On the Road to Bagdad: A Story of Townshend's Gallant Advance on the Tigris

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."

CHAPTER XV

Von Hildemaller's Intervention

A silence settled down upon the prison and the cell in which Geoff and Philip had been thrust, once the clanging of the iron door which closed it had subsided – a silence which told rather on their nerves, and helped to rob them of their spirits. They sat just within the door, staring about them, noticing with concern, almost with dismay, the solid masonry built up above them, the two narrow windows which gave air and light, and the absence of any sort of opening which might give them a means of making their escape. Then Philip sat down on the edge of a low platform built against one of the walls and burst into loud whistling.

"No use being down-hearted! No use crying before we're hurt! In other words, it ain't no use giving up before we've tried, eh?" he blurted out when he had accomplished a few shrill bars of an air popular amongst his fellows.

"In fact, keep on hoping!" said Geoff, laughing now, though he had felt singularly depressed but a few moments earlier. "And, besides, Philip, I've an idea!"

"Let's hear it; something new, eh? An idea! Well, you astonish me!"

The incorrigible subaltern began whistling again, a shrill, exultant, happy whistle, and continued it though a moment later steps were heard in the corridor outside. There was a bang on the door, and the heavy iron concern was burst open. A smooth-faced, bald-headed, and raggedly dressed Turk thrust his head and shoulders in and grimaced at them. Then he opened his mouth, or rather let his lips fall apart, showing a set of gleaming white teeth which perhaps might have frightened younger people.

"Silence, dogs!" he shouted at them, and at the order Philip ceased whistling.

"Tell the old boy that we want food and water," he said to Geoff. "And, by the way, about that idea of yours, I suppose one can take it that this rascal can't speak English."

Geoff gave him a quick look, and, turning, to the jailer, demanded food and drink from him.

"As to calling us dogs," he said severely, realizing that to cringe to this ruffian would be to invite harsh treatment, and that sternness and unconcern on his part would be more likely to impress him – "as to calling us dogs, you rascal, bear in mind that we are not without friends in this country. Listen! You may know of one Tewfic Pasha? Ah! You know the man then! That is enough – bring food and water."

It was clear in a moment that if this jailer were inclined to be a somewhat rough and rude, if not a bullying, sort of individual, he yet had a certain fund of discretion, and, moreover, that even if he were the guardian of this cell, interned as it were, far away from active operations, he yet had knowledge of others outside the prison. He had heard of Tewfic Pasha, that was certain, for on the mention of the name his face had fallen, the grimace, the snarl, which he had turned upon the prisoners, was changed at once to a sly, fawning smile, while he even bowed in Geoff's direction.

"I was mistaken then, Excellency," he said at last, after some seconds had passed, during which he racked his brains for something to say. "Food and water? You shall have it, for I have orders to treat you with indulgence."

"Wait!" demanded Geoff, determined not to lose his hold over this fellow, and arresting him in the act of closing the door, "wait, my good fellow! Doubtless you will be caring for our comfort for some while to come, so that it may be as well at this moment to come to an understanding. Doubtless, too, money is of some value to you, and if that be so, and you treat my comrade and myself to favours, then, when we are released, you shall be rewarded. Say now, is that a bargain?"

The man's face lit up immediately, while he even smiled quite a pleasant smile upon them. Sour dispositioned, ill-grained, and surly – perhaps because of the work allotted to him – this man, at the bottom of his heart, was really not without his virtues. Cunning like many a Turk, avaricious, and apt to trade upon those at his mercy, he had – in spite of the order which he had just admitted he had received – namely, that he was to treat his prisoners with indulgence – in spite of that, he had looked upon them as helpless, as penniless, as likely to be only a nuisance and an encumbrance. But now Geoff's tones, the peremptory words he had uttered, and, more than all, that suggestion of a reward quite altered his intentions.

"A reward, Excellency! Then indeed I am fortunate," he told Geoff. "Let your Excellency declare what is wanted, and that which I am able to bring shall surely reach you."

