CHAPTER XI.
“That we make a profit from this venture!”
LATE that afternoon before they loaded up the camels there was another conference between Grim, Jael Higg, Narayan Singh, our prisoner Yussuf, and myself. The ancient hills of Edom were not far away, and we were near enough to Petra to feel nervous. Jael made a pretty good pretense at meeting Grim half-way, and I think she had made up her mind to let him dig his own pit and tumble into it.
Yussuf was aware by that time, if not of Grim’s identity, at any rate of the fact that he was an officer in the British pay, and was rather obviously considering which would likely pay him best—to side secretly with Ali Higg or openly with Grim, or both.
Having fought over all that country under Lawrence, and knowing consequently every yard of it, I suppose Grim felt neither thrilled nor mystified; but in case any scientist reads this and wants to know how I felt, “fed up and far from home” about describes it. But there was worse to come!
Grim turned to me at last, and smiled in that darned genial way he has when he means to call on your uttermost patience or endurance.
“You see, the difficulty is,” he said, “to get to Ali Higg without his getting us first. He has probably got between forty and fifty men in Petra with him, so we daren’t invade the place. Yet we’ve got to hurry, because old Ibrahim ben Ah with that army may get suspicious and send back a messenger on his own account. Now, do you feel willing to beard the Lion in his den?”
“Alone?” I asked.
I never felt less willing to do anything, and dare say my face betrayed it.
“No. Narayan Singh will go too, and of course Ayisha.”
Ayisha seemed about as safe an ambassador to send as an electric spark to a barrel of powder. I glanced at Narayan Singh and felt ashamed, for his eyes glowed unmistakably. He was enthusiastic.
Well, it seems I draw a color-line after all. I can’t fight like a Sikh, or be as good a man in lots of ways; but I’m not going to be outdone by one in daring, while the Sikh is looking.
“All right,” I said, “I’ll do anything you say.”
But I did not have the perfect voice-control I would have liked, and Jael Higg grinned. That naturally settled it.
“Narayan Singh needn’t come, if he’d rather stay with you,” I added, and the Sikh raised his eyebrows.
“Do you dare make love to Ayisha, sahib?” he grinned.
I began to see the general drift of the plan of campaign, and wondered. Having seen more than a little of the Near East, and knowing how the peace of the whole world depends on preserving that unmelted hotpot of nations from anarchy, I was not impressed by the stability of things in general!
Grim had come out on this hair-raising venture because no army was available to deal with Ali Higg, and he would not have ventured unless powers-that-pretend-to-be were sure that Ali Higg was deadly dangerous. Did the peace of the world, then, depend on the success or otherwise of a Sikh’s smock love-making? It did look like it.
Narayan Singh got to his feet with a laugh and a yawn, and went to dance attendance on Ayisha, while Grim reinstructed Yussuf regarding the ease with which the British could impound his Jaffa property; but though I listened to all that, and heard Yussuf’s vows of fidelity—heard him promise to reverse his former report and spread rumors in Ali’s camp of a British army getting ready to advance—the prospect to me looked gloomier and gloomier.
“You can only die once,” Grim laughed after a quick glance at my face, “and we may save a hundred thousand people from the sword.”
But I suppose I wasn’t cut out to be a willing martyr. It was a case of making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, and though I did go forward on that mad escapade it was fear that drove me—fear of the Sikh’s and Grim’s contempt, and of my own self-loathing afterward.
Grim and Narayan Singh are made of the real hero stuff. I wonder how many others there are like me, who face the music simply because one or two others have guts enough to lead us up to it.
We didn’t move far that night, for there was no need, and Grim was careful not to go where Ali Baba could not find him. We passed through acres of oleander-scrub into a valley twelve miles wide at its mouth, that narrowed gradually until the high red sandstone cliffs shut out the moonlight. It was like the mouth of , and suffocating, for the cliff-sides were giving off the heat they had sucked up through the day.
The surest sign that Ali Higg was either overconfident or seriously engaged elsewhere was that there was no guard in the ravine. Ten men properly placed could have destroyed us. Even the great Alexander of Macedon could not force that gorge and suffered one of his worst defeats there. The Turks made the same mistake and tried to oust Lawrence in the Great War, but he simply overwhelmed them with a scratch brigade of partly armed Bedouins and women.
Grim called a halt at last where a dozen caves a hundred feet above the bottom of the gorge could be reached by a goat-track leading to a ledge. There was a rift in the side wall there, making a pitch-dark corner where the camels could lie unseen and grumble to one another—safe enough until daylight, unless they should see ghosts and try to stampede for the open. Grim sent the women and Ayisha’s four men up to the caves with only Narayan Singh to watch them, for there was no way of escape except by that twelve-inch goat-track.
