CHAPTER XIX.
THE BREAKING-POINT.
RETURNING to his friends in company with the amazed and indignant sheikh of their own party Mr Hicks explained how matters stood, pointing out that discretion was preeminently the better part of valour on this occasion.
“The enemy are between us and Damascus, and they don’t calculate to let us through,” he said. “I guess the odds are a bit too long for fighting, so all we can do is to select our camping-ground with an eye to possibilities, and make tracks in the night, for if they once get us to their tents we’re as good as squelched. With your leave, Count, I’ll ride slightly ahead, to keep open communications with the other platform, and also to look out for a suitable location.”
Leaving the scouts, who had now come in, to bring up the rear of the convoy, the sheikh of the Beni Ayub and the main body of his men took up their position in advance of the small party from Sitt Zeynab, and Mr Hicks attached himself to them, doing his best to impress the sheikh with the greatness of the Prince of the Jews. It was evident that the man was already somewhat alarmed by his own temerity in interfering with the journey of such an important personage, and Mr Hicks spared no pains to add to his uneasiness. When sunset was at hand, and the sheikh suggested that it would be advisable to halt for the night, he was told curtly that the Prince had not yet given the signal, and when the Prince, through his representative, Mr Hicks, was pleased to direct that the journey should be at an end for the day, the spot chosen was not by any means an ideal camping-ground in the eyes of the Beni Ayub. It was a small hill—perhaps a large hillock would be a better term—accessible on one side only, and not affording space for more than Cyril and his party.
“I only hope they’ll conclude to camp all round it,” said Mr Hicks to his leader, “for then they would be so scattered that we might allow to creep through them, or charge right through at the weakest point, any way. If we could stampede the horses we could get clean away, more especially since we shall have our own men in a compact body.”
Mr Hicks’s hope proved fallacious. Making the best of a bad bargain, the sheikh decided to concentrate his forces at the foot of the slope, thus enclosing his unwilling guests in a trap, and his men set to work at once on their preparations for the night.
“Well,” said Mr Hicks grimly, “it only means that we’ve got to land the horses some way in that cañon back of us, and without making any noise about it, either. Mr Mansfield, you just set your mighty intellect to work on that problem, if you please. Now, how are we to get these chaps to believe that we allow to sit up all night?”
“Make a fire of brushwood and keep it burning,” suggested Mansfield.
“I guess the light will just about give us away if we do.”
“Make two or three small fires across the slope,” said Cyril, “as if to prevent the Arabs rushing us, and keep them low and smoky by heaping on earth as well as wood. That ought to produce the desired moral effect.”
“That’s so, sir. Well, Mr Mansfield, have you figured out anything to help us at the back there?”
“I’m going to explore as soon as the enemy have settled down to their supper,” answered Mansfield, and as the result of his explorations he was able before long to announce that there existed on the steepest side of the hill an apology for a path, almost invisible to the naked eye, down which it ought to be possible to lead the horses.
“A sweet path it must be, if our friends the enemy haven’t sniffed it out!” grumbled Mr Hicks; “and what a real elegant set of fools we shall look when all the horses go down ker-smash one on top of another! And what about the noise, Mr Mansfield? If you ask me, I should say there would be a good deal of promiscuous language flying around while that descent is taking place.”
“Nonsense, Hicks! these Arabs can control their emotions better than that,” said Cyril. “If the horses’ feet are muffled, that’s the only thing necessary.”
“Well, we can’t do more than try,” said Mr Hicks resignedly. “But all the same,” he added to Mansfield, “you bet I wouldn’t do that but for the boss. He is chafing fit to burst, and if we got carried off to the tents of the Beni Ayub, I wouldn’t answer for him. And now for our sheikh.”
The sheikh approved highly of Cyril’s determination to outwit the enemy, although he had little confidence in the success of the means suggested, and in order to avert suspicion the camp on the hill-top made ostentatious preparations for repose. Three men were told off to move about round the fires and keep them supplied with fuel and sand, and the rest wrapped themselves in their cloaks and lay down. As soon as all was quiet in the camp of the Beni Ayub below, one man at a time rose and crept softly to the spot where the horses were picketed. The sheikh insisted on being the first to try the path, as his horse had been trained to follow him like a dog, and to Mansfield’s intense relief and secret pride the animal, its feet muffled in pieces of cloth, picked its way down the hill after its master, reluctantly but without accident. The rest followed one by one, with more or less willingness, the men at the fires covering the occasional noises, which were unavoidable in the case of a stumble, or when a stone was set rolling, by a vigorous breaking of sticks, which sounded so distinct in the clear desert air that Mr Hicks muttered it was enough to wake all the Arabs for miles round. Then the men at the fires were called down in their turn, the last to descend exhibiting marvellous activity in producing dense clouds of smoke before he departed, and the whole of the Sitt Zeynab party stood safely in the desert with their horses. Mounting, they felt their way with extreme caution round the flank of the Beni Ayub, and resumed their interrupted journey, taking a direction that would enable them to reach Damascus without coming upon the camp to which their enemies had intended to conduct them. They had ridden some distance before any one had leisure to look round, and it was Mr Hicks who perceived first that the forsaken hill-top was no longer deserted, and uttered an exclamation. The eyes of the rest followed his, to distinguish a number of figures outlined against the red glow of the fires, which had by this time burnt up.