"And a question," said Geoff, determined to make the most of his opportunity. "This prison, where is it situated? How far from Bagdad?"

"A day's march – not more, not less, Excellency!"

"And there are other prisoners? Others from Britain or Russia?"

The man shook his head and raised his eyes as if Geoff were encroaching upon a subject which was forbidden. Then, backing out of the door, he pulled it to after him with a clang, and went off along the passage in a different frame of mind from that in which he had entered it. As for Phil, he gave vent once more to a shrill whistle, which ended in a blast of air which came through his parted lips soundless.

"And that's the idea?" he asked slyly, pointing at the door, and jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the passage. "If you put a bird in a cage, and the doors are so strong that breaking through 'em is out of the question, that bird ain't necessarily deprived of a chance of getting his freedom. There's the door left, an iron affair on this occasion, and as strong as a rock from the look of it, and then there's the jailer!"

"But there's something more than the jailer no doubt!" Geoff warned him; "there'll be sentries perhaps, officials in charge of the prison, other doors, with doors beyond them."

"Which don't say that even then we shouldn't be successful," said Philip airily. "It's a chance, of course. What would they do if they caught us?"

"Depends. Perhaps shoot us, though I hardly think it's likely – your Turk doesn't indulge in frightfulness, like his German ally. It's worth the chance, Philip, and we'll risk it; but, like sensible individuals, we'll first of all find out as much as we can about local conditions. We'll rest content here for a while and plumb this jailer fellow as far as possible."

"And then we'll scrag him. Not that one wants to be violent with him," said Philip; "I'd like to treat the fellow as gently as possible. But where a man stands between you and a chance of getting freedom, well, it ain't your fault, is it? It's his, if he gets hammered."

The two were still discussing the matter earnestly, almost eagerly, when steps were heard again in the corridor outside, and the door was pushed open by the jailer, now smiling widely, and bearing a Turkish tray upon which were set coffee and food in abundance.

A week passed, during which Geoff and his chum did their best to while away the weary hours, and to ascertain something of the outside of their cell and the conditions existing in other parts of the prison. By dint of carefully probing the jailer, by flattering him and raising his hopes of a reward, they ascertained that the Governor was lying ill, and that his subordinate was often enough away from the building. There were troops there, they gathered, but how many, and where quartered, no amount of questioning would extract from the jailer; nor was it wise to ask him about the plan of the building, the position of the cell, the corridor outside, and the road which led to the gates giving access.

As to the cell itself, the first complete day had imprinted every feature of it upon their minds, till they knew every crevice, every flaw in the stone, every little hole and excrescence. They knew the exact height of those two windows which admitted air and light to their prison, and, by standing upon one another's shoulders, had contrived to look outside – only to find that both windows looked out upon a courtyard, surrounded by a wall the top of which would undoubtedly be well beyond their reach. As to the windows themselves, they were barred so heavily that to attempt to get through them was out of the question, and even were they provided with a saw or a chisel the job would still be beyond them.

"So it's got to be the jailer," grinned Philip, when the week had passed, "and, 'pon my word, I'm awfully sorry about it. Of course we must do the square thing by him; we've promised him a reward, and he must have it. Let's form our plans for gagging and tying him up safely."

There was more discussion after that, eager enough to be sure, while plans were made and unmade, every eventuality likely to occur foreseen and overcome as far as possible.

"Naturally enough, we shall not make the attempt until nightfall," said Geoff, "and, seeing that this fellow gives us a last call just about dusk, that will be the most convenient hour to nab him. Let's go over the scene for a moment. If we happen to be fairly close to the door when he enters, he won't be suspicious, for he's found us in every sort of position during the last week. A chap would get soft and out of condition if he stayed in one place in a cell like this, and it's only by walking up and down and running round that we have been able to get exercise. Exercise, by Jove! Why didn't we think of that before? We might have sent a message to the Governor of the prison asking him to allow us out of our cell for certain hours of the day, and that would have given us an idea of our surroundings."

