.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 42943
   :PG.Title: Frank Forester
   :PG.Released: 2013-06-13
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Herbert Strang
   :MARCREL.ill: Cyrus Cuneo
   :DC.Title: Frank Forester
              A Story of the Dardanelles
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1915
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

==============
FRANK FORESTER
==============

.. clearpage::

.. pgheader::

.. container:: coverpage

   .. vspace:: 3

   .. figure:: images/img-cover.jpg
      :align: center
      :alt: Cover

      Cover

   .. vspace:: 4

.. container:: frontispiece

   .. _`IN TWO MINDS`:

   .. figure:: images/img-front.jpg
      :align: center
      :alt: IN TWO MINDS  (*See page 40*)

      IN TWO MINDS  (*See page* `40`_)

.. vspace:: 4

.. container:: titlepage center white-space-pre-line

   .. class:: x-large

      FRANK FORESTER

   .. class:: large

      *A STORY OF THE DARDANELLES*

   .. vspace:: 2

   .. class:: small

      BY

   .. class:: medium

      HERBERT STRANG

   .. vspace:: 3

   .. class: small

   *ILLUSTRATED BY CYRUS CUNEO*

   .. class:: medium

      LONDON
      HENRY FROWDE
      HODDER AND STOUGHTON

   .. vspace:: 4

.. container:: verso center white-space-pre-line

   .. class:: small

      *First printed in* 1915

   .. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center large

   CONTENTS

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   CHAP.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

I  `A MEETING IN THE HILLS`_
II  `CONCERNING A CARPET`_
III  `DISTURBERS OF TRAFFIC`_
IV  `THE COMING STORM`_
V  `UNDER ARREST`_
VI  `RIGOUR`_
VII  `TEMPTATION`_
VIII  `A LEAP IN THE DARK`_
IX  `A REHEARSAL`_
X  `A BRITISH SHELL`_
XI  `DANGER`_
XII  `IN THE HILLS`_
XIII  `SHARING A SEPULCHRE`_
XIV  `'A CHIEL AMANG THEM'`_
XV  `OUT OF ACTION`_
XVI  `TWO MEN IN A LAUNCH`_
XVII  `THROUGH THE NARROWS`_
XVIII  `THE LANDING AT ANZAC`_
XIX  `A TIGHT CORNER`_
XX  `FISHING`_
XXI  `IN A RING FENCE`_
XXII  `THE HOLY MEN`_
XXIII  `CAPTURING A SUBMARINE`_
XXIV  `V.C.`_

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center large

   LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

.. vspace:: 2

`IN TWO MINDS`_ . . . . . . . *Frontispiece* (*see page* `40`_)

.. vspace:: 1

`AT THE POINT OF DESPAIR`_

.. vspace:: 1

`MAP OF THE SOUTHERN PART OF THE GALLIPOLI PENINSULA`_

.. vspace:: 1

`THE FIGHT IN THE GULLY`_

.. vspace:: 1

`A CRITICAL MOMENT`_

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A MEETING IN THE HILLS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER I


.. class:: center medium

   A MEETING IN THE HILLS

.. vspace:: 2

One afternoon in July 1914, a party of
five men was making its way slowly through
a defile in the hills of Armenia.  The
singular verb is strictly appropriate, for
the five men kept close together, always in
the same order, and, being mounted, might
have appeared to a distant observer almost
as one monstrous many-legged creature,
hideously shaped.

At a nearer view, however, the spectator
would probably have been interested in the
various composition of the party, and in
certain picturesque elements pertaining to
its individual members.  The foremost,
preceding the rest by three parts of the length
of his grey horse, was a study in colour.
A black turban surmounted a copper-coloured
face, the most striking feature of
which was a thin aquiline nose hooked at
the extremity, with finely arched nostrils,
and a deep dent between bushy brows out
of which gleamed sloe-black eyes.  On either
side of his nose streamed a long, black,
fiercely twirled moustache, and his shaven
chin stuck out with a sort of aggressive
powerfulness.  A blue tunic clothed him
from shoulders to waist, where he was girt
with a red sash bristling with a dagger, a
long knife, and several pistols.  Baggy white
trousers were tucked into long red boots
fitted with large spurs.  In his right hand
he held a long bamboo lance, from which
dangled a number of black balls.

The two men who rode behind him, the
necks of their horses level with the buttocks
of his, were not so picturesque.  On the
right was a young Englishman of about
twenty years, whose clean-shaven face was
ruddy with health and exposure to the
weather, and whose grey-blue eyes were
shaded from the sun by the peak of a white
pith helmet.  He wore white drill, with a
leather belt, and brown riding boots.  His
companion, a slight, sallow-faced youth of
about the same age, was also dressed in
white, but there was something in the cut
of his garments that forbade his being
supposed an Englishman.  Close behind these
two, mounted on mules which were laden
with bundles of odd shapes, rode two sturdy
bearded figures, whose dark features were
markedly oriental.  They wore turbans and
tunics which had once been white, baggy
red trousers, and heavy boots of undressed
leather.  Rifles were slung on their backs,
and long knives stuck out of their belts.

The track was stony and tortuous, winding
through a jagged cleft in the hills.  On either
side, at varying distances from the path,
rose pinnacles of rock, through fissures in
which the riders caught occasional glimpses
of fertile valleys below, or of solitary
fastnesses or monasteries perched high among
the crags.  Now and then a bend in the
defile opened up a view of the distant peaks
of the Taurus mountains.  It was wild and
desolate country, growing wilder as they
advanced.

They rode almost in silence.  The two
muleteers addressed each other sometimes
in murmurs, and it might have been gathered
from the expression of their countenances
that they did not relish their job and were
becoming increasingly uneasy.  The sun was
hot, and the heat reflected from the rocks
struck up into the riders' faces and made
them shiny with sweat.  But the uneasiness
of the muleteers was moral rather than
physical.  They were Armenians, and their
journey was taking them deeper and deeper
into the wilds of Kurdistan, among the
strongholds of the immemorial oppressors
of their race.  They were not without a
lingering suspicion of their leader, the
picturesque person of the hook nose.  He was a
Kurd, and though he had guaranteed the
safety of the party, they had no great
confidence in the good faith of a Kurd.

No anxieties of this kind troubled the
Englishman.  But as the afternoon waned
he became a little impatient.  Ali the
Kurdish guide had assured him twenty times
that the end of the journey was near, yet
hour followed hour, and they had not yet
arrived.  Since there was no doubt that Ali
knew the way thoroughly, it could only be
supposed that his notion of distance was
imperfect.  There were camp gear and
provisions on the mules' backs; Frank Forester
had already spent one night in camp since
leaving Erzerum, and did not view with
any pleasure the prospect of a second
night; in these heights, 6000 feet above
sea-level, the nights, even after the hottest
days, were bitterly cold.

"Come now, Ali, aren't we nearly there?"
Frank said at length, addressing the Kurd in
a mixture of Arabic and the local dialect.

"Very near, very near," said the man,
extending his arm towards what appeared
to be a blank wall of rock.

"He's a man of two words," said Frank,
with a shrug, to his companion on the left.
"I hope we shall get there before dark."

"Yes, before dark," repeated the youth,
in a thin scrapy voice.

There was silence again.  The track became
rougher, the wall of rock on each side
steeper.  At one spot Frank noticed a number
of boulders, large and small, piled on a ledge
almost overhanging the track.

"That's rather dangerous," he remarked.
"If they fell they would block the road."

"That is what they are there for, effendim,"
said Ali, turning and flashing a glance at
the pile.  He explained that expeditions led
by Turkish governors had more than once
come to grief in these hills.  The Kurds
knew how to deal with the Osmanli.

A few minutes afterwards Ali came to a
sudden halt, and hurriedly bade the other
members of the party draw in towards the
left, under cover of a projecting spur.

"What is it?" asked Frank.

"Men coming towards us, ten or twelve,"
replied the man.  "We must wait until I
can see who they are."

"Have they seen us?"

"Who can say?  But I think I stopped
before they saw us."

"Why?"

"Do they not call me Eagle Eye?" said
the man proudly.

Frank smiled.  There was an amusing
simplicity about Ali's self-esteem.

"Well, what do you make of them?"
Frank asked after a minute or two.

The Kurd, peering round the edge of the
rock, had shown more and more interest as
the approaching party drew nearer.

"Wallaby!  It is Abdi the cursed.  I
know Abdi and his evil eye.  A bad man,
truly, for he will sin against a true believer
as readily as he will kill a Giaour.  He is
hated by all and feared by most.  We must
not meet him."

"But you don't fear him, Ali?"

"Allah knows I fear him not; but I gave
my word for the safety of your nobleness and
these poor creatures, and it is not well we
run into danger from Abdi and his larger
party.  Besides, there is with him, riding by
his side, the dog German----"

"What, Wonckhaus?"

"Even so, effendim.  That curdles your
cream, or call me a liar."

"He has stolen a march on us, Joseph,"
said Frank, turning to his companion.  His
tone expressed deep annoyance.  "He
wouldn't have come into these parts on any
other errand, and I shall be mad if he has
pulled off the deal.--I don't want to meet
Wonckhaus, Ali.  Can we get out of the
way until he has passed?"

Ali cast a keen look around.  In a few
moments he discovered what he sought--a
gap in which the party might remain
concealed.  He led them through the narrow
passage between two large masses of rock,
turned the corner, and instructed them to
cover the animals' heads with cloths.  They
were now within twenty yards of the track,
but wholly out of sight from it.

Some ten minutes later they heard the
ringing clatter of hoofs on the stones, and
the voices of men.  Peeping out, Frank and
Ali watched the party ride by.  By the side
of a villainous-looking Kurd rode a big
German in loose grey clothes with a blue sash
about his ample waist.  Behind came nine
or ten Kurds variously attired, all armed to
the teeth, mounted on horses laden with
packs.  It was a wild fierce group, and the
Armenians, peering timorously round the
edges of the rock, heaved a sigh of relief
when the last of the party had disappeared.
The sounds died away.  When all was silent
Ali chuckled a "Wallahy!" and led the
way back to the track.

"Very near now, effendim," he said.

"I hope we are," rejoined Frank.  "Joseph,
I wonder whether Wonckhaus has got my
carpet?"

"God forbid!" said Joseph solemnly.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CONCERNING A CARPET`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER II


.. class:: center medium

   CONCERNING A CARPET

.. vspace:: 2

Frank Forester was the son of the
owner of a large oriental carpet business,
whose headquarters was in Constantinople,
with branches in several parts of Asia Minor
and Persia.  Except for his school years in
England, Frank had lived all his life in the
East.  He spoke Turkish like a native, and
could make himself understood in Arabic
and in the various local dialects in which
Turkish, Arabic, and Persian all have component parts.

For some months he had been in charge
of the small branch house at Erzerum, where
he conducted the business with the aid of
Joseph, his Armenian clerk.  A few days
before the incident just related, a bazar
rumour had come to his ears which suggested
a promising stroke of business.  It was to
the effect that an important Kurdish chief,
living about two days' journey to the south,
had been so heavily squeezed by the Turkish
governor of the province that he felt himself
forced to raise money by parting with a
very valuable old Persian carpet that had
long been an heirloom in his family.  Tradition
said that it was part of the loot obtained
by an ancestor of the chief at the sack of
Shiraz during one of the civil wars that
ravaged Persia in the seventeenth century.
It held among his hereditary possessions the
same place as a precious jewel or an Old
Master among the treasures of a western
house.  The rumour that it was coming
into the market caused as much excitement
among carpet dealers as the announcement
of the approaching sale of a Correggio
or a Rembrandt would cause among the
connoisseurs of New York.

Frank Forester was thrown into a flutter
when the first whispers reached him.  He
had not hitherto taken an important part
in his father's business, and it was only
recently that he had been placed in charge
of a branch.  The chance of signalizing
his stewardship by securing the carpet
appealed to his imagination as well as his
business instincts.  But the problem was,
how to bring off a deal with the chief.
The old Kurd was not likely to condescend
to travel to the town.  On the other hand
there would be some risk in making a
journey to his mountain fastness.  The
country in which it lay bore the worst of
reputations.  Even the Turkish authorities
never ventured into it without a strong
military escort, amounting in fact to an
expedition.  The peaceful, timid Armenian
traders would have ventured into a den of
lions as soon as into the hill country where
for centuries no Armenian had ever
penetrated except as a captive.

Frank's interest in the matter was
complicated and heightened by business rivalry.
A year or two before, a German named
Hermann Wonckhaus had come to Erzerum
and set up in business as a carpet dealer
next door to Mr. Forester.  The Englishman,
who had been established there for
many years, felt too sure of his position to
regard the arrival of his competitor with any
alarm.  He met him, indeed, in the friendliest
spirit, and at first did him some small
services in a business and a social way.  But
it soon became clear that Wonckhaus was a
snake in the grass.  There were signs that
his object in settling next door to
Mr. Forester was to keep a watch on him,
with a view to discovering with whom he
traded and endeavouring to cut into his
connection.  Once or twice Mr. Forester
found himself forestalled in business
transactions by the German, and as soon as he
became aware of his rival's crooked methods
he put himself on his guard and maintained
only the coolest of relations with him.  Still,
he was not greatly troubled.  The Armenian,
shifty as he may be himself in business,
respects rectitude in others, and
Mr. Forester knew that if it ever came to
a straight pull between himself and the
German the result would be in his favour.
He lived very simply, without parade;
Wonckhaus, on the other hand, kept up a
considerable style, and aimed at a kind of
leadership in the small European colony.
He was a man of good presence, great
ability and certain social gifts, by means of
which he became a personage; but though
he had pushed himself into a position of
influence he was always regarded with some
distrust by the Europeans other than his
own countrymen; and the natives, very
shrewd in their silent estimate of western
strangers, had taken his measure pretty
thoroughly.

Knowing that the bazar rumour would
certainly have reached Wonckhaus's ears,
Frank was anxious to lose no time in opening
negotiations with the Kurdish chief for the
purchase of the carpet.  It was obvious that
his best course was to make a personal visit
to the owner.  He sent for a Kurd whom
his father had sometimes employed and
found trustworthy, and enlisted his services
as guide to the distant stronghold.  Ali
confessed that the journey would entail some
risk, but he promised that he would do his
utmost to ensure the safety of the party,
and in fact they had come without adventure
within a mile or two of their destination
when the appearance of Wonckhaus on the
track showed that he had again forestalled
his rival.  The only question now was, had
he managed to strike a bargain with the
chief and brought away the carpet among
his packs?

When Frank resumed his journey, he
discussed the chances rather anxiously with
Ali.  The Kurd took a pessimistic view.

"Abdi is a nephew of the chief Mirza
Aga," he said.  "Does he not always boast
of his relationship in the bazar?  He is a
liar by nature, but in that he speaks the
truth.  Therefore it is that the German has
taken him as guide.  Without doubt Abdi
said to him: 'I am in high favour with my
uncle, Allah be good to him, and when I say
to him, this is the excellency that will give
a good price for the carpet, he will bless me,
and perhaps bestow upon me some poor
fraction of the money.'  Without doubt we
have eaten the dust of our journey for
nothing."

"Well, we'll go on and prove it.  Having
come so far I won't go back without knowing
the truth."

A march of a little over an hour brought
the party to a narrow side track that wound
up into the hills.  It was some time before
a turn in the toilsome ascent opened a view
of the chief's stronghold.  Perched high up
on the mountain side, it resembled in the
distance a child's building of wooden bricks;
but its massive proportions and structure
became impressive as the travellers gradually
mounted towards it.  In this country of
mean hovels its appearance was palatial.
The lower part consisted of solid masonry
broken by one large gate and two or three
small square windows, unglazed and shutterless.
Upon this stout pillars supported a
number of arches surrounding an open
chamber or arcade rectangular in shape
and covered with a flat roof.  To the left
of the arches was a second storey whose
walls were as solid as those of the lower;
within these, as Frank knew, were the
women's apartments.  The whole place was
silent; to all appearance it might have been
uninhabited.

Ali went forward to the great gate and
shouted for admittance.  After a while a
peep-hole was exposed by the sliding of a
small wooden hatch, and a man inquired his
errand, then slid the hatch to, and departed.
Frank had become accustomed to oriental
sluggishness and the need for patience.
Presently the gate-keeper returned and held
a lengthy conversation with Ali, after which
he retired again.

"What are we waiting for?" asked Frank:
remaining in the background he had not
heard the colloquy.

"Wallahy!  Mirza Aga will not show the
light of his countenance to a German, and
required me to swear by the beard of the
Prophet that your nobility is not German
but English."

"That's promising," said Frank cheerfully.
"It looks as if nephew Abdi is not
quite such a favourite as he pretends."

"Allah is wise!" said Ali.

In a few minutes the massive gate swung
open, giving admission to a large courtyard.
Here a handsome youth, the chief's
grandson, came forward with a smile of welcome.
Frank dismounted, gave his horse into the
care of an attendant, and followed the youth
up a stately stone staircase, ornamented on
either side with richly-carved oak balusters,
into the salamlik or presence chamber of
the old chief.  It was a lofty and spacious
apartment, the walls and ceiling composed
of curiously carved cedar wood.  The floor
was covered with thick Persian rugs; the
walls were embellished with texts from the
Koran, and blunderbusses, scimitars, curved
daggers and other weapons arranged in
tasteful patterns.  At the further end a fire
of logs roared in a huge fireplace, the wall
above being decorated with arabesques and
scrolls.

Near the fireplace, reclining among an
exuberance of silk pillows and cushions, was
the old, white-bearded, turbaned chief,
smoking a long chibouque.  At the entrance of
his visitor he rose, bowed several times,
murmured "Salam aleikam," and clapped
his hands.  An attendant immediately came
in, bearing a number of rugs and pillows
which he spread on the floor near the chief.
Luxurious as they appeared, Frank knew that
they were probably swarming with vermin,
for Kurdish magnificence takes no note of
such trifles, and he racked his brains for
an excuse to avoid the use of them.
Explaining that in his country such soft seats
were only proper to the ladies, which seemed
to amuse the chief, he squatted cross-legged
on the floor, and spent some minutes in
exchanging the flowery salutations usual
in oriental society.  Then the chief, who
had already learnt the object of his visit
from Ali through the gate-keeper, invited
him to partake of supper, declaring that
there must be no talk of business that
night.  Without waiting for an acceptance,
he clapped his hands again, and servants
brought in a profusion of dishes--meat, fish,
poultry, and various fruits--a pleasant meal
after the long day's journey, even though
Frank had to use his fingers instead of a knife
and fork.  The meal was prolonged; fatigue
and the heat of the room made Frank sleepy;
and he was glad when the old man's grandson
came to conduct him to the guest chamber.

"He has honesty and benevolence written
all over him," thought Frank, as he stretched
himself, rolled in his greatcoat, on the bare
floor, after bundling the doubtful mattresses
and cushions provided for him into a corner.
"I rather think I may score off Wonckhaus
this time after all."

Next morning came the business interview.

"You must know, O welcome guest," said
the old man, "that yesterday there came to
me one from Erzerum, under the guidance
of a graceless nephew of mine, a man in
whom there is no truth or virtue at all.
The stranger, a man of the German race,
they told me, wished to buy my carpet,
and offered me a sum that would scarcely
have purchased the clothes on my back.
Wallahy!  Did he wish to pull my beard?
I answered him shortly that I was no bazar
merchant to haggle and chaffer; whereupon
he made excuses, and perceiving that it was
truth I said, he offered a price that was fair,
and one that I was fain to accept.  But
lo! when I asked him to pay over the money,
the infidel spoke of a written paper, for
which, he told me, they would pay me money
in Stamboul.  Wallahy!  His tongue was
smooth, but his eye was deceitful.  I said
forthright that I would not trust him.
Little I know of the German race; they
are a new kind of Giaour to me; but so
much as I have heard of them did not tempt
me to part with my carpet against a German
promise.  Whereupon our words waxed hot,
and Abdi my worthless nephew must needs
take part with the German--verily he hoped
to fill his pouch at my expense; and my
wrath was kindled, and I bade the German
depart.  And Abdi my nephew flouted me
to my beard, and I spoke my mind freely
to him, a dog that slinks about the houses
of better men, snapping up what falls, and
licking what is cast out.  And they departed,
he and the German.

"Now therefore come and look upon the carpet."

He conducted Frank through the open
arcade into a lofty room on the other side
of the house.  On the way Frank throbbed
with mingled hope and fear.  Orientals were
prone to exaggeration: the much-talked-of
carpet might turn out to be a very ordinary
specimen, even a modern fabric cunningly
"faked," for he was aware of the tricks
practised by dishonest dealers to delude the
unwary.  Once, indeed, he had himself
detected by the sense of smell the use of coffee
to give a new rug the mellow tones of age.
But hope was stronger within him than fear.
The old chief looked honest: he had
refrained from boasts and the flowery puffs of
the huckster, and Frank felt that the carpet
was probably genuine, though possibly not
quite so valuable as rumour declared.

The old man opened the door, and stood
back with a courteous inclination of the
head to allow his visitor to pass in before
him.  He did not speak a word.  Frank
halted in the doorway, transfixed with
wonder and delight.  Hanging on the wall
opposite was a beautiful rug, about eighteen
feet by twelve, in which his expert eye
discerned at once an antique product of the
looms of Khorassan.  He had lived among
carpets from childhood, and knew the
characteristic features of all the many kinds
of eastern fabrics.  On a deep blue ground
were woven floral patterns in magenta, red,
and blue, with spots of ivory here and
there; and on the wide border was the
unmistakeable palm-leaf design of
Khorassan, with details that proved it to be
the workmanship of a particular family
of weavers, renowned for its artistic
ornament and harmonious colouring.  Age had
mellowed the tints, but their brilliance was
little diminished, for the ancient dyers had
secrets which are the despair of the chemists
of to-day.

He crossed the room and touched the
surface of the rug.  It was soft as velvet.
He examined the knots and the stitches,
felt the thickness of the pile, then turned
round.

"It is magnificent, chief," he said.

"It is good work, effendim," replied the
chief.  "My family has possessed it for two
hundred years."

"Well now, let me tell you my method
of business.  We are not hucksters of the
bazar, you and I.  Their custom is to ask
more than they expect to get, or to offer
less than they are prepared to pay.  That
is not my way.  I offer at once the sum
which I am ready to give, and I never make
a second offer.  If it is acceptable, well and
good; if not, we part friends."

"That is well, effendim.  My ears are open."

"I will pay you £500 Turkish for the carpet."

The old Kurd reflected a moment or
two.  Then he said:

"That is a fair price, effendim.  The
carpet is yours."

"Thank you.  I have not brought the
money with me; it is dangerous country,
chief," he added with a smile.  "But I will
either send it you when I return to Erzerum,
or----"

"It is enough, effendim," interrupted the
chief.  "You are an Englishman: your
word is good.  Your countrymen, it is true,
are not the good friends of mine that they
used to be.  It is told me, indeed, that the
German Emperor, and not your King, is
willing to help us to regain the lands we
lost in the late disastrous war.  But I trust
the word of an Englishman.  The Germans
I do not know: that one who came to me
came with my nephew Abdi, the master of
lies!  Take the carpet: it is yours.  You
may send the money when you will."

"I thank you for your confidence, chief;
but such an arrangement would not be fair
to you.  Something might happen to me;
you would have no security.  I will ask you
to take a draft on the Ottoman Bank."

He took out his cheque-book and fountain
pen, and wrote the draft, which the chief
accepted with a deprecating bow.  Orders
were given for the carpet to be rolled up,
covered with sacking, and placed on the
back of one of the mules.  The business
having been thus satisfactorily concluded,
the chief invited Frank to share his morning
meal, after which he accompanied him with
a small escort of horsemen for a few miles
on his return journey.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`DISTURBERS OF TRAFFIC`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER III


.. class:: center medium

   DISTURBERS OF TRAFFIC

.. vspace:: 2

About noon on the following day, when
Frank and his party were proceeding slowly
northwards through the hills, they met a
Kurd on horseback.  Ali exchanged salutations
with him; he was on his way, he said,
to the house of Mirza Aga.

Some ten minutes afterwards, at a bend
in the track, they were met by a second
Kurd.  The usual greetings again passed
between the fellow-countrymen, and this
traveller also explained that Mirza Aga's
house was his destination.  But when the
party passed on, Ali, whose manner with
the stranger had been cold and curt,
glancing over his shoulder, noticed that the man
had ridden a few paces in the same direction,
then halted as if in irresolution, and was
at that moment apparently making up his
mind to continue his journey southward.

"Wallahy!  Effendim, here is a strange
thing," said Ali in a low tone.  "I know
that man.  Surely I saw him with Abdi the
Liar when he passed us the other day."

"Strange indeed!  He cannot have been
to Erzerum and back."

"Abdi devises mischief, effendim.  It is
well that we watch that man."

Riding slowly on until the bend in the
track hid the Kurd from sight, Ali slipped
from his saddle, and, asking Frank to
accompany him, cautiously climbed the rear of a
rocky bluff a little way off the track.  From
the top of this eminence, themselves
unseen, they were able to overlook a long
stretch of the track behind them, and in
the distance, something more than half a
mile away, they descried the stranger, no
longer proceeding towards the house of
Mirza Aga, but coming in their direction.

"Verily it is some evil device of Abdi,
effendim," said Ali.  "Let us go on our
way, and consider this matter.  Abdi is
cunning as a serpent, but it will go hard
with me if I do not bring his tricks to nought."

They returned to the track, remounted,
and resumed the march, keeping a wary
look-out in all directions.

"Consider, effendim, why did that man
delay and turn when he met us?"

"That is nothing strange in this lawless
country," said Frank.  "A man would naturally
be curious and suspicious of strangers."

"True; but having seen that we are a
party of peaceful travellers carrying
merchandise--for the Armenians and you
yourself, effendim, wear no pistols in your belts,
though I know you have revolvers
somewhere in your garments--having seen that,
I say, why does the dog march on a little
way, then turn about and follow us?  Is it
not the work of one that spies on another?"

"It looks possible, certainly."

"Of a truth it is so, and I swear that Abdi
and his crew are not far ahead."

"What of the first man, who preceded
him?  Was he watching us too?"

"Who can say, effendim?  He has gone
quite out of sight.  Who can sound the
depths of Abdi's craft?  He is a liar and a
worker of mischief.  May it not have been
told him by some gossip on the way that we
had gone to seek Mirza Aga?  Well he knows
for what purpose, and would it not be an
easy thing, in these solitudes, to lie in wait
for us, and to fall upon us, they being the
greater number, and slay us, and rob us of
that we carry?  Truly there is no bottom
to Abdi's wickedness, and I beseech you,
effendim, pardon me in that I have
unwittingly led you into a snare."

"That's nonsense, Ali.  Whatever
happens, it's not your fault.  If it is as you
say--and I shouldn't be surprised, for in
wild country like this they've endless
opportunities of surprising us--we must see if we
can't defeat their schemes."

This conversation had been conducted in
low tones, in the hearing of Joseph only.
Ali had an inherited contempt for the
Armenian porters, who indeed would have
been paralysed with fright at a suspicion
of danger.

It was clear that to continue on their
present course would be to run straight into
the trap which Ali suspected was prepared
for them.  Ali suggested that they should
halt, allow the man behind to overtake
them, and observe his bearing when he
encountered them again.

Accordingly they drew rein at a secluded
spot, where the track broadened a little,
making a salient into the precipitous sides.
Ali climbed to a position whence he could
scan the track in both directions.  Some
time passed, and when the supposed scout
did not appear, Ali crept back stealthily
along the track to discover what had
become of him.  In about ten minutes he
returned.  "Come with me, effendim," he
said mysteriously.

After walking rather more than half a
mile, Ali raised his hand and pointed to a
spot high up in the hills on their left hand.
At first Frank failed to discover the object
indicated, but presently he noticed a whitish
speck moving along the greyish face of the rocks.

"Is that he?" he asked.

"That is the dog, as I live," replied Ali.
"He has gone up into the hills by a track
that I know not.  See, effendim, he moves
fast; he comes this way.  Is it not his intent
to outstrip us, and give tidings of our coming
to Abdi where he lurks beyond?"

"You may be right, Ali.  We can spoil
his game by not going on.  Let us return
to our men, bring them back, find out where
he left this track, and follow him over the
hills."

"It is good, effendim.  To watch the
watcher--yes, it is very good."

Soon the whole party was retracing its
course.  The halt and the movements of
their employer had made the Armenians
uneasy; but there was only cheerful
assurance in the demeanour of Frank and the
Kurd; and the men, if not reassured, at least
gave no utterance to their fears.

About a mile back they discovered a spot,
marked by a few stunted trees and bushes,
where a narrow mountain path branched
from the broader track.  Into this they
struck.  It wound up into the hills, at first
so steeply that the laden mules with
difficulty maintained their footing; but after
a time it became less arduous, and the party
pushed on with greater speed.  It was nearly
two hours before they caught sight of the
man.  From that moment they had to
combine speed with caution: to keep pace with
the Kurd so as not to lose him from sight,
but to take care that he should neither see
nor hear them.

At length the mountain path took a
downward trend, suggesting that it would
ultimately rejoin the main track from which
they had diverged.  Here they lost sight of
the scout through the frequent windings of
the path.  Presently they came to a narrow
ledge dropping down very steeply.  The
ground was rough, and crumbled under the
hoofs of their beasts.  In spite of all their
caution, they suffered a misadventure when
still some distance above the junction of the
the tracks.  The ground gave way beneath
the mule of one of the Armenians.  It slid
over the edge, and rolled with its yelling
rider for nearly a hundred yards down a
steep incline, until the fall was checked by
a clump of prickly bushes.  Neither man
nor animal appeared to be seriously hurt,
but the mule's load was scattered broadcast.
Consisting as it did partly of camp utensils,
to the clatter of displaced stones and the
cries of the muleteer was added the clink
and rattle of tins and iron pots as they
bumped on the rocky ground.

The din was a greater misfortune even
than the delay and the dispersal of the load.
Just as the Armenian picked himself up,
rubbing his elbows and shins, a head showed
above the rocks a little to the left of the
junction.  In another moment Frank caught
sight of the Kurd they had been following,
riding at full speed back along the main
track.  Apparently he had been resting for
a spell.

"Wallahy!" Ali ejaculated, cursing the
mule and its rider and the ancestors of both.

There could be little doubt that his
suspicion was well grounded.  Abdi and his
party--if Abdi was in truth the plotter--could
not be far off, for the Kurd must
have reckoned on being able to warn them
before the expected prey reached the spot
where they were waiting.  How far away
the ambush had been laid Frank could not
guess.