“That I should have been sold by a nigger chief!” groaned Mr Hicks. “All the time we were busy circumventing them, they were calculating to circumvent us, and all that old sinner’s respect and veneration was only a cute dodge to put us off our guard. As soon as they guessed our stokers had sneaked off to bed, up they come to rush our camp. Well, that gentleman and I have got to meet again, and you bet he’ll be surprised at the strength of my attachment for him,” and again Mr Hicks patted the rope which hung from his saddle.
“The sons of Shaitan thought to laugh at our beards,” said the skeikh, with a grim sound dimly suggestive of a chuckle; “but now their own faces are black. They will not pursue us until dawn, and we may even yet out-distance them.”
But in making this forecast the sheikh forgot that the enemy’s horses, which had done little work the day before, were far fresher than those of his party; and it was less than an hour after sunrise when one of his men, halting a moment to repair a broken girth, called out that the pursuers were in sight. Cyril uttered an angry exclamation.
“Look here, Hicks,” he said impatiently, “I can’t stand any more of this foolery. I don’t want bloodshed; but if these fellows will have it, they must. Our sheikh and two of his men have rifles, and with our three we can diminish the enemy’s numbers effectually before they get close to us, and then the revolver will settle the matter. I can’t risk losing everything merely to save the skins of the Beni Ayub.”
“Gently, Count. If you once set up a blood-feud with the Beni Ayub, your chance of making friends with them in future is gone. I guess we’ll keep on as hard as possible right now, so as just to separate the enemy. When we get to the locality I have in my mind, Mr Mansfield and I and the two men with rifles will stay behind and go on the shoot, while you ride ahead with the sheikh and the rest and draw the enemy into chasing you.”
“Do you think it likely,” irritably, “that I shall consent to save myself at the risk of your lives? We shall come out of this fight side by side, as we went in, or go down together.”
“Now, now, Count”—Mr Hicks laid a soothing hand on Cyril’s arm—“we aren’t going to hurl our lives away, you bet. There’s no sort of sentimental self-sacrifice about me—no, sir! I have a smart piece of business on hand, and I want a young fellow of large bodily strength to help me put it through. You are just a bundle of nerves this journey, and so used up with strain and anxiety that it’s only spirit and nothing else keeps you on your horse. Mr Mansfield and I are partners in this deal, and you watch how well things will pan out when they recognise who’s got ’em in charge.”
Cyril laughed shamefacedly, and turned his attention to keeping his horse in hand in the headlong race which now ensued. Mr Hicks’s object was to escape from the flat stretch of desert on which the enemy, with their fresher horses, might easily surround his little party, and to gain the shelter of the sandhills in front. Pausing to look back, he observed with satisfaction that the Beni Ayub, no longer massed in a compact body, were tailing off gradually, the sheikh and a few better-mounted men alone seeming to gain perceptibly on the pursued. When the sandhills were reached, he glanced back once more, and saw that the sheikh, on his magnificent horse, was now considerably in advance of his nearest followers. This was what Mr Hicks had hoped for.
“Ride on, Count! ride on, sheikh! Turn aside, Mr Mansfield, and you two, Abd-el-Kader and Nur-ed-Din. Dodge behind the sandhills, so. Have your rifles ready.”
Shouting in alternate English and Arabic, and strengthening his exhortations by means of vigorous pointing and shoving, Mr Hicks marshalled his forces. He and Mansfield were stationed close to the path between the sandhills, one on each side, the two Arabs a little behind them.
“Stay where you are, Mr Mansfield; and when you see the sheikh dismounted, round up his horse. That’s your business. You two men of the Beni Ismail, ride forward the moment the sheikh of your enemies has passed you and present your rifles at those who come after him. If they still ride on, fire; but don’t waste your shots, and reserve the second barrel.”