Then, because Ali Baba’s sons and grandsons were nervous about “the old man their father,” and because the one thing that more than all other circumstances combined could ruin our slim chance would be panic, Grim squatted on the sand in the gorge with the men all around him and began to tell stories.
Right there in the very jaws of death, within a mile of the lair of Ali Higg, in possession of two of the tyrant’s wives, with an army at our rear that might at that minute be following old Ali Baba into the gorge to cut off our one possible retreat, he told them the old tales that Arabs love, and soothed them as if they were children.
That was the finest glimpse of Grim’s real manhood I had experienced yet; although I could not see him for the darkness. You couldn’t see any one. It was a voice in the night—strong, reassuring—telling to born thieves stories of the warm humanity of other thieves, whose accomplishments in the way of cool cheek and lawless altruism were hardly more outrageous than the task in front of us.
And he told them so well that even when a chill draft crept along the bottom of the gorge two hours before dawn, taking the place of the hot air that had ascended, and you could feel the shiver that shook the circle of listeners, they only drew closer and leaned forward more intently—almost as if he were a fire at which they warmed themselves.
But Heavens! It seemed madness, nevertheless. We had no more pickets out than the enemy had. We were relying utterly on Grim’s information that he had extracted from the women and the prisoners, and on his judgment based on that.
No doubt he knew a lot that he had not told us, for that is his infernal way of doing business; but neither that probability, nor his tales that so suited the Arab mind, nor the recollection of earlier predicaments in which his flair for solutions had been infallibly right, soothed my nerves much; and I nearly jumped out of my skin when a series of grunts and stumbling footfalls broke the stillness of the gorge behind us.
It sounded like ten weary camels being cursed by ten angry men, and I supposed at once that Ibrahim ben Ah had sent a detachment to investigate and that this was their advance-guard. Who else would dare lift his voice in that way in the gorge? You could hear the words presently:
“Ill-bred Somali beast! Born among vermin in a black man’s kraal! Allah give thee to the crows! Weary? What of it? What of my back, thou awkward earthquake! Thou plow-beast! A devil sit on thee! A devil drive thee! A devil eat thee!”
Whack! Whack!
“Oh my bones! My old bones!”.
MUJRIM was the first to recognize the voice. He got up quietly and stood in the gorge; and in another minute a blot of denser blackness that was a camel loomed above him, and he raised his hand to seize the head-rope. But the camel saw him first, and, realizing that the journey was over at last, flung itself to the ground with the abandon of a foundered dog, and lay with its neck stretched out straight and legs all straddled anyhow. Mujrim was just in time to catch his father, who was nearly as tired as the camel. It was pretty obvious at once that Jael’s authority had failed badly when it came to exchanging camels.
The sons all surrounded the old man and made a fuss over him, laying him down on a sheepskin coat and chafing his stiff muscles, calling him brave names, rubbing his feet, patting his hands, praising him; while he swore at them each time they touched a sore spot.
They would not even give him a chance to hand over his letter to Grim, until at last he swore so savagely that Mujrim paid attention and took the letter out of the old man’s waist-cloth. It was in the same envelope in which the other had gone, unsealed, but with the thumb-mark of Ibrahim ben Ah imprinted on the face.
“To think that I, of all people, should fetch and carry for such dogs!” swore Ali Baba. “I asked for a good beast in exchange for mine, and they gave me this crow’s meat, and laughed! May Allah change their faces! May the water of that oasis turn their bowels into stone!
“Aye, Jimgrim, they will stay there! They are glad enough to stay there. They are dogs that fear their master’s whip. They are so afraid of him that I think if Ali Higg should bid them roast themselves alive the dogs would do it. May they roast a second time in for giving me that camel.
“Bah! What kind of sons have I? Are these the sons of my loins that let me parch? Is there no water-bag?”
Grim struck a match in the dark corner where the camels were; but all the envelope contained was a piece of jagged paper torn from the original letter, with Ibrahim ben Ah’s thumb-mark done in ink made from gunpowder by way of acknowledgment. It meant presumably that instructions would be obeyed, and so far, good; we were not now in danger of trouble from that source.
But Ali Baba found his tongue again, and freed himself from his sons after he had drunk about a quart of water.