"Cursed be that howling son of a cat!"
cried Ali.  "We must ride on with all
haste, effendim.  Peradventure the rascal
Abdi is so far away that we shall have time
to reach a village of the plain before he can
overtake us.  Wallahy!  But our beasts
are laden, and he has many horsemen
without encumbrance.  Yet there is no other
way.  We must leave that shrieking jackal
and his load; there is no time to gather up
the many things that are scattered."

"No, we can't leave him, but we'll leave
the things," said Frank.  "Get on your
mule and ride with us," he called to the man.

Hastening down to the track, they pushed
on with all possible speed in the direction
of Erzerum.  Laden as they were, the mules
could not go at any great pace over the
rough ground, and the carpet being the
heaviest part of the load, the speed of
the whole party was regulated by that of
the mule bearing it.  Frank suggested that
Ali should ride ahead and bring back an
armed escort from Erzerum; but the Kurd
resolutely refused to divest himself of his
responsibility for the safety of his employer,
who for his part was determined not to lose
sight of the carpet.  They made what
progress they could, then, Ali falling behind
to act as rearguard and give warning of
pursuit.

They had covered something less than
two miles and were entering a long, fairly
straight defile, when Ali closed up.

"They are coming, effendim," he said,
"riding furiously, and the foremost of them
is Abdi the Liar."

"Ah!  And look at that," said Frank,
pointing ahead.

Near the further end of the defile two
figures were seated on a loose pile of rocks
overhanging the track.  Ali shot a glance
towards them.

"Wallahy! the German!" he exclaimed.

Almost at the same moment the two
figures rose.  Clearly they had recognised
Frank.  And then Wonckhaus and his Kurd
companion began with haste to roll rocks
from the pile down the slope, obviously
with the intention of blocking the track.

"Come, Ali!" cried Frank.  "Joseph,
look after the rest.  Bring them along."

Urging their mounts to their best speed,
the two men dashed along the track, and
reined up only when they were in danger
of being crushed by the rocks crashing down
from above.  The narrow path was already
almost impassable.  Frank sprang from his
horse and began to clamber up the face of
the cliff, followed, after a moment's
hesitation, by Ali.

.. _`40`:

Twenty feet above them Wonckhaus stood
irresolute.  He held a jagged boulder, and
seemed to be in two minds about hurling
it straight upon the climbing Englishman.
Some prudential instinct--it may have been
a scruple--gave him pause, and his Kurd
companion, taking the cue from him, held a
large stone similarly poised.

"Wait a moment," said Frank coolly.
"I won't keep you long."

Wonckhaus, somewhat taken aback by
Frank's calmness, and the absence of hostility
from his tone, watched him in silence
as he climbed to his side.

"Another stone or two would have completely
blocked the track," Frank went on.

Shooting a curious glance at him, Wonckhaus
replied:

"That was my intention, Mr. Forester."

"Exactly.  I don't want to interrupt
your amusement, Herr Wonckhaus, but you
will wait until my party has passed.  A
few moments will suffice.  If you loose
another rock till then, I shall throw you
after it!"

Frank's nerves were tingling, but he spoke
as quietly as if he was announcing the
merest matter of fact.  The German recognised
at a glance that it was no empty threat,
and his Kurd looked by no means comfortable
under the menacing attitude of Ali,
who had now joined them.  Meanwhile,
Joseph had come up with the carriers.

"Come straight through, Joseph," called
Frank, "and lead my horse and Ali's.  Go
forward: we will overtake you."

As the mules were passing through the
narrow gap that remained between the
obstacles on the track, Abdi's party came
in sight at the southern end of the defile
half a mile distant.

"Now, my good sir," said Frank, as the
last of his mules emerged from the gap, "we
will help you to complete your amusing
work.  Ali, shove these stones down as fast
as you can, and get your countryman to
assist you."

Ali grinned and hurled a threat at the
other Kurd; the two pushed the stones down
the slope one after another in quick
succession, while Frank, taking out his revolver,
stood guard over the German.  In a few
seconds the track was wholly blocked up.

"We have saved you the trouble, Herr
Wonckhaus," said Frank.  "Good-day."

With Ali he slipped down to the track, ran
after his party, sprang to the saddle, and
was already some distance ahead and
rounding a corner when Abdi and his cavalcade
rode up.  The Kurd leapt from his horse,
scrambled up the barrier, and in his rage and
disappointment fired after the retreating
figures before Wonckhaus, uneasy about
future developments, could check him.  The
shot flew wide, and Frank rode on.

To clear a way for the pursuers' horses
would probably consume at least half an
hour, an interval long enough to allow the
party to reach the outskirts of a settled
district where an open attack upon them
would be dangerous.  And Frank knew very
well that Wonckhaus could hardly afford to
be publicly associated with a manifest act of
brigandage.  Thinking over the
circumstances of the trap from which he had
escaped, he surmised that the German had
intended the party to be intercepted by the
Kurds several miles behind, and that he had
gone ahead in order to arrive at Erzerum in
time to establish a clear alibi if there should
be any suggestion of his connection with the
contemplated attack.

"A lucky thing for us you discovered that
scout, Ali," said Frank.  "I owe something
to your eagle eye."

"Inshallah, effendim, I am not so named
for nothing," returned the man, beaming
with pride and satisfaction.  "Of a truth I
am more than a match for Abdi the Liar."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE COMING STORM`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium

   THE COMING STORM

.. vspace:: 2

Two hours' hard riding brought Frank
and his party, in the dusk of evening, to a
large village on the edge of the plain of
Erzerum.  There was little or no danger
of further molestation; in populous places
an attack on a well-known English merchant
might entail disagreeable consequences, since
the authorities would be almost forced to
take action; all the same, Frank wished
that he could have completed his journey
without pause.  But that being impossible,
he put up at a respectable khan or inn,
where he persuaded the innkeeper, by means
of excess payment, to agree to keep his door
closed against any travellers who might
arrive subsequently.  Frank preferred not
to have to spend the night under the same
roof as Wonckhaus, who could not be far
behind him on the road.

His forethought bore fruit.  Soon after
he had retired to rest, with his head pillowed
on his precious carpet, there was a loud
banging on the door, and a rough voice
bawled for the khanji.  That amiable hosteller
at first feigned sleep, but the pretence
could not be long kept up through a din that
might have roused the fabled sleepers of
Ephesus.  He got up, cursing, and moved
to the door.

"Remember our bargain," Frank called
through the partition dividing his select
guest-chamber from the common room of
the inn.

The man mumbled something in answer,
and Frank, wondering whether his promise
would hold out against the importunity of
the newcomers, listened anxiously to the
colloquy that ensued at the door.

"O khanji!" bawled the voice outside.

"Ahi!" was the sleepy response.

"O khanji!"

"What is it I hear?"

"Are you Khanji Abdullah?"

"Ahi!"--a sleepy drawl that meant nothing.

"A curse on the deaf one!"

"Am I deaf, or to be cursed, or do I hear
the ugly voice of a camel-driver?" asked
the innkeeper artlessly.

"Where is Khanji Abdullah?"

"Who?"

"Khanji Abdullah-ah-ah!" yelled the
voice, prolonging the name.

"Why do you wake honest sleepers, you
dog of a dogson?"

"*I* wake folk?  *I* wake folk?  Have *I*
the voice of an old dromedary?  Have *I* the
voice----"

Here the speaker's shrill tones were
drowned by a chorus of curses and expostulations
from the guests in the common room,
among whose voices Ali's was raised the
loudest.  When the clamour had died down,
the voice of the man outside could be heard
again.

"Wallahy!  May Allah cast his blight
upon the khan and the khanji, upon your
religion and your affairs, upon your wife
and children and kinsmen and cattle."

"What is this outcry and cursing, O
son of a camel?"

"Open your door for honest travellers in
the night."

"Wallahy!  My house is full; there is
not room for one honest man, much less a
rogue.  Get you gone, and split the ears of
Khanji Muhammad yonder; his khan is
the place for rogues."

"What say you, O vile khanji?  Know
you that here is no rogue, but a noble
Alman effendi of great size and weight,
whose money-bags are brimming over like
a cup overfull!  Open then, khanji, without
more display of ignorance and folly."

"It is easy to lie in the dark.  What
know I of an Alman effendi?  Of his nobility
I say nothing; but if he be of great size and
weight as you say, mashallah! there is no
room for him here.  Let him begone with
his money-bags to Khanji Muhammad; he
is very poor and needy, whereas I am in no
straits, praise to Allah!  Get you gone,
you with the voice of a camel, and let me
return to my sleep.  Ahi!"

A stream of imprecations burst from the
lips of Abdi, dying down in the distance as
he departed with Wonckhaus and his party
towards the khan of Muhammad at the other
end of the village.

"Was it not well done, and worthy of
large bakshish?" said Abdullah, through
the door of Frank's room.

"It was well done, khanji," replied
Prank, "and the morning will bring what it
will."

"Alhamdolillah!" the innkeeper piously
ejaculated as he returned to his couch.

His guests settled themselves to slumber
and were not disturbed for the rest of the night.

Frank's first act on reaching Erzerum in
the afternoon of the next day was to lock
up the carpet securely in his strong room.
The warehouse was an annexe at the back
of the dwelling-house.  This was a
substantial building of stone, backing on a
hillside, with a flat roof covered, like the
most of the better houses in the town, with
green turf.  It had a large arched door,
but small windows, hardly bigger than
portholes, filled, however, with glass, and not
with oiled paper, which the natives
commonly used.  Mr. Forester had made the
interior comfortable in an English fashion.
The stone floors were strewn with Persian
rugs; on the white-washed walls hung
a few engravings, together with hunting
trophies.  The furniture was of English make.

As he passed through the office on his
way to the strong room, Frank noticed on
the desk a letter, in his father's handwriting.
The carpet having been safely stowed away,
he returned, put the letter in his pocket,
and hurried out into the street: there was
something to be done that brooked no delay,
for Wonckhaus had arrived before him.
He hastened down the street, which crossed
a valley between his house and the
Government buildings on the hill opposite, and
made his way to the quarters of the military
governor, with whom, after the long delay
usual in the East, he was accorded an
interview.

"I have come to lodge a complaint against
Herr Wonckhaus and the Kurd Abdi," he
said, when the preliminary courtesies had
been exchanged.  He related the incidents
on the road.  The Turkish governor listened
to him coldly.

"I take a note of what you say, effendim,"
he said; "but you must know that Wonckhaus
Effendi has already preferred a charge
against you--that you blocked up the road
with rocks, so that it was impassable.
That, you are aware, is a serious offence.
No one but a military officer in the exercise
of his duty is permitted to block a road."

"As I have already explained, excellency,"
said Frank patiently, "I merely
completed what Herr Wonckhaus had
begun.  His design was obvious: the steps I
took were taken solely for the purpose of
safeguarding my merchandise."

"It is told me that you threatened him
with violence."

"I said that if he threw down any
more stones--committing, as you remarked,
excellency, a serious offence--I would
throw him after them.  That, I submit, was
perfectly justifiable in the circumstances."

"I will not argue with you, effendim.
You ought to have engaged zaptiehs for
your protection on your journey.  The
matter cannot rest here.  I must submit
it to the governor of the province; it may
have to be referred ultimately to Stamboul.
Meanwhile, I must order you to keep the
peace with Wonckhaus Effendi, who has felt
it necessary to ask for protection."

Seeing that no satisfaction would be
derived from further parley, Frank took his
leave and set off for home.  He was
somewhat surprised at the coolness of his
reception.  The military governor had only
recently taken up office in the town; his
predecessor had been a close personal friend
of Mr. Forester, and Frank had assumed,
almost as a matter of course, that the new
official would be a man of the same stamp
and equally well disposed.  It was clear,
however, from this his first official interview,
that the governor was unwilling to hear
both sides of a case and come to a just
decision, or that he was ready to exercise
partiality on the side of Wonckhaus.  Frank
was not troubled about the ultimate issue.
The reference of the matter to the provincial
governor, and possibly to the authorities at
Constantinople, would postpone any
decision for months, perhaps years.
Meanwhile he would put all the facts before his
father, who would know, better than he,
how to deal with them.

Thinking of his father reminded him of
the letter in his pocket.  He took it out,
tore open the envelope, and read:

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent

   MY DEAR FRANK,

.. vspace:: 1

A serious storm is brewing in Europe.
Austria has sent an ultimatum to Serbia that on
the face of it means war.  Serbia can't accept its
terms without losing her independence, and Russia
will certainly support her.  That will as certainly
cause Germany to move; then France is bound by
the terms of her alliance with Russia to come in.
Unless something very suddenly intervenes, all
Europe will be in a blaze, possibly before you
receive this.  In the opinion of certain important
people here the whole thing is a put-up job on the
part of Germany, who is backing Austria with the
deliberate intention of forcing a war before Russia
has reorganized her army.  There is great
excitement here.  German agents have been active for
a long time, but the general opinion is that Turkey
will keep out of it.  She had enough of war two
years ago, and her finances are now at the lowest
ebb.  Still, one can never be sure how far the
Germans may succeed in duping or bribing the
Turks.  In my belief, everything depends on
whether we shall be drawn in.  Grey will work
hard for peace; he may succeed as he has done
before; but if he fails I can't see any possibility
of our keeping out of it.  France will be knocked
out in a month if the German fleet gets to work;
and we can't stand by and look on at such a
catastrophe.  Well, if we do come in, Germany
will move heaven and earth to induce the Turks
to make a bid for Egypt; and certain firebrands
here are silly enough in their self-conceit to play
Germany's game and ruin their country.  I hope
for the best, but you must be ready to clear out
at a moment's notice.  Unluckily I have an
urgent call to London; am starting at once, but
hope to return soon.  Keep your eye closely on
events: our consul will have the latest or all but
the latest news; and if affairs look serious, I shall
come to Erzerum, close down and bring away the
stock.  We should be all right here for a time, at
any rate; and if the worst does happen it will be
easier to shape our course here than in your wilds.
Meanwhile hold on, and be circumspect.

P.S.  Just as well to keep your eye on H. W.

.. vspace:: 2

Frank replaced the letter in his pocket.
Here was food for thought indeed.  He
knew that, so complicated were the relations
of the European Powers, the outbreak of
war between any two of them might easily
involve the others, and bring about that
vast and universal struggle which had often
been talked about, and as often dismissed
as improbable if not impossible.  To a
rational person it seemed sheer madness
that Europe should be plunged into strife
over the affairs of one little Balkan nation:
was it possible that the prophets who had
foretold just such a cataclysm would prove
to be right after all?  And what of Britain?
Frank had unbounded faith in the British
navy, but would Britain be able to limit
herself to the exercise of sea-power?  Yet
how could she take an effective part in land
warfare with her small army?

Pondering these questions, Frank arrived
at his house almost unawares.  He was
roused from his reverie by the sight of
Wonckhaus standing at his door, smoking
a big pipe.  The German smiled and seemed
to be about to address him; but apparently
he changed his mind.  Frank paid no
attention to him, but passed into his own house
and sat down to his evening meal with a
preoccupied air.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`UNDER ARREST`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center medium

   UNDER ARREST

.. vspace:: 2

During the next few days, the town
seethed with ever-increasing excitement.
It became known that Germany had
declared war on Russia and France, and the
sole topic of conversation among the
Europeans was, what would Britain do?  Rumour
flew apace; authentic news was slow in
coming in by telegraph; but at last it was
officially announced that Britain was at
war with Germany, and almost immediately
afterwards that the British Grand Fleet had
been shattered in the North Sea.  Frank, in
common with the few other Englishmen in
the town, scoffed at this; but the story
found many believers, and it was noticed
that Wonckhaus ran up a large German
flag on his roof-top.  Frank paid frequent
visits to the British consul, who depended
for his information on the Turkish telegraph
officials, and there was reason to suspect
that a strict censorship had already been established.

As usually happens in Asiatic Turkey
when Europe is disturbed, there was growing
racial excitement among the natives.  The
Armenians, a timid unstable people,
incapable of effective combination, talked of
revolution, and the lower-class Moslems of
the town assumed a menacing attitude
towards them.  The Kurds in the country
districts, it was rumoured, had already
recommenced their attacks on the Armenians,
and Frank was gravely apprehensive of
massacres on a large scale.  He instructed his
Armenian employees to keep within doors
as much as possible, and to avoid collisions
with the Moslems.  His chief clerk, Joseph,
while sharing his fears, was not alarmed for
his own safety.  His father, a man of
considerable business astuteness and organizing
power, was a contractor to the 9th Army
Corps, whose headquarters were at Erzerum,
and in good relations with the military
authorities.  They hated him as an
Armenian, but found him useful, indeed
indispensable, as a business man, and when
business is concerned, religion counts little
with the Turk.

Public feeling was stirred to its depths
when news came of the arrival of the *Goeben*
and the *Breslau* at the Bosporus.  There
was at once manifested a great deal of
military activity.  New levies flocked into
Erzerum, and there were movements of
troops along the whole Black Sea coast.
Large supplies were needed for them, and
the contractor was busily employed.  Frank
found it hard to believe that Turkey would
be so short-sighted as to take the field against
the Allied Powers; but he noticed that
Wonckhaus, whose air of self-importance
was growing day by day, was frequently in
communication with the military governor,
and the announcement of German victories
became a daily occurrence.  Joseph
reported that these victories were the talk of
the town, and it was openly declared that
the Germans would soon be in possession of
Paris, that rebellions had broken out in
India, Ireland, and South Africa, and that
the Sultan was on the point of recovering
Egypt, the British garrison having been
withdrawn to fight in the West.  Frank met
black looks in the streets; trade was at a
standstill: and in the absence of
trustworthy news he began to fidget and to wish
that his father would return.

One day a man ran into the office with a
message for Joseph.  A low-class mob had
risen against the Armenians in the quarter
in which his father's house was situated, and
when the messenger left the rabble were
battering on the contractor's door.  Joseph
at once rushed out, followed by Frank, who
snatched up a revolver which he had made
a practice of carrying in the streets during
the past few weeks.  There were unmistakable
signs of commotion in the town.  The
Armenian shopkeepers were hurriedly
shutting their booths; some were barricading
their doors, others already speeding away
with their portable goods to seek safety
in remote quarters of the town or in the
country without.

When Frank arrived on the scene of the
disturbance the mob had broken through
the gate into the courtyard, and were
battering at the door of the storeroom.

"Stand aside there!" called Frank impulsively,
elbowing his way through the throng.

He set his back against the door, and
drawing his revolver threatened to shoot
any man who ventured to renew the attack.
The ruffians, who were armed only with
sticks and clubs, fell back, overawed by the
Englishman's authoritative voice and mien.
Two elderly zaptiehs were looking on from
the opposite side of the street.  Without
much faith in these official defenders of
order Frank called on them to disperse the
mob, or he would report them to the
Governor.  The policemen lifted their rifles
and moved sluggishly towards him, pressing
the mob aside without much energy.  But
the display of authority, such as it was, had
the effect of thinning the mob.  One man
tried to work them up to resist, but finding
himself left with a diminishing number of
adherents, and perceiving a half company of
regular troops marching up at the end of the
street, he slunk away and disappeared.

For the moment the danger was past.
Frank returned home with Joseph.

"That man, the ringleader, was one of
Abdi's gang," said Joseph as they went
along.  "I noticed him among them that
day in the hills."

"We'll have him arrested.  You know
where he lives?"

"I do not know.  Ali will know."

"Then find out from Ali, and I will see
the Governor."

But within an hour or two Frank was
himself summoned to the Governor's palace.

"It is with grief and surprise I learn,"
said the Governor, "that you, a foreigner,
have taken it upon yourself to give orders
to my constables.  What have you to say?"

"Seeing that the zaptiehs were looking
on unconcerned at a set of ruffians assaulting
the premises of your army contractor,
excellency, I think that perhaps a foreigner's
intervention may have done you a service."

Frank took a higher tone than he would
have adopted had he not still felt the sting
left by his previous interview with the
Governor.

"It is inexcusable," was the reply.  "You
will henceforth keep to your own house.
If you are seen in the streets you will be
arrested.  You English take too much upon
yourselves."

Frank was too much surprised to expostulate,
even if there had seemed any use in so
doing.  It was clear that his crime was the
being an Englishman.  Filled with a new
anxiety as to the future, he left the palace,
to find that he was to be escorted home by
a file of infantrymen.  On reaching the
house he sent Joseph at once to ask the
British consul to visit him.

"I think you had better remain quiet
for the present," said that gentleman when
the matter had been explained to him.
"You are technically in the wrong, though
the late governor would have thanked you
for what you did.  Wonckhaus is in the
ascendant here.  The authorities won't take
any serious steps against you at present.
Until that affair of yours with Wonckhaus
is decided you need have no anxiety.  Your
course is certainly to lie low and refrain
from the least appearance of provocation.
You are expecting your father?"

"Yes, I am surprised that I haven't heard
from him."

"Well, everything is more or less
disorganized.  Probably he will turn up
unexpectedly one day and take you away
with him.  All indications point to the
entrance of Turkey into the war.  She has
closed the Dardanelles--an ominous sign.
Wonckhaus put it about to-day that Paris
had fallen.  I don't believe it, but the
authorities are absolutely hypnotized by
the Germans, and Enver Pasha, their tool,
seems to be having it all his own way at
Constantinople.  I hope to get trustworthy
information through a courier shortly; I
don't believe what they dole out here.  If
Turkey does enter the war, I shall have to
go, of course; and if your father hasn't
arrived by that time, you must come away
under my safe-conduct."

On leaving the house the consul perceived
that the Governor's order to Frank was to be
enforced: a sentry was already posted at
the gate.  He returned for a final word.

"It means that you are practically a
prisoner," he said to Frank, "and it will
probably be inadvisable that I should be
seen coming here.  But we can communicate
through Joseph.  I will make a formal
report to our ambassador at Constantinople,
who may possibly make a peremptory
demand for your release, though while that
unfortunate affair with Wonckhaus is still
*sub judice* it may be difficult to move.  But
there's no need to be uneasy."

"That's all very well," replied Frank,
"but my business is at an end, and the
sooner I can get away the better.  I don't
think I ought even to wait for my father."

"You must be as patient as you can.  In
the present state of affairs you would never
get your stock across country safely.  I'll
do all I can, and keep you informed through
Joseph how things are shaping."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`RIGOUR`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium

   RIGOUR

.. vspace:: 2

It was now the beginning of September.
Frank had received no letters from Europe
for two or three weeks, nor the parcel of
London newspapers which he was accustomed
to get by the weekly mail.  He
suspected that this had been confiscated by
the officials.  All the news he heard was
that given out by the authorities, together
with that which was brought him by Joseph,
who was in a position to learn more than was
common property.  His father, Isaac Kopri,
the contractor, included in his business
organization a private intelligence
department.  He got important news as a rule
long before the general public, and often
before the officials themselves.  The value
of his information of course depended on
its source, and his agents could only pass
on what was officially given out in the
towns where they were stationed, and the
unofficial rumours that passed from mouth
to mouth.  Thus it happened that, even
five weeks after the outbreak of war, Frank
knew next to nothing of the actual course
of events, and, if he had believed what was
reported, would have been wretched because
Paris and Warsaw were in the hands of the
Germans, the British navy was annihilated,
all the British colonies in revolt, and London
at the mercy of the enemy.

One day, happily, Joseph brought in,
hidden in the folds of his garments, a
number of London newspapers which had
come into the hands of his father.  From
these Frank learnt that though Belgium was
occupied by the Germans, their offensive
had been checked in all quarters, and their
hope of an easy and a speedy triumph was
shattered.  What most deeply interested
him, however, was the news that Lord
Kitchener was creating an immense new
army, the ranks of which were being rapidly
filled by volunteers from every class and
section of the people.  This did but increase
his eagerness to get away from Erzerum.
He longed for the day to come when he
might hurry back to England and enlist
in what promised to be the first national
army that Britain had put into the field
since the far-gone days when every citizen
was a soldier as a matter of course.

Day by day it grew clearer from Joseph's
reports that Germany would drag Turkey
into the war.  Wonckhaus was constantly
at the Governor's house; the Governor's
aides-de-camp were frequent visitors to
Wonckhaus.  The 9th Army Corps was
being brought up to full strength, and
German officers were drilling the recruits.
It was even announced that the Governor
himself would shortly be replaced by a
German officer of high rank.  One morning
Joseph announced that Wonckhaus had
appeared in the uniform of a major in the
Turkish army; it had become known that
in his own country he had been a captain
of Landwehr.  The ostensible merchant had
been all along, it was clear, an agent of the
German Government.

Weeks passed, irksomely, drearily.  No
letter came from Mr. Forester.  Frank was
never allowed to leave his house.  Night
and day a sentry stood on guard.  Frank
could take exercise only in his yard and on
his roof.  He did his best to keep himself
in condition by means of gymnastic practice,
but he was becoming low-spirited and sick
of his life.  Ideas of attempting escape
often came to him, but were always checked
by the thought of his stock, worth several
thousands of pounds, which he felt he could
not leave to be confiscated.  To sell it was
impossible.  In the present situation no
one would buy it; if any one were so rash
as to purchase, he would probably be making
a present of his money and the goods to the
Turkish officials.

Frank's fears in this regard were confirmed
by the news brought him one day by Joseph.
The *Goeben* and the *Breslau* had been
attacking Russian vessels in the Black Sea.
War was certain.  A matter that affected
Frank more closely was a conversation which
Kopri had partially overheard between the
new German Governor and Wonckhaus.
Frank's name had been mentioned, in what
connection Kopri, being ignorant of German,
did not know.  But he suggested that the
authorities were only awaiting a formal
declaration of war to seize the Foresters'
stock, among other English property.
Wonckhaus was well aware of its value, and
apart from its usefulness in assisting the
Turkish finances, Wonckhaus had a personal
grudge to pay off.

This news set Frank in a ferment.  Every
other consideration was now subordinated
in his mind to the question of saving his
stock.  He was at his wits' end.  He
consulted with Joseph, but Joseph seemed
unable to suggest any likely means.  It was
only at the end of a long conversation that
the Armenian sprang a surprise upon him.

In Erzerum, owing to the constantly
recurring troubles, the Armenians have various
hiding-places in which they secrete their
valuables and occasionally themselves.  The
whereabouts of these spots is jealously
guarded, and it was only when Frank had
given up his problem in despair that Joseph
divulged a secret locked up in his breast.

"Why on earth didn't you tell me this
before?" demanded Frank with some indignation.

Joseph begged for forgiveness on the plea
that the secret belonged to his community,
and he had his father's permission to reveal
it only in the last resort.

"Well, send the servants out of the house
on some errand or other, and then show me
the place."

The house was an old one, which had
played a part in the troubled history of the
city.  When the servants had been disposed
of, Joseph took Frank to one of the lower
rooms.  The back wall was apparently built
against the solid hillside; but a sliding panel,
cunningly disguised, gave access to a narrow
passage which bent abruptly to the left.
Groping his way through this for some
distance at Joseph's heels, Frank found
himself in a small chamber about eight feet
square.  He sniffed.

"What is this smell of smoke?" he asked.

"There is a narrow pipe running into the
chimney next door," Joseph replied.

"Does Wonckhaus know of it?" asked
Frank instantly.

"It is not at all likely.  Karamin, who
owns this house, probably does not know
of it.  If he does, he would not tell Wonckhaus.
I should not have told you but----"

"Yes, yes; I understand.  But this is
capital.  We can bring here the most
valuable part of our stock; it won't do to bring
it all, for Wonckhaus would suspect a hiding-place
if he found all our things gone.  Come,
let us do it at once."

Together they worked for an hour or two
in transporting the most valuable rugs,
including Mirza Aga's, to the secret chamber.
When this was done, and the panel replaced,
Frank felt exultingly confident that the
inevitable search would completely baffle the
enemy.

He had not long to wait for confirmation
of his faith.  October dragged away; on
November 2 the streets were filled with
excited people, cheering the news that the
British and Russian ambassadors had left
Constantinople.  In anticipation of the
outbreak of hostilities troops had been for some
days marching eastward and north-eastward
towards the Russian frontier and the Caucasus,
deluded by their German officers into the
belief that Russia had withdrawn the greater
part of her forces from Transcaucasia to
withstand the German onslaught on Poland,
and that they would have an easy task in
recovering the ground lost in the war of 1878.

On the same day, a Turkish officer with a
file of men came to Frank's house.  Leaving
the men at the door, he entered.

"I regret, effendim," he said to Frank
politely, "that I have orders to arrest you
and convey you to the citadel."

"For what reason, and on what charge?"
asked Frank.

"Your country and mine are now at war,
effendim.  As an alien of military age, you
cannot remain at large.  Besides, there is
that matter of blocking the road.  The
higher authorities at Stamboul have not
yet given their decision; but in the
meantime the Governor deems it necessary to
imprison you.  I assure you of my personal
regret, and on the Governor's part that your
treatment shall be as mild as possible."

Frank did not then know what mildness
meant, as interpreted by German military
officers.  The Turkish lieutenant's politeness
and apologetic manner prevented him from
feeling any personal resentment at the moment.

While he was gathering a few things
together, Wonckhaus came in.  The German
was so impatient to secure his booty, and
possibly to enjoy the spectacle of his victim's
humiliation, that he had not waited for
Frank's departure.  Accompanied by one of
his clerks, he hastened to the storeroom,
and taking from his pocket a list of the
stock, obtained Frank knew not how, began
to call over the items.

"You take an inventory for the purpose
of safeguarding my property and returning
it at the end of the war, I presume," said
Frank to the Turk.

"That I know nothing about," was the
answer.  "The Governor will no doubt
do everything in order.  Are you ready,
effendim?"

"In a minute or two, if you don't mind
waiting until Major Wonckhaus has
completed his task."

Wonckhaus's voice could be heard from
the storeroom.

"The rug of Shiraz, 16 by 12.  Where is
that?  Not here?  And the Khorassan rug
of Mirza Aga.  Not here?  But it must be
here.  It has not been sold.  It has not
been removed.  Pull down that big Ispahan
carpet; it may be under that."

A few minutes passed.  Wonckhaus was
growing furious.  He uttered a resounding
German curse.

"Come, we must search the house," he cried.

He returned to the room where Frank
stood, glared at him savagely, glanced around,
and assuring himself that the rugs on the
floor were of no great value, proceeded to a
systematic search of the premises.  He
ransacked every room, and went so far as to
strip the roof of its turf.  But nowhere
could he find the Khorassan rug of Mirza
Aga, or several other rugs representing some
tens of thousands of German marks.

Frank, in spite of his situation, was amused.
Wonckhaus, he thought, could hardly show
his hand so completely as to demand
information about property which was in no
way his concern, and his rage and air of
bafflement when he returned to the lower
room was certainly comical to witness.
Frank's amusement would have been less if
he could have foreseen what the discrepancy
between the actual stock and the list was to
cost him.