Having given his orders, Mr Hicks rode back a short distance from the path, and, unhooking the rope from his saddle, arranged it on his arm. This was scarcely accomplished to his satisfaction before Mansfield’s raised hand told him that the sheikh was close upon them, thundering on in hot pursuit of the party that was just disappearing round the sandhills in front. Neither Mansfield nor the Arabs could ever succeed in saying definitely what followed. That Mr Hicks rode forward across the sheikh’s path, that the rope in his hand whizzed through the air, and that in an instant the sheikh was prostrate on the ground and his horse rushing wildly away—this they perceived, but had no time even to wonder how it was done, for their own duties demanded their attention. Mansfield effected the capture of the terrified horse in a brilliant and wholly original manner; for when he grabbed frantically at its bridle as it dashed towards him, and failed to seize it, he kicked his foot free of the stirrup and caught it in the loose rein, with the result that he was promptly jerked from his saddle and thrown to the ground. Recovering himself immediately, he was in time to seize the rein with his hand before the astonished horse had made up its mind what to do. His own horse, which was equally amazed and indignant, by reason of his unconventional descent, allowed itself to be caught with less difficulty, and he turned to see how the other actors in the drama were faring. The two Arabs were sitting statue-like on their horses, covering with their rifles five or six of the Beni Ayub, who, on seeing their chief fall, had halted just out of range, and were afraid to follow him further, while the sheikh himself, black in the face and half-strangled, was being bound hand and foot in a most workman-like manner by Mr Hicks.
“Well done!” cried Mansfield. “Who would ever have thought of a lasso in this part of the world?”
“Ah, I haven’t gone cowboying in New Mexico for nothing,” said Mr Hicks complacently. “Go ahead, you fool! The more you kick, the tighter the knots will be, you bet. Ah, Mr Mansfield, you inclined to think I brought this lariat along to fix up my prisoners with before they were caught, but you see it has caught ’em and tied ’em both. Now I’m through, I guess I’ll mount this gentleman’s horse—for these Arabs are so cute that it would make nothing of carrying him right back to his friends all on its own hook, according to the Sunday-school books—and he shall have a seat on mine. But wait a minute first.”
He dragged his prisoner to a spot where he was in full view of his dismayed followers, and drawing out his revolver, held it to his head.
“You see this, men of the Beni Ayub?” he cried in Arabic, accompanying the words with appropriate gestures. “Your sheikh will go with us the rest of our journey. If you attack us, the first shot we fire will settle his business, and if you even molest us, we will take him to Es Sham and deliver him to the Roumis there. Therefore beware!”
Having shouted his warning, Mr Hicks mounted the sheikh’s horse, and with Mansfield’s assistance bound the prisoner firmly on his own; then, with the two Arabs bringing up the rear, they rode on after the rest. Great was the joy and exultation with which the Beni Ismail beheld the unpleasant plight of their hereditary foe; but Cyril interposed to forbid any indignities being offered to the captive, who might yet serve as a useful intermediary with his tribe. The novel method of his capture had produced a strong effect upon his mind, and largely increased his respect for the Prince of the Jews, and this feeling was enhanced by the continued failure of his own tribesmen to rescue him. They followed the party at a distance, and prowled round the camp at night in the hope of taking its defenders by surprise; but Mr Hicks and Mansfield kept watch and watch all night through, and this unceasing vigilance had its reward. By dint of long marches and little rest, the desert was safely crossed in six days after leaving Sitt Zeynab, and within three hours’ ride of Damascus the cavalcade paused while Cyril gave orders for the prisoner to be unbound, and his horse and rifle restored to him.
“Return to thy tribe, O Sheikh of the Beni Ayub,” he said, “and tell them of the clemency of the Prince of the Jews. I might have carried thee bound into Es Sham, and left thee to rot in a Roumi dungeon, but I send thee back to thy people, that they may know that I desire to be their friend, and that it is my will there shall be peace throughout the desert.”
The bewildered sheikh listened apathetically as Mr Hicks translated the words, but when the Beni Ismail drew aside to allow him to pass, he seemed to recognise all at once that he was free, and setting spurs to his horse, darted off into the desert like the wind. As his late custodians stood watching him, he reined up when almost out of sight, and returned.
“O Prince of the Jews, the Beni Ayub are thy servants,” he cried. “Never would I have laid wait for thee but for the words of the old man who came to our tents with the servant of the Consulate of Scythia, and tempted thy servant with great gifts to detain thee in the desert for a space. Now that I know thy power and thy wisdom, never again will I or the Beni Ayub raise a spear against thee or thy servants the Beni Ismail.”
Dismounting, he raised the hem of Cyril’s cloak to his lips, exchanged greetings with the sheikh of the Beni Ismail, and rode away again.