“That Ibrahim ben Ah was puzzled,” he said. “Allah! But the fool asked questions; and by the Prophet’s beard I lied in answer to him! Ho! What a string of lies! Who was I but a sheikh from El-Kalil bringing word to Ali Higg of the movements of a British force! In what way did I become the friend of Ali Higg? Was I not always his friend! Was it not I who fed him when he first escaped from Egypt! Ho-ho-ho! Have I not been working for a year to gather men for him in El-Kalil! Have I not made purchases in E]-Kalil and El-Kudz for his wife Ayisha! Il hamdulillah! my tongue was ready! May the lies rot the belly of the fool who ate them!
“But that was not all. He wanted to know other things—as for instance, whether the other force of forty men is still at large, and if so who shall protect the women in Petra?
“‘For,’ quoth he, ‘by Allah there are men in the neighborhood who have felt our Ali’s heel, and who would not scruple to wreak vengeance if his back were altogether turned. Convey him my respectful homage, and bid him look to his rear,’ said Ibrahim ben Ah.”
At that Grim called to Narayan Singh, who came down the goat-track like a landslide. You mustn’t whistle your man in those parts, or the Arabs will say the devil has defiled your mouth.
“Ask Jael Higg to come here.”
“A word first, Jimgrim sahib! While I watched, those women talked. Jael, the older one, offered Ayisha forgiveness if she would obey henceforth; but Ayisha gave her only hard words, saying that in a day or so it will be seen whose cock crows loudest. So Jael called to two of the men who have been with Ayisha all this time, and they squatted in the mouth of her cave. As it was very dark I crept quite close and listened. She bade them watch their chance and run to Ali Higg.
“‘If he is ill and angry, never mind,’ she said. ‘If he beats you, never mind. He will reward you afterward. Bid him, as he values life,’ she said, ‘call in those forty men whom he would send to punish the Beni Aroun people. Tell him I am a prisoner, but that those forty are enough to turn the tables until Ibrahim ben Ah can come. A camel must leave in a hurry for Ibrahim ben Ah at the oasis, and bring him and all the men back-to straighten this affair.’
“She promised them money and promotion for success, and sure death for failure!”
“Good!” said Grim, turning to me. “You see? It always pays to stage a close-up in a game like this. We’ve caught our friend Ali Higg between soup and fish!”
“Get in quick, then, and kidnap him,” I urged.
“Man alive,” he answered, “we’ve no kind of right to do that. Bring her down,” he told Narayan Singh, “and then have Mujrim tie those four men of Ayisha’s so they’ve no chance to escape.”
Jael Higg came down in a livid passion—altogether too near home to enjoy taking second-hand orders from an Indian in the dark. She was still less amused when she discovered that Grim knew her little scheme.
“Well, Jael,” he said, “you weren’t quite frank with me after all, were you? Which will you do now—stay in that hole up there with a double guard, or come into Petra with us and behave yourself?”
For, I should say, a whole minute she did not answer. You could not tell in the dark, but I think she was fighting back tears, and too proud to betray it.
“I’m your prisoner,” she hissed at last. “Do what you like, and take the consequences.”
“I’ll put you to no indignity, Jael, if you’ll play fair.”
“My ! What—? Are you mad, or am I? What are you going to do with Ali Higg?”
“Make friends with him.”
“You swear that?”
“Sure.”
She was silent for another minute.
“Very well,” she said at last. “I’ll do my best.”
“Accepted,” answered Grim. “Now—bring down Ayisha—fetch out the camels—mount—and forward all!”
We went forward just as dawn was breaking, and I believe every man Jack of us except Grim had his heart in his teeth. Grim was likely too busy conning over his plan in his head to feel afraid, that being, as far as I could ever tell, the one lone advantage of being leader; just as the capacity to drive out fear by steady thinking is as good a reason as exists for placing a man in command.
Nobody knows how old Petra is, but it was a thriving city when Abraham left Ur of the Chaldees, and for a full five thousand years it has had but that one entrance, through a gorge that narrows finally until only one loaded camel at a time can pass. Army after army down the centuries has tried to storm the place, and failed, so that even the invincible Alexander and the Romans had to fall back on the arts of friendship to obtain the key. We, the last invaders, came as friends, if only Grim could persuade the tyrant to believe it.
THE sun rose over the city just as we reached the narrowest part of the gut, Grim leading, and its first rays showed that we were using the bed of a watercourse for a road. Exactly in front of us, glimpsed through a twelve-foot gap between cliffs six hundred feet high, was a sight worth going twice that distance, running twice that risk to see—a rose-red temple front, carved out of the solid valley wall and glistening in the opalescent hues of morning.
Not even Burkhardt, who was the first civilized man to see the place in a thousand years, described that temple properly; because you can’t. It is huge—majestic—silent—empty—aglow with all the prism colors in the morning sun. And it seems to think.
