowed to seat themselves beside him.
"Now," said the Turkish officer, after a while, when he was satisfied that his prisoners were rested, "your promise. Say that you will make no attempt at escape, and you shall march back to camp at my side as friends, as you will, not as prisoners; only, when you arrive there, it will be my duty to hand you over to the guard, and you must take the consequences of your visit here this evening."
"We promise!" Geoff told him promptly.
"Then that is sufficient. Listen, my friend! Though I command a detachment of Turkish troops down in this part of the world—this terrible quarter, where there is nothing but sand and marsh and water—yet I am from Constantinople, and, unlike many other Turks, I have travelled somewhat. Thus it happens to have been my fortune to have met many peoples, and amongst them men of your country. Always I have heard that an Englishman's word is his bond. My friend, you have given your word, and that is quite sufficient."
He showed his friendly spirit within a moment, for, diving a hand into a pocket of his tunic, the officer produced a cigarette-case, and handed it in turn to each of his prisoners; and then, as they sat on there, on the sandy ridge above the twinkling camp-fires dotting the hollow below them, this Turk became quite communicative, as friendly as one could wish, chatted with Geoff as if he were an old friend, one with whom he was well acquainted.
"Come!" he said encouragingly. "Be not so close, be as frank and as friendly as I am, for let me tell you that I am more than interested in you, for, as I said before, how many of your nation are there who can speak our language? And you, you speak it as a native almost—fluently, glibly, with the tone and accent of an educated gentleman. That you are an officer I know, indeed I knew it from the moment of your capture. Now tell me how it came about that you learnt our tongue."
There was no doubt about his earnestness, nor about the fact that his curiosity was purely friendly; quite frankly, therefore, withholding nothing, Geoff told him how he had once, not so very long ago, visited Mesopotamia, and how his travels had taken him as far as Constantinople.
"I have a guardian," he told the Turkish officer, "a British officer, one who for many years has taken the place of my dead father. He it was who brought me to this country, who led me by the Tigris to Bagdad, and with whom I sat in many an Arab camp making friends with the natives."
"Wait! A British officer who led you to Bagdad! Who lived as a friend with Arabs! But surely," said the Turk, "there is but one British officer who could have done that, one with whom I am well acquainted. Had it been a German now, there would be a host of them, though it is little friends they are of the Arabs inhabiting these deserts; but this man, listen my friend, I will give you his name—Douglas Pasha, eh?"
"The same," Geoff admitted.
There was a long pause after that while the Turk slowly puffed at his cigarette, the glowing end showing his features for a few brief seconds, and then dying down between the puffs till it was only possible to make out the dull outline of his figure. No doubt he was thinking hard, thinking furiously, for a Turk, while he puffed clouds of smoke into the dusk around him.
"So," he said at last, giving vent to a low-pitched whistle, "you are Douglas Pasha's ward—and Douglas Pasha is an old friend of mine, one to whom I am much beholden. Well, it is the fortune of war, my friend. The fortune, or shall we say for a moment, while there are none to overhear us, yes, the misfortune? For see the dilemma in which I am placed. As a loyal Turk I have taken steps to make you a captive, you, who were discovered in the act of watching our camp and making a reconnaissance. As a loyal Turk I have made captive the ward of one whom I admit my friend, one whom I would go far to help, and whose esteem is of value to me. Yet, see the dilemma in which I am placed. This I have done as a loyal man, and one who does his utmost for his country; though all the while I know that it is not my country for which I fight, but that Young Turk Party which, alas! controls its destiny. Listen! There are none to hear us, and therefore I can speak the words. Had the Sultan been able to control the affairs of our nation, there would have been no war with Russia, no war with our ancient friends the British, no alliance with these hated Germans. There! I have said enough. Let us walk as friends as far as our Head-quarters, and after that, well after that you pass out of my hands, though Tewfic Pasha will think of you kindly, and maybe might help you on some occasion."
Truly the adventure which had befallen Geoff and Philip and Esbul was turning out to be as strange as it had been sudden and unexpected; for here, captives in the hands of the enemy, they were yet friends already with at least one of them, while Geoff had discovered in this Turkish officer one who in other times would have gone out of his way to be helpful, considerate, and friendly. But Turkey was at war with Britain, and whatever Tewfic Pasha's private feelings may have been towards our country he had a duty to perform, like every other loyal man; and Geoff, realizing that fact, honoured him the more when at length he gave a sharp order and called his men about them.
"You'll fall in round the prisoners, allowing them to march freely," he said. "When we reach the centre of the camp two of you will attach yourselves to each of these three men, and will escort them to Head-quarters. But listen, ye dogs! No violence, no brutal treatment, for these young men have behaved most gallantly, have fought for their freedom, and now, having lost to us, who are the more numerous, are content with their lot, are cheerful, and are facing the future with courage."