It was strange indeed that they had not thought of that before, and, acting on the impulse of the moment, they called loudly for the jailer, and having attracted his attention sent him on a mission to the Governor.

"But no, Excellency!" he told Geoff on his return; "it is not permitted – not for the moment at any rate. You must wait. The Governor is in ill-health and out of temper, and he bade me return with a peremptory refusal. Have patience. Perhaps in a little while you will be liberated and allowed to walk on the roof, where you may enjoy the sunlight."

"Prophetic!" said Philip when the door had closed again. "In a little while we may be liberated – this evening, if possible, I think. What do you say, Geoff?"

"I'm with you," answered our hero; "let's get the gag ready for him, and arrange about his money. Funny, isn't it, that we've been able to keep what we had in our pockets? I imagine that if Germans had captured us they'd have rifled us of every coin, and we should have been paupers."

Yet, as it happened, despite their anxiety to break loose from the prison and find their way into the open, the evening passed without event, and was followed by days of waiting. Days which stretched into weeks – miserable, lonely weeks, the hours of which dragged by on leaden wheels, while the days themselves were often like a nightmare, so long did the minutes take in passing, so long were they drawn out, so utterly unending did they seem.

"But it's no use being despondent," said Geoff; "and just because the jailer seems to be on the qui vive all the time, and has not yet given us an opportunity, and, indeed, has been accompanied by another man on many occasions, we mustn't think that the plan is 'off', or even dream of giving up the undertaking. We're going to break out of this place, Philip."

"You've said that time and again," grinned the irrepressible and ever-jovial Philip, "and so have I; and, by Jingo! we will – only when? This waiting is getting a bit trying. I declare my joints are getting stiff, and if I had to run a hundred yards I'd lose the race."

Lack of exercise and of fresh air was indeed telling upon the two very greatly; for, be it remembered, they were young, enthusiastic, and open-air creatures, who, in months past, had spent the better part of their waking hours out in the free open air, under the blue sky of Mesopotamia; and when in India or in England, outside buildings whenever possible, enjoying the sunlight and the fresh breezes which played about them. And now, to be cooped up between four stone walls of this unpleasant prison, this stone vault, was depressing, to say the least of it; it was enervating, taking the colour out of their cheeks, and, in spite of their courage and their youthful enthusiasm, was tending rather to take the heart out of them.

"We shall rot if we go on like this," said Geoff desperately, when a few days had passed. "I quite believe you, Philip, for my joints, too, feel stiff and useless almost. Supposing we were to beguile the time by a little active exercise – sort of Swedish gymnastics. Eh? Why not?"

"Why not?" Philip said eagerly, grasping at the suggestion with the energy almost of a drowning man grasping at a straw. "You've taken squads in that before. Fire away, Geoff! Let's see what we make of it."

Thereafter the astonished jailer peeped in more than once on these curious white prisoners of his, to find them perhaps stretched on their backs on the stone floor of the cell, their hands clasped under their heads, and their legs, stretched stiffly in front of them, being slowly raised towards the ceiling. Or he came upon the two facing one another with absolutely solemn visages, on tiptoe, bobbing up and down in the most extraordinary fashion.

"Allah, but this is a strange sight!" he told himself on the first occasion, and looked suspiciously round the cell. "No, no! There is no sign of attempted escape – windows are barred as usual. Truly this is a strange experience. Surely these young men, no doubt nobles in their own country, have gone crazy."

He was more than dumbfounded, absolutely staggered, one day, when, entering the cell very quietly and very suddenly, he discovered Geoff standing behind his chum, gripping him firmly by the waist and slowly raising him upward, raising him till the lanky figure of Philip was lifted to a horizontal position above Geoff's head, and was slowly pushed upward to the full extent of his arms and then lowered again, only to be pushed once more into the old position; then, as the gaping jailer watched, the figure of the subaltern was brought to a vertical position and lowered ever so gently to the ground till his stockinged toes touched the stone floor of the prison. By then the man's eyes were starting out of his head, and he gripped the edge of the iron door as if to support himself.