“All’s well that ends well,” said Cyril. “And now for Damascus!”
They rode on briskly, only to halt again an hour later. This time it was to bid farewell to the Beni Ismail, who in their enthusiasm for their new leader had accompanied him far beyond their usual limits, although for some time they had been looking askance at every hillock, lest it should conceal that abomination of the desert Arab, a house. The sheikh received Cyril’s messages for the Queen—including another earnest recommendation not to cross the desert until the Beni Ayub had returned to their usual haunts—his men salaamed, with frank admiration beaming in their bold eyes, and stood gazing lingeringly as Cyril and his two companions rode away. There were no more halts now, and as the cultivated land was reached, the roads became better. The unpleasant passage through the burying-ground was accomplished at a reckless pace, and a judicious bakhshish prevented awkward inquiries at the city gate. Riding more cautiously through the crowded streets, the three adventurers, worn out with hard travelling and want of sleep, drew rein at the door of the house which they had left just three weeks before. Paschics rushed into the courtyard to meet them, with bloodshot eyes and the dishevelled aspect of a man who has slept for several nights in his clothes, and wept tears of joy when he saw Cyril.
“Your Excellency is come. Then all is not lost!” he gasped.
“Well, what is it?” asked Cyril, dismounting.
“Oh, Excellency, it is partly my fault, and yet how could I have prevented it? It was that elderly official of the Princess of Dardania’s—Colonel Czartoriski. The first two or three days after you started he was continually sending letters and desiring to see you, though I assured him you could receive no one. Then he disguised himself with a false beard and green spectacles—yes, Excellency!—and told the people of the house that he was a doctor for whom you had sent, and they showed him which were your rooms. He did not approach by the staircase, knowing that I should be on the watch, and Dietrich also, but came up the steps leading from the garden, and crept along the verandah, and so peeped in at the window of your room. Dietrich caught sight of him first, and rushed out. Hearing a scuffle, I followed, and penetrated the man’s disguise immediately. We delivered him over to the police, after handling him not too gently, but the Scythian Consul came to his assistance, and got him released at once.”
“But what has all this led to?” demanded Cyril, who had been listening with what patience he might as the Thracian poured out his tale while they were crossing the courtyard.
“Why, Excellency, your enemies had learnt that you were away, and they took advantage of the news immediately. There is a recrudescence of Anti-Semitism all over Europe, especially in Neustria. The great Lutetian preacher is delivering a course of sermons against the Jews, and the ‘Petite Parole’ opens its columns daily to correspondents urging the most atrocious measures. All the other papers are following suit, members of the Government have denounced the Palestine scheme in the Chamber, and there are signs that the different political parties are willing to meet on the common ground of hatred of the Jews.”
“Well, we know how to manage Neustria.”
“But that is not the worst, Excellency. M. Lucien Salomans is dead.”
“What, murdered?”
“They call it suicide. He was present at some public entertainment, at which one of the performers made a violent attack on the Jews. He remonstrated, and became involved in a heated discussion with several gentlemen near him. It is alleged that he left the hall exclaiming that, Jew though he was, it was in his power to destroy Neustria if he chose——”
“Blatant fool!” cried Cyril furiously.
“Excellency, he is dead. He was arrested that evening, and his house searched. In prison he was visited by two high officials, who spent some time in his cell. This was late at night, and in the morning he was discovered to be dead. They say that he shot himself to avoid being surprised into disclosures, but it is whispered that one of his visitors, enraged by his persistent silence, killed him with the revolver which had been held to his head to extort a confession.”
“But surely he had not had the madness—— Did things end there?”
“Oh no, Excellency. Since his death the houses of the principal Jews interested in our movement have been repeatedly subjected to sudden visits from the police.”
“Good. They are baffled so far, then. And in other countries?”
“When the excitement began in Neustria, Excellency, the Continental press in general reserved judgment, as though alarmed at the temerity of the Lutetian papers. But when two or three days passed, and there was no sign from you, they grew bold, and revived all their old infamies, busying themselves also with the future of Palestine. It is now recommended everywhere that Jerusalem shall be occupied by the Powers jointly, and the Jews excluded from it. The Powers are also to have charge of all the foreign relations of the new state, the Jews regulating only such of its affairs as are purely national and domestic. The alarm in the Jewish world is very great. The Chevalier Goldberg has telegraphed again and again, asking for some assurance that you have the situation in hand. He is afraid to take any steps lest he should jeopardise some plan of yours, and I could not reassure him, for you did not contemplate such a crisis as this in your instructions.”