"After all, things might have been worse," chirped Philip, as the trio marched along in the centre of their escort, the officer now at the head of his men. "Quarter of an hour ago I thought my last moment had come, particularly when one of these fellows round us indicated to me in the most unpleasant manner that he was armed with a knife, and was longing to push it through me. Ugh!"
He gave vent to an exaggerated grunt of horror, which set Geoff giggling, for it reminded him of his own feelings, of that cold shiver which had gone down his spine, of the extraordinary indescribable shudder which had shaken him from head to foot, and which, courageous though he hoped he had been, had set his limbs trembling.
"Jolly nasty!" he said, sympathizing with his chum immediately. "I had the same sort of experience, and it isn't nice, particularly on a dark night, and when it comes so unexpectedly. But we've been wonderfully lucky when you come to think of it—though it's awfully unfortunate that we should have been captured—for this officer in charge of the party actually knows Major Douglas, and if it weren't war-time I believe he would himself see us to a place of safety."
"And might even now look the other way if there was a chance of our escaping," suggested Phil.
"No, decidedly no!" Geoff answered. "He's loyal to the core, this Turkish officer, unlike so many of them."
"Then what's to be done?" asked Phil. "You don't mean to tell me that you are going to allow yourself to be taken as a prisoner, say, into the interior of the country, and give up all hope of joining the other fellows?"
Geoff laughed, a gruff, determined sort of laugh, which sounded rather impressive in the darkness. There was a note of satire in it too, a note seldom indulged in by our hero.
"Sorry that's the impression you've got of me after all these months," he told Philip curtly. "Sorry you think I'm so soft, so lacking in spirit, as to give up just because I am captured. What about that trip we proposed which was to carry us to Bagdad, and was to allow us to make a search for Major Douglas?"
A sudden exclamation escaped from Philip's lips, and, diving at Geoff's arm, he gripped the wrist with a suddenness which was almost disconcerting:
"And—and, why not?" he said in a hoarse whisper, "why not? Aren't we now away from the expedition, aren't we more in the heart of Mesopotamia than ever we were before? Just think for a moment, and suppose you had gone off on that expedition that you've been planning, that you've been dreaming about every day and night since that letter came from your guardian. Supposing you'd slipped away from the British camp and had got behind the enemy's lines: where's the difference?"
Geoff brought his eloquence and enthusiasm to a somewhat sudden end by giving him a disagreeable reminder.
"Difference! Difference!" he remarked caustically. "Only this, that whereas, in that case, we should be behind their lines, but free; in this, we are in the midst of their lines, not free, but captives."
But you could not damp Phil's ardour or his spirits however much cold water you threw upon them. He gurgled for a while, gasped rather loudly, and took to whistling. Then, when they had covered perhaps a hundred yards, he again opened the subject; indeed, he proceeded with the discussion as though it had never been broken off, as if there had been no such thing as an interruption.
"Well," he said testily. "Well, who wants to be told that sort of thing? Don't I know just as well as you do that the case ain't quite the same, that we are prisoners and in the enemy's lines, instead of being free and behind them? But it's near enough, surely. A chap has only got to escape from these fellows who have bagged us, and—and—and there you are!"
"And—and—there you are!" laughed Geoff, catching his enthusiasm instantly; indeed, our hero had already been thinking furiously as to how he and his friends were to circumvent this difficult position in which they found themselves, and to shake off the hold which the Turks had cast upon them. And why, as Philip said, if only they could make their escape, seeing that they would then presumably be behind the lines of the enemy, why should they not turn their faces towards Bagdad, and go on with the rescue of Douglas Pasha.
"Jingo! We'll do it," he told his friend.
"You—you—you consent? You think it's possible?" asked Phil, his voice eager, his face lit up—though, to be sure, it could not be seen because of the darkness.
"Hush! We're in the centre of the camp, and the guard is closing in on us," Geoff warned him. "But, just a last word in case we are separated, I am going to do my best to escape, and if I succeed, and can get you and Esbul free also, I am off for Bagdad."
"Done, with you! Shake hands on it!" cried Phil, gripping his chum's palm and shaking it warmly. "Ripping! The thought of such an expedition makes up for this ghastly business; perhaps to-night we'll do it, perhaps to-morrow, and—and—well, you can rely on me standing by you, old fellow. If they separate us, and the chance comes to me to slip my cable, you know, don't you, Geoff, that I'll stand by until I get you and Esbul out, so as to complete the party?"