Plunder was Wonckhaus's object, and, to
Frank's surprise--he did not yet know
German shamelessness---Wonckhaus now made
no secret of it.  He went to the office desk,
wrenched it open--"He might at least have
asked for the key," thought Frank--and
examined the stock book.  He wheeled round.

"The stock is short," he cried.  "What
have you done with the goods?"

Frank looked at him with a smile, but said
nothing.

"Do you hear?" shouted Wonckhaus, the
charm of manner which had won him a
certain popularity among the Europeans
dropping from him like a loosened garment.
"What have you done with the goods?"

Frank turned to the Turkish officer.

"Major Wonckhaus is curious about my
business," he said.  "I have no information
to give."

Wonckhaus blustered.  He roared at
Joseph, who had been standing silent in
the background.

"You fellow, where are the rugs?  What
have you done with them?"

"I am my master's servant," said Joseph
quietly.

"And your father's son!" cried the
German.  "You will tell me instantly what
I want to know, or you will find yourself
laid by the heels, and the army will have
another contractor."

Wonckhaus had lost his temper, or he
would have reflected that a change of
contractors at this critical moment was out of
the question.  Joseph was shrewd enough
to perceive the emptiness of his threat, and
merely replied that he could say nothing
without his master's orders.

At this moment, while Wonckhaus was
glaring with baffled rage at Frank and his
faithful clerk, a non-commissioned officer
came in.

"A message from the Governor, effendim,"
he said to the lieutenant.  "The Englishman
is to be kept a prisoner in the upper
storey of this house, the lower storey will be
occupied by his guards."

To Frank this was very agreeable news.
He had felt unhappy at the prospect of
being shut up in the common prison, or
even in the soldiers' prison at the citadel:
Turkish jails are unsavoury places.  In his
own house he would at least be able to keep
clean.  Moreover, he would then be able, in
a sense, to watch over his carpets.  The
hiding-place could hardly be discovered
without his hearing of it, and there would
be a certain satisfaction in knowing that his
property was still safe, or, if it were found,
in learning definitely what had become of
it.  He afterwards discovered that the change
of plan was due to the British consul, who
had learnt of the order for his arrest when
he applied for a passport for him, and had
obtained this indulgence from the Governor.

Frank noticed that Wonckhaus also
appeared to get some satisfaction from the
change.  The German made no further
attempt to obtain the information he desired,
and left the house.  Frank was taken
upstairs and locked in his own bedroom.
Joseph, however, was marched off by a couple
of the soldiers, and it was some few days
before Frank learnt what had become of him.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`TEMPTATION`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium

   TEMPTATION

.. vspace:: 2

Frank felt that while things might have
been worse, they were quite bad enough.
The ostensible reason of his imprisonment
being that he was of military age, he
foresaw the possibility of his remaining a
prisoner until the end of the war--perhaps
a year, for while he had a great respect for
Germany's military power, he did not think
it likely that she could withstand the forces
of the Triple Entente for more than twelve
months.

At first he had no great hardship to
endure.  His own servants had been
dismissed, but he had been given as personal
attendant an old Arab named Hussein who
combined the natural courtesy of his race
with another Eastern characteristic--a keen
appetite for bakshish.  Frank had been
allowed to keep his ready money, and was
thus able to purchase many comforts to
supplement the prisoner's fare supplied him.
Hussein, of course, made a handsome profit
out of every transaction in which he was
thus employed, and Frank soon saw the
necessity of self-restraint, for money would
not last for ever, and there was no chance
of obtaining more.

Hussein was talkative and intelligent,
always polite, and, Frank suspected, sly.
It was from him that Frank learnt, after a
few days, that Joseph had been released
from the common jail and had left the
town.  The Turks were straining every nerve
to collect supplies for their campaign in the
Caucasus, and Joseph's father the contractor
was too useful a man to be alienated.
It was not long before Frank had proof of
Hussein's slyness.

"The days are getting colder, effendim,"
he said one day.  "There was snow in the night."

"Very uncomfortable for the army," said Frank.

"True.  Our winter is very long, very bitter.
It is not so in your country, effendim?"

"Not so bitter, perhaps, but quite as long
as we like it."

"Wallahy!  This country is not a healthy
place for Englishmen in the winter.  Hundreds
of them have left Turkey, so it is told
me.  Of a truth Turkey is not a healthy place
for them now!  A pity you are not gone too,
effendim."

"Well, I am certainly not here by my own wish."

"A wish is the father of an action, effendim.
You have but to wish, and----"

"What are you driving at?" said Frank
as the Arab paused.

"There was a man of Trebizond who being
falsely accused and unjustly cast into prison,
nevertheless after taking thought confessed
with tears that he was guilty of that crime;
whereupon the heart of his jailer was softened
and his hand was opened to receive the slight
gifts that were the tokens of the prisoner's
repentance, and within a little that man was
free, and able to sin again or to lead a
virtuous life as so pleased him."

"A parable, Hussein?" said Frank with a smile.

"For the ears of the wise, effendim.
Wallahy! what are a man's goods in
comparison with his freedom?"

"Which being interpreted means that you
will let me go in exchange for what you call
a few slight gifts?"

"Truly such gifts, here a little, there a
little, will unlock prison doors and unbar
city gates.  But there is first one small
matter, and that is that you breathe in my
ear the nook where those few paltry rugs lie
hid.  Wallahy! what are a few threads of
wool against the open road and the boundless sky?"

"Oho, friend Hussein!  I must contrive
a double debt to pay, is that it?  The pipe
sings sweetly when the fowler is snaring a
bird, but this particular bird, I assure you,
is not to be snared.  You will waste your
breath, Hussein."

"Allah is great!" said the Arab, as he
made the salam and left the room.

A few days passed.  Frank noticed that
there was a slight deterioration in the quality
of his food.  Then one morning he had a
visit from Wonckhaus.

"Good-morning, Mr. Forester," said the
German pleasantly.  "What an unfortunate
thing this is!"

Frank made no answer.  After a pause the
German went on:

"We have been rivals in business, and
now, through an unfortunate misunderstanding
between our Governments, we are
enemies.  But the enmity is official, not
personal, I assure you.  We have crossed
each other in business, but business men do
not quarrel.  And there is one circumstance
that should make us friends.  After all, you
and I are Europeans among Orientals; that
is a bond between us; and you will not
take amiss advice honestly given by one
European to another.  You may not credit
it" (Frank didn't), "but up to the present
I have stood between the Turks and you.
But for me your life would not have been
worth a snap.  Now I am about to leave the
city for the front.  The Turkish army, led
by German officers, is about to deal a
smashing blow to the barbarous Russians in the
Caucasus, and to occupy Batum.  Before
I leave, it would give me great pleasure to
see you in a safer position.  It merely needs
the exercise of your capital English principle
of give-and-take.  Why not disclose the
whereabouts of your useless stock?  In
return, I would contrive that you should
be sent to Constantinople and ultimately
released."

Frank did not speak.  His fingers were
drumming on the table, his eyes fixed on the
German's.

"I merely drop you a friendly hint,"
Wonckhaus resumed.  "Things are looking
very serious.  The Turks are making a
beginning with the Armenians: when the
appetite for blood is whetted, they may
easily fail to discriminate between Armenians
and other enemies.  You will not forget that
you are in a very remote place.  Erzerum
is not Constantinople.  Take a friend's
advice and get back to civilisation.  I will act
as a go-between.  If you will confide in me,
I will make your peace with the Turks."

"What guarantee do you offer?" asked
Frank, opening his lips at last.

"My word; you will not require more;
the word of a German and an officer."

"But surely, Herr Wonckhaus, unless I
am mistaken your word has not hitherto
been accepted even by your allies the Turks.
Pardon me for asking what has happened to
give it value."

"You insult me!" snapped the German.

"Really I don't think so; I merely state
a fact.  You offer me something of no value
as security for something of considerable
value.  That is not a business proposition."

Wonckhaus, stung as much by Frank's
scornful tone as by his words, flushed darkly,
and took a step forward, laying his hand on
his sword.

"You English swine!" he cried.  "You
dare to insult me--me, an officer of the
Kaiser?"

Frank had sprung up, and seized the
handiest weapon available--a small three-legged
stool.  Keeping the table between
himself and the German, he grasped the stool
by one leg, and said:

"Keep your distance!"

Wonckhaus, whether daunted by Frank's
threatening attitude or for some reason of
policy, stood still, glaring venomously.
Then he banged his half-drawn sword into
its scabbard, and swung round.  At the
door he turned suddenly.

"Before your English carcase is flung to
the dogs of Erzerum," he sputtered, "you
will have time to--to repent your insolence."

He swung round again, slammed the door
behind him, ordered Hussein outside to lock
it, and clattered down the steps.

Frank dropped the stool and sat down,
smiling at the feeble end of the German's
explosive sentence.  But the smile soon
passed.  His English spirit would not allow
him to be cowed by Wonckhaus's threat,
but remembering his isolated situation he
could not help feeling uneasy.  It was well
for his peace of mind that he was not aware
of what German frightfulness had already
accomplished in Belgium.

It was not long before he began to feel
the effects of Wonckhaus's malice.  The
cold weather had set in, and the Armenian
winter is excessively cold.  His apartment
had been warmed by a nargal or charcoal
stove.  This was not replenished.

"The fire has gone out," he said to the
Arab, when he brought his dinner.

"Fuel is very dear, effendim."

"I have still some money; I will pay."

"It cannot be bought, effendim.  It is
all required for the troops, who are slaying
tens of thousands of Russians in the bleak
mountains."

"Buy me some blankets, then."

"That also is impossible, effendim.  Our
brave soldiers need all the blankets in the
frosty heights.  Why does not your nobility
send for those wasted rugs?"

The man's sly look made Frank itch to
thrash him.  It was clear from his manner
that he was acting under instructions.
Frank noticed, too, that his food was being
reduced in quantity as well as poorer in
quality, and suspected that this was directly
due to Wonckhaus; the Turks as a rule do
not treat their prisoners inhumanely.  More
than once he had thought of trying to escape,
and with his increasing hardships his mind
recurred to it again and again.  To get out
of the building might not be very difficult;
Orientals are notoriously slack in guard;
the lock of his room might be forced, and the
soldiers in the rooms below evaded.  But
then the real difficulties would begin.  He
would be recognised in the streets as a
European; even before he could reach the
walls discovery and arrest were certain.
Escape was impossible without assistance
from outside, and he had no means of
communicating with friends, nor was it probable
that any European friends remained in the town.

Tortured by cold and hunger, Frank spent
the most wretched month of his life during
December.  Strong though he was in
constitution, he felt that he was growing weaker.
For a time he tried to keep himself in
condition by daily physical exercises; but
insufficient food and lack of fresh air--he was
allowed to mount to the roof for an hour a
day--gradually reduced his energy.  There
was nothing to alleviate the tedium of his
imprisonment: no newspapers, no books,
nothing to occupy his mind.  He was often
tempted to purchase his freedom by
surrendering his secret; but his native
resolution and the mental picture of Wonckhaus's
triumph kept him steadfast.  And it was no
ordinary will that could have withstood day
after day Hussein's sly reminders of how
easy it would be to command all the comforts
he lacked.

One day early in January he heard
unusual sounds on the staircase--a series of
heavy clumping blows slowly ascending
towards his room.  The door opened, and
Wonckhaus hobbled in on a crutch, assisted
by an orderly, who stood in the doorway as
if on guard, motionless, with expressionless
face.  The German looked pale and worn.
He was swathed in heavy furs.

"I had not thought to revisit you so soon,
Mr. Forester," he said, "but a Russian bullet
has enforced me to return to the city for a
short time, and I felt bound to see how you
were faring."

Frank was silent; he was, in fact, amazed
that Wonckhaus should have cared to show
his face again after what had passed at their
last interview.  "The Germans must have
uncommonly tough hides," he thought.

"Is there anything I can do for your
comfort?" Wonckhaus continued.  "You
are not looking very well.  I have some
influence, a very little, with the Turks."

The German's manner was so subdued, his
tone so courteous, that Frank wondered
whether after all he had misjudged him.
Perhaps he had been over hasty; perhaps
there was some decent feeling in the man,
which his own uncompromising attitude had
prevented from showing itself before.

"I want warmth and good food," he said.

"Not warm enough?" exclaimed Wonckhaus.
"Yet it does not appear cold.  Indeed,
I am too warm."  He unloosed his fur
coat.  "And food, too; why, what do they
give you?"

Frank saw that the German was playing
with him.  In a revulsion of feeling he
flushed hotly, and was about to give utterance
to his thoughts, but he restrained himself
with an effort and remained silent.

"Call Hussein," said Wonckhaus to the
orderly, whom Frank had seen without
observing.

The Arab entered.  The orderly followed
him, and stood in the background.  Frank
just glanced at him, and was surprised to see
him raise a finger to his lips, then drop his
hand quickly and stand motionless as before,
looking, however, hard at Frank.  Wonckhaus
and the Arab had turned towards each
other, or they might have noticed the slight
start and the enquiring glance into which
Frank had been surprised by the orderly's
movement.

"The effendi complains of his food," said
Wonckhaus.  "What does he get?"

While Hussein, with a look of sly
enjoyment, was retailing the list of the meagre
rations supplied, the orderly drew from
his tunic a watch, apparently of cheap
European or American make.  He did not
look at it, but held it up, then glanced at
the window in the wall above his head on the
left.  Wonckhaus, following Frank's eyes,
turned round.  The orderly was affecting
to look at the time.

"You surprise me, Hussein," said the
German.  "The diet is more than liberal.
How often during the past month should
I and my brave men have been grateful for
such rations!  Ah! these luxurious English!
They have lived on the fat of the land.  And
what is the result?  They are degenerate;
they have fed the body and starved the
mind.  They are learning their mistake.
That will do, Hussein."

The Arab left the room.  The orderly
returned the watch to his pocket, holding it
significantly suspended by the chain for a
moment.  Then he stared straight in front of
him, unintelligent, impassive.

"Well now, Mr. Forester," said Wonckhaus,
"the lot of a prisoner can never be
quite comfortable, though it is preferable to
the hard lot of the fighting man.  If you feel
discomfort, the remedy is in your own
hands.  I need not repeat the explanations
which you received so churlishly at our last
meeting.  I will give you another week for
reflection.  At the end of that time--well,
we shall see!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A LEAP IN THE DARK`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VIII


.. class:: center medium

   A LEAP IN THE DARK

.. vspace:: 2

"What does it mean?" thought Frank,
once more alone.

The German's orderly, it was clear, had
signalled to him.  Who was the man?
What message had he intended to convey?
From whom was the message?

Frank had at first hardly noticed the man.
Even when his attention was attracted, he
had observed the man's actions rather than
the man himself.  He did not recognise
him.  The man was young; he wore the
ordinary uniform of the Turkish soldier;
whether he was a pure Turk, or an Armenian,
or an Anatolian, or a member of any other
of the races that are represented in the
Turkish army, Frank could not tell.
Whoever he was, the one plain fact was that
he was a friend, and it was remarkable
enough that a friend should have appeared
in company with Wonckhaus.

What did he mean by his stealthy
manoeuvres with the watch?  Frank remembered
how the man had glanced from the watch to
the window.  Did he suggest a connection
between them?  Almost unconsciously Frank
took out his own watch and noted the time;
then he replaced it in his pocket, looking
absent-mindedly at the window.  And then
an explanation flashed upon him.  The
messenger, or his employer, knew English.
He knew it well enough to play upon words.
"Watch the window!"  That must be the
message.

Frank got up and paced the room.

"There's somebody working for me
outside," he thought.  "Very likely Joseph.
Though I never knew Joseph to make a
pun.  Still, he does know a little English.
But why should I watch the window?"

He stood beneath it, and looked at the
small square frame, scarcely larger than a
ship's porthole.  It might be just possible
to squeeze through it.  Did his friend,
whoever he was, intend that he should escape
that way?  Would he find a ladder placed
against the wall?  Such an escape would
be possible only on some dark night, and
what was the good of watching the window
in the dark?  Besides, with soldiers in the
lower rooms, was it possible to place a ladder
so silently as not to arouse their attention?
If it were possible, would not his movements
be seen at least by some prowling dog, whose
barks would give the alarm?

Frank was puzzled.  As he walked up and
down, his head was constantly turned
towards the window; it seemed as though he
dared not take his eyes from it for a moment,
lest in that moment he should miss the chance
of release.  When night came, he threw
himself on his bed, and lay for hours
wakeful, gazing in the one direction.  No light
was allowed him.  He looked up at the stars
until they appeared to dance, and his eyes
ached with following their fantastic
movements.  That night he scarcely slept.  If
he found himself dozing, he would rouse
himself with a start, and stare again at that
spot in the wall which was only distinguishable
from the blank spaces about it by the
winking stars.

Next day it was the same.  Worn and
nervous, whether he sat or walked, even
when Hussein brought him his meals, he
stared at the window.  The Arab noticed
the fixity of his gaze, and told the soldiers
downstairs that the Ingliz would soon go out
of his mind.  And indeed, when two days
and a night had passed, and nothing had
appeared at the blank pane, Frank himself
felt that suspense and the strain of watching
would drive him mad.

On the night of the second day, just after
dark, when Frank for the sake of warmth
was lying beneath the bedclothes, wakeful
and hopeless, he was suddenly startled by an
unusual sound--a slight tapping, like the
flapping of a blind-cord against glass.  His
heart was thumping as he sprang out of
bed and ran to the window.  It was too
dark to see anything, but there was
unmistakably an object of some kind lightly
striking the glass at irregular intervals.
Excited with expectation, he mounted on
the stool and reaching up for the fastening
of the casement, slowly and cautiously, to
avoid noise, he undid the rusty latch, and
drew the casement inwards.  The blast of
inrushing air was bitterly cold.  He thrust
out his hand, moving it from side to side,
but felt nothing.

At this moment he heard heavy footsteps
clumping up the stairs that led past his
room to the roof.  He closed the window,
though the sound had not surprised him:
it was only the men going up to fetch the
sheep which were taken up every morning to
graze on the turf-covered roof, and brought
down every night.  He heard the footsteps
coming down: then all was silent again.

Shivering with cold, Frank had remained
at the window.  Would the signal be
repeated?  It seemed hours before he again
heard the flapping.  Once more he opened
the window, and now his groping fingers
touched a thin cord hanging from above.  He
caught it and pulled it in eagerly.  Presently
he grasped a stout rope attached to the cord.
He drew in a few feet of it, and then could
draw no more.  The rope was taut.  On the
roof some ten feet above some one held or
had fastened this rope for his deliverance.

It was clear that the next move was with
him.  He was expected to emerge through
the window and climb up the rope to the
roof.  The window was so high in the wall
that he could only reach it by standing on
the table.  Swiftly he moved this to the
spot, wondering whether after all the window
was wide enough for his body.  And when
he stood on the table, preparing to make the
attempt, he paused with a sudden dread.
Who were these people outside?  Were they
indeed friends?  Was it a trick on the part
of Wonckhaus, who had laid this trap for
him, so that he might have an excuse for
removing an insecure prisoner to the
common jail?  But on second thoughts he
dismissed the suspicion.  Wonckhaus had no
need of trickery if he wished to increase the
rigour of Frank's imprisonment.  "I'll risk
it," he murmured.

And now his difficulties began.  Inside,
the window had only a narrow ledge; outside,
it was flush with the wall: there was no
sill.  When once he had got through, there
was no possibility of returning; but to get
through--that was the problem.  There was
no secure foothold after he left the table; the
window was too low for him to stand upright
on the ledge, or even to sit on it.  He would
have to haul himself out by main strength.

He placed his chair on the table, and
standing on that, found that his head was
now higher than the top of the window.
Then he stooped, put his head out, braced
himself for the effort, and taking a grip on
the rope as high above his head as he could,
he lifted his feet and threw his whole weight
on it.  For a moment it yielded slightly, but
then became taut again.  Then he got his
knees on the ledge, rested a few seconds,
grasped the rope a little higher, and managed
to drag his legs out so that he swung clear.

At this critical moment his energy was
almost paralysed by the fear of falling.
The roof was only ten or twelve feet above
him, and a few months before he would have
made light of swarming up a rope of double
that length.  It was only now, when he
was committed to the enterprise beyond
recall, that he realised how his strength
had been reduced by privation and want of
exercise.  But exerting his will to the
utmost, he began to haul himself up hand over
hand.  Bits of earth struck him, and thudded
on the ground below.  The fear that the
sound would bring the soldiers out made
him try to climb faster; but finding his
strength failing, he twisted his leg round the
rope and steadied himself for a further effort.
More material fell from above, and struck
the ground with a heavier thud.  Sounds
from the lower floor warned him that the
men's attention had been aroused, and he
climbed on, ascending by slow and painful
inches.  In spite of himself he was forced
to rest again, but the support his legs gained
from the rope was not sufficient to relieve
the strain on his arms, and he had almost
given himself up for lost when he felt the
rope being slowly drawn up.  Too weak to
climb further, he could only grip the rope
and ascend passively, bumping against the
wall and scoring his knuckles.

Below him there were voices, of which he
was hardly conscious, so intense was the
strain.  Then there was a flash upward from
an electric torch, and a shout.  He felt that
his grip was loosening; he was at the point
of despair when his wrist was grasped from
above.  The touch braced him for a final
effort; his other wrist was gripped, and
next moment he was dragged by main force
over the low parapet on to the roof, just as
a shot rang out.

.. _`AT THE POINT OF DESPAIR`:

.. figure:: images/img-094.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: AT THE POINT OF DESPAIR

   AT THE POINT OF DESPAIR

Half fainting, he was hauled to his feet,
and half carried, half dragged across the
turf towards the hillside sloping behind.
Up this his rescuers stumbled with him until
they reached a narrow track beyond
Wonckhaus's house.  They heard shouts on the
roof they had just left, from the ground
below, dogs barking, sounds of growing
commotion.  The darkness concealed them;
their flight was favoured by the clamour.
On and on they stumbled, the two rescuers
finding their way like cats in the darkness.
The shouts became fainter.  They moderated
their pace, and in a few minutes came
to an open doorway.  Into this they dived.
The door closed silently behind them, and
Frank sank in the swoon of exhaustion.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A REHEARSAL`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IX


.. class:: center medium

   A REHEARSAL

.. vspace:: 2

It was two days later.

On the slope of the hill, not a stone's
throw from the house where Hermann
Wonckhaus was nursing his wounded leg
and meditating on carpets, was a modest
dwelling, huddled among more pretentious
buildings, and so inconspicuous that a passer
would hardly have thought it worth while
to wonder who lived there.  At the rear of
this house, hollowed out of the hillside, was
a small dark chamber with neither door nor
window.  Any person who might have been
brought there in a state of unconsciousness
would have supposed, on waking, that he
was sealed up within four walls from which
he could not escape.

On this particular day three men were in
the room, one elderly, the others young.
A small oil lamp placed on a wall bracket
gave a dim light, and the air was oppressive
with staleness and the flavour of smoke.
It was not a place where one would have
desired to remain long, but its three
occupants had chosen it as the scene of a
somewhat important rehearsal.

The elderly man was Isaac Kopri, the
astute and capable Armenian contractor to
the Turkish army in Erzerum.  One of the
youths was his son Joseph.  The second
was to all appearance one of those humble
Armenians who are employed in driving
caravan horses from the Persian frontier to
Erzerum and thence to the Black Sea port of
Trebizond.  He stood at one end of the room,
facing his companions at the wall opposite.

Kopri stepped forward, and, speaking in
Turkish, asked sharply:

"Who are you?"

"I am your servant, effendim," replied
the young man, "Reuben Donessa, the
son of Aaron of the Five Wells."

"Where do you come from?"

"From Bashkala, effendim."

"How old are you?"

"Truly I know not, effendim, but my
years may be nineteen or twenty."

"Why are you not in the army?"

"Because it is the will of Allah and the
noble governor that I should be dispensed
from the war service of the Illustrious."

"Where is your paper?"

"Behold it, effendim."

He took from the breast of his shaggy
tunic a dirty crumpled paper, which Kopri
took and read aloud.  It set forth the style
and titles of the Sultan, then those of his
deputy the governor of Erzerum, and finally
declared: "Certifies that the bearer, Reuben
Donessa, is employed in the service of Isaac
Kopri, contractor to the army of the
Commander of the Faithful."

"Isaac Kopri should employ older men,
but your paper is in order.  You may go."

"Peace be with you, effendim."

"Very good, very good," said Kopri,
handing back the paper.  "But you must
pitch your voice a little higher.  Joseph, say
'I am your humble servant, effendim.'"

Joseph repeated the words.

"That is the tone, mark you," said his
father.  "Now we will go through it again."

The dialogue was repeated, the driver,
who seemed somewhat amused at the gravity
of the others, imitating Joseph's reedy
intonation.

"That is better," said Kopri at its
conclusion.  "But remember, effendim, tone
and accent are not everything.  You must
bow, and stand humbly, and cast down your
eyes, not look forthright into the eyes of
your questioner when you answer him.  We
Armenians have been oppressed for five
hundred years.  We move meekly on the
face of the earth.  You Englishmen bear
yourselves differently.  You walk and stand
as if you were the lords of the world.  If
you would pass for an Armenian you must
remember that in the eyes of the Turk you
are less than the smallest grain of dust.
Keep that in mind, and all will be well."

Frank smiled as he made a humble salam.

"How will that do?" he asked.

"Very good, very good--with a little more
crook in the knees.  And now I will explain
my plan."

Frank had been rescued by Joseph with
the help of Ali, the faithful Kurd, and
brought to this secret chamber in the
obscure house, from which it was entered
by a passage beneath the floor.  His escape
had raised a commotion in the town.  Search
had been made for him in all directions until
Kopri started a rumour that he had bribed
Kurds to pass him through Kurdistan into
Persia.  Wonckhaus was furious, and had
promised a high reward to any one who
captured the fugitive.

When Joseph was released, in the early
days of Frank's imprisonment, his father
thought it politic that he should leave the
town, and had taken him away on one of
his business journeys into the country.
Then, fearing that the Armenians were
about to suffer in one of the wholesale
massacres which break forth in times of
disturbance, Kopri had sent all his family
to Constantinople, where they would be for
a time, at least, safer than in Erzerum, and
whence they might in case of need slip
across the frontier into Bulgaria or Greece.
He himself had the protection of the military
authorities, but this might fail him at any
moment; indeed, he had already been forced
to part with some of his profits in the way
of war contributions.

Having thus disposed of his family, Kopri
was now intending to join them.  The
Turkish army in the Caucasus was hard
pressed by the Russians, and in great need
of supplies.  With the ostensible purpose of
fetching provisions, Kopri was arranging to
take a large number of mules to Trebizond,
to await his return from Constantinople.
Most of the mules were already on the road.
He would follow at the tail end of the
caravan, which was in charge of a few
specially trusty men, and his plan was that
Frank and Joseph should slip out of the
city by night, and join him at Ilija, a village
at the foot of the hills to the west.

Kopri was well aware of the risks he was
running in assisting the Englishman's escape.
But Mr. Forester was an old friend of
his, and learning in Constantinople that the
merchant, on his return there, had been
greatly distressed at being unable to
communicate with his son, he had willingly
yielded to Joseph's entreaty that they should
attempt to rescue Frank.  He remembered
also how Frank had run risks in defending
his house from the mob.  Mr. Forester had
of course left Constantinople with other
British residents at the outbreak of war,
but he had left word that he should not
travel farther than Malta, where he would
remain until he had news of Frank.

The arrangements having been thoroughly
discussed, Kopri left the house, where his
son was to stay with Frank until nightfall.
As soon as it was dark, the two slipped out,
and crossing roofs, threading alley ways,
stealing over gardens, they came at length
to the ramparts of the city.  The old walls,
defended by sixty-two towers, had long been
demolished and replaced by mounds of earth
with ditches.  Guns were mounted at
intervals, and the four gates were closely
guarded by sentinels; but between them
there were many spots where discreet persons
might scale the ramparts, and at one of
these an Armenian servant of Kopri's was
awaiting the fugitives, with a rope by which
to let them down on the outer side.

They had taken the precaution to wear
white garments, so that dark figures should
not show against the snow that covered the
ground.  Safely over the ramparts, they
hurried by a roundabout route across the
snow-clad plain, and near midnight arrived
at Ilija, where they found Kopri in a small
inn with five muleteers.  Here they rested
for the night.  Next morning they started
as soon as it was light.

Few would have recognised Frank in the
rough garb of a muleteer.  Nor was he so
pale as might have been expected after
months of confinement and privation.  Joseph
had utilised the two days of hiding to effect
a transformation in his master's complexion.
He had lightly stained his face, hair, arms,
and the upper part of his body.  There
must be no tell-tale patches to rouse
suspicion.  And with his dark skin and rough
dirty clothes Frank bore little likeness to
the well-dressed fair Englishman for whom
Wonckhaus's emissaries had sought high and low.

For ten days the caravan marched over
plain and hill, on a road on which the snow
had been beaten down and hardened by the
passage of many travellers.  The mules were
laden with articles of merchandise for
Constantinople, including a number of carpets
in rough bundles.  Frank was in charge of
one of these bundles.

Scarcely anything broke the slow monotony
of the journey.  Here they would meet
a line of bullock-carts, groaning and creaking
under loads of uniforms and equipment for
the Caucasian army.  Then would come a
long string of shaggy Bactrian camels,
padding noiselessly along with their drivers in
sheepskin caps marching at the side.  Once
they met a family of turbaned Moslems on
horseback, sitting astride their overhanging
mattresses, from which hung a jangling
cluster of cooking-pots.  Sturdy Armenian
peasants on foot, Kurdish horsemen, a
regiment of infantry for whose passage the mules
had to leave the beaten road for the soft
snow at the sides, formed part of the traffic
which the caravan encountered from time
to time.

The journey imposed a considerable strain
on Frank, weakened by his imprisonment.
But he had a good constitution, and it was
gradually re-established by the keen air, and
the plentiful food which was obtained at the
khans en route.  And when, on the afternoon
of the tenth day after leaving Erzerum,
the caravan defiled into the streets of
Trebizond, he was conscious of having
recovered something of his old vigour, and
refreshed by the sight of the sea on whose
waters he would soon be borne to
Constantinople.  But, not having the gift of
second sight, he was far from imagining the
strange and perilous adventures into which
he was shortly to be plunged.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A BRITISH SHELL`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER X


.. class:: center medium

   A BRITISH SHELL

.. vspace:: 2

The caravan jostled its way through the
crowded streets of Trebizond towards the
landing-place.  The port was in a state of
exceeding liveliness.  Ships were loading and
unloading in the harbour; caravans were
starting for the interior; and throngs of
people of various nationalities made
kaleidoscopic patterns as they moved about in
dresses of every hue, the Persians conspicuous
by their high black caps and long green
robes reaching to the ankles.