“No, I had not foreseen this,” said Cyril slowly. He had been glancing, while Paschics spoke, through the piles of letters and telegrams stacked on the table, flinging some aside and arranging others carefully in order. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand now, and was flicking them through absently.
“Sit down and write, Paschics,” was the sharp order which startled the secretary. “And you, Mansfield——”
“Land alive, Count! you don’t allow to fix up all the affairs of Europe before you get a bath and a sleep?” cried Mr Hicks, aghast.
“That’s exactly what I have to do. You take a rest, Hicks, if you like.”
“Not much,” was the emphatic reply. “I won’t offer to write for you, Count, since these two gentlemen know your ways better than I do. But if you have any despatches to send off I can take them to the bureau for you, and let daylight into any one that offers any objection. I can operate the instrument if it’s necessary, you bet.”
“A hint at the nature of the hold we have over Neustria would make the fortune of your paper if it got wind of it. But it must not, you understand? If the responsibility is too great for you, I won’t burden you with it.”
“I guess my conscience is asleep on the paper side just now, Count. Go ahead, and make use of me right away.”
“The immediate business of the moment is to send an ultimatum to the Neustrian Minister of Foreign Affairs. Unless this persecution—moral and material—of the Jews ceases instantly, there will be presented to the United States Government a memorandum of the secret convention entered into between Scythia and Neustria with reference to the Darien Canal. When American attention is distracted, owing to troubles elsewhere, it is agreed that the two Powers shall take joint action with regard to Darien.” Cyril looked sharply at Mr Hicks, who nodded calmly.
“Good card, Count. It never struck me you had that up your sleeve.”
“You knew of the convention, then?”
“That is so, sir. I’m keeping it back for the next war-scare, or the next time a war-scare is needed, any way. But you can just play it for all it’s worth now. You see I know a Jew or two as well as you; but I didn’t guess that you were able to put your fingers upon the missing document.”
“Salomans and I were the only men who knew where it is concealed. Now that he is dead, without revealing the secret to his brother, it will have to be got at by means of a long chain of intermediaries. Each man knows only his particular link in the chain; but we must be ready to produce the paper at once if it is wanted.”
“And you don’t calculate that the Judenhetze has gone too far to be stopped?”
“Certainly not. They can stop it fast enough if they like. They will have to take strong measures—possibly illegal measures—in the name of the public safety, as they have done often enough when the result would inflict injury upon the Jews. When Neustria is settled, we shall have time to think of the rest of Europe. Ready, Paschics?”
Cyril laid down the telegrams, which he had been looking through as he spoke, and glanced, with the faintest shadow of a smile, at Mansfield, who was fast asleep, his head pillowed on his arms on the table. “Wake up, Mansfield!” a firm hand gripped his shoulder. “You can rest afterwards, but you must work now.”
For several hours Paschics wrote unceasingly, Mansfield laboured at the typewriter, Mr Hicks hurried in and out with telegrams and their answers, and still Cyril sat in his place, dictating to one, giving directions to another, exchanging missives with the third. He seemed, as Mr Hicks had said, to have the affairs of all Europe in his hands. Reassuring messages went to one community of Jews, curt commands to another, stern reproofs to yet another; while to high government officials, and personages in situations even more lofty, were despatched brief reminders of the unpleasant consequences that would follow a breach of faith with the United Nation Syndicate. From the Hercynian Chancellor to the editor of an obscure Jargon journal, no one seemed either too high or too low for his notice, and Mr Hicks observed in admiration that he had no need to refer to any note-book for so much as a single name or address. Paschics was a pitiable object as he laboured in vain to keep up with his employer’s dictation. Mansfield had fallen into a state of semi-somnambulism as he translated into suitable terms, in a purely mechanical way, the brief instructions he received. Mr Hicks himself was inclined to think that the ‘Crier’ office on a summer night, with a big sensation coming in just as the paper had gone to press, was not so much worse than this; but Cyril showed no sign of hurry or exhaustion as he issued his directions without a pause, and the pile of papers before him grew smaller and smaller. The stream of fresh telegrams ceased at last, for the office was closed for the night, the typewriter rested from its clicking and clacking; Paschics was engaged upon the last letter.
“Is there anything more, Excellency?” he asked, looking up, for Cyril had suddenly ceased speaking.
“I believe not. No, I cannot think of anything more. Hicks,” he turned to the American, “it’s a curious thing, my brain is an utter blank. If you asked me what all these letters have been about, I could not tell you. And yet my head has never been clearer than it was until just now. It is like the sudden snapping of a thread.”
“You had better get to bed at once, Count,” was the answer, the roughness of which masked a fierce rush of anxiety.