It takes you so by surprize when you first see it, that in face of that embodied mystery of ancient days your brain won’t work, and you want to sit spell-bound. But Grim had done our thinking for us, so that we were not the only ones surprized.
Such was the confidence of safety that those huge walls and the narrow entrance to the place inspire that Ali Higg had set only four men to keep the gate; and they slept with their weapons beside them, never believing that strangers would dare essay that ghost-haunted ravine by night.
They were pounced on and tied almost before their eyes were open; and, catching sight of Jael Higg first, and getting only a glimpse of Grim, they rather naturally thought their chief had caught them napping; so they neither cried out nor made any attempt to defend themselves; and presently, when they discovered their mistake, the fear of being crucified for having slept on duty kept them dumb.
Grim led the way straight to that amazing temple, and we invaded it camels and all, off-loading the camels inside in a hurry and then driving them out again to lie down in the wide porch between the columns and the temple wall. The porch was so vast that even all our string of camels did not crowd it.
The main part of the interior was a perfect cube of forty feet, all hand-hewn from the cliff, and there were numerous rooms leading out of it that had once been occupied by the priests of Isis, but “the lion and the lizard” had lived in them since their day. We put the prisoners, including Ayisha’s four men, in one room under guard.
That much was hardly accomplished when the spirit of our seventeen thieves reacted to their surroundings, and all the advantage of our secret arrival was suddenly undone. Half of them had gone outside to tie the camels under Ali Baba’s watchful eye; and it was he, as a matter of fact, who started it. From inside we heard a regular din of battle commencing—loud shouts and irregular rifle-fire—and I followed Grim out in a hurry.
There was no enemy in sight. Old Ali Baba was busy reloading his rifle fifty paces away in front of the temple door, facing us with his sons in a semicircle around him, and they were shooting at something over our heads. Grim laughed rather bitterly.
“My mistake,” he said. “I ought to have thought of that.”
So I went out to see.
Surmounting the temple front, at least a hundred feet above the pavement and perfectly inaccessible, was a beautifully carved stone urn surmounting a battered image of some god or goddess. It was in shadow, because the cliff wall, from which the temple had been carved, overhung it; so it was peculiarly difficult to hit, even at that range; but they were firing away at it as if Ali Higg and all his men were hidden behind the thing. There was no particular need to stop them, for they had made noise enough already to awake the very slumbering bones of Petra. Ali Baba advised me to shoot too, and I asked him why.
“To burst the thing.”
“But why?”
“That we make a profit from this venture.”
“How?”
He paused to reload once more. He had already fired away about fifteen cartridges.
“Allah! The very dogs of El-Kalil have heard of Pharaoh’s treasure.”
“I am neither a dog,” said I, “nor an inhabitant of El-Kalil, for which Allah for his thoughtfulness be praised! Tell me what you and the dogs know.”
“This place was the treasury of Pharaoh, King of Egypt, a bad king and an unbeliever, whom may Allah curse! In that urn are his gold and rubies. If we can crack it they will come tumbling down and we shall all be rich.”
“Mashallah! You believe that? Why haven’t Ali Higg and his men cracked it then?”
“Shu halalk?[1] I have told you Pharaoh was an evil king. He was in league with devils and bewitched the place. The devils guard it. May Allah twist their tails! Look—see! We shoot, but the bullets miss the mark each time!”
“Perhaps you haven’t prayed enough to exorcise the devils?” I suggested, and he dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground to consider the proposition.
“Out of the mouth of an unbeliever has come wisdom before now,” he said. “There may be truth in that.”
And he called all his sons and grandsons there and then to spread their mats and pray toward Mecca, performing the prescribed ablutions first with water from one of the goatskin bags.
Well, there wasn’t any further use in trying to keep our movements secret. Grim beckoned me to where he stood beside Narayan Singh, with Ayisha looking mischievous in the gloom behind them, and issued final instructions.
“Present my compliments and these gifts to Ali Higg—I’m busy at prayer, remember—and say how greatly honored we feel to have escorted his wife across the desert. If he asks where her four men are, tell him I’ll bring them later. Be sure and make me out a great Sheikh, and say I heard he is sick, so sent my hakim in advance to give him relief; then do your best for him, if he’ll let you—after Ayisha has done her worst,” he added in a whisper. “Don’t forget you’re a darwaish. The more you jaw religion the better the old rascal will like you. See you soon. So long!”
So Narayan Singh and I followed by Ayisha and two of Ali Baba’s sons, left that ancient temple bearing the medicine-chest as well as presents, and I hope the others did not feel as scared as I did.
- ↑ What chatter is this?