There was no time for Geoff to make a reply, no time to thank his chum for an expression of loyalty which was just like him, for the guard had already closed in, men were gripping their arms on either side, while, despite the caution of Tewfic Pasha, one at least of the men showed little love for the captives.
"Dog," he whispered in Geoff's ear, "you infidel who speak our language, be silent, or I will screw the head from your body."
"Unpleasant fellow," muttered Geoff, yet smiling serenely, for he knew well enough that a call to Tewfic Pasha would relieve him of this threatening fellow's attentions. "Ah! That appears to be the Turkish Head-quarters."
It was lighter now that they had arrived at what appeared to be the centre of the Turkish concentration; for numerous camp-fires were dotted about the place, lighting up the surroundings with their reflection, and indeed making the outer darkness even denser, even more impenetrable. There loomed up now in front of them a row of tents, one larger than the others, over which a flag could be heard fluttering in the breeze, though its folds could not be seen so easily. There were lamps burning in the tent, and towards it the guard escorted their prisoners.
"Halt!" commanded Tewfic Pasha, and then entered the tent.
"Master," whispered Esbul at that moment, taking advantage of the fact that the guard had released their grip of their prisoners, and were now standing at attention dressed in two lines, one in front and one behind their captives. "Master, let me say a word in your ear while there is time. Listen! I am an Armenian."
It was a fact of which Geoff was thoroughly well aware, and yet a fact the seriousness of which had not struck him till that moment.
"An Armenian! An Armenian, yes!" he said, speaking his thoughts in a whisper; "and the Turks have no love for that nation."
"Love, Excellency!" exclaimed Esbul, with a bitterness which was strange to him. "Love, my master! Of a truth, where the Armenian race is concerned, the Turk has nothing but bitterness and hatred to show. You have heard maybe of their doings in past years?"
"I have," Geoff said consolingly.
"How these Turkish fiends massacred our people, how they hate us perhaps because we are Christians, and how they have done their utmost to exterminate us, to grind us under their heel, to rid this land of Turkey of us."
"I have heard the tale," Geoff told him sadly enough, for for many years the massacre of unfortunate and helpless Armenians in Turkey had been carried out by the Sultan's people, and had more than once roused the bitter anger of peoples in Europe. Yet who could control the Turk in the centre of his own country? What nation could prevent the Sultan from wreaking his fiendish hate upon these people? And now that this gigantic war had broken out, and Turkey had declared herself in favour of the Germans, who could prevent the agents of the Kaiser, those sinister individuals, from persuading the Young Turk Party once more to commence their hideous work in the neighbourhood of Erzerum and the Caucasus Mountains? Already, urged on by those satellites of the Kaiser—those ruthless individuals, possessed of as little mercy as their fellows in Europe—massacres of the Armenians had once again begun, and ere they were finished were to account for almost a million of these miserable, unfortunate individuals. No wonder Esbul was trembling—Esbul, the Armenian, the faithful servant who had followed Douglas Pasha into the heart of Mesopotamia, and who had borne that message to our hero.
"Master," he said again, making violent efforts to control his words, "for you, who are a prisoner, and for your comrade, things may be well enough, for at heart the Turk is kindly disposed, and thinks well of the British, but for me, an Armenian, what is there to hope for?"
"What indeed?" Geoff sighed, when he grasped the full import of what Esbul had been saying. For he knew well enough the hardships of the Armenian race, and was well acquainted with the fact that the Turks hated, despised, and tortured them. Were, then, these captors of theirs likely to treat Esbul leniently once they discovered that one of the trio they had laid their hands on was an Armenian? Would they treat him as an honoured captive?—as Geoff hoped would be the case with Philip and himself. Or would they drag him aside, stand him out in the open, and shoot him like a dog?—the treatment they were meting out to his brothers.
"Listen!" he told him. "Listen, Esbul; you must go, you must go now; you must slip away; you must never let them see you! Wait! I will fall to the ground and feign illness, which will create a disturbance. Go then, take advantage of the opportunity; and, later, when you are free, and perhaps have reached Bagdad, look out for me and my comrade, and search for the whereabouts of Douglas Pasha."
He pressed the hand of the faithful fellow, and then, coughing violently, suddenly fell to the ground and writhed there, rolling from side to side, groaning and creating as much noise and fuss as was possible. At once Philip leapt to his side, kneeling on the ground and bending over him.
"What's the matter?" he asked distractedly, for he was thoroughly startled by this strange occurrence.
"Shut up!" Geoff told him. "I'm shamming. I'll tell you why later."
"What ails the dog? Come, what has happened to him?"