"Allah is great!" he stuttered. "Surely Allah is great! And these white youths are the strangest of people. See now what they do! They are here in a prison cell, none too comfortable, perhaps, none too bright and cheery, yet with four peaceful walls about them, and a wooden divan on which they may without hindrance sit or lounge the day long, staring maybe at the wall, and dreaming of the past or of the future. And surely the future, in spite of such a prison, has much that is of rosy colour for such youths – youths who are but on the threshold of manhood. There is hope for them, a peaceful life to contemplate, and, within these four walls, no need to do aught else but dream, but let the hours slide away, but let others work for their existence."

That was the Turkish outlook on life – an outlook which permits a man to reach man's estate as he may do, and which enjoins on him the need thereafter to live as placid, as workless a life as he may find. Pass your Turkish bazaar, wend your way through some Turkish café, and see the individuals of that nationality seated there. Cross-legged, they rest in comfort where Britons would be seized with cramp within five minutes. Cross-legged, they rest placidly, their open eyes fixed on nothing, their thoughts barren, their minds perhaps a blank. Or they sit with one hand resting in their lap or toying with the tiny egg-shaped coffee-cup which brings them refreshment, the other hand gripping the long, braided stem of the narghile. Then puffs of white smoke escape slowly, reluctantly, as it were, from their lips, and are gently wafted above by the breeze circling round the stalls or the café into the open air. Who knows? It may be that in the midst of those clouds your Turk sees his future, and gathers inspiration for those dreams which keep him a placid occupier of his stall or his portion of the divan in the café, holding him enthralled in lazy, idle speculation, in gentle, easy wondering, in an aimless endeavour to burst the mists of the future and discover what may be his fortune in the years to come.

For a Turk that may be good enough, sufficient exercise both for mind and body; but the fresh blood, the keen intellect, the wonderful energy of Anglo-Saxons require more movement, require some better pabulum for their thoughts – something far more stimulating – and they find it in active, open-air exercise, in the seeing of interest in all things, and in the taking of energetic steps which may bring into motion every joint, every muscle, and every fibre of their bodies. Thus what appeared to be a form of increasing mania in Geoff and Philip in the eyes of their jailer and of the man who accompanied him on occasion, who both of them stared, amazed – though they had now seen those curious actions of their two prisoners on many occasions – was no more strange and astonishing to them than were the sloth, the ease, and the aimless existence of the Turks to our two heroes.

See the result of this extraordinary mania on the part of Geoff and Philip. The hours began to glide away. The days fled as if there was some driving force behind them, and slid by at such a rate that a week was gone before they could look round, while week piled on week in rapid succession. Nor was that the only advantage obtained by these two energetic and restless prisoners. Little by little their colour came back, till they were rosy in spite of those four blank walls about them; and little by little their muscles hardened, their joints became more flexible and elastic, and their strength increased to a point at which both of them, in spite of their moderately heavy build, threatened to become young Samsons. Little did the grinning jailer realize that, whereas he might have proved an easy victim of these two, attacking him together, at the commencement of their captivity, he would now be but as a child in the arms of one; for Geoff's fingers alone had become so powerful that he could have taken the Turk by the neck and shaken the life out of him single-handed.

"I think, old boy, that the jailer won't stand a dog's chance when we get busy," he told Philip.

"And I believe you, dear chap," grinned his chum, "only – " And then Philip's face lengthened till it had attained the length of the proverbial fiddle, "only this waiting is all rot. I believe myself that that beggar of a jailer suspects us. He's been awfully decent, of course, in bringing us food and water, but, all the same, he's got it into his narrow head that we mean to tackle him on the first occasion."