Kopri's mule train was directed towards a
small coasting steamer, lying alongside the
quay, in which the contractor was a part
owner.  She had arrived the previous day
with arms and ammunition from Constantinople,
and was to leave again that night on
her return voyage, which would be
interrupted only by a call at Sinope to take
in coal.  Large crates of her recently
unshipped cargo lay on the quay, awaiting
transport, and though most of them were
covered with tarpaulins, Frank noticed that
many bore German marks.  Having given
orders for the stowment of his cargo, Kopri
went to an inn overlooking the bay to pick
up what news was bruited.  He left Joseph
in charge, and recommended that Frank
should go on board, ostensibly as shipping
clerk, so as to be out of harm's way.  The
perishable merchandise was quickly stowed
away below; the bales of carpets strewed the deck.

When the contractor returned some hours
later, he said that Trebizond was greatly
excited by a report that British and French
warships had begun to bombard the forts
at the entrance of the Dardanelles.  It was
said, too, that Russian torpedo boats had
been seen outside the harbour, and the
harbour-master had refused to allow the
vessel to leave that night.  Frank wondered
whether he had escaped from the hands of
Turkish officers only to fall a victim to a
Russian gun.  He remained on board all
night, looking forward with more interest
than uneasiness to what next day might bring forth.

Early in the morning the skipper was
about to cast off when a messenger came up
from the military authorities ordering the
vessel to await the arrival of an important
passenger.  Kopri was irked by the delay,
and had worked himself up into a state of
nervous agitation when, after the lapse of
nearly two hours, the passenger arrived.
And then his nervousness almost betrayed
him: the passenger was Hermann Wonckhaus.
He had discarded his crutch, but
walked stiffly over the gangway, and at
once demanded that the captain's cabin
should be given him.  Frank was standing
by the forecastle when the German came
on board, and he instantly turned his back
on him.  He felt that his disguise was not
so complete as that Wonckhaus would not
recognise him, and wished that he had aged
his appearance by the addition of a beard.
When the steamer put out to sea, he was
careful to keep out of the German's sight,
which was the less difficult because they
were naturally in different parts of the
vessel, and under the brisk north wind the
sea was sufficiently choppy to keep
Wonckhaus in his cabin, prostrate with sickness.
He did not reappear until they had left
Sinope with their cargo of coal, and then
he urged the skipper to hug the shore as
closely as possible and to make all speed
for Constantinople: seasickness and the dread
of a Russian attack had made him nervous.
The breeze had moderated, and Frank
from a safe coign of vantage watched
Wonckhaus pacing the deck in conversation
with Kopri.  Presently the German
sat down to rest on one of the bales of
carpet, and Frank's heart leapt to his mouth:
the bale thus unwittingly chosen for a seat
was Mirza Aga's rug.  Kopri moved away
to speak to the skipper, and Wonckhaus,
left alone, began by force of commercial
habit to peer at the bales by which he was
surrounded.  He lifted the covering of one
at his right hand, and was stooping to
examine the one on which he was sitting,
when Joseph, hovering near, suddenly gave
a shout and pointed excitedly seaward.
Wonckhaus sprang up and went to the side,
with the skipper, Kopri, and some of the crew.

"A dark speck on the skyline," cried
Joseph, with outstretched finger.

The group peered anxiously across the
watery expanse; the skipper raised his
telescope.

"Where?  Where?" cried Wonckhaus,
hastily unstrapping his field-glasses.

Joseph only pointed.  Nothing could be
seen.  They continued to gaze for some
minutes, and then the skipper declared that
Joseph must have been mistaken.  The false
alarm had effectually diverted Wonckhaus's
attention from the carpets.  He remained
at the side, sweeping the horizon every now
and then with his glasses, and he even ordered
his meals to be brought him on deck, lest if
he went below the dreaded warships should
heave in sight.  Joseph's quick wit had once
more served his master well.

It was a sunny afternoon when the vessel
steamed between the well-wooded shores of
the entrance to the Bosporus.  To Frank the
scene was too familiar to hold any fresh
charm; but his interest was quickened when
he noticed the long low shapes of the *Goeben*
and the *Breslau* at anchor in the strait.
There were signs of repairing work
proceeding on the former.  Wonckhaus, who
had now recovered his courage, talked to
Kopri about the vessels with swelling pride,
while Joseph superintended the rolling of
the carpets to the side in preparation for
unloading.  Frank was not quite easy in
mind until Wonckhaus had crossed the
gangway and disappeared among the crowd on
the quay.

The cargo was unloaded, Kopri undertaking
to convey the precious carpet to a
place of security.  Frank remained on board
until the contractor should return with
information that might guide his future
course.  That information was not
reassuring.  The British residents who had not
been able to get away from Constantinople
in November were more or less under
arrest.  For the present Frank must remain
an Armenian.  And since Kopri had been
ordered, instead of returning to Trebizond,
to take on some heavy crates and proceed
at once to Panderma and Gallipoli, it seemed
better that he should remain on the vessel
until she reached the latter place, and then
seek an opportunity of getting into Greece
or Bulgaria.

The new cargo was brought on board
without delay.  It consisted of heavy cases,
which Kopri surmised to contain ammunition,
and quantities of food stuffs for
Gallipoli, whither troops were being despatched
in all haste both by land and sea.  Several
German and Turkish officers came aboard
when the cargo had been stowed, and Frank
was annoyed and somewhat alarmed to see
that Wonckhaus was among them.  It was
irksome to him to be continually on the
watch, dodging the German.

The vessel ran down the Sea of Marmora
to Panderma, the terminus of the Smyrna
railway, where some of the officers
disembarked with the heavy cases.  Frank was
on deck when these were swung out of the
hold.  As one of them was in mid-air the
tackle broke, and the case fell heavily on
to the quay, striking its edge.  In spite of
the iron bands that held it together it broke
open, and one of the Turkish officers ordered
Frank among others standing by to run over
and try to put it together.  The break
disclosed the top of the periscope of a
submarine.  Frank had time to notice the label
of the case: it was addressed "Adramyti."  But
he saw no more, for a German captain
rushed up in a rage, drove off the crowd
that was gathering, peremptorily ordered
the crew to return to the ship, and hurled
volleys of abuse at the men in charge of
the crane.

The vessel cast off the same evening and
arrived at Gallipoli soon after dawn.  It
had hardly come to its moorings when the
air vibrated with a heavy boom.  A big
gun had started work far away.  Every
half-minute, as it seemed, during the unloading
of the vessel, the booming sound was
repeated, and Frank thrilled with excitement
at the bombardment neither the source
nor the effects of which he was able to see.

When the cargo had been removed, he
went on shore with Joseph, and wandered
about the beach, discussing the past and
the future.  It was now noon, the sun was
bright, and Frank was debating whether to
go for a swim in spite of the cold breeze when
a slight buzzing in the air caused him to
look up.  For some minutes he saw nothing
in the cloudless sky, though the sound
increased; but presently he caught sight
of a speck far aloft, moving in a line that
would soon bring it straight overhead.

It enlarged, soaring on like some strange bird.

"One of our aeroplanes," said Frank.

"Where shall we run?" asked Joseph, alarmed.

"We had better not run at all.  It may
be only scouting, not out for dropping bombs:
and if it does drop a bomb, it will be on
the wharves.  We are safer here on the
open beach."

"But he might aim at the wharves and
hit us," Joseph protested.

"I think better of our men," replied
Frank with a smile; "but to please you,
we'll get away into that pocket in the cliffs
yonder."

They hastened across the beach to the
left.  At the same moment the aeroplane
slightly changed its course and seemed to
be following them.  Joseph in a panic darted
to the right.  Frank stood still, watching
the droning machine with a curious interest
devoid of fear.  It passed overhead, at the
rate of an express train.  Joseph was moving
back slowly when a long wail came down
the sky.  Next moment there was a crash.
Joseph flung himself face downward on the
sand.  Frank had jumped a little, but his
gaze had passed downward from the
aeroplane to the wharf.  A huge column of
smoke, dust, splinters of wood had risen just
at the end of the landing-place.  Men were
running about in all directions, horses and
mules were galloping, maddened oxen were
lumbering away with heavy-laden wagons;
and the humming bird soared on serenely.

When the agitation was stilled and order
restored, Kopri beckoned up the two young men.

"I have now a little leisure, effendim,"
he said to Frank.  "I propose to take you
to the house of a good friend of mine, on
the cliff yonder overlooking the plain.  He
is a man of my race, and with him you may
dwell in safety until such time as your
future course is made clear."

He led the way up through the pleasant
little town.  The streets were thronged with
Turkish soldiers in ill-fitting uniforms.  The
town was the base of the army operating
farther down the peninsula, and accommodated
the headquarters staff.  Among the
numerous officers Frank noticed several
Germans.  From the heights he had a
good view of the bay, in which lay a dozen
transports, while caiques, with cases of
ammunition bulging over their high sides,
were passing to and fro between the European
and the Asiatic shores.

Kopri halted at a little house at almost
the highest point of the town.  On being
admitted, he was met by a patriarchal
Armenian named Benidin, a merchant of
standing, to whom he introduced Frank
under his own name.  The old man was
greatly perturbed on learning that his visitor
was an Englishman.

"My friend," he said to Kopri, "it is
not well, that which you have done.  The
town is not safe, even for me.  Already I
have sent my family away; at any moment
I may have to flee for my life, and if it is
discovered that an Englishman lodges with
me, my days are numbered.  The town
swarms with spies.  Every man is spying
on his neighbour.  It will be far better for
your friend, and for me also, if he returns
in your vessel to Constantinople, and makes
his way thence to the Bulgarian frontier."

The old man's distress was so patent that
Frank at once assented to his suggestion.

"It is not fair to involve you in my
troubles," he said.  "I will leave at once."

"It will be two or three days before I
can take you back," said Kopri.  "I am
ordered to go on to Chanak with ammunition
for the forts.  Benidin will perhaps give
you shelter until I return."

"I will do so much for you, Kopri, in the
name of our old friendship," said the
merchant after some hesitation.  "If the English
gentleman will remain strictly within doors,
he shall be my honoured guest.  That must
be the firm condition.  And I pray that
your return be speedy, Kopri, for I know
not that I shall be safe even for two days.
There came yesterday from Stamboul a
large reinforcement of Kurds, who being
hillmen will be useful to the army in the
heights.  You know them, my friend.  At
any moment the blood passion may burst
forth; they may begin to hunt for men of
our unhappy race.  Then I must flee, and
I dare not take the Englishman with me.
He will be left to his own devices."

"I go to-night," said Kopri, "and in
two days I will return.  It is but a little
while, and the Germans here will keep the
Kurds in order."

"Alas!  I have no great confidence in
them," said Benidin.  "Their emperor has
never stayed the massacres of our people,
and though his officers are stern with the
Turks for their own ends, they will, I fear,
show no sympathy for us.  Then have I
the Englishman's promise?"

Much against the grain, yet unable to
contest the wisdom of the old man's
condition, Frank gave his word not to leave
the house until Joseph returned to take him
on board.  Kopri and his son remained with
Benidin until the evening, then went down
to the harbour.

Next day Frank mooned about, finding
nothing to occupy him, restive under this
new confinement, and uncomfortable
because of his host's nervousness.  The old
man started at every sound, and twisted
his hands in panic fright if Frank approached
the window.  There were sounds of great
activity in the bay--the snorting of tugs,
the clang of donkey engines, and the rattle
of chains, reverberated in a hundred echoes
from the hills.  Frank longed to see what
was going on; but there was nothing for it
but to be patient; after all, another day
would see his release.

On the following morning, just after the
weird notes of a Turkish trumpet had
announced the dawn, there came the rumble
of distant guns, which continued like a
remote prolonged thunderstorm for some
hours.  In the afternoon, when Frank was
sitting with Benidin in an upper room, they
were startled by a tremendous boom close
at hand.

"A shell from a big gun," cried Frank,
springing up.

"Keep away from the window," the
Armenian pleaded.  "I do not fear your
English shells as much as I fear the Turks.
I will go out and see what is happening."

Frank was left to himself.  He wondered
whether an aeroplane had dropped another
bomb on the harbour.  The fact was that
the British fleet had begun to bombard the
town by indirect fire from the Gulf of Saros.
When Benidin descended into the town, he
found the people fleeing in all directions.
Many were hurrying to the caves which cut
into the cliffs.  The largest of these had
already been appropriated by the
headquarters staff.

A few minutes after Benidin had left the
house, a second bang shook the place,
shattering the glass.  Frank's heart beat fast
as he looked out of the window: there was
no danger at this moment that any one
would notice him.  Towards the harbour
he saw a geyser of black smoke spreading
its top in the air.  Then he was conscious
of a rushing humming sound coming
towards him.  He looked up with curiosity.
Nothing could be seen.  Suddenly there was
a tremendous crash on the roof of the house.
The place collapsed like a house of cards,
and Frank, in the first conscious second of
his fall, heard an ear-splitting explosion,
accompanied by a blinding flash, and felt
sharp blows upon every part of his body.
Then he knew no more.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`DANGER`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XI


.. class:: center medium

   DANGER

.. vspace:: 2

The return to consciousness was a painful
experience.  Frank's head ached violently;
his nostrils stung with dust and smoke and
foul gas; his ears rang with strange noises;
every part of him seemed bruised.  For
some time he lay simply bewildered, trying
to recall how he came to be on the floor,
half smothered with dust and fragments of
wood and stone.  Two splintered beams lay
criss-cross just above him: if they had not
fallen one upon the other they must
certainly have crushed the life out of him.

A loud bang which set the place quivering
and the dust dancing about him recalled
the explosion he had heard at the moment
of falling.  He stirred, shook off the litter
half burying him, and stretched his limbs.
To his joy they were sound.  He took out
his handkerchief and wiped the dirt from
his face.  It was streaked with blood.

He looked around him.  The house was
a mere mass of wreckage.  Fragments of
furniture were embedded in extraordinary
positions among heaps of stone.  The roof
was gone, the walls had fallen in and out,
forming a rampart in which here and there
were chinks through which light came.  He
was on the level of the street.

Shaken, bruised, half-deafened, he lay
staring up at the open sky.  What was to
be done?  The bombardment had apparently
ceased.  He looked at his watch: it
had stopped.  Where was Benidin?  Was
the promise to stay in the house any longer
binding?  But he felt disinclined to move:
the shock had left him listless and devoid
of energy.  It would be no good adventuring
until he had recovered something of his
strength.

Presently he heard the hum of voices
outside.  People were apparently moving
about now that the havoc-working shells
had ceased to fall.  He distinguished a
question, evidently from a stranger to the town.

"Whose house is this?"

"Benidin's."

"A dog of an Armenian?"

"Even so."

There was a laugh.

"Is he inside?"

"Who knows?  If he is buried in the
ruins, so much the better."

"A rich man?  All these Armenian dogs
are rich.  Let us see what we can find."

Frank heard scuffling footsteps approaching,
and was tempted to call for help.  But
the recollection that he was dressed as an
Armenian checked the impulse.  The men
outside began to poke at the rubbish; they
would discover him; he must try to evade
them.  At this moment there was another
roar and crash close by, and the group of
would-be looters scattered with shrill cries.
Frank once more wiped from his face the
dust which the concussion had showered
upon him.  A slight movement of one of
the cross-beams hinted that his position was
still dangerous.  They protected him,
indeed, from falling rubbish; but another
shell, even if it spared the house, might
disturb them, and cause them to settle
down and crush him.

"I must get out of this," he thought.
"It must be getting on towards evening,
and Kopri will be back."

Wriggling out of his narrow prison, he
climbed up one of the slanting beams,
wrenched away some shattered woodwork,
and scrambled over the jagged heaps of
masonry until he reached a gap in the
ruins overlooking the street.  Through this
he clambered, and stood amid the wreckage
outside.  The neighbourhood was deserted.

The bombardment had now apparently
ceased, though guns could still be heard
intermittently from the south.  The
inhabitants were beginning to reappear.  Dusk
was falling.  Far down the hill Frank saw
troops engaged in extinguishing a fire.

He was at a loss what to do.  There was
no sign of Benidin.  His neighbours would
soon be returning to their houses, and then
Frank must be discovered.  Yet discovery
was equally certain if he made his way to
the harbour, and in spite of the rehearsal
in Erzerum, he felt in no condition to parry
successfully the questions of some inquisitive
officer who would certainly intercept him
before he reached the quay.  On the whole
it seemed better to hang about the ruins
until Benidin returned.  If he did not return,
Kopri would come as soon as his vessel was
moored.

Frank went round to the rear of the house,
where he was least likely to be seen and
questioned by the returning owners of the
adjacent dwellings.  As he contemplated
the ruins, he marvelled at his good fortune
in escaping so lightly.  No one who knew
that a human being was in the house at
the time of the explosion would suppose
that he had not met his death or at least
suffered hideous mutilation.

While he was standing thus, a figure came
round the corner of the ruins.  Though it
was growing dark, Frank recognised the
uniform of a Kurdish officer.  His first
impulse was to slip away and avoid a
meeting; but he realised instantly that any
sudden movement of departure might seem
suspicious.  Keeping his back to the
newcomer, he continued to examine the wreckage,
at the same time edging slowly away.

The Kurd stopped, and appeared to be
interested in the scene.  He came up to Frank.

"Whose house was this?" he asked.

"The house of one Benidin, a merchant
of the town," Frank replied, humbly, in the
reedy falsetto learnt from Joseph.

"Was he within when the shell fell?"

"No, effendim."

"You are his servant?"

"Not so, but a humble visitor."

"Then make haste and search that
rubbish heap.  Before the merchant returns,
it may be that you will find for me some few
precious things.  Make haste, I say, before
it grows too dark."

Frank could not refuse compliance.  The
Kurd was bristling with weapons, which he
would not hesitate for a moment to use on
a supposed Armenian.  But Frank, while he
stooped and made a show of turning over
the rubbish, was determined not to find
anything of value.  His object must be to
waste time in the hope of darkness putting
an end to the search.

The Kurd walked up and down, a few
paces in each direction, watching alternately
Frank and the vicinity.  Every now and
then he halted for a few seconds within a
few feet of Frank, who pretended to be
diligently sorting over the confused heaps
in the light of the sunset glow.  The
prolongation of one of these pauses made Frank
uncomfortable.  The Kurd, to whom his
back had been turned, had moved to a spot
where he could see his side face, and Frank
was uneasily conscious of being watched
with peculiar intentness.  He was relieved
when the officer moved away again, but
next moment was filled with anxiety when
he noticed that the Kurd was edging round
so as to look at him from the front.

"Ahi!  You find nothing?  Try in this
place," said the Kurd.

Frank went forward, stooping, and
keeping his head downbent.  He was pulling
aside a broken piece of furniture when, with
a suddenness that startled him, the officer
demanded:

"Who are you?"

"I am Reuben Donessa, son of Aaron
Donessa of the Five Wells, effendim," he
said.

The sentence came from his lips pat
enough, but there was a strange variation
of tone between the first words and the
last.  In the first moment of surprise, Frank
had spoken in his natural voice; but
instantly remembering Kopri's instruction, he
raised its pitch to a passable imitation of
Joseph's voice, hoping that the Kurd had
not perceived the change.

"Ahi!  And what is your town?" the
Kurd asked.

"Bashkala, effendim."

"Mashallah!  This is a marvel, surely.
Are there Five Wells in Bashkala, and does
one Aaron Donessa dwell there?  Stand
upright, dog, so that I may behold you."

Frank realised that the game was up.
For the first time he looked straight at the
Kurd's face, and recognised with a shock
that he was Mirza Aga's nephew, Abdi the
Liar, whom he had met on that one occasion
in the journey over the hills.  It was clear
that Abdi had penetrated his disguise.
There was a look of malicious glee on the
man's face.

"Mashallah!  I have found you, dog of
an Englishman," cried the Kurd.

His hand was moving towards one of the
pistols in his belt.  Frank had only the
fraction of a second in which to take action.  He
shot out his right fist, struck the Kurd on
the point of the jaw, and hurled him
backward into the ruins.

When Abdi regained his senses it was
dark, and the so-called Reuben Donessa
had disappeared.  And a revolver was
missing from Abdi's belt.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`IN THE HILLS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center medium

   IN THE HILLS

.. vspace:: 2

In the hills of Gallipoli, between Uzundere
and Biyuk Anafarta near the Salt Lake, a
platoon of Kurdish troops had just joined
a half-company of Anatolians.  They were
taking their midday meal on a level stretch
of turf some seven hundred feet above
sea-level.  It was the only clear space of
considerable size in a wilderness of scrub.  Below
them ran the rough track from Biyuk
Anafarta to Boghali.  The hill of Sari Bair,
nearly three hundred feet above them,
blocked the direct view to the nearest part
of the sea; but north and south of that
eminence the blue waters were clearly
visible.  The horizon was dotted with dark
shapes, no doubt warships and transports
of the Allied fleet.  To the south, over the
lower hills between them and Boghali, they
looked down upon the Narrows, with Kilid
Bahr on the European shore and Chanak
on the Asiatic.  To the north-east stretched
the Dardanelles above the Narrows, and
here too vessels, but Turkish, were passing
up and down.

It would have been apparent to the most
casual observer that the arrival of the Kurds
was not welcome to their Anatolian
brethren-in-arms.  The Kurd has a habit of assuming
a swaggering air of superiority.  The
Anatolians were in charge of a captain and a
lieutenant, the Kurds of a lieutenant only;
but this latter officer, seated with the others
a little apart from the men, was treating the
captain as though he were a subaltern.
Ignoring his inferiority in rank, he had
questioned and cross-questioned in a bumptious
way that raised the captain's gall.  As
the captain remarked in an undertone to
his lieutenant, this barbarous Kurd could
not have been more insolent if he had been
a German.  And as it was with the officers,
so with the men.  They ate their simple
food together, but the Anatolians maintained
a sullen silence amid the loud talking
of the Kurds.  When it was a question of
fetching water from the stream that flowed
through the rocky bottom below, it was two
of the Anatolians who were told off to the
job by the Kurdish sergeant, and went
sulkily to obey.

The Kurdish lieutenant was holding forth
to the other officers.

"Wallahy!" he said.  "Here I am, but
it is not where I would wish to be.  The
fight against odds is the breath of his nostrils
to a Kurd.  If there had been a few squadrons
of Kurds in Egypt the other day we
should have been in Cairo by now."

"But there were Kurds--many Kurds,"
the captain ventured to remark.  "It was
told me by my cousin in a letter."

"Ahi!  Are we in Cairo?  In truth we
are not.  I repeat, if there had been Kurds
we should have been in Cairo.  Therefore
there were no Kurds.  Mashallah!  Did not
Liman Pasha whisper in my ear, the day
after we set foot in Gallipoli, 'With ten
thousand Kurds, noble Abdi, we could
conquer the world.  Therefore take me now
twenty of your excellent men and catch
this Englishman.  Have we not had for ten
days half a company of Anatolian asses on
the trail?'"

This was more than even an Anatolian
captain could stand.

"You wish to insult me?" he cried.

"Wallahy!  What is this?  Insult you?
I do but repeat the Alman Pasha's words.
Mayhap I understood him wrongly; but it
seemed to me that he spoke of Anatolian
asses.  Who am I to correct him?  But
come now, tell me what you have done and
where you have been; what caves you have
searched, what woods you have beaten."

Unwillingly, sulkily, the captain gave
particulars of his doings during the past few
days.  He felt that though nominally in
command as senior officer, the Kurd was in
reality superseding him.  And he resented
the implication that he had failed in what
was at best a thankless task.

Some ten days before, his information
had been, an Englishman disguised as an
Armenian had been recognised in Gallipoli
as a fugitive from Erzerum.  How he had
contrived to reach Gallipoli was a mystery.
Before he could be arrested by the person
who had discovered him, he had made a
violent attack on that person, and escaped
to the hills.  When the alarm was given,
the Anatolian captain had been sent in
pursuit.  About sunset a peasant had seen
an Armenian who answered to the description
of the fugitive crossing the Karaman
river near the Bergas road.  Darkness
prevented his being followed up, but the hunt
was resumed at dawn next morning.  It
had proved fruitless hitherto.  The captain
complained that not a hundred, but ten
thousand men would be required to beat
thoroughly those rugged brush-covered hills.

"Think of it!" he said.  "Climbing up
and down these almost perpendicular
hill-faces; through dense scrub; down one side
of a valley, across a stream or a swamp and
up the other side; beating bushes;
exploring hill caves; searching secluded
farms--and all the time without proper food.  We
were sent away in a hurry.  'Hunt till you
find him,' was the order.  We had two days'
rations, and since then have had to depend
on what we could pick up at the farms, and
they, as you know, are in lonely places far
apart.  And we have not so much as caught
sight of this elusive Englishman, though we
have heard of him often enough.  Wallahy! a
farmer at Taifur Keui told me that a
young Armenian had walked uninvited into
his house and demanded food, holding a
revolver to his head.  Stricken with
amazement and terror at this boldness on the part
of an Armenian dog--but in truth a famished
dog is bold as a lion--the farmer gave him
bread and honey, and having satisfied
himself, he paid for his entertainment and went
away composedly and without haste, threatening
to shoot any man that followed him.
This being told me, I hunted diligently for
two days through the Taifur district, and
behold, it was then related that the fugitive
had appeared at Kum Keui, ten miles away
on the high-road, and there he had waylaid
a supply wagon, and taken for himself a
great quantity of the good things it
contained, and forced the driver to unyoke the
mules, and when this was done in fear and
trembling because of the revolver, this bold
brigand caused the wagon to run down a
sloping place and over a precipice into the
Ak Bashi river."

"Mashallah!  These are marvels indeed,"
said the Kurd, "and there is no truth in
them.  But say on, captain; let my ears
feast on these fairy tales."

"I speak what I have heard; as for the
truth, Allah knows.  It was told me also
that the dog was seen at Kachili and Kuchuk
Anafarta, but when I came to those places
and was searching every nook and cranny,
behold, one brought me word that he had
been seen elsewhere.  Yesterday, as I live,
a major of artillery came wearily into Maidos,
sick with shame at the garments he wore,
which in very truth were the rags of an
Armenian.  And he told me that when he
was riding without escort on the Gallipoli
road near Boghali yonder, a young giant
that was Armenian in dress but a very devil
in mien and bearing leapt forth suddenly
from the bushes of the wayside, and laying
a mighty hand upon him, dragged him from
his horse, and compelled him there and
then to exchange his uniform for those
filthy tatters the Armenian wore.  Yet did
the major confess that his ravisher was not
without courtesy, for even as he put on the
major's heavy coat he prayed his pardon
for the robbery, saying that he would fain
have left him the coat, but that he could
not, because the nights in these hills are
bitter cold.  And that this is truth I tell
is sure, for that same day--yesterday in the
afternoon--an officer of artillery was seen,
alone, above Baghche Keui, the hamlet you
see below us yonder.  And I came last
night in haste to Biyuk Anafarta, and
rose with the dawn, and for six hours I
have been scouring these hills, and not a
glimpse of that bold Englishman have I seen."

"Wallahy!  Truly it was time I came,"
said the Kurd.  "Know you that it was I,
Abdi, that found the Englishman searching
for treasure in the ruins of a house in
Gallipoli which an English shell had smitten.
It was I, Abdi, whom the dog, taking me
unawares--who can contend against
deceitfulness?--hurled fainting to the ground.
To me should have been given the task of
hunting the dog; now to me it is given;
and by the beard of the Prophet I will
catch him and flay him; I, Abdi, say it."

While the others were thus conversing,
some of the men, having finished their meal,
had got up and begun to stroll about the
hillside.  Others had gone down to fill their
water-bottles at a spring that bubbled out
of the rock some two hundred yards from
the spot where the officers were sitting.
Abdi, lighting a cigarette, watched them
with a speculative eye.

"Your Anatolians may stray too far,"
he said.  "That will not my Kurds do.
Come now, let us make our plans.  We
must beat these hills as we beat for bear in
Kurdistan.  See, here and there below us
are clear spaces in the scrub.  Into the scrub
between them I will send my own men;
them I can trust to let nothing pass, not a
rabbit nor a stoat nor any small creeping
thing; they are not plainsmen, blind and
deaf.  Your Anatolians shall move six paces
apart towards the spot where my
mountaineers are posted: even they, surely,
cannot let anything through so small a
mesh.  You will form them up in a crescent
line, the horns pointing to where my men
lurk in the scrub.  So shall we beat a large
circle, and if our quarry is not started
there, we will go on and do likewise farther
afield."

They flung away the ends of their
cigarettes, rose to their feet, and blew their
whistles.  From various directions the men
hurried back, the Anatolians lining up on
one side of the open space, the Kurds on
the other.  When the ranks were formed
and numbered off, a Kurdish sergeant called out:

"There is a man short.  Where is Yusuf?"

The men looked up and down the line, as
if seeking their missing comrade; then one
of them said:

"I saw him go down to fill his bottle."

The sergeant blew his whistle, and took a
few paces in the direction of the stream.  A
few minutes passed.  The absentee did not
appear.  The sergeant reported his absence
to Abdi.

"Take a couple of men and look for him,"
said the Kurd, twirling his moustache.

The three men went off and disappeared
over the brow of the hill.  Presently there
were shouts from below, and one of the men
came back at a run, saluted his officer, and
cried excitedly:

"We have found Yusuf, effendim, lying
on his back, with his hands and feet tied
with his own straps, and his cap thrust
between his teeth."

Abdi scowled, and would not meet
the Anatolian captain's eye.  In another
moment the missing man appeared over
the crest, led between the sergeant and his
comrade.

"What is this, Yusuf?" demanded Abdi
roughly, going to meet the man, whose bare
head was streaming with water.

"Wallahy!  I have been most grievously
entreated.  I was filling my bottle at the
stream there below when there came a step
behind me, which I heeded not, thinking
one of my comrades had come to fill his
bottle likewise.  And then, behold, a strong
hand seized me, and thrust my head under
the water, and held it there until I well-nigh
burst for want of breath; and when all the
strength was gone out of me I was cast
upon the ground, and my wet cap was
thrust between my teeth, and my hands
and feet were tied, and I was left half dead."

"Who was it did this thing?" asked Abdi.

"Truly I know not, but he had the form
of a major of our army, if in the confusion
of my senses I could see aright."

"Where is your rifle?"

"It was taken from me, together with my
pouch and the hundred cartridges therein."

Abdi spat and cursed, twirling his
moustache more fiercely than ever.  His fury
was increased by a look of amusement on
the faces of the Anatolian officers.  Aggrieved
that a Kurd should have been sent to make
good their deficiencies, and enraged by his
insolent and overbearing manner, they took
no pains to conceal their delight in the
discomfiture of the boaster at the hands of
the man whose rumoured exploits he had
derided and whom he had declared his
intention of flaying.  His chagrin almost
reconciled them to the escape of the fugitive
whom they had been vainly hunting for a week.

But the incident spurred them to activity.
The fugitive could not be far away.  Here
was an opportunity of proving whether
Kurd or Anatolian was the better man.
Abdi's deliberate dispositions were forgotten
or ignored.  While Abdi led his men at a
furious pace in the direction of the stream,
the Anatolian captain ordered his party to
extend and advance methodically through
the scrub.  The hunt was up.

.. vspace:: 2

Some two hours later a young man in the
uniform of a major of Turkish artillery,
but carrying a rifle, might have been seen
threading his way through the dense scrub
on the northern slopes of Sari Bair.
Reaching a point where it was possible to obtain
a good view to the north-east, he looked
cautiously around, halted and listened.
There was no sound but the whistling of
the wind through the bushes.  After a
moment's hurried survey of his surroundings,
he discovered a spot where he could
see without being seen, unslung his
field-glasses, and swept the opposite slope of
Karsilar.  For some little time the glasses
moved slowly from left to right, then the
watcher held them stationary and took a
long and steady gaze.  A line of figures
was moving like ants across a clear space
and disappearing into the scrub beyond.  A
little later they reappeared in another break
in the vegetation, working towards Baghche Keui.

Apparently satisfied, he shut up the
glasses, and returned them to their case.
The name of the maker caught his eye.

"Good English glasses!" he murmured,
as men do who have lived for some time
alone.  "I am uncommonly obliged to you,
my dear major.  I needed something to
equalise the odds."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`SHARING A SEPULCHRE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIII


.. class:: center medium

   SHARING A SEPULCHRE

.. vspace:: 2

Keeping well under cover, Frank worked
his way upwards through the scrub round
the north-east shoulder of Sari Bair.  Every
now and then he stopped, as it were to
"sniff the air."  He smiled to himself,
thinking how like his movements must be
to those of a fox that knows that the hounds
are out.  "I can believe now," he thought,
"the huntsman's theory that the enjoyment
is not all on one side."

From the height to which he had now
ascended he had a bird's-eye view of the
pretty little village of Biyuk Anafarta,
surrounded by tall and stately cypresses,
lying below him in a gap in the hills to the
north.  He paused for a moment to admire
the scene.  Just above him was the head of
a nullah forming a ravine on the northern
face of Sari Bair, and joining as a tributary
a larger nullah running westward past the
village to the sea.  A hundred yards up the
hill a large cedar jutted out from the side
of the nullah, here only a few feet deep, and
towered above the prevailing scrub.  Six
or eight paces from the tree, near the bank
of the nullah, there appeared the stone
door of an ancient sepulchre, probably
dating back before the Christian era.  The
stones were perfectly cut and squared, and
solidly cemented together.  The weather of
twenty centuries had but lightly touched them.

At this point Frank redoubled his precautions.
The vegetation grew closely about
the sepulchre; this solitude was apparently
never visited by men; but he could not
afford to leave anything to chance.  He
dropped into the nullah some eighty yards
below the tree, and carefully worked his
way up the bed of the ravine.  Arriving at
the tree, he took a final look round, pulled
himself up by the roots, and climbed up on
the western side, having the massive trunk
between him and the men who were hunting
for him far away to the east.

At the first big fork the tree was hollow.
Letting himself down within the hollowed
trunk, he stood upon a litter of leaves,
brushwood, and soft detritus, which he
stooped in the semi-darkness to stir over.
After a while he uncovered a hole about
two feet across.  Through this he wriggled,
into a narrow passage not high enough to
walk erect in, ending in a small square room
a little higher than the passage, but still too
low for the upright posture.

The air was full of the sickly odour of
decay.  A feeble light filtered through a
number of tube-like orifices bored in the
stone on one wall of the room.  At the
further end, reaching almost from the floor
to the roof, stood two enormous earthen
jars.  They were filled with human bones.
This little room was the interior of the
sepulchre.

Frank had discovered the place by
accident a day or two before.  He had climbed
the tree to learn, if he could, the whereabouts
of his pursuers, and discovered the hollow
trunk.  Thinking that this would afford a
secure hiding-place in case of need, though
the quarters would in truth be rather
cramped, he had dropped down and started
to clear a space for sleeping.  It was then
that, in lifting a mass of brushwood, he had
discovered the passage and the chamber
beyond.

The discovery set his imagination at
work.  The building was obviously so much
older than the tree that this strange
connection between them must be an
afterthought.  Within the sepulchre he found
some articles of Greek pottery which
suggested an explanation.  Back in the middle
ages the peninsula of Gallipoli, then a Greek
possession, was overrun by the conquering
Ottoman Turks.  Was it not possible that
some Greek fugitive, fleeing before the
barbarians, had lighted upon this hollow tree
just as he himself had done, and cut a passage
through it into the ancient and forgotten
tomb?  How many centuries had passed
before the Byzantine fugitive, if such he
was, had intruded upon the solitude of its
fleshless inhabitants?

The stories which the Anatolian captain
had related to Abdi did not exaggerate the
truth.  Frank had acted on the impulse of
the moment in hurling Abdi into the ruins
of Benidin's bomb-shelled house.  He had
not taken a moment's thought for the
future, nor indeed, after his shattering
experiences, was he in a condition to think
collectedly.  All that he was conscious of
was a desperate anxiety to get as far from
the Kurd as possible.  He ran into the
gathering dusk, retaining just enough
presence of mind to direct his course away
from the lower town.  Benidin's house was
on the outskirts, and in a few minutes he
came into open country.  He had met no
one, but hearing the rumble of an
approaching wagon ahead, he left the road and
struck off into the rough ground at the side.

It was now dark.  He checked his pace,
to recover breath and self-possession.  What
was he to do?  Kopri had perhaps returned
by this time in the vessel which was to
convey him back to Constantinople, but to
retrace his steps and seek the harbour was
more than he dared.  On regaining his
senses the Kurd would certainly raise the
hue and cry through the town: Gallipoli
would be too hot for the fugitive.  What
then was left?  It had been suggested that
he should seek safety in Bulgaria, but the
frontier was far away, he had no guide,
and he had been so shaken by the recent
explosion that he felt a nervous dread of
the encounters that were inevitable if he
attempted to find his way through strange
country.  A better course, he thought, was
to hide among the hills for a few days, until
he had recovered his nerve and will-power.
With money in his pocket and a command
of the Turkish tongue he might purchase
food in some hill village or at some outlying
farm.

Guiding himself, therefore, by the stars,
he struggled on for a while towards the
hilly district south-westwards, intending
presently to take refuge in some sheltered
spot where he might pass the night.  As he
went he remembered that off the south-west
extremity of the peninsula lay the British
fleet; but at this moment the fleet seemed
as remote from him as the stars themselves.
After a time he heard noises below him--the
creaking of carts, the voices of men; at
short intervals he saw faint lights.  Clearly
there was a road beneath, and a convoy
was on the road.  He stood still; listened;
watched.  The convoy was moving in the
opposite direction to his own course, and
from the sound of the wagons he inferred
that they were empty.  Then they must be
returning from the forts at the further end
of the peninsula.  He knew nothing about
the geography of the interior of this tongue
of land; but he was aware that a road ran
close to the shore of the Dardanelles.  That
must be a shorter route to the forts than
this second road, which apparently traversed
the centre of the peninsula; and in a moment
or two it occurred to him that the
Turko-Germans employed the longer road in
returning their "empties" in order to avoid
congestion on the more direct route.

Frank waited until the convoy had passed,
then groped his way down to the road.  It
was so dark now that he might trudge the
highway with little risk of discovery, and
with a greater chance of finding a hovel
where with good luck he might take shelter.
But fatigue overcame him before he had
gone more than a few miles, and he climbed
up the hillside again, threw himself down
under the lee of a rock upon a stretch
of moss, and wrapping his sheepskin garment
around him, slept until the verge of dawn.

Resuming his way over the hills, within
sight of the road, he saw by and by in the
distance a village of considerable size.  He
was hungry, but his heart failed him; he
felt that he could not face inquisitive
villagers, and endure their cross-questioning.
He passed above the village and went on.
From the distance came the rumble of guns.
Presently he caught sight of a farm in a
hollow of the hills, and turned his steps
towards it.  As he drew nearer to it he
became more and more nervous.  How was
he to account for himself?  What story
could he invent that would pass muster
with people who probably seldom saw a
stranger, and would certainly be suspicious?
He could not think of anything that seemed
plausible; yet he must have food, and at
length, with the courage of desperation, he
resolved to throw off the mask.  He obtained
food there at the point of his revolver, and
betook himself with it to a thicket on the
hill-top beyond, where having assuaged his
hunger he slept through the rest of the day
and the night.

Next morning he finished his provisions
and set off again on his journey--no longer
aimless, for during the night the idea had
come to him of making his way to the coast
and swimming out to one of the British
vessels whose guns he had heard.  The
project had seemed to him, in the hours of
darkness, wonderfully easy; but in the cold
light of morning it assumed, as such night
thoughts often do, a very different
complexion.  "Silly ass!" he thought.  "The
ships will be miles out.  I'd never get to
them."  And his mind was soon occupied
with more immediate concerns.

Looking back from his elevated position
along the road, he perceived a number of
soldiers, not marching in orderly ranks on
the highway, but dotted here and there
on the heights on either side.  In a moment
it flashed upon him that the troops were on
his trail.  This conviction acted as a tonic.
There was a definite danger to contend with,
a problem on which to exercise his wits.
To proceed directly on his former course
would be fatal.  His best chance of ultimate
escape was to worry the pursuers in the
difficult hill country and tire them out.
And so he had commenced that brief career
of semi-brigandage which had up to the
present supplied his needs and stimulated
his mental activity.  Now and then, of
course, he was sunk deep in depression.  He
was very much alone, surrounded by enemies,
often hungry, still more often very cold;
but the necessity for constant exertion
helped him to conquer despondency, and
prevented him from dwelling over long on
the darker side of things.

Now, as he squatted on the couch of
leaves which he had made for himself on
the floor of the sepulchre, he pondered his
situation seriously and with anxiety.  It
was clear that a determined effort was
being made to capture him, and he ruefully
acknowledged to himself that the very
successes he had had in obtaining food, clothes,
and arms would tell against him: they
furnished his pursuers with an additional
motive.  The troops would certainly begin
a methodical search of Sari Bair.  They
could not fail to discover the door of the
sepulchre, and though this was sealed, and
there was no entrance to the place from the
ground, the entrance through the tree might
be discovered by one of them in the same
accidental way as in his own case.
Fortunately, the surrounding rocks were too
hard to show tell-tale traces of his footsteps,
but if the pursuers should continue to haunt
the neighbourhood, he might find himself
compelled to remain in hiding, and the idea
of being cooped up in these narrow gloomy
quarters was far from inspiriting.  The
tomb was in truth a dismal abode.  The
sepulchral vases were not cheerful pieces of
furniture.  On the previous night he had
had an attack of nerves, and climbed into
the fork of the tree to sleep.  But the physical
discomfort due to the attentions of
innumerable insects was less endurable than the
intangible companionship of ghosts, and
ashamed of his weakness he had clambered
down again, and fallen asleep to the dull
boom of British guns bombarding the forts.

"Well, I've got a rifle and ammunition
now," he thought, as he settled himself for
his second night's sleep in the tomb.  "But
I dare not go game-shooting with them.
To-morrow I shall have to go foraging again.
I'm getting tired of this."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`'A CHIEL AMANG THEM'`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIV


.. class:: center medium

   'A CHIEL AMANG THEM'

.. vspace:: 2

Next morning he woke late.  Climbing
into the tree, he saw that the sun was already
many degrees up the sky.  He looked around,
up and down the nullah.  No one was in
sight.  He clambered to the ground and
made his way carefully to the hill-top,
taking cover of the scrub.  From this post
he had a view, on the one side, of the upper
channel of the Dardanelles, above the
Narrows; on the other, of the waters of
the Ægean.  Vessels were to-day, as on
previous days, moving up and down the
former.  One small craft, apparently a
motor launch, which he had noticed before,
was again slipping across the channel towards
Chanak, the township which he could clearly
see on the opposite shore.  No doubt it had
started from Maidos, which was tucked
away under the hills beneath him: he had
seen it many times from the deck of a
steamer.

"Lucky beggars!" he thought, envying
the occupants of the launch as he watched
it through his borrowed field-glasses, and
recalling trips, among the most enjoyable
of his experiences, at home and in the Sea
of Marmora.

"Now to forage," he said to himself.

It was unlikely that the pursuers, after
the excitement of yesterday, had abandoned
the hunt, and in descending the hill he used
as much caution as though they were still
in sight.  His destination was a small farm
which he had noticed standing by itself
some little distance westward of the village
of Biyuk Anafarta: the village itself, of
course, he durst not venture into.  His
progress was slow, for in flitting prudently
from one patch of scrub to another, he had
to make considerable detours to avoid more
or less open spaces.  Every now and again,
too, he stopped to listen, placing his ear to
the ground.

Coming after some hours' difficult
wandering to the outskirts of the plantations
about the village, he was alarmed to see a
herd of cattle in the charge of several
herdsmen moving along the rough track that led
past the farm, the direction in which he had
himself intended to go.  It was unsafe to
continue his journey at present.  He took
a drink from a hill stream, and plunged into
a thicket, resolving, in spite of his hunger,
to wait there until late in the afternoon,
when movements along the road were likely
to have ceased.

It was about four o'clock when he ventured
to leave his hiding-place.  There was
no sign of movement in the hills.  In the
distance smoke was rising from the village
chimneys.  Stealing his way as carefully as
before, he struck off in the direction of the
farm.  The husbandmen, as he had hoped,
were still at work in the fields.  There would
not be many persons at the farm.

Taking advantage of every inequality of
the ground he crept to the back of the
homestead--a small stone-built place with wooden
byres and barns attached.  He was well
aware that the methods which had formerly
served him could not be employed now.
Without doubt his description had been
circulated throughout Gallipoli.  Whether
he offered to buy food, or sought to extort
it, he would run equal risk.  Even if he
escaped the hands of the country people,
eager to obtain the reward which had
probably been offered for his capture, he could
not show himself without their putting the
troops on his track.  With every man's
hand against him he could not afford to
indulge the scruples that would be natural
to him in normal circumstances.  He meant
to obtain food as quickly and as secretly as
possible.  But he was not going to steal.
He would take what he could find, but leave
a fair price.

All was quiet around the farm.  Gaining
the outbuildings undetected, he slipped along
under cover of them until he had nearly
reached what was apparently the kitchen:
a light smoke rose from the chimney above.
More than once during his excursions he
had realised how greatly his difficulties
would have been increased if the dog were
as popular in Turkey as in England.  He
had not the watchful farmyard dog to fear.
The action which had cleared Constantinople
of the curs that used to infest its streets
seemed to have its counterpart in other
parts of the country: at any rate, he had
not hitherto been worried by dogs.

But he found now, with as much surprise
as consternation, that he had another kind
of guardian to reckon with.  He had almost
reached what he supposed to be the kitchen
when a small flock of geese advanced towards
him in a mass with much hissing and cackling.
There was no alternative but to beat a
prompt retreat.  He slipped through the
open doorway of one of the outbuildings,
closed the door behind him, and seeing
another door ajar at the further end he
hastened towards it, took a cautious peep
outside and passed into the open.  A glance
round the corner of the wall showed him a
middle-aged woman--dressed in the rusty
black which the male Turk, himself inclined
to bright colours, thinks appropriate to his
women folk--hurrying from the kitchen to
ascertain why the watchful geese were
protesting so noisily.

Here was his chance.  He darted across
the open space between himself and the
kitchen, peeped in at the open door, and
seeing that the room was empty slipped
inside.  From the upper floor came the
voices of children.  There was no time to
waste.  Frank knew nothing about the room
except that it was large, that a pot was on
the fire, and that some flat loaves of bread,
recently baked, stood in a row upon a slab of
stone beside the oven.  Without a moment's
hesitation he began to cram these into the
capacious pockets of his military great-coat,
and was on the point of taking out some
money to replace them on the slab when
he heard the woman returning, grumbling
audibly at the geese for the needless
interruption of her cooking.

To escape by the door was impossible
without being seen.  The wooden steps in
the corner invited him to the upper floor,
but the children's voices repelled.  There
was no other door.  He was caged.  He was
just making up his mind to brazen it out
and trust to his ready wit in explaining his
intrusion to the housewife when his eye
fell on the long wide board, set against one
wall and raised a few inches from the floor,
which serves the humble Turk as a
sleeping-place.  On the impulse of the moment he
tiptoed across the room, dropped to the
floor, and was just able to wriggle under
the board before the woman entered.  For
a moment he was doubtful whether, quick
as he had been, the woman had not caught
sight of the skirts of his coat, and he
pressed himself against the wall in a fever
of anxiety.  But she clumped across the
floor straight to her cooking pot, the sizzling
of which mingled with her exclamations of
annoyance.  She stirred the pot, made up
the fire, called to the children to go to
sleep--and noticed that some of the loaves were
gone.

"You limbs of Shaitan!" she called up
the stairs.  "Bring down those loaves.
Gluttons you are.  Did I not give you a
supper fit for princes?  Bring down the
loaves, I say."

Shrill voices answered her.  A boy came
half-way down the steps and protested that
neither he nor his brothers or sisters had
left their room above.

"Wallahy! are there evil djinni
abroad?" exclaimed the woman.  "Get
you to bed.  Allah preserve us!  What will
the man say when he returns?"

She went to the door and looked out for
her husband; it was time for him to come for
his evening meal.  Frank already regretted
his hasty action.  If only the woman would
go out!  If only she had not believed her
small son, but had gone upstairs to prove
him!  Apparently he was a truth-teller.
Frank felt himself condemned to a long and
wearisome detention.  The farmer would
return; he would eat his supper; then rugs
would be spread on the board, and the good
people would sleep there.  How in the world
was he to get away without disturbing
them?  Meanwhile he could at least eat
some of the bread which the woman
supposed had been spirited away.

The woman came back to her cooking.
Frank's nose was tantalised by the savoury
smell of the ragout simmering in the pot.
It was growing dusk, and the woman lighted
a small oil-lamp, then sat down on the
board, muttering incantations against evil
spirits.  Presently footsteps and voices were
heard from outside.  The woman rose hastily
to her feet and went to the door.  A man's
voice said a few words, which Frank could
not catch.  The woman responded with
exclamations of surprise and annoyance.
Then they came into the room, followed by
several pairs of legs.  Frank started and
shrank more closely against the wall.  In
the dim light on the floor beyond his
hiding-place he saw military boots.  There were
still loud voices outside.  He heard the
farmer speaking.

"It is a humble place, effendim, but you
are welcome."

"Ahi!  That stew has a savoury smell.
I have an appetite.  Haste you, woman,
and set before us what you have in the pot."

Three pairs of legs moved towards the
board.  Three heavy forms dropped upon
it, with clanking of accoutrements.  The
wood groaned above Frank's head.  A chill
perspiration broke out upon his skin.  He
was in the midst of his pursuers.

So narrow was the space between the
board and the floor that, lying flat, he could
not lift his head more than two or three
inches without striking it.  To this
grovelling posture he saw himself condemned for
an indefinite period.  He groaned in spirit.
What an ass he had been!  He breathed
dust and smells; the air was stifling; how
long could he endure it?  Suppose he
sneezed!--the very thought made his blood
run cold, and he pinched his nose in anticipation.

Meanwhile the three officers above him
were conversing until their meal should be
ready.  Frank's attention was distracted
from his woes to the conversation rumbling
on above his head.

"Mashallah!  It is useless," he heard
one say: he thought it was Abdi.

"But the shells do enormous damage
when they hit," said the Anatolian captain.

"True, but what do they hit?  It is
marvellous, I grant you, that they hit
anything at all--anything of value--when the
guns are miles away and the gunners can
see no mark, and without their aeroplanes
they would have wrought less havoc even
than they have done.  But what then?
They cease bombarding, and our engineers
repair the damage with exceeding swiftness."

"Taught by the Germans," remarked the lieutenant.

"Ahi, the Germans!  Your masters!"

"And yours."

"Not so, by the Beard!  We Kurds will
never own them as masters.  They are
great men of war, truly, great devisers of
machines; no soulless man, such as you
Anatolians and the English, can stand
against them.  But if they think to crush
the free spirits of us Kurds in their
machinery--wallahy!  I hate them."

"Think you the English have no souls?"
asked the captain.  "That wily fellow we
are hunting has, methinks, a spirit free as
yours."

"Allah choke him!" growled the Kurd.
"It is a knife in my heart that I may not
stay to catch him.  Yet to spit Armenians
is fitter work for a Kurd than to hunt an
Englishman, and be sure that few of those
dogs who are fleeing to the mountains near
Antioch will escape us."

"Did I dream, or did my ears hear from
your lips the boast that you yourself would
flay this very Englishman?" asked the
captain gently: perhaps he could afford to
be ironical now that Abdi was recalled for
a more congenial task.

"Mashallah! would you taunt me,
you pale knock-kneed son of an Anatolian
cabbage?" shouted Abdi.  "By the Beard,
I will carve your carcase into gobbets
before----"

"Peace!" said the lieutenant soothingly.
"Here is supper.  Let us comfort our souls
in all peaceableness."

The storm blew over, and for a brief
space Frank heard nothing but gobbling
above him.  Then the Kurd shouted for
more bread.

"Peace be with you, effendim," said the
woman, "but there is no more."

"No more!" roared the truculent Kurd.
"What are these few crumbs that you have
set before three illustrious officers, and me
the most illustrious, even me, Abdi the Kurd?"

.. _`MAP OF THE SOUTHERN PART OF THE GALLIPOLI PENINSULA`:

.. figure:: images/img-160.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: MAP OF THE SOUTHERN PART OF THE GALLIPOLI PENINSULA.

   MAP OF THE SOUTHERN PART OF THE GALLIPOLI PENINSULA.

"Wallahy! noble effendim," the woman
faltered, "I was but even now telling my
man of the ill that befell this pious house this
very night.  Behold, there was a fair array
of loaves fresh from the oven upon yonder
stone, and I went from the house but for
one moment to learn the meaning of a great
outcry among my geese, and when I came
in, lo! of all those fair loaves only two were
left, and those two you have even now
consumed, effendim.  Surely an evil spirit has
flown in, and stolen the loaves, and departed
again secretly."

"What is this tale, woman?  You were
absent but for a moment?"

"Even so, effendim; and we know the
spirits move swifter than the wind."

"By the Beard, it is that Englishman
again," cried the Kurd, thumping the board.
"Is it not his doing, like those other deeds
that we have heard of him?  Of a truth
when the woman's back was turned he
crept into the house like a dog and departed
with our supper.  Mashallah! to-morrow
I must go to Chanak, or I would surely
catch him and flay him alive."

"We cannot seek him to-night in the
darkness," said the captain.  "Truly he
has more than a dog's cunning."

"Let us eat and drink," said the
lieutenant.  "The stew is good, even without
bread.  To-morrow we will run the fox to earth."

They finished the meal, and lit cigarettes.
The lieutenant went to the barn where the
men were quartered, and posted a guard.
He remarked on his return that it was a
useless precaution, since there were no
enemies on land.

"Except one--the Englishman," remarked
his captain with a rueful laugh.

"He will not return here unless we
ourselves bring him in bonds," returned the
other.

Piecing together the scraps of conversation
he had already heard with those he
heard subsequently, Frank came to the
conclusion that Abdi had been recalled to take
part in a battue of Armenians in Asia
Minor, and was to leave next morning by
motor launch for Chanak in advance of his men.

By and by the officers stamped about the
room while the housewife arranged rugs
and cushions on the board for their night's
repose.  She then followed her husband
upstairs to the higher floor, and the officers,
after removing their boots and accoutrements,
arranged themselves on the simple
bed.  The lamp was left alight, and, door
and window being closed, the room was
filled with a heavy, smoky air which soon
lulled the three men to sleep.

Frank was by this time suffering painfully
from his cramped position and the foul air.
At first he had intended to remain in his
hiding-place until the officers departed in
the morning, and then to seize the first
opportunity of slipping away.  But as time
went on he became convinced that he could
not endure his situation through the long
night.  Before morning he would be asphyxiated,
or so racked with pain as to have lost
the use of his limbs.  If he did not escape
during the hours of darkness he would be
unable to escape at all.  And when the
heavy breathing and snores above him
showed that slumber had sealed the senses
of his enemies, he determined to make an
attempt to get away.  To be caught gamely
at night was better than to be taken helpless
in the morning.

It was fortunate that the farmer's
primitive bed was a flat board, and not a divan
with mattresses bulging below.  Otherwise
he could hardly have moved without causing
some pressure beneath the sleepers that
would certainly have disturbed them.  He
lay for a time trying to visualise the room.
The board ran along the whole length of
the wall opposite the door.  There was not
space enough for him to creep out at either
the head or the foot: to reach the door he
must cross the whole width of the room.
Dim though the light was, it was sufficient
to reveal his form.  But there was no other way.

With infinite precaution he sidled his way
from beneath the board, then lay still to
listen.  The three men were snoring in three
different tones.  He inferred from the sounds
that two of the three had their faces towards
the door.  To rise at once might cause them
to open their eyes; his best chance lay in
crawling a little way over the floor.  Raising
himself on hands and knees, he drew himself
along inch by inch; then, gaining courage
from the uninterrupted regularity of the
snores, he rose to his feet and ventured to
glance round.  The three men were curled
up under their rugs; only the tops of their
heads showed.

At the same glance he noticed their
accoutrements lying on the stone slab from
which he had taken the loaves.  Prompted
by a dare-devil impulse that had also an
element of precaution, he stole on tiptoe to
the slab, and with slow careful movements,
though his hands were trembling a little, he
lifted the flaps of the revolver cases over
their buttons and abstracted the revolvers
one by one.  If the men chanced to wake
before he was clear of the door, they should
at least have no weapons to fire at him.  A
slight click as he slipped the last revolver
into his pocket caused a momentary pause
in the *moto continuo* of one of the men's
recitative, and Frank clutched his own
revolver, ready for emergency; but the
officer did not stir, and Frank, facing them,
crept backward towards the door.

He could not remember whether the door
had been locked or bolted, and felt an inward
quaking at the thought of having to turn a
possibly rusty key or draw a creaking bolt.
It was with immense relief that he perceived
that the door was fastened only by a wooden
catch.  Just, however, as he was raising his
hand to release it he heard a step outside,
approaching the door.  With instant presence
of mind he took two quick silent paces to
the shelf on which the lamp stood and
pinched out the flame.

There was a knock on the door.  The
snoring abruptly ceased, but no answer was
given; the sleepers had not been fully
awakened.  The knock was repeated.  A sleepy
voice from the bed said "Enter."  The
door opened, and Frank, being unluckily
almost behind it, could not slip out.  There
was a little diffused light from the moon
below the horizon, just sufficient to reveal
Frank's form, in its long military great-coat,
to the newcomer.

"A runner with a despatch from headquarters,
effendim," said the man, taking
Frank for one of his own officers.

At one and the same moment Frank
silently held out his hand for the despatch
and a voice from the other side of the room
murmured, "Bring it here.  Light the lamp
first."  Frank was conscious of surprise and
hesitancy in the attitude of the visitor.
The critical moment had come.  Taking
the despatch and thrusting it into his pocket,
he bent suddenly, sprang at the man's knees,
lifted him from his feet and hurled him
across the room.  A threefold shout followed
him as he dashed into the open.  The sentry
hurried towards him.

"Fire!" cried Frank.  "Fetch water!"

"Fire!  Fire!" repeated the man,
turning about and running towards the well
in the yard.

Frank had already rushed in the opposite
direction to the dark side of the house.
The clamour grew in volume; men were
rushing hither and thither with the panic
of disturbed sleepers; shrill screams from
the startled housewife and her children
mingled with the deeper shouts of the
soldiers.  And Frank dashed away into the
darkness.  At first heedless of his direction,
he stopped when the sounds were faint in
the distance, and, panting, tried to take his
bearings.  Somewhat more than an hour
later he clambered down the hollow trunk
to his sepulchral refuge, and threw himself
exhausted on its earthy floor.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`OUT OF ACTION`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center medium

   OUT OF ACTION

.. vspace:: 2

Frank's first proceeding when he awoke
next morning was to start munching one of
his loaves; his next, to read the despatch
which chance had thrust upon him.  It was
addressed to the Anatolian captain.  A
battery of heavy guns was to be emplaced
on Sari Bair.  The convoy, coming by way
of Kumkeni and Boghali, might be expected
at Kojadere on the following morning.  The
captain was to abandon for the time the
pursuit of the Englishman and to place
himself at the disposition of the officer
commanding the battery, to assist in
transporting the guns up the hill.

Frank did not know Kojadere by name,
but he knew Boghali, and conjectured that
Kojadere must be the village at the
south-east foot of the hill.  It was visible from a
spur about half a mile from his hiding-place.
A rough path left the main track between
Boghali and Kojadere at about the same
distance from the latter place, and joined a
similar path running direct from Kojadere
up the hill.  These facts Frank had learnt
in the course of his wanderings, and he
determined, simply from motives of curiosity,
to make his way to a spot where he could
see a sight new to him, the placing of a
battery of guns.  Abdi had gone, no doubt,
to Chanak; the others would not for the
present concern themselves with their elusive
quarry; for he assumed that the contents
of the despatch were known to the carrier;
so it was with an easy mind that he
betook himself to the elevated spot from
which he could view the Boghali road.

It was chilly in the morning air.  The
valleys and the lower ground were blanketed
in mist.  The heights were clear, and Frank
smiled as he saw in his mind's eye the scene
of his night's adventure, invisible to his
bodily eye, over the brow of the hill.

A light breeze was sweeping up through
the hills from the sea, causing the mist to
gyrate in swirling eddies, and here and there
cutting a path through it.  Gradually more
and more of the Boghali road was exposed
to his view.  There was nothing moving
upon it.  He looked up in the direction of
Biyuk Anafarta, towards the quarter in
which the Anatolians should presently
appear, in pursuance of their instructions.
There was no sign of them yet; it was
possible that the contents of the despatch were
unknown to them after all.

After a time he caught sight of figures
beyond Boghali where the road wound
round a low hill to the north of that place.
Ere long he was able to recognise the
artillery train--long teams, whether of horses,
oxen, or mules he could not tell even through
his field-glasses, dragging heavy guns and
ammunition wagons.  The escort numbered,
at a guess, some three hundred men.  The
train passed through Boghali, and took the
right-hand road towards Sari Bair.  A bridge
spanned a stream fed by a number of rivulets
rising on the eastern slope of the hill.  Here
the train came to a halt.  There was a long
delay; probably the bridge was not constructed
for heavy traffic.  Then one of the
guns appeared on the western side; the
others slowly followed.

By this time Frank felt pretty sure that
the Anatolians were ignorant of the orders
given in the despatch, otherwise they
should long ago have reached Boghali by
the direct road from Biyuk Anafarta.  If
they had resumed their hunt for him, it
behoved him to be cautious.  From the
troops below he had little to fear.  They
were not looking for him, and in all
likelihood were unaware of his existence.
Keeping a careful look-out above, therefore, he
stole down under cover of the scrub, which
was very dense on this side of the hill, to
take a nearer view of the work of the
artillerymen.

Several mounted officers had pushed ahead
to survey the ground and choose the easiest
route for the guns.  Some had taken the
first track on the right of the road, others
were riding quickly forward to Kojadere to
examine the track from there.  The two
parties met at the junction, and from
subsequent operations it appeared that the
longer but easier gradient from Kojadere
had been decided upon.  Up this track,
then, the officers despatched strong working
parties, to clear away obstacles, and cut
down the scrub which here and there
encroached at the sides.  Two officers, mounted
on mules, slowly rode up to the summit, to
select an emplacement for their battery.

Frank watched all this from a sheltered
spot at some distance from the track.  These
troops were not looking for him, it was
true; but in their course they must work
round his position, and he was careful not
to expose himself.

The way having been prepared, the men
in charge of the first gun whipped up their
team, which hauled the heavy weapon about
a third of the distance up the track.  Then
there was a check.  The slope was very
irregular.  For some yards its angle was
low; then it would suddenly make a sharp
rise.  It was at one of these abrupt acclivities
that the gun had now arrived.  The ascent
seemed an impossible one, and the track,
with on one side the rocky hill and on the
other a steep incline, hazardous in the
extreme.  The team attached to the second
gun was unhitched and brought up to assist
the first.  Urged by vociferous shouts and
much cracking of whips, the united teams,
straining and hauling, managed to draw the
gun up a few feet at a time, large blocks of
wood being placed behind the wheels at
each stoppage to prevent it from slipping back.

Frank looked on at all this with interest,
and a certain sympathy for man and beast,
which was increased when one of the officers,
a German, rode down the hill and vented
his irritation at the delays in foul abuse and
violent threats.  "They are working jolly
hard," was his inward protest.  The gun
moved on again, and a turn in the track
hid it from his view.  He looked around to
make sure that he was in no danger of being
seen from the rear, then crept up through
the scrub to reach a spot where he could
again follow the operations.

"I wonder what they are going to all
this trouble for?" he thought.  "Those
guns aren't a match for our naval guns, and
in any case they are no good here as a defence
of the forts."

A little way further up the hill he came
upon a gully scarcely three feet wide, much
overgrown with bushes.  It appeared to
lead down towards the track, on which, to
judge by the renewed shouts of the men
and the cessation of the rumbling of the
wheels, the gun had again been brought to
a halt.  Frank crept down this gully stealthily
foot by foot, and presently discovered the
cause of this new check.  The gully
intersected the track and fell down the slope
beyond.  Though it was now dry, at some
time it had evidently been a watercourse,
and the water had scored a deep channel
across the track, an effectual obstacle to
heavy traffic.  At this moment the men
were toiling with pick and spade to fill up
the channel, a task that would clearly
occupy some time.

Frank looked on for a few minutes.  Then
his eyes strayed down the track.  The mules
were stationary in a long line, quite
unattended.  The team hauling the second
gun lower down was out of sight.  "Pity I
can't spike the gun," Frank thought, "though
to be sure spiking is impossible in these days.
But a slip would send it crashing down the
track, or over the slope.  I wish----"  And
then an idea flashed into his mind.  The
gun was hauled, not by leather traces, but
by heavy chains.  Quickly raising his
field-glasses, he levelled them at the attachments
of the chains to the gun-carriage.  Each
one ended in a massive iron ring, which was
looped over a long hook.  Now that the
gun was halted, and the wheels stopped by
blocks of wood, the chains were hanging slack.

Replacing his glasses, he crept down under
cover of the scrub until he came opposite
the gun.  All the men were still engaged
above.  He looked up, down, around.  No
one was in sight, except the men working
with their backs towards him a hundred
yards up the hill.  Inch by inch he stole
nearer to the track; paused a moment to
collect himself; then darted rapidly from
cover, lifted the ring from the hook on the
side nearest him, hitched the chain so that
it appeared to be in place, and slipped back
breathlessly into the scrub.  It had taken
him no more than a quarter of a minute.

"Will it work?" he asked himself as he
lurked in his hiding-place a few yards above
the track.  All depended on whether the
drivers examined the attachments before
they moved on again.  There seemed no
reason why they should do so; hitherto the
drivers had walked at the head of their
teams; but there was a chance that when
they came down to lift the blocks of wood
one of them might happen to notice that
something was wrong.

He waited in feverish impatience.  How
slowly the men were working!  What a
bully that German officer was!  If the trick
succeeded, these patient long-suffering Turks
would have had their labour for nothing:
the German would make them pay for it.
Well, they must pay for allowing themselves
to be fooled by the Germans.

At last came the word of command.  The
drivers hastened to the heads of the mules;
two men hurried down to lift the blocks of
wood when the gun had started.  There
were loud shouts and cracking of whips;
the mules strained at their collars; the
heavy gun lurched forward.  And then
Frank thrilled with delight.  Secured only
on one side, the gun skewed round with a
jerk.  For a brief moment it hung over the
edge of the slope.  The mules slipped
backward; the sudden slackening of the chains
released the second ring from its hook; and
to the sound of startled yells and frantic
invocations of Allah the gun hurtled down
the slope and crashed into a ravine two or
three hundred feet below.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`TWO MEN IN A LAUNCH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVI


.. class:: center medium

   TWO MEN IN A LAUNCH

.. vspace:: 2

In the confusion ensuing upon the fall of
the gun Frank crept unseen up the gully.
He chuckled as he heard the infuriate curses
of the German officer.  The cause of the
disaster would never be known.  Whether
it were ascribed to the carelessness of the
men or to the accidental slipping of a ring
mattered nothing: the gun was lying at a
spot whence it would be almost impossible
to remove it; very likely it was damaged
beyond repair.  Frank's satisfaction was only
alloyed by regret that to attempt the same
feat with the other guns of the battery was
out of the question.

"Now what's to be done?" he thought,
when, having put a considerable distance
between himself and any risk of danger, he
stopped to think over his position.  One
result of the establishment of the battery
on the heights must be his abandonment
of the sepulchre.  Whatever might be the
reason for placing the battery just there, if
the guns began to play they would draw
upon them the shells of the British fleet,
and the sepulchre was near enough to be
anything but a safe asylum.  The troops
pursuing him were not far to the north.
With no permanent refuge he could not
hope to evade them much longer.  Sari Bair
was becoming too hot to hold him.  He
must move on.

But in what direction?  No part of the
peninsula was any longer safe.  To go
southwards was mere folly: he would only come
to the forts, about which there was no doubt
a strong concentration of troops.  And that
way there was no outlet but the sea.
Northwards, where the peninsula was wider, there
would be more room to move; but after
what had happened he would be watched
for at every little farm, on all the roads,
and if he were not actually captured, lack
of food would ultimately enforce his
surrender.  "What an ass I was not to make
for the harbour at Gallipoli that night," he
thought, "and try to smuggle myself on
Kopri's vessel!"  But repentance had come
too late.  Here he was, caged; nothing
could now alter that; and if he were caught
in the end--well, these last few days had
given him an amount of joyous excitement
which he could never forget.  Even the
reflection that he had now lost the privileges of
a civilian, and would probably be shot at
sight, did not much trouble him.  "Kismet!"
he thought: "I must have breathed in the
fatalistic spirit of the country."

"But I'm not done yet," he added to
himself.  "It's Bulgaria now, I suppose.
I'd better get away first to the east, out of
the way of those fellows hunting me, and
then work round as quickly as I can to the
north-west.  Lucky I stuffed my pockets
pretty full of loaves; but it's quarter rations.
I don't know when I'll be able to get more."

The booming of guns to the south
reminded him that fellow-countrymen were
only a few miles away--a galling
remembrance.  They could do nothing for him.
"Alone, alone, all, all alone!"--where had
he read those words, and how little he had
understood till now what they meant!--"Oh,
chuck it, Frank Forester!" he said
to himself.  "It's no good grousing.  Come on!"

He struck off across the shoulder of the
hill, and made his way down the bed of a
stream skirting the western side of Kojadere,
and flowing almost due south until with a
sharp turn to the left it fell into the
Dardanelles a mile or so north of Maidos.  For
the greater part of the distance it was close
to a road, and Frank had to keep a careful
look-out.  But the country was rugged and
desolate: there were no villages and to all
appearance no houses; only once did he
catch sight of anything on the road--a
bullock wagon lumbering slowly in the
opposite direction.

The ground was for the most part on a
low level, and in order to ascertain his
distance from the coast he turned off to the
left, where there were hills rising nearly two
hundred feet.  After a long and tiring climb
he reached a cliff at the eastern extremity
of the Kalkmaz Dagh which, projecting a
little into the sea, gave him a direct view
downward into Maidos and the strait
beyond.  A Turkish warship lay just above
the Narrows; torpedo boats and vessels
which, though he did not know it, were
mine-layers, were moored here and there;
and crossing the channel from Chanak was
the motor launch, with its awning over the
fore-deck, which he had noticed once or
twice before.  "Abdi's on the other side
now," he thought.

He watched the launch through his glasses
as it threaded its way through the congestion
of lighters and small cargo vessels lying
off Maidos, to a jetty north of the town.  A
number of passengers came ashore.  The
launch was tied up and the crew also
landed--all but one man, who sat down in the stern
and appeared to be eating his dinner.  Frank
almost unconsciously took out one of his
loaves.  "Didn't know I was so hungry,"
he muttered.  He ate half the loaf, which
was little larger than a scone, put the
remainder back, then took it out again for a
final mouthful.  The man on the launch was
still eating.  Frank watched him enviously,
and almost hated him when he saw him
wrap up a portion of his meal and stow it
away.  "He has too much and I too little,"
he thought.  "I daresay he'd sell what's
left.  Wish I could get at him!"

This started a train of thought, or rather
a series of questions.  Why not go down to
the launch?  Why not make use of his
military uniform?  What chance was there
that the man on the launch had heard that
an English fugitive was masquerading as a
Turkish officer of artillery?  Indeed, why
not bluff it out, get command of the launch,
and run down the strait towards the open
sea?  British warships were there.  Was he
prepared to face a twofold risk--run the
gauntlet of Turkish vessels and batteries,
and also draw fire from a British ship?

It was a ticklish problem, that would not
wait long for a solution.  At any moment
the launch might be ordered off.  If the
attempt was to be made, it must be made
at once.  "Too risky," he thought.  "I
might be spotted before I reached it.  It's
nearly a mile away: might be gone by the
time I could get down.  It's absurd."

Sunk in this pessimism he sat with his
chin on his hand, looking at the launch, on
which the man now lay stretched on his
back, gazing down the strait towards Kilid
Bahr, where the shore bent round to the
west, and beyond which there were British
vessels.  It was only four or five miles to
Kilid Bahr; in the clear air the distance
seemed shorter.  He thought of the
alternative--further hide-and-seek in the hills, long
wanderings, semi-starvation, cold.  "Hanged
if I don't have a shot," he said to himself.

Below him ran the road from Boghali
through Maidos, at the edge of the strait.
There was no other way of reaching the
launch unless he made a long detour round
the hills.  The afternoon was already far
advanced.  A detour would take much time,
and taking it he would lose sight of the
launch.  On the road, so far as he could see
it, there was no traffic.  He rose to his feet,
made his way down the hillside, gained the
road, and set off quickly southward.

In a few minutes, rounding a corner, he
overtook a transport wagon drawn by two
oxen.  It flashed upon him that he would
attract less attention if he got a lift on it.
Stepping up to the front of the wagon, he
hailed the driver.

"Give me a lift," he said.  "I've walked
from Sari Bair, where we are placing a
battery.  It's very tiring, walking over the
hills."

"That is true, effendim," said the man.
"Your excellency may do as he pleases."

Frank got up beside the driver.  The
wagon lumbered on.  As it neared Maidos
it passed people here and there; they saluted
the supposed officer without suspicion.  It
passed a house ruined by a shell.

"They said the English were our friends,"
remarked the wagoner.

"Time will show who are our true friends,"
answered Frank.

They were now entering the northern
outskirts of the town.  Frank saw many
signs of the havoc wrought by indirect fire
from the British fleet.  In the distance
soldiers were moving about.  He thought
it time to get down.  Tipping the driver, he
jumped to the ground, and turned off to
the left towards the jetty.  The launch was
still tied up: he could just see its awning.

When he was still some little distance
from it he had a shock.  From the opposite
direction, and nearer to the jetty than
himself, a Turkish officer was approaching it.
He was bound to get there first.  For a
moment Frank thought of turning tail; he
had not yet been observed; but it occurred
to him that the officer might possibly come
back in a few minutes: it was worth while
waiting to see.

Near at hand was a deep hole in the
ground, the work of a shell.  Beside it was
a broken transport wagon.  He sat on this,
took a cigarette from the case which, with
an automatic lighter, he had found in the
pocket of the great-coat, and began smoking
like any idler.  A shed at the shore end of
the jetty partly hid him from view.

The officer went on board the launch.
Frank had a second shock.  It was the Kurd
Abdi.  Apparently he had not been to
Chanak after all.  Perhaps he had deferred
his departure for the sake of making one
more attempt to capture the fugitive.  It
was plain that he was intending to cross the
strait now, for the man in charge of the
launch was making preparations to start.

Frank was as it were paralysed for a few
moments.  The game was up.  But no:
while the man was pouring petrol into the
tank, Abdi had gone forward and was
making himself comfortable under the
awning forward.  There was just a chance
for boldness.  Making up his mind instantly,
Frank strolled unconcernedly down the jetty.
The launch man was bending over his
engine; beyond him Abdi was half
concealed by the awning.

Frank halted a few yards from the launch,
where his face could not be seen by the
Kurd, and hailed the engine man in a low
tone.  The man looked up, and Frank
beckoned him ashore.  He hesitated a
moment; then the officer's uniform was
effective: he jumped on to the jetty and
came to Frank's side.  With a show of
mystery Frank led him a few yards and said:

"His excellency is crossing to Chanak."

"The Governor?" asked the man.

"Yes: you are ordered to wait.  Not a
word to any one.  Go at once to
headquarters and ask for Major Ahmed Talik.
There will be a valise to carry down.  You
understand?--Major Ahmed Talik.  It is
not to be talked about.  Make haste!"

"But my passenger, effendim?"

"He must wait.  I will explain to him."

"My orders!  I am not to leave the launch."

"Do you argue with me?" said Frank
sternly.  "Go at once."

The man hastened to excuse himself, and
set off, somewhat bewildered, towards the town.

"Why keep me waiting, dog of a dog-son?"
called Abdi from the launch.

The man turned, but Frank signed to him
imperatively to go on, then sauntered back
along the jetty, one hand holding the
cigarette, the other fingering the revolver in his
pocket.  Abdi had raised himself from his
recumbent posture, and in a crouching
attitude was peering out from beneath the low
awning.  The glow of the sun, setting over
the hills behind, struck full upon his eyes:
Frank's were shadowed.  Frank half turned
as if watching the retreating launch man, all
the time slowly approaching the vessel, thus
gaining ground without revealing his face.

Then he suddenly swung round, and
jumped on board.  The launch rocked.

"Wallahy!  Would you upset me?" cried Abdi.

Frank stood in front of him, pointing his
revolver, but in such a posture that the
weapon could not be seen by chance
observers on shore.  Half under the awning
Abdi was at a disadvantage.  He was so
much taken aback by Frank's sudden
movement, and so much overcome with amazement
when he at last recognised the features
of the newcomer, that he was incapable of
shouting an alarm, and the sight of the
revolver within a few feet of his head
disposed him to listen to what Frank was
saying.

"Salam," said Frank quietly, "we are
going for a little trip together.  No, no:
keep your hands down.  Don't move any
further from under the awning.  You
recognise me, I see.  I am the Englishman you
have been hunting--and this is my revolver.
It is loaded.--Do you hear?  Keep still.--You
have a revolver too, in that belt to
which I see your restless hand groping.
Well, I collect revolvers.  I have two of
yours already; the other will be safer with
me.  No: keep your hands up; if you hurry
me I may shoot too soon.  On your life don't
make a movement!" he ended fiercely.

With his right hand holding his revolver
at the Kurd's head, he stooped, and with a
quick movement of his left hand wrested
the revolver from the other's belt.

"Now get back under the awning to the
comfortable place you have arranged for
yourself," he said.

The Kurd hesitated and flashed a
downward glance at the knives in his belt.

"I will count three," Frank went on.  "If
you are not comfortable when I come to
three ... one ... two----"

With a snarling curse Abdi crept backward
to the cushions at the further end of
the awning, and collapsed there.

Transferring the revolver to his left hand,
Frank, also moving backward, came to the
engine.  It was not his first trip in a motor
launch, and a rapid examination showed
him that the boatman had got everything
ready.  Nothing remained but to switch on
the current, turn the crank and cast off the
hawser.  These movements he made, his
eyes scarcely leaving the discomfited Kurd
for a moment.  Then he threw the engine
into gear and seized the helm, and the little
craft sidled from the jetty, and shot away
over the dancing wavelets of the Dardanelles.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THROUGH THE NARROWS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center medium

   THROUGH THE NARROWS

.. vspace:: 2

Frank felt himself go pale under the
reaction from the strain of the last few
minutes.  But he had won the advantage
in the opening of the game: he must
maintain it to the end.

He had so often watched the launch
crossing to and fro that he had a pretty
good idea of the course.  Chanak was a
couple of miles down the strait on the
opposite shore: it would excite least remark
if he steered as for that town.  The vessel
was too shallow in draught to run much
risk from possible mines, and it was so
frequently seen that no one on a Turkish ship
would pay any attention to it.  No doubt
an alarm would be raised when the boatman
discovered that he had been tricked; but
Frank hoped to be several miles on his
voyage to safety by that time.

When he drew out from under the lee of
the hills he found that the wind was in his
favour, blowing directly down the Narrows.
This should mean at least a three-knot
current.  The launch was small, and
probably incapable of more than seven or eight
knots: his utmost speed, then, might rise
to ten or eleven.  But it was not wholly a
question of speed.  If the alarm was given
before he reached the narrowest part of the
channel at Chanak escape would be unlikely
if not impossible.  The fast-gathering
darkness would be no protection.  He would be
under searchlights from both sides, and a
dozen batteries would have him under fire
at ranges ascertained to a yard.  His nerves,
judgment, quickness of decision, would be
taxed to the uttermost in this adventurous
voyage of a few miles.

With the fall of night navigation practically
ceased on the strait; therefore he was
not very likely to be run down by accident.
But he must guard against collision with
vessels moored under either shore.  Further,
there was always a chance that he would be
challenged from the deck of one of the
stationary vessels, and though he did not
doubt his ability to give a reassuring answer,
he had always the Kurd to reckon with.
It would have been prudent to gag him,
but the opportunity for that was past.
Shaping his course by the faint twilight, he
kept one eye on Abdi, ready to take action
instantly if the man showed any disposition
to be troublesome.

So, in growing darkness, he ran down the
strait until he came opposite Chanak, which
was distinguishable by a few dim lights and
the sounds of bustle on the quays and
jetties.  The place had suffered considerably
by bombardment from the ships of the
allied fleet, which had come up to within a
few miles of the Narrows; but it was clear
that extensive repairs were already in
progress.  Observing two or three large vessels
moored out of the current in the little bay
north of the town, Frank as a measure of
precaution cut off the engine, and the
launch drifted into the neck between Chanak
and Kilid Bahr.  His ear caught the faint
sound of a windlass working in the channel
at some unseen point ahead.  Clearly a
vessel lay out there.  He pitched his voice
to a low note, and gave Abdi a quiet warning
not to speak a word or make any movement
of alarm, on pain of receiving the full
contents of his revolver.  The most dangerous
part of his voyage was evidently at hand.

In a few minutes he saw, some little
distance ahead on the starboard side, a
large dark shape moving towards him.
Putting the helm over, he crept in more
closely to the Asiatic shore, in the hope that
the launch, being small and low and travelling
silently, would escape observation.  But
next moment he was startled by the sudden
beam of a searchlight playing over the
middle of the channel from some point
behind him.  The darkness on either side was
intensified, so that the light, while it swept
mid-channel, favoured him; but if it should
bend its rays to the left, the launch would
be vividly illuminated, and could not fail
to be observed by the men on the approaching
vessel, who would certainly follow with
their eyes the path of light.  He watched
the beam lengthening its giant stride.  It
passed over the slowly approaching torpedo
boat and illuminated the water beyond.
Hugging the shore as closely as he dared,
Frank drifted on, resolved, if the light fell
on him, to start the engine and make a dash
at full speed down the strait.

The light took a sudden sweep upwards,
swung to the right over the hills and
disappeared.  Then Frank realised that the current
had failed him.  The launch was scarcely
moving.  He steered for the open channel,
edging out very gradually.  No sooner had
the launch come again into the current than
the light flashed out, just touching a point
of land on his port side, and passing beyond
it.  It occurred to him that if he could
round the point during the interval of
darkness before the light again appeared, he
would no longer be in its direct path.  It
was worth the risk of starting the engine
and making a dash over the short distance
between him and safety.  Guided only by
the dark outline of the low wooded cliffs
on his left hand, he put the engine at full
speed while the light was still sweeping the
channel.  To maintain an even distance
from the shore he soon found it necessary
to keep the helm well over.  He must be
rounding the point.  And when, a minute
or two later, the beam once more flashed
out, it passed almost directly over him,
leaving him in shadow.  With a sense of
profound relief he stopped the engine and
floated down with the current, more than
satisfied for the moment, but wondering
how long his luck would hold.

The launch was now in pitch darkness.
Frank knew that there were shoals along the
shore, and he was beset by a double anxiety:
he must steer so as to avoid at once the
path of the searchlight and the unknown
shoals.  So fully was his attention occupied
that he had almost forgotten the Kurd
lying forward.  The dark patch which
favoured him was favourable also to an
expedient which Abdi had been grimly
meditating.  Suddenly, while Frank was
peering into the darkness ahead, he was
conscious that a black shape had intervened
between him and the scarcely perceptible
space of water.  He knew instantly what
it was, but before he could brace himself
for the impending shock the steering-wheel
shivered under a sword-cut that missed him
by a hairsbreadth, and the Kurd flung
himself upon him, at the same time shouting
vociferously to attract the attention of any
watchers who might be on shore, or on some
vessel near by.  Taking advantage of Frank's
preoccupation and the darkness, Abdi had
crawled from under the awning and along
the deck under the side of the little craft,
springing to his feet within a few inches of
Frank's seat.

It was the fact of being seated that proved
to be Frank's salvation.  Abdi lost the
advantage of surprise when his sword-cut
missed.  He fell forward awkwardly.  Frank's
right hand was pinned beneath the Kurd's
body, but his left, with which he had held
the wheel, was free.  Instantly he gripped
Abdi's sword-arm above the wrist, and for
a few moments there was a fierce struggle
for position between the two men; Frank
striving to free his right hand, and when
he had done so, to prevent the Kurd from
strangling him with his left arm.

Frank was soon aware that in mere power
of muscle he was no match for his assailant.
But he had the firmer position, Abdi being
inclined forward and swaying unsteadily
with the rocking of the launch.  Suddenly
dropping his clutch on the Kurd's upper
right arm, he seized him by the throat,
braced himself against the seat, and pulled
his left arm towards him, exerting all his
strength to twist him over.  With his free
right hand Abdi clutched at the thwart;
but Frank's leverage against the seat gave
him the mechanical advantage; moreover,
the Kurd was expending much energy in
trying to free himself from the pressure on
his windpipe.  Inch by inch he was pressed
back against the side of the launch, every
moment struggling more feebly under Frank's
choking clutch.  At last his shoulders were
hanging over the water, and his arms were
raised as a drowning man throws up his
hands.  Then suddenly Frank released the
Kurd's throat, caught him beneath the
right knee, and, pressing heavily on the
seat, tilted him overboard.  There was a
gurgling gasp as the man struck the water,
then a brief silence, broken soon by a long
yell.  It was a cry for help, but not a cry of
despair, and Frank, panting from his recent
exertions, was aware that Abdi could swim.
His cries must be heard on shore and on
any vessels that might lie in the neighbourhood
or be patrolling the strait.  At first
their meaning would not be known, but they
would give the alarm and put the enemy
on the alert, and as soon as Abdi reached
the shore the truth would be flashed from
fort to fort.

The launch, left to itself during the
struggle, had drifted inshore and was
bumping against the rocks.  Frank had just
switched on the engine and reversed the
screw when an agitated movement of the
searchlight and shouts from the cliffs above
him showed that an alarm of some sort had
been given.  The white beam was sweeping
the whole breadth of the channel except
that black band which was shielded by the
cliffs and in which the launch was moving.
This band widened as the trend of the shore
became more south-westerly, and Frank had
good hope of running out of danger.  His
confidence was rudely shaken when a second
searchlight began to play from a point
slightly ahead of him.  For all he knew
there might be others at different points
down the channel.  It was neck or nothing
now.  He put the engine at full speed ahead,
and the launch throbbed and swished through
the water.

The coast-line here made a sudden bend
inwards.  Frank steered accordingly, and
was relieved to find that by his change of
course he just escaped the searchlight, whose
beam flashed almost over his head.  The
beating of his screw could hardly fail to be
heard on shore, no more than a hundred
yards away; but the light could evidently
not be depressed sufficiently to illuminate
this edge of the channel.  The launch dashed
on; the light was left behind; and steering
almost due south Frank once more felt secure.

But next moment he was startled by the
sudden flashing of a light from the opposite
shore.  It swept directly across the channel
and moved slowly along, lighting up yard
after yard of the white cliffs on his left hand.
There was no avoiding it, and he felt a
strange tingling as he realised that in a few
seconds the light would find him, and he
would then become the target for the enemy's
guns.  So it was.  The beam suddenly
overtook him, the launch was vividly illuminated
from stem to stern, and the light kept pace
with it in its rush down the channel.  Frank
tried by zigzag steering to wriggle out of
it, but it followed every movement, and he
resigned himself to the inevitable.

There was a roar and flash from the
western shore.  A shell splashed into the
water close astern, but failed to explode.
At that moment Frank felt neither dismay
nor fear, but only a strange exhilaration.
Shells began to fall fast, now ahead, now
astern, and on both sides, some exploding
with a terrific noise, others merely splashing
into the water.  "They haven't had practice
on moving targets, like our naval gunners,"
thought Frank.

Since everything now depended on speed,
he steered out into the channel, in order to
take full advantage of the current.  His
change of course seemed to baulk the gunners.
The light grew dimmer as he drew farther
from its source, and the gunners, slow in
shortening their range, sent their shells far
beyond him.  But now a brilliant beam of
light struck the launch from the eastern
shore.  The searchlight which the cliffs had
previously intercepted had free play over
the part of the channel on which he was
now racing.  In a few moments shells began
to fall more thickly around him.  The noise
was deafening.  Huge waves dashed over
the launch, and Frank wondered whether it
was to escape a shot only to be swamped
and sunk by the water.  But he clung
firmly to the wheel.

Then there was a stunning explosion.
The launch staggered as if smitten by a
mighty hammer; an immense volume of
silvery spray showered upon it.  Frank saw
that a big gap had been made in the
starboard side, a foot or two from the stem.
But the engine still throbbed steadily, and
the little craft still thrashed her way at
full speed seaward.  For a little the shelling
ceased.  The spray had hidden the launch
from the view of the gunners, who probably
supposed that they had sunk her.  But
they soon discovered their mistake, and
after a ranging shot they started their
continuous bombardment again.  The brief
respite had enabled Frank to gain ground.
The launch was less brilliantly illuminated.
A light mist was gathering on the water.
The wind had changed and was blowing
in from the mouth of the channel.  In a
few minutes the shells ceased to fall.  The
batteries had given him up.

But his satisfaction was short-lived.  Above
the throbbing of his engine he became
aware of a new sound--the deeper-toned
throbbing of a much more powerful engine.
A new light began to grope through the
mist.  Frank felt a sinking of heart.  Beyond
doubt a war vessel of some kind was in
pursuit of him.  Outmatched in speed,
what could he look for now but a sudden end?

The light found him.  Instantly the
torpedo boat astern opened fire: Frank
heard the regular rap-rap of a machine gun.
The noise of the engines grew louder: the
vessel was bearing down upon him relentlessly
like a sleuthhound.  Bullets whizzed,
whistled, splashed, thudded on the woodwork.
He felt a burning pang in his right
shoulder.  Clenching his teeth he held on
his course.  Despair seized him when another
light, this time ahead, mingled its misty
beam with that from behind.  Between two
fires, what could this be but the end?  "I'll
die game," he muttered, and steered straight
for the torpedo boat which was now visible
in the lifted light of the vessel behind.  In
a few seconds his light craft would strike
that iron bow, and then----

But the shock against which Frank had
thus steeled himself never came.  With his
hand still upon the steering-wheel he swooned
away.

.. vspace:: 2

When Frank opened his eyes again, they
lighted upon the ruddy clean-shaven face
of a man in a peaked cap and navy blue.

"Where am I?" he murmured.

"In a ward of H.M.S.--no, I mustn't
tell you the name, bedad: 'tis against the
rules, or if it isn't, it might be, so I'll not
tell you.  But it's a hospital ship, and you've
a nice little hole in your shoulder, and here's
the bullet that bored it: perhaps you'd
like to look at it."

Frank took the bullet and looked at it
with an air of detachment.  It seemed
hardly believable that that cone of lead had
been in his flesh and was now out of it.

"But who the deuce are you, in an enemy
uniform and all?" the surgeon asked.  "No,
you haven't it on now, to be sure; but
there 'tis, rolled up on the bunk there, and
you were in it when they brought you
aboard, and you speaking English as well
as the rest of us.  You can't talk, to be
sure; but who are you?  Don't try to talk,
but tell me that."

Frank smiled at the rubicund Irishman.

"I feel rather groggy," he said faintly.

"Of course, and who wouldn't?  But 'tis
a clean wound, and you'll be up and
skylarking in a day or two, Mr.----"

"Frank Forester."

"Ah now, that's not a Turk's name, to
be sure.  Well, don't talk.  I can talk
enough for both.  When Lieutenant-Commander
W----no, I won't name him--of
H.M.S.--won't name *her*--saw a Turkish
gunboat firing on a Turk in a neat little
cockleshell of a launch, 'Boys,' said
he--though I did not hear him, to be
sure--'Boys, drop one in the engine-room.'  And
sure enough, one of her fore six-pounders
planted a shell amidships, and crippled
the Turk's engines, and a couple more sent
her to the bottom.  Then they hunted for
you, and found your launch bumping on
the rocks below Erenkeui, and you as pale
as your shirt (where it wasn't red) hugging
your wheel as if you loved it.  They took you
aboard and handed you over to me, and I'm
to send in a report when I've got from you
who you are, and who's your father, and the
way you come to be playing the fool in a
Turk's uniform.  But there's no hurry for that.
You'll take a little food, and sleep, and by
and by I'll come and see you again, and then
you can give an account of yourself.  Now
let me have a peep at your shoulder."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE LANDING AT ANZAC`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center medium

   THE LANDING AT ANZAC

.. vspace:: 2

One bright morning in April, a group of
young officers sat smoking on the deck of a
British destroyer lying amid a crowd of
warships and transport vessels in Mudros
harbour, on the southern shore of the
Grecian island of Lemnos.  They were clad
in khaki, with sun helmets, which marked
them out as military, not naval officers.
Seated in a rough half-circle, some on chairs,
some on the spotless deck, they appeared
to be specially interested in one of their
number, at whom they were throwing
questions one after another.

"What's the Turkish for 'Give me some
beer,' anyhow?" one had just asked.

"*Bana bira ver*," replied the young
subaltern.  "But you won't easily get it, you
know.  Moslems don't drink it."

"Do they grow grapes?" asked another.

"Oh yes; *yuzum* 's the word."

"Don't they make 'em into wine, then?"

"They're not supposed to, but I daresay
you might get some if you said *Bana sharab
ver* very politely."

"You won't want it, Ted," said a third.
"We've plenty of our own stuff.  Our
Australian wine is as good as any."

"Besides," said the man they were
questioning, "you won't get many opportunities
of making requisitions of that sort.  There
aren't any inns in Gallipoli, you know."

"What's the Turkish for *inn*?"

"Khan."

"Say 'keep up your pecker' in Turkish:
that'll stump you."

"Not at all.  If you fancy your Turk
is downhearted, say to him '*Gheiret ileh*.'"

A subaltern, who had furtively taken
from his pocket a booklet with a buff-coloured
paper cover, turned over the pages,
replaced the book, and bending forward said:

"Here's a poser for you.  What's the
Turkish for 'not to be able to be made to
love'?"

There was a gust of laughter.

"Tomlinson's thinking of the girl he left
behind him," said one of his comrades.
"*Gheiret ileh*, Tommy."

"Stumped, Forester?"

"I'm sorry for Tomlinson; he'll have a
mouthful to say.  *Sevderilehmemek* meets
the case, I think."

"By Jove!" gasped the last speaker.
"Sounds like a bird twittering."

Tomlinson had taken out his book again.

"Forester's right," he said, examining a
page.  "What a language!  How in the
world did you manage to learn it?"

"What have you got there?" some one asked.

"A remarkable production called 'Easy
Turkish,'" Tomlinson replied.  "If that's
easy! ... It's supposed to be a word-book
for our chaps in Turkey; but while it gives
you the Turkish for 'not to be able to be
made to love'--as if any sane person would
want to say that!--it doesn't tell you how
to say you're hungry or thirsty.  Poof!"

He flung the book overboard.

"Bang goes sixpence!" he remarked.
"You'd better compile something decent,
Forester."

"It's too late now," said Frank, smiling.
"Pity; I might have made a few honest
pennies if I had started in time."

Frank had been taken in the hospital ship
to Malta, where he found his father.  As he
made a swift recovery from his wound, he
grew more and more eager to join the
fighting forces, and was on the point of
applying for a commission when news came
that a military expedition in Gallipoli had
been decided on, to retrieve the failure of
the naval operations which had been in
progress for several months.  With his
father's approval he hastened to Alexandria
and applied for work in connection with the
expedition.  His knowledge of Turkish and
his recent experiences in Gallipoli served
him well.  Interpreters were much needed.
He was attached as interpreter to the
Australian contingent with the rank of
lieutenant, and accompanied the troops when
they sailed for the base in Mudros Bay.

"What sort of a place is this Gallipoli?"
asked one of the young Australians, who
had heard something of Frank's adventures.

"A very hard nut to crack," Frank
replied.  "I don't know much about the
coast, which is mainly cliffs with very
narrow beaches; but the interior is all
rocky hills and ravines, covered with scrub
and dwarf oaks.  You couldn't imagine finer
country for defence, and the Turks are best
on the defensive.  They've had time for
preparation, too.  A couple of months ago
I saw them dragging a battery up the sides
of Sari Bair, a hill nearly 1000 feet high,
and since then no doubt they've planted
guns all over the place."

"We're in for a hot time, then," remarked
Tomlinson.  "Well, I was fed up with
Egypt.  That attack on the canal was a
futile bit of stupidity, and I was afraid
they'd keep us there on the watch for
another attack which not even the Turks
would be asses enough to make.  If we're
in for the real thing now--well, I for one
am delighted, I assure you."

At two o'clock on Saturday afternoon,
April 24, the flagship took up her position
at the head of the line, and the warships
passed down among the slowly moving
transports amid cheers from the men on
the crowded decks.  Two hours later the
troops were lined up with the ships'
companies to hear the captains read Admiral de
Robeck's final order of the day, and to
join in the last solemn service conducted
by the chaplains.  Then the vessels steamed
slowly northward, towards the scene of what
was to be the most heroic enterprise in the
long annals of our history.

All night the fleet made its slow way.
On Frank's destroyer the naval officers
entertained the troops with their traditional
hospitality, and then the men--such of them
as excitement did not keep awake--slept
through the remaining hours of darkness.

At one in the morning of Sunday the
ships hove to, five miles from the fatal
shore.  The men were aroused and served
with a hot meal.  The stillness of night
brooded over the decks, and the young
soldiers, browned, stalwart, eager, chatted
in subdued tones.  Twenty minutes later
came the signal from the flagship for lowering
the boats, which had been swinging all
night from the davits.  Silently the men
moved to their appointed places; the boats
dropped gently to the water, and out of the
darkness glided the steam pinnaces that
were to take them in tow.  Frank and his
new acquaintances were to remain on the
destroyer, which would go close inshore
and land them in boats after those towed
by the pinnaces had reached the beach.

It was still dark when the boats, each in
charge of a young midshipman, moved slowly
and silently shoreward.  The group of
officers on the deck of the destroyer followed
them with their eyes until they were
swallowed up in the darkness.  Their hearts
were beating fast with suppressed
excitement.  What was to be the fate of this
great adventure?  Could their approach
have been heard?  Would the enemy be
taken by surprise?  Had the shore at this
spot been fortified in anticipation of attack?
Nothing was known.  The dawn would show.

Three battleships had taken up position
in line abreast to cover the landing.  The
boats stole past them.  Through the gloom
the outline of the cliffs was just faintly
discernible.  Frank gazed breathlessly ahead.
He could barely distinguish the foremost
boats creeping in towards the shore.  All
was silent; the brooding hush seemed
ominous.  Suddenly a searchlight flashed from
a point on the cliffs, showing up the boats
as it moved slowly over the water.  Still
not a shot was fired.  The destroyer, one of
seven, began to move.  It had barely got
under way when there was a long line of
flashes at the level of the beach, followed in
a few seconds by a sharp crackle.  The
Turks had opened rifle fire.  Then came the
faint sounds of a British cheer.  The first
boats had reached the beach: dark forms
could be seen leaping forwards into a blaze
of fire.  Frank watched them with a
quivering impatience.  His general instructions
were to go ashore when the landing had been
made good and to hold himself in readiness
to interpret so soon as the first prisoners
were brought in.  But in his heart he
longed to be among the gallant fellows who
were braving the perils of the assault; why
should he be passive when they were daring
so much?

A light mist crept over the sea, almost
blotting out the cliffs.  Presently the
destroyer moved slowly shorewards; it stopped
again, and at the moment when rifle fire
burst forth with greater intensity the boats
were lowered over the side.  Frank sprang
into the first, throbbing with exultation as
it pulled in.  The rosy dawn was just
creeping over the hill-tops, the mist was
dispersing, and he could now clearly see the
khaki figures swarming like cats up the
shrub-covered almost perpendicular face of
the cliffs.

The boat touched shoal water.  Frank
leapt overboard with its company, and
rushed up the beach, strewn with prostrate
forms and discarded packs.  Just as he
reached the first trench, from which the
Turks had been hurled at the point of the
bayonet, the man beside him reeled, gasped,
and fell against him.  Frank laid him gently
down; then, losing all sense of his
non-combatant capacity, he seized the man's
rifle and bandolier and sprinted after the
others.

For a few moments he ran forward in a
blind confusion of the senses.  The yellow
sandstone crumbled beneath his feet: in
front was what appeared to be a green
wall streaked with yellow.  Bullets whistled
around.  Here and there men lay huddled
in extraordinary attitudes on the slope;
now and then he caught sight of a figure
clambering up.  On he went, through shrubs
that grew higher than his head, conscious
only of continuous flashes, until suddenly
he came face to face with a dark figure that
seemed to have sprung up out of the earth.
Instinctively he thrust forward his rifle with
a fierce lunge, and the next thing he knew
was that the Turk had sunk down before
him, and that he was leaping into a trench.

Close to his right he heard the murderous
rattle of a machine gun.  He stumbled
along the trench for a few yards, shouting
he knew not what, tripped over a man
prone in the bottom of the trench, and before
he could pick himself up was kicked and
trodden by a number of Australians who
had followed him.  Struggling to his feet,
he hurried on, to find himself in a furious
mêlée about the emplacement of the machine
gun.  Two of the Australians were down,
a third was at deadly grips with three big
bearded Turks.  Frank rushed at the nearest
of them, and disposed of him with his bayonet.
At the same moment the second fell to the
bayonet of the Australian, and the third
turned, scrambled out of the trench, and
plunging into the scrub disappeared up the hill.

"Got the gun, sir," cried the Australian
with a happy grin.

Frank, gasping, trembling, leant against
the side of the trench.

"Take it down," he replied.

Another boat's load of men came rushing
along the trench.  There was no officer
among them.  Gathering himself together,
Frank put himself at their head, and leapt
up the hill, in pursuit of the Turks who had
been driven from the trench.  The ground
was broken by ridges, gullies, and sand-pits,
and the scrub grew so thickly that they
could scarcely see a yard in front of them.
To keep a regular alignment was impossible.
The men separated, each forcing his own
way.  None of them had yet so much as
charged their magazines.  The work had
all been done with the cold steel.  Here one
plunged his bayonet into the back of a
fleeing Turk: there another shouted with
delight as he discovered that a swaying bush
was really a sniper who had tied branches
about his body for concealment.  As they
mounted, friend and foe became hopelessly
intermingled.  Frank caught sight occasionally
of a knot of Turks, then of a group
of Australians; next moment nothing was
to be seen but scrub and creeper
intermingled with bright flowers of varied hue
as in a rock garden.  Foot by foot he
climbed up until presently he found himself
at the crest of the hill, and saw the
Australians busy with their trenching tools amid
a furious rifle fire from the Turks in their
main position.  His eye marked a steep
gully which formed an almost perfect
natural trench.  Shouting to the men nearest
him, he was joined by a score or so, who
leapt into the gully beside him.  And as
the sun rose over the hills on that Sunday
morning, Frank, without being aware of it,
was within a few hundred yards of his old
hiding-place, the sepulchre on Sari Bair.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A TIGHT CORNER`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIX


.. class:: center medium

   A TIGHT CORNER

.. vspace:: 2

Meanwhile, on the beach below, the
work of disembarking men and guns and
stores was proceeding steadily, still under
fire, though not so concentrated and so
deadly as it was before the first trenches
were rushed.  Engineers were already cutting
paths upward through the scrub on which
supplies were being hurried to the top.
Ambulance men were carrying wounded on
stretchers down the steep face of the cliff.
The guns of the fleet were searching for the
Turkish positions on the summit, and
seaplanes were circling overhead to discover
the positions of the batteries which were
enfilading the ridges and the beach with
shrapnel.

Now that the excitement of the first rush
had subsided, Frank felt himself in a
difficulty.  He was fortuitously in command of
nearly a half platoon of men: what was he
to do with them?  He knew nothing of his
position relative to the rest of the force
which had established itself on the hill.
The din of rifle and machine-gun fire was
increasing; it seemed clear that the Turks
were rallying for a counter attack.  Snipers'
bullets incessantly whistled overhead.  After
a few minutes he felt sure that the head of
the gully above was occupied by a strong
force of the enemy, and he anxiously
considered whether he ought to try to hold on,
or to retire down the gully until he came in
touch with some one from whom he could
take orders.  In the meantime he had
instructed the men to charge their magazines,
to keep their heads down, and to maintain
a careful look-out.  Never had he felt so
glad of the long field-days he had spent as
a sergeant in his school corps.

While he was still in doubt, a second
lieutenant came up the gully.  In the dirty,
dishevelled, tattered figure he hardly
recognised the Jack Tomlinson who had tried to
pose him in Turkish.

"You headstrong jackass!" cried Tomlinson
genially.  "Do you know that you've
got at least five hundred yards ahead of
the rest?  Looking for Turks not made to
be loved, but to be bayoneted, I suppose."

"No cackle!  What are we to do?"

"I came to withdraw you, and have had
a narrow squeak half a dozen times on the
way.  The ground between you and our
first line, where we've got two or three
thousand men strung out anyhow, is frightfully
exposed, and the Turks are in strength
above.  There are no end of snipers
concealed in the scrub on each side, and the
bottom of the gully is enfiladed; as I tell
you, I had the narrowest squeak in getting
here."

"We must hold on then?"

"Or risk being heavily cut up.  I think
we had better stay, though for the life of
me I don't see how we can stick it if the
Turks locate us.  Anyway, I hope it won't
be for long.  The fellows have chucked
away their packs, I see; that means no
grub, and there's no water.  I'm frightfully
dry, but I don't care to take a pull at
my water-bottle yet.  Every drop may be
needed by and by."

"Well, we couldn't have struck a better
place for a stand.  This gully's a better
trench than we could have made in a hurry,
bar sandbags.  Our handful ought to be
able to hold it against anything but artillery.
And we can improve it: we'd better
start at once before the Turks spot us: I
believe they're in pretty strong force above
there."

"Righto.  Let's have a look round."

The sides of the gully were covered with
bushes and small trees.  Several of the men
had retained their entrenching tools, and
Frank set them to lop branches, and others
to pull up shrubs by the roots, which the
remainder began to weave into a sort of
abattis extending across the gully.  Before
they had been engaged on the task more
than a quarter of an hour, the whiz of
bullets directly down the gully informed
them that the Turks had discovered their
position.  One or two men were hit, and
Frank told off a few to post themselves in
the bushes and snipe in return.  Their
flanks were protected against an attack in
force, on one side by a stretch of fairly open
ground commanded from the position of
the Australians below them, and on the
other by the tangled vegetation through
which to advance seemed impossible.  It
gave cover for innumerable snipers, it is true;
but it served also as a screen to the occupants
of the gully on a much lower level.  As an
additional defence against attack from up
the gully Frank ordered some of the men
to throw up a rampart behind the abattis,
a task which the soft nature of the rock
rendered comparatively easy.

But the traverse was only half finished
when there came a warning shout from a
man above--

"Here they come!"

Round a bend in the gully some distance
higher up a compact mass of swarthy Turks
surged down towards them.  At a word
from Frank the men dropped their tools and
posted themselves behind the obstruction,
taking all the cover its unfinished state
afforded, each man looking steadily over his
rifle sight.

"Wait for the word," said Frank at one
end of the line.

The Turks rushed down impetuously,
filling the whole width of the gully and
several ranks deep.  They did not fire, their
intention evidently being to overwhelm the
little party in one headlong rush.  Frank
waited tensely until the first rank was within
about a hundred yards; then he called out:

"Now!  Rapid!"

A withering volley flashed from the rifles.
Then the men, each for himself, fired into
the approaching mass as steadily as if
practising at the butts.  The first rank went
down under the pitiless hail of lead, but
the rush was scarcely checked.  Carried on
by their own impetus, the Turks ran, jumped,
reeled down the hundred yards of rough
slope that intervened between them and the
abattis.  They could not stop, even if they
would, for the close ranks behind pressed
relentlessly upon the foremost.  Nor indeed
did they show any disposition to shirk the
issue.  They were Turks, and therefore
brave; they were many, and the defenders
were few; and though the men at the head
of the column fell in their tracks, or
survived only to reel forward a few yards and
then collapse, those behind sprang over the
bodies of their fallen comrades, only to
fall themselves a pace or two further on.
Their places were taken in turn by others
from the throng pressing behind, and the
living stream dashed against the abattis like
waves upon a breakwater.  Shouting the
name of Allah, some tried to wrench the
branches apart, others dug their feet into
the obstacle and began to clamber over.
But their courage was of no avail.  With a
horde of the enemy within five or six feet
of them the Australians continued to fire
calmly, methodically, relentlessly, plying
their bayonets upon those few who came
within their reach.

.. _`THE FIGHT IN THE GULLY`:

.. figure:: images/img-220.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: THE FIGHT IN THE GULLY

   THE FIGHT IN THE GULLY

In two or three minutes from the time
when the torrent first broke upon the
barrier the oncoming Turks had to meet a
new and terrible obstacle in the piled bodies
of their comrades.  And when finally the
survivors, stricken with sudden panic, broke
and fled back up the gully, it needed all the
authority of the two officers to prevent their
men from bursting out and chasing the
shattered mob.  The Australian in action
has only one glorious failing: like a
thoroughbred courser, when his blood is up he is
hard to hold.

Frank mopped his smoking brow.  His
hand was shaking.  His rifle was hot.

"You three men," he said, indicating
those nearest him, "get over and bring in
the wounded.  The rest keep an eye up
the gully."

"I've got some iodine ampoules," said Tomlinson.

"Good!  We must do what we can for
the poor chaps.  I'm glad it's over."

"Is it over?  Look there."

At the further end of the gully the Turks
had already begun to collect material for a
breastwork similar to that against which
they had just spent themselves.  They kept
out of sight, but masses of scrub and branches
of trees could be seen falling into the gully
from the sides.

"We must snipe them," said Tomlinson--"fire
into the bushes."

"Better save our ammunition," suggested
Frank.  "We shall want it if they attack
again, and we can't get any more.  They've
learnt a lesson, and will be warier now, and
therefore more formidable.  We've all our
work cut out yet."

Thus at the one end the Turks went about
their task unmolested, and at the other the
Australians were allowed to carry the
wounded behind their rampart without
interference.  Such of the men as had field
dressings employed them ungrudgingly on
their wounded prisoners.  But hardly had
the last man who could be moved been
brought over when the Turks above
commenced a steady fire from behind their
barricade.

"Keep low, men," cried Frank.  "Poke
your rifles through the bushes near the
bottom, and loose a shot every now and then."

It soon became clear that the sharpshooting
from the barricade was intended
to distract the Australians while an attempt
was made to outflank them through the
scrub on the banks of the gully.  Though
the Turks moved stealthily, and on the left
bank had almost perfect cover, a sudden
stirring of the bushes caught Tomlinson's
eye, and he guessed what it meant.  The
party was all too small to meet an attack
on three fronts; for presently figures were
seen darting across the more open ground
on the right in twos and threes, risking
observation from the larger force of
Australians that was entrenched farther down the
hill.  Fighting was general all over the
position, and even if the plight of the small
band in the gully had been known to their
comrades below, there was little or no
chance of their being reinforced.  All that
the young officers could do was to tell off as
many of their men as could be spared from
the barricade to line the banks of the gully,
and do their best to daunt the enemy by the
accuracy of their fire.

It was a position to test the nerve and
resolution of a veteran, much more of
soldiers making their first essay in warfare.
Nothing in the experience of the Great War
has been more remarkable than the
extraordinary efficiency shown by the younger
officers--men who a few months before were
boys at school, with no more expectation
of serving their country in arms than of
undertaking any other unimagined form
of activity.  They have shown quickness
of perception, promptness in decision, the
courage and tenacity which every Briton
glories in as his birthright, and a
cheerfulness in the most adverse and depressing
circumstances, which is not improvised, but
grows out of health and disciplined freedom.
When the full story of this world-struggle
comes to be written, it will be found that
a large proportion of the honours which
history will award will fall to the boys.

Through the heat of the day, and on till
the evening mist crept across the hills,
Frank and his Australian comrades
maintained the unequal fight.  In the struggle
at the barricade they had received only
a few slight wounds; but as the day wore
on the effective strength of the little band
ebbed away.  Parched with thirst, ruefully
regretful of the emergency rations in the
packs so lightly discarded on the beach
below, they had more than the persistent
sniping of the enemy to contend with.
They rarely caught sight of the Turks, but
every now and then one would fall to a
bullet from some unseen rifle in the scrub.
Exasperated by this furtive mode of attack,
the men asked to be allowed to charge the
enemy, and growled in the free-spoken
manner of Australians when their entreaty
was refused.  At one time Tomlinson
suggested that they should make an attempt
to fall back upon the larger forces below, in
spite of its risks: but Frank replied quietly:

"We don't know how important every
yard may prove to be.  I think we had
better hold on, Tommy.  Perhaps the
fellows below will make another rush upward
by and by."

But darkness fell: the din of fighting
had not diminished; but none had come
to their relief.  Tomlinson renewed his
proposal; but to the other dangers would be
added the risk of losing their way in this
unknown wilderness, and he agreed
ultimately with Frank that they had better
hold their ground.

The men tried to relieve their thirst by
sucking the dew from their coats and shirts.
The day had been a long torture, but all
confessed that the night hours were worse.
In the daylight they could see their enemy
if they threatened an attack; in the
darkness they had to trust to their ears alone.
The Turks, knowing how small their
numbers were, would probably be tempted to
rush them, and the strain of guarding against
surprise told very heavily upon their nerves.

About four hours after dark, Frank's
suspicion that some such move was intended
was aroused, first by the slackening of the
sniping fire, then by sounds of movement
on all sides.  Frank had posted himself at
the upper end of his little force, by the
barricade: Tomlinson at the lower.  From
this end Frank suddenly heard murmurs of
conversation, in tones which, though low,
had a note of excitement.  In a few
moments a man came to him up the gully.

"I'm Sergeant Jukes, sir," he said--"crept
up the gully from below.  Some one
told the major about you up here, and he
sent me to say, hold on as long as you can.
They're getting ready to advance down there."

"That's good news!  Tell the major we'll
stick it to the last."

"I'm to stay with you, sir."

"Good!  The major doesn't know who
we are, of course."

"No, sir.  We heard firing, and he thought
perhaps some of our chaps had been cut
off and hadn't got an officer with them, so
he sent me to take charge in that case, but
to stay anyhow."

"We're glad of your help--only wish
there were forty of you.  Just go down a
few paces and keep your ears open.  I'm
pretty sure the Turks are going to try a rush."

The minutes passed very slowly.  It was
clear that the enemy, leaving nothing to
chance, were making their dispositions with
deliberate thoroughness.  Officers and men
waited in a tenseness that was painful.
Would the blow from above fall before the
promised movement from below?  Frank
dared not diminish his force by sending
out a listening patrol.  He would need every
man if the attack came, and it would be
so easy to lose one's way in the scrub.  But
in the darkness every man's hearing seemed
preternaturally sharpened, and they fingered
their rifles restlessly as they heard more
and more sounds of the forces gathering
about them.

Suddenly there was a whistle on the right,
followed by an answering whistle on the
left.  Guided by the sounds the defenders
opened fire.  There was no reply.  The
enemy were no doubt feeling their way
forward, in the hope of getting near enough
to sweep the position in one overwhelming
rush.  From the directions in which the
whistles had come, Frank guessed that an
attack was to be made simultaneously on
two sides.  There was another whistle,
nearer at hand and unmistakably at the
side; the answer came from below.  An
idea flashed into his mind which he instantly
put into execution.

When, a few moments later, the Turks
swarmed down both sides of the gully some
distance below the barricade, they intended
to force the defenders back upon that useless
defence, expecting to have them then at
their mercy.  But when they met, in the
darkness and confusion some of them threw
themselves upon their own friends before
they discovered that the men they had
come to attack had disappeared.  In that
brief interval before the rush, Frank, divining
their purpose, had swiftly withdrawn all
his men to the barricade, and at the moment
when the Turks poured down the sides of
the gully, the defenders were all posted above
the barricade, facing towards them.  As the
Turks, yelling and cursing, surged upwards
they were met by a withering fire, which
swept down the gully into their confused
and closely packed ranks.  Trapped,
bewildered, they hesitated; then they in
turn opened fire.

But at this moment there was a ringing
cheer from below, repeated in ever-increasing
volume as a full company of Australians
charged up the gully.  They could not be
seen; not a rifle flash revealed their position;
they meant to do their work with the cold
steel.  The Turks, swept by the hail of
lead from above, ignorant of the number
of the enemy pouring upon their rear, began
in terror to scramble up the sides of the
gully, and broke away into the scrub on
either side.

A hoarse shout rose from the parched
throats of the men above the barricade.
It warned their comrades of their position.
And now came the moment that rewarded
the little band for all the stress and labour
of the day.  Exhausted though they were,
they sprang up the banks of the gully, and
side by side with the new arrivals, deaf to
the commands of Frank and Tomlinson, they
plunged into the scrub after the fleeing
Turks.  A series of peremptory blasts from
a whistle brought this impetuous movement
to a stop.  The men returned, disappointed
but happy, to the gully, and the newcomers
were ordered to line the banks with a
protective parapet.

Then an electric torch was seen moving
among the men, and a clear authoritative
voice was heard.

"Where is the officer who organized this position?"

Thoroughly worn out, Frank was sitting
at the foot of the bank, holding his head in
his hands, hardly conscious of what was
passing around him.  He looked up as the
light flashed upon him.

"This is he, eh?" a voice said.  "Your
name, sir."

He saw two keen eyes fixed upon him,
and stood up, mechanically saluting.

"My name?"  He appeared to consider
for a moment.  "Yes, I know: Frank Forester."

"Regiment?"

"I don't know; I don't believe I have
one.  No, sir, of course; I'm attached as
interpreter."

"Indeed!  You've a queer way of interpreting
your duties.  How long have you
held this gully?"

"Since early morning, sir."

"With what force?"

"We had something over twenty to start
with: there aren't so many now."

"Less than a platoon!  By George,
Mr. Forester, it's an uncommonly fine
performance: are you aware of that?  I'll
send your name up to the General."

"There's Tomlinson, sir."

"I'll look after Tomlinson."

"The men were splendid."

"I haven't a doubt of it....  Why, bless
my soul! water there, some one."

Frank had collapsed in his arms.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`FISHING`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XX


.. class:: center medium

   FISHING

.. vspace:: 2

With the morning light the men were
set to consolidate the position.  Frank's
barricade was strengthened; the gully was
parapeted and wired; everything possible
was done to improve the defensive capacity
of the natural trench which marked the
summit of the Australian advance, and
which its occupants were to hold for a
month without being able to push farther.

On the day after the fight, Frank was sent
down to the beach by the major to report
himself to the colonel, who at once employed
him in his proper duties of interpreting for
the Turkish prisoners.

"You'd rather be doing something else,
I dare say, after that brilliant little defence
of yours," said the colonel; "but interpreters
are scarce, and you can't be spared."

During the next few days Frank learnt
by degrees many details of the wonderful
feat accomplished by the allied army.  In
the first place he discovered that the
landing-place of the Australians, a little north
of Gaba Tepe, was almost immediately
below his old haunt on Sari Bair, and the
guns he had heard firing above during that
unforgettable day were evidently the battery
which he had seen hauled up the hill.  He
heard too how at Beach Y, to the south,
the King's Own Scottish Borderers and
part of the Naval Division had gained the
top of the cliffs with ease, covered by the
guns of three cruisers in the bay; and how,
still farther southward, the Royal Fusiliers,
landing from the *Implacable*, had made
good their footing without a single casualty.
On the broader sands at Beach W the
Lancashire Fusiliers had at first failed
against the wire entanglements almost at
the water's edge, and the innumerable
snipers and machine guns concealed in the
hollow between the cliffs.  At Beach V,
the Dublin Fusiliers, almost annihilated
as they attempted to force three lines of
wire and a labyrinth of trenches, had taken
cover under a high sandbank that stretched
along the shore, where they were joined
by such of the Munster Fusiliers and the
Hampshires as survived the terrible fire
which burst on them when they rowed in
from the collier in whose side a door had
been cut for their exit.  At Beach S the
South Wales Borderers had scaled the cliffs
without much difficulty; and the French
had successfully effected their diversion on
the opposite shore of the channel at Kum Kale.

These were the doings of the memorable
Sunday.  On Monday the Australians,
supported by the guns of the fleet, withstood
a violent counter-attack that lasted two
hours, and finally drove off the Turks at
the point of the bayonet.  Elsewhere along
the shore, except at Beach Y, which had
been abandoned, the invaders held their
own, and during the following days the
work of consolidation made rapid progress.
The sappers threw out piers on which stores
and ammunition were unloaded from lighters
under incessant shrapnel fire.  Engineers
cut roads up the cliffs to facilitate the
transport and the passage of the ambulance
parties that were continually going up and
down.  The wounded were conveyed to
the ships as rapidly as possible.  Day and
night the work went on, amid the deafening
roar of big guns and the unceasing rain of
bullets.

During the month of May little further
progress was made.  The way was blocked by
the hill of Achi Baba, crowned by a strong
redoubt, and seamed with trenches extending
on all sides in terraces one above another.
Against these strong fortifications no general
advance was possible.

Meanwhile German submarines had
commenced their activity in the Dardanelles
and the Ægean Sea.  They failed to
interfere with the supplies for the army, but
they torpedoed three large warships, the
*Goliath*, the *Triumph*, and the *Majestic*, and
put a temporary check on the close
co-operation of the fleet.  Their successes
were in some measure balanced by the feats
of British submarines, which ran the
blockade of mines, penetrated as far as
Constantinople, and sent several Turkish transports
to the bottom.

One evening, just after the *Majestic* had
been sunk, Frank was smoking an after-dinner
cigarette with his colonel outside the
mess-tent.  The conversation turning on
submarines, Frank mentioned the incident of
the broken case on the quay at Panderma,
when he had noticed the periscope of a
submarine disclosed by the breach.  He
did not dwell upon it, and the colonel only
remarked that the activity of the German
submarines had evidently been long premeditated.

Two mornings later, Frank was summoned
to the colonel, with whom he found
a naval captain.

"Good morning, Forester," said the
colonel.  "I have been telling my friend
Captain Roberts some of your queer experiences
before you settled down as a humdrum
interpreter.  He is rather interested."

"I am indeed," said the captain.  "After
what you have gone through, interpreting
must be dull work--duller than mine, for
it's not very exciting to fire at long range
without much chance of getting one back."

"It's not very exhilarating, certainly,"
replied Frank.  "The prisoners haven't
much to tell.  They don't like their German
officers, and haven't an idea what they are
fighting for.  Fighting is their job, and
*Kismet* covers it all....  You haven't been
hit from Sari Bair, then?"

"No, though their shells drop pretty close
sometimes.  Our sea-planes haven't managed
to locate that battery.  I understand you
didn't actually see the guns emplaced."

"No, after I toppled one over I made
off.  You see, things were getting pretty
hot just then."

"Naturally.  Well, you seem to have been
able to take good care of yourself in very
ticklish situations; but perhaps after all
your present work is a relief after so much
excitement.  A man can have his fill of
adventures, I suppose."

"I confess things weren't altogether pleasant,
sometimes, though they had their bright side."

Frank smiled at his recollections of the
major of artillery whose clothes he had
commandeered, and of the boastful Abdi gurgling
in the sea.  At the same time, struck by
a peculiar intentness in the captain's manner,
he asked himself, "What is he driving at,
I wonder?"

"Yes, of course there are two sides to
everything," the captain went on.  "Sometimes
the bright side is eclipsed by the
dark--according to the state of one's liver,
perhaps.  Your liver doesn't trouble you
much, I fancy."

Frank looked at the broad, jolly face
smiling enigmatically at him.

"Is there anything you wish me to do?"
he asked bluntly but respectfully.

The two elder officers exchanged a glance.

"Well, since you put it like that--yes,
there is," said the captain.  "But it's a
matter entirely for yourself.  If you feel
any hesitation, we shan't think any less
of you if you don't entertain the idea.  I
may as well say at once it's a dangerous
job, not at all in the ordinary risk of
warfare; but the colonel had told me of your
work on the cliff yonder, and for a mere
interpreter, you know, you appear rather
to relish risks that are not quite ordinary."

"You don't think much of risks when
you've got anything going," said Frank.
"Anyhow, if I can be of use--what's the
nature of the job?"

"It's just as I expected," interposed
the colonel, rising.  "I'll leave you two to
talk it over.  Come and tell me what you
arrange, Forester.  You'll find me somewhere
in the neighbourhood."

Next morning Frank's absence evoked
enquiries among the junior officers.  The
colonel was appealed to.

"Forester?  Oh, he's off for a few days
on special service."

"Interpreting, sir?" asked one.

"He'll have opportunities of airing his
Turkish," said the colonel.

His manner discouraged further questioning.
The others saw that he meant to say
no more.  One of them, however, presently
asked whether Forester was likely to be away long.

"I can't say."  He tugged his moustache
reflectively.  "Our little job here is not
exactly a soft one, but I wouldn't be in
Forester's boots just now for a peerage."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`IN A RING FENCE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXI


.. class:: center medium

   IN A RING FENCE

.. vspace:: 2

A Greek fishing vessel was beating up
against a gentle easterly wind into the Gulf
of Adramyti.  Its course suggested that it
had sailed from the island of Mitylene.  In
the distance, beyond the head of the gulf,
Mount Ida glowed in the rays of the setting
sun, and the shade was deepening on the
wooded hills of the Asiatic shore.

It was a peaceful, beautiful scene.  But
if the eyes of any on board the vessel were
turned westward, they fell upon an image
of war.  Far off on the horizon a long low
shape lay darkly silhouetted against the
orange sky.  With a glass, perhaps without,
it might have been recognised as a destroyer.

The crew of the vessel were busy with their
nets.  Their catches were not very great,
yet they showed no disappointment, such
as might have been expected in men whose
living depended on their takes.  Some of
them, indeed, showed an almost boyish
interest and curiosity in the contents of
the nets when they were hauled up.  One
might have thought that they were out for
a night's fishing for the first time in their
lives.  And the remarks that fell from their
lips were not those that one would expect
to hear in a Greek vessel, or from native-born
fishermen.

"That's a plumper," said one.

"My aunt! don't you know a dogfish
when you see it?"

"Is that a dogfish?  All I know about
'em is that they make you squeamish.
Fact!  My cousin told me: a chap always
running some craze or other.  Once it was
science: thought he'd like to be a B.Sc.
Biology was in it.  He bought a microscope
and a swagger set of dissecting instruments:
they have to cut up all sorts of strange
beasts, you know.  First came a frog."

"Ugh!  Slimy!" muttered one of his companions.

"Well, he liked it: fact!  Said it was
a beautiful little creature inside.  Then
came a mussel: he had no end of a job
finding its nervous system or whatever it
was.  Then was the turn of the dogfish.  I
don't know whether this fish had been too
long away from home, or whether it's
naturally offensive, like the skunk: but
whatever it was, my cousin told me that
when he put in the scalpel--well, he ran out of
the room and decided to go in for philosophy
instead."

The speakers, though clad in nondescript
garments that might have been taken,
at a distance, for Greek, were obviously
Englishmen.  Four of their companions in
the boat were of the same nationality, and
anyone who had ever spent a few days in
a British naval port would have declared,
with the first glance at their keen bronzed
faces, that they were British seamen in
disguise.  The remaining five men in the
vessel were as obviously genuine Greeks;
but a trained ear would have recognised
their speech as the Greek of Cyprus rather
than Mitylene.

The fishing, or shall we say the pretence
of fishing, was kept up until it was almost dark.

"Time to be off, old chap," said the man
who had recoiled at the mention of a frog.

"Yes, I suppose so," said the other
without much enthusiasm.  He took off
his outer garments, and replaced them by
the loose European costume which is affected
by the modern Greek merchant--wide trousers,
a jacket that looks as though it were
never meant to be buttoned, a shapeless
soft hat, and the inevitable touch of colour
in a blue cummerbund.  Finally he stuck
upon his upper lip a long, soft, black
moustache.

"By George, you look a regular Levantine--not
to say levanter," cried his companion.
"In that get-up you could persuade
any simple Turk that chalk's cheese.  The
moustache is a master-stroke: wonderful
how it transforms a fellow.  I'd like to
know the reason why army chaps are
encouraged to cultivate 'em, whereas they're
strictly forbidden in the King's navy."

He continued talking, apparently with
the idea of keeping up his own and his
companion's spirits.  Meanwhile the vessel,
which had put about just before darkness
fell, as if to run back to Mitylene, once
more beat up the gulf, edging gradually
into Turkish waters.  In about an hour it
had arrived, according to the calculation
of the Greek skipper, within about two
miles of the coast.  Under the starlit sky
the hills loomed black in the distance.

The vessel was thrown into the wind.
Orders were given in a whisper.  A small
dinghy towing astern was drawn up
alongside.  One of the Greeks stepped into it,
and tied some bundles of matting to its
stern, letting them float on the water at
the end of the rope.  Then Frank and the
naval officer got in, two of the British
sailors followed them, and the boat was
rowed with well-muffled oars silently shoreward.

When it was within a few cables' length
of the shore the rowers ceased pulling, and
all the occupants of the boat stretched
their ears to catch any sounds that might
indicate the presence of persons on the beach.
They heard nothing but the slight ripple of
the almost tideless Ægean breaking on the sand.

"Pull in," murmured the lieutenant-commander.

A few silent strokes brought the boat to
the beach.  Trees stretched down almost
to the water's brink.  All was dark and
tranquil.  A seaman stepped overboard upon
the wet sand and stood with his back towards
the boat.  Frank rose.

"Good luck, old man," said the naval
officer, gripping his hand hard.

Frank mounted the seaman's back, and
was carried a few yards to the dry sand.
Meanwhile the other seaman had cut the
matting loose, and placed it carelessly on
the beach just above the waterline, as if
it had been cast up there by the sea.  Frank
waved a farewell, plunged into the forest,
and disappeared.  After a short interval the
boat was pulled out to sea, and its occupants
boarded the fishing vessel, anchored where
they had left it.

Frank found himself among trees growing
thickly together, on ground that sloped
steeply from the beach.  There was little
undergrowth to impede his progress.
Consulting a luminous compass, he directed
his course almost due northward, expecting
in a short time to reach the road that ran
parallel with the coast and at a short
distance from it, from Alexander Troas to
Edremit.  The slope soon gave place to
more level ground, and the forest belt
presently ended abruptly at the edge of
cultivated land.  Frank crossed the fields, and
in about forty minutes after he left the
beach he struck into the road.

It was a bright starlit night, without
moon.  The road was deserted.  In
accordance with the plan made after close
consultation of the map with his friend the
lieutenant-commander, he turned to the
right, and stole cautiously along the road,
stopping at every few yards to listen.
Everything was quiet, and there was neither
light nor sound from the few farm buildings
which he passed at intervals.

After walking about a mile he heard
footsteps.  At first he thought they were
merely echoes of his own, but he took the
precaution to step aside into the shadow
of a clump of trees, and soon afterwards
saw a figure approaching along the road.
Before being discovered himself he wished
to learn what kind of person he had to do
with.  The indistinct figure presently
resolved itself into the bent form of an old
peasant, whom he thought he might safely
question.  Stepping out into the road, he
went on, and was not seen by the peasant,
who was apparently very tired and walked
with head downbent, until he had almost
reached him.

Giving him the usual salutation, Frank stopped.

"Where is the nearest khan?" he asked.

"About an hour's walk along the road,"
replied the man, looking curiously at him.

"Who is the khanji?"

"Hussan, the son of Ibrahim."

"Is it a good khan?  I shall be glad to
get there.  I have had a long walk.  My
horse fell lame: I could not get another:
they are all taken for the army."

"It is a good khan.  Hussan is a good
man.  You will rest well."

More salutations were exchanged, and
each went on his way.

In less than an hour Frank arrived at
a building in which lights were burning.
He knocked at the door, and called for
Hussan the son of Ibrahim.  A voice from
within asked who he was and what was his business.

"A merchant of Corinth, O khanji,
compelled to go on foot by the loss of his
horse.  I am weary and desire to rest, and
it has been told me along the road how
excellent is this khan, and how princely
the hospitality of the khanji."

"Great is Truth," said the khanji,
opening the door.  "Here, if you are a
respectable man and can pay, you shall find good
food and a couch to yourself, since I have
but few guests to-night."

The innkeeper, a middle-aged man of
Arab type, stood in the doorway to inspect
his guest before admitting him.

"Whither are you bound, stranger?" he asked.

"For Edremit, khanji.  I have business
with the army: what it is I cannot say:
you understand that?"

The khanji looked knowing.

"I am deaf and blind if need be," he
said.  "You will want a horse.  I think I
can find one for you--if you can pay."

"Surely I will pay well."

"Enter, then, O honoured guest.  I will
set before you what is left of a prime chicken,
and after, cakes and honey, and whatsoever
this khan will afford."

Frank went in.  The single guest-chamber,
a large apartment, was lit by a couple
of saucer-lamps.  Three men of the carrier
type were eating their supper.  The host
laid rugs on a sleeping board at one end
of the room for Frank, and called to his
servant to bring the stranger a bowl of stew.

"What news of the war?" he asked.

"There is little fresh," replied Frank.
"The Russians get no further, and the
English are beating their heads against
the rocks in Gallipoli.  Your countrymen
the Turks----"

"Not so: I am an Arab," interrupted
the khanji.  "My fathers ruled this country
before the Turks were heard of."

"True.  Perhaps it will be ruled again
by men of your race: who can tell?  But
the Turks are stronger since the Almans
have come among them.  There are many
Almans in Stamboul.  You have not seen
any on this side of the water?"

"I have not; but it is said that there
are Almans along the coast.  What they
do here I know not, for they are not fighting
men.  It is told that they are holy men,
who keep themselves very strictly apart.
The Almans, it is said, are becoming true
sons of the faithful."

"I know something of them," said one
of the guests.  "I have taken goods to
them from Edremit--wheaten flour from
Tafid the corn factor.  Truly the ways
of the Franks are past understanding, and
the chief of these Almans is the maddest
of all.  He is a hermit; yet big and fierce,
and not lean and weak like our own holy
men.  With him there are certain others
of less degree, who do what he bids them.
His dwelling is on the shore of the gulf, and
the ground around it is enclosed by a fence
of wire with many sharp spikes.  In the
fence there is but one gate, and none is
allowed to enter except those bringing stores.
I myself, when I take the flour, have to
leave it at an inner fence far from the house,
and there it is received by the holy man's
servants.  That he is a true son of Islam
is sure, for the Governor protects him,
and posts soldiers at his gate to defend
him from harm."

"Mashallah!  These Almans are different
from us," said another man.  "Our holy
men eat pulse, and so little that their bodies
are but shadows.  But these strangers have
large bodies, and surely in appetite they
are as elephants, for I have carried to them
the flesh of oxen and sheep sufficient for
fifty men that have no claim to holiness."

"And now, stranger, give me your name,
your business, and the number of your
years," said the khanji.  "I ask pardon
for what seems impertinence, but I am bidden
to send every day to the Bey at Chatme a
list of my guests.  It is a grievous task and
costs much time and the loss of my servants'
labour, but the command of the Bey must
be done."

Frank invented the necessary particulars,
which the innkeeper laboriously wrote down
in Arabic characters.

"You will send that to Chatme to-morrow,
khanji?" he asked.

"Truly: it is too late to-night."

"As I am going that way I will save
your servant's time.  Let me be your
messenger."

The khanji looked surprised at this offer:
but he was quite ready to accept it and
save himself trouble.

Frank was well satisfied with what he
had learnt, and went to sleep with an easy mind.

Very early next morning he accompanied
the khanji to his stables, where he found
an old broken-kneed horse for which he
haggled in the oriental manner, ultimately
paying for it a good deal more than it was
worth.  On a shelf he saw a tool of the
nature of a trowel, which he slipped into his
pocket when the khanji's back was turned.
"It may come in handy," he thought, "and
the old rascal is more than paid for it by
what he has robbed me of over the horse."

Thanking his host for his hospitality,
Frank mounted and pushed along the road
as fast as his sorry nag could go.  At this
early hour he met no travellers, and saw
nobody but the labourers trudging to their
work in the fields.  After riding about nine
miles, as nearly as he could guess, he turned
off into a side track leading towards the
coast.  The country all around was densely
wooded, and from marks on the track he
judged that it was used for dragging timber.
Now and then he heard the ring of axes
in the woods.  At places the track drew
near to the edge of the cliff overlooking
the sea.  Here he struck off inland, making
his way as best he could among the trees.
Once he caught sight of a man far away
on the cliff, looking out to sea.  It appeared
that the coast was watched.

At last, after what seemed to be hours
of slow progress, diversified by stumbles
and falls of his miserable steed, he came
suddenly to the barbed wire fence of which
he had heard at the inn.  He saw at a
glance that it was not designed to keep
people out if they were determined to get
in.  Like the notice, "Trespassers will be
prosecuted," in fields and woods at home,
it was intended to scare intruders away.
Frank dismounted, led his horse into a
thicket out of sight from the fence,
hitched the bridle to a tree and gave the
animal some food.  Then he returned to
the fence, took the bearings of the thicket,
and prepared to get over.  This he achieved
by climbing on the successive strands of
the wire as on the rungs of a ladder,
steadying himself by means of one of the posts to
which the wire was attached.  One of the
barbs tore a rent in his baggy trousers, but
this was his only mishap.  He was within
the enclosure of the mysterious hermitage.

He looked about him.  There were many
trees, though they were not so crowded as
in the woods he had just left.  No house
was in sight.  He had gathered from the
carrier's talk that the enclosure was of
large extent: exactly how large he did not
know, and it was necessary to go warily, to
avoid coming too suddenly upon the house.
He flitted from tree to tree with the caution
of a scout who knows that an enemy is in
front of him.

Presently he came to a stream too wide
to leap: he crossed it by wading, the water
coming halfway up to his knees.  The
current was swift, and a little to his left he
heard a continuous rustle, like the sound
of a waterfall.  No doubt the stream fell
over the cliff into the sea.  He went on,
and arrived at a rough track parallel with
the stream.  Carefully scanning the
surroundings, he saw, down the track to his
right, a second wire fence, with a gate where
it crossed the path.  He retraced his steps
for some little distance, in order to approach
the fence at a spot remote from the gate.

When he reached it, he found that it
differed from the outer fence.  It was
constructed, not of barbed wire, but of plain
iron wire about as thick as that used for
telegraph lines.  There would be no difficulty
in creeping through.  It seemed strange
that the inner defences of this hermit's
settlement should be so much less formidable
even than the paltry obstruction he had
recently crossed.  He examined it closely,
and noticed what appeared to be an insulator
on one of the posts.  Perhaps the fence
was not so harmless as it looked.  Wetting
a finger, he lightly touched the wire for an
instant.

"Lucky I wasn't too impetuous," he
thought.  "That's a pretty strong charge."

Faced by this unexpected obstacle, he
withdrew among the trees to consider what
he should do.  The trowel which he had
brought, with the idea of cutting the wire
if necessary, was useless against a wire
electrically charged.  Possibly, however,
search might discover a weak spot.  There
was no sign of the inhabitants of the
settlement.  Returning within sight of the fence,
but keeping near to the trees so that he
might slip under cover in case of alarm, he
prowled along, but without reward until
he reached the stream he had waded.  At
this spot it was crossed by the wire, attached
to a post on each bank.  He saw at once
that by scooping away the soft earth at
the foot of one of the posts he could make
a hole large enough to enable him to wriggle
under the bottom strand of wire.  The
trowel was coming in handy after all.

In a few minutes he was safe on the other
side.  Following the stream towards the
sea, he came presently to a clearing, and
what he saw within the clearing assured
him in a flash that his journey had not been
in vain.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE HOLY MEN`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXII


.. class:: center medium

   THE HOLY MEN

.. vspace:: 2

As he scanned the scene, Frank smiled at
his thought of the wonderment of the
khanji and his humble guests could they
but see the habitat of the mysterious "holy
men."  They, no doubt, had imagined a
cave in the cliff, or at best a stone grot,
with nothing to suggest modern civilization.
What he actually saw had no semblance of
luxury, indeed; but it was far from the
austerities of the anchorites of old.

On the left of the clearing, as he looked
towards the sea, was a small wooden bungalow,
with a verandah about three sides of it,
pleasantly shaded by trees.  Beyond it, at
the edge of the wood, was a smaller hut,
also of wood.  To the right were three more
huts, one considerably larger than the others;
and by the side of this last was a crane,
worked by a donkey engine.  Two men were
moving about the place, hauling packages
from the large hut to the crane.
Apparently they were to be let down--to what
destination below, Frank could not see.

"I am getting warm," he thought.

It was necessary to discover what lay
beneath the crane, and Frank glanced round
to find some safe and convenient path by
which he might secretly approach it.  As
he did so, he caught sight of a short pole
on the roof of the bungalow, from which a
single telegraph wire passed over the
clearing to the left and disappeared into the
wood.  Just below him, skirting the clearing
on the right, ran the stream with which he
was already acquainted.  It was possible,
he thought, under cover of the shrubs on
the further bank, to gain a point where
he might satisfy his curiosity.  Cautiously
making his way along, completely screened,
he came to a spot where the stream fell
sheer to the level of the beach between high
cliffs, through which it cut a channel to the
sea.  Immediately beneath the cliff on which
the bungalow and the huts stood there was
a broad pool, bounded by a similar cliff on
the opposite side.  And on this pool, just
beneath the crane, lay a lighter.

Frank at once realised that the pool, like
the buildings, was out of sight from the
sea.  If a ship were to pass the entrance
of the channel, those on board, seeing the
waterfall, would at once know that the
stream was not navigable, and would
probably not think it worth while to enter the
channel.  No one would suspect that within,
indented in the cliffs to the right, there was
a small natural harbour, in which a vessel
might lie perfectly concealed.  Its depth
Frank had no means of determining.
Immediately beneath him the water was churned
into foam by the falling stream.  But it was
clearly deep enough to float a lighter, and
it was equally clear that the depth of the
channel must be sufficient for its passage in
and out.

From his place of concealment Frank
watched.  At the foot of the crane there
was now a pile of small packages.  From
one of the huts came a stout bearded man
in grimy blue overalls.  He sidled into his
seat at the donkey engine, jerked the
throttle, and addressed one of the labourers.
He spoke in Turkish, but in a harsh guttural
voice that could proceed from none but a
German throat.  A moment later Frank
heard another voice from the direction of
the bungalow, which was hidden from him
by the intervening huts.  He could not
distinguish the words, but immediately
afterwards a German sailor came out of the hut
on the seaward side of the bungalow, saluted,
and rolled off into the woods crowning
the cliff.  Before he had quite disappeared,
Frank noticed a second sailor climbing down
the trunk of a tall tree, and lifting his glass
(the excellent article for which he was
indebted to the major of artillery with whom
he had made certain exchanges in Gallipoli)
he made out a rope ladder swinging from a
lofty branch.  The two sailors met at the
foot of the tree.  They exchanged a few
words; then the newcomer ascended the
ladder, and the look-out he had relieved
sauntered towards the hut.

Realising that his hiding-place was
commanded from the look-out post in the tree,
Frank slightly changed his position.

"I am getting warmer," he said to himself.
Meanwhile the engine had begun to puff.
The crane extended its arm, and the chain
rattled as one of the men was let down into
the lighter.  The packages were then lowered
one by one, and stowed on board.  When
the last of them had been placed, the man
below caught hold of the chain, and the
engine-man began to lift him.  But the
man's feet were only a few feet above
the vessel, and the arm of the crane had just
begun to swing round, when there came an
imperative call from the bungalow.

"Adolf!"

"Ja, Herr Major," shouted the engine-man.

He at once stopped the engine, and wiping
his hands on a mass of waste, hurried
towards the bungalow, leaving the Turk
swinging.  Frank smiled at this illustration of
German discipline, and was still more amused
when he noticed that the Turk, instead of
dropping into the pool and clambering on
board the lighter as he might have done
safely, clung on to the hook at the end of
the chain and dangled there, apparently
too frightened to call out in a tone loud
enough to be heard by the martinet in the
bungalow.

Frank's attention was withdrawn from
the Turk by the same loud voice bidding
the engine-man hurry.

"That sounds uncommonly like Wonckhaus,"
he thought.  "Why, of course!
That's not surprising.  He was with the
party at Panderma when I caught sight of
that periscope.  But perhaps it isn't he.  A
lot of these Germans have the same sort of
voice.  I'd like to make sure."

After a careful look round he stole back
along the bank of the stream until he came
opposite the wood in the rear of the clearing,
crossed to the other side, crept through
the wood, darted across the road, then
turned to the right and in the course of a
few minutes reached the trees which had
been left standing to shade the bungalow
when the ground was cleared.  Moving
among them cautiously, he came to the
rear of the building.  It had evidently been
run up hurriedly.  Piles of timber left over
from its construction were stacked close
behind it.  After a little hesitation Frank
gained the shelter of one of these.  There
were voices at his right, where the verandah
was closed at the end.  The planks there,
being of unseasoned wood, had started,
leaving one or two gaping cracks.  Frank
looked through one of these into the
verandah.  Two men were lolling in deck chairs.
Between them was a table on which there
were tumblers, bottles, and the remains of
a meal.

The furthermost man, whose face was
towards Frank, was clearly a Turkish officer.
He was smoking a cigarette.  The nearer
figure, broader, more massive, showed only
his side face.  That belonged either to
Wonckhaus or to his double.  He was
reclining at ease.  His right hand held a big
cigar.  Opposite him stood the engine-man.

"Get everything ready for to-night, then,"
Wonckhaus was saying.

"Jawohl, Herr Major."

At this moment shouts came from the
direction of the pool.  Frank smiled again:
the suspended Turk had at last mustered
the courage of despair.

"What is that horrible noise?" demanded
Wonckhaus.

"It is probably the hamal," replied the
engine-man.

"Why does he shout?  What is the
matter with him?  Is he drowning?"

"No, Herr Major, he is hanging."

"Lieber Himmel!  What do you mean?"

"He is half way up.  I left him there
when the Herr Major summoned me.  He
is getting tired.  He will drop."

"Dummkopf!  Go and haul him up
instantly.  He is a useful man."

Wonckhaus burst into loud laughter.

"It is amusing, very funny."

He took a long drink and resumed:

"There are occasions, lieutenant, when
our admirable German discipline recoils upon
us.  But one cannot have it all ways.  Take
a drink."

"Thank you, major, but I will not drink
beer.  Some Turks take it with a quiet
conscience, but not I."

"Please yourself.  When we have been
with you a little longer your scruples will
vanish.  There are lemons; help yourself.
How you can drink lemonade passes my
understanding.  Lemons set my teeth on
edge.  The scent of them makes me shudder."

The Turk was in the act of squeezing a
lemon into a tumbler when a telegraph
instrument clicked.

"Take it, will you?" said Wonckhaus,
indolently.

The Turk sprang up and went through a
French window into the adjoining room.
The clicking continued for a while.  Presently
he returned.

"Three torpedo boats, two believed to
be British, one French, sighted off Cape
Baba," he said.

"Ah! our friends will scarcely get in
to-night, then, unless they have already
slipped past."

"It will not be easy to see them in the
darkness."

"These English have eyes everywhere.
They see in the dark like a cat.  Yet
perhaps with luck and, what is better, German
watchfulness, all will be well.  Hand me
the telephone."

The Turk obeyed silently, but in a manner
that suggested resentment at the German's
peremptory tone.  Wonckhaus spoke into
the instrument in German.

"Keep a sharp look-out.  Torpedo boats
are reported off the coast."

The lieutenant got up and moved towards
the door.

"I shall turn in," called Wonckhaus after
him.  "You had better do the same.  We
shall be up all night; probably to no
purpose.  I am tired of this.  It would suit
one of Von Tirpitz's men better than me."

He lay back in his chair, pulled at his
cigar, and finding that it had gone out, threw
it away, rose, stretched himself, yawned, and
walked slowly into the bungalow.

Frank had heard and seen enough.  He
knew what the "holy men" were engaged
in.  It only remained to return on his
tracks and report his discoveries to the
lieutenant-commander, who would know how
to act on them.  Slipping back into the
wood, he made his leisurely way to his former
observation post, where he sat down and ate
some food he had brought from the khan,
in the slow abstracted manner of one deep
in thought.  Then he returned by the way
he had come, found his horse in the
thicket, and rode southward, without hurry,
for his friends would not expect him until dark.

On approaching the road, he dismounted,
again tied up his horse to a tree, and threw
himself on his back.  He was very tired,
but dared not indulge his longing for a
nap, and when he found slumber stealing
upon him, he sprang up and strolled about
in the woods.  The afternoon seemed
particularly long.  But he was prudent enough
not to take to the open road until the fall
of night.  Then he rode rapidly, passed the
khan, turned his horse loose some distance
from it, and struck off towards the shore.
It was a matter of some ten minutes' walking
before he came to the matting, which now
lay dry on the beach where it had been left.
There he sat, looking over the sea, and
listening intently.  About an hour later his
ears caught the faint sound of muffled oars.
He walked down to the brink of the water,
waited a few moments until assured that
he was not mistaken, then gave a low
whistle.  The boat pulled in, and Frank, too
impatient to await its beaching, waded out
towards it and scrambled over the side.

"Well?" whispered the lieutenant-commander.

"O.K.  Now it's up to you.  I'll tell you
all about it when we get clear of the shore."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CAPTURING A SUBMARINE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIII


.. class:: center medium

   CAPTURING A SUBMARINE

.. vspace:: 2

Nothing more was said until Frank and
the naval officer were once more aboard the
fishing vessel.  Then, as the boat ran down
the coast, Frank related his experiences of
the past two days.

"Holy men!" chuckled the lieutenant-commander.
"It'll be sacrilege, then.  After
this war I shall cruise about the world in
search of a German with a sense of humour.
You say you know that fellow?"

"Yes, and I've a bone to pick with him.
He nearly did me out of a carpet."

"Oh!  How was that?"

Frank told as much as he cared to of
the incident in Erzerum.  The naval officer
laughed.

"It was amusing, certainly, until the
ruffian had me locked up," said Frank.

And then, bit by bit, his companion drew
from him the details upon which he had
kept silence.

"I wish we had a Ruhleben in England,"
growled the officer.  "Our prisoners have
too easy a time.  But this Wonckhaus shall
have an opportunity of cultivating holiness
in an English prison, and I hope he won't
like it."

Presently he went forward, and sent a
few flashes seaward from a lantern
carefully screened from the shore.  There were
answering flashes out at sea.  In half an
hour a destroyer loomed up out of the
darkness.  The lieutenant-commander went
aboard with Frank and the seamen, and the
fishing vessel was made fast to a hawser from
the stern.  There was a brief conference on deck.

"That's all right then," said the officer.
"Now, my dear chap, you must be dead tired.
Tumble below.  I'll wake you when I want you."

While Frank slept, the destroyer ran
slowly up the gulf.  He awoke at a touch.

"Sorry to disturb you so soon, but you
must come up."

Frank rose sleepily and went on deck.
The destroyer was moving dead slow.

"We're on a course parallel with the
shore," said the officer.  "Just keep your
eye lifting over the port quarter, will you?"

Frank did as he was instructed.  In a
minute or two he saw two dim lights on
shore, which vanished almost immediately.

"The question is, are they the lights of a
farmhouse, or somewhere in the channel?"
said the officer.

"It's late for a farmhouse."

"Exactly.  Wait a little.  Keep looking out."

The vessel stopped, then moved slowly
backward.  The lights appeared again.

"Now I'll tell you my inference," the
officer went on.  "From your description
of the place, lights in the bungalow or the
huts could not be seen from the sea.  But
lights placed somewhere on the cliffs at the
end of the channel could be seen as we pass
across the mouth, and only then; a
movement of a few yards forward or astern will
shut them off.  I take it, then, that the
lights are in fact at the inner end of the
channel--and we know why."

"I haven't any doubt of it," said Frank.

"Then go below and get into your own
toggery.  You may then sleep another hour
or two."

About two hours after midnight Frank
was again awakened.  With the lieutenant-commander,
a lieutenant, a warrant-officer,
and two sturdy seamen in addition to the
boat's crew, he got into the fishing vessel,
which cast off and stood in towards the
shore.  The destroyer steamed away out to
sea.  The officers were armed with revolvers,
the men with rifles.

It was about two hours before dawn when
the party landed from the dinghy at the
spot on the beach where the matting showed
up darkly against the sand.  Placing
himself at the head, Frank led the way up
through the trees, the rest following about
a yard apart.  They marched in perfect
silence; not a word was uttered.  Every
now and then as they penetrated the dark
woodland Frank halted.  The officer next to
him touched him on the shoulder, the next
touched him in turn, and so on along the line
until all were accounted for.  The necessity
of caution made their progress slow, and they
took more than an hour to cover ground
which Frank alone had