Turks in the rear rank, drawn up behind the captives and nearest to them, had darted forward almost at once as Geoff fell to the ground, and now one of them bent over him and gripped him by the shoulder, while he bawled into his ear. A second later a figure darted from the tent—the figure of Tewfic Pasha—and, pushing men of the front rank aside unceremoniously, came upon the scene.
"Hold your tongue!" he commanded the man shouting at Geoff. "What has happened? Ah! This officer is ill. Carry him into the tent, two of you idle fellows."
Picking their burden up, the men bore him into the tent, illuminated by swinging oil-lamps, while Philip followed unbidden.
"And the third?" asked Tewfic Pasha, casting his eyes upon Geoff and Philip, and seeing them clearly for the first time since he and his men had laid hold of them. "The third, that other fellow; where is he?"
Yes, where? There was a hue and cry outside: men were rushing to and fro, shouting and bellowing at one another, while a couple of the guard were speeding across the camp calling a warning to the sentries. For Esbul had disappeared. He had been at Geoff's side just a second before he tumbled, and those men in the rear rank of the Turkish guard could have sworn that he had knelt beside his comrade and had bent over him; and yet—and yet the darkness had swallowed him up; he had gone, slipped away like a will-o'-the-wisp, and no one had caught sight of him. Meanwhile Geoff had made a reasonably rapid recovery, and stood now beside Philip, swaying just a little—for he had to act the part—his face flushed just a trifle after his exertions, his breath coming in panting grunts.
"I'm sorry," he told Tewfic Pasha; "but the thing is over now; merely a spasm, a sudden dizziness, perhaps produced by those lusty fellows of yours who sat so heavily on me."
"And the promise you made has been kept," Tewfic smiled back at him, indeed his eyes twinkled—twinkled knowingly. "You gave me your word that you and your comrades would march towards this spot without attempting an escape, and when my guards laid their hands on you, within sight of this tent, and marched you forward, you were absolved of your promise. Listen!" he whispered in Geoff's ear a moment or so later, when he had an opportunity. "It is as well, my friend; it is just as well, for that other man was not of your country. Maybe he was of ours, maybe he was an Armenian."
The bright friendly eyes of the Turkish officer twinkled again, and a smile lit up his face, then, turning away, he accosted a Turk who approached at that moment from an ante-room erected behind this tent, which served as the Head-quarters of the Turkish Concentration.
"Prisoners, Excellency!" he said. "We captured three of them on the ridge, and doubtless they are scouts of an enemy party coming in this direction. They are British officers, Excellency, and once they were captured have behaved well and quietly. I have given them your word—the word of a man of honour—that they shall be well and kindly treated."
As a matter of fact, Geoff and Phil had no cause to complain of the treatment meted out to them, for, as we have said before, the Turks had already given many an illustration of the fact that they were both good and stanch soldiers and most excellent fellows. Once the fighting was done, once they had made captives or been captured, they forgot their enmity, and in the case of those they had made prisoners, treated them like human beings.
"You are to be sent up the Kut-el-Hai to the Tigris," said Tewfic Pasha, when the General in Command of the Turkish Concentration had inspected the prisoners and had cross-examined them. "I am commanded to see that quarters are found for you, and that you are given food and clothing. You will start on your journey to-morrow."
The following morning, in fact, at an early hour, found the two young officers aboard a small steam-launch, which at once set out for Kut-el-Amara. Arriving at that place on the River Tigris some three days later, they transhipped to a larger vessel, a paddle-steamer—as rusty and dilapidated as any of those which had come to the Shatt-el-Arab from India for service with the British. Then they were carried up the winding Tigris, and in due course, after days of twisting and turning along the numerous bends of the river, after running aground on sand-banks on many occasions, they reached at last the city of Bagdad—the Mecca of the Turks of Eastern Turkey and of the Arabs of Mesopotamia—and there, having been interrogated again by a Turkish officer, they were sent to a prison—a fort outside the city—the clanging gates of which shut on them with a force and a jar which, in spite of their buoyant spirits, sent a chill of despair through them.
"Nasty strong sort of a place," Philip whispered to his chum, as they passed under a low flat roof and along a stone passage. "No picking a hole through these walls with a penknife, my boy. It will have to be a case of strategy."
Geoff looked round him, for the bright sunlight outside sent slanting rays into the passage and lit up their surroundings.
"Beastly strong place," he agreed with Philip; "built of stone, and every piece set close to the other. But we'll see, Phil; the cage that's to hold the two of us will have to be a pretty strong one, for I'll tell you this, I've made up my mind that I'll break out of this place, and carry on that little business."
"Douglas Pasha, eh?" asked Phil.
"Of course. Ah! The fellow's opening a door, and in we go! A cell big enough for the two of us! My word! Breaking out will take a lot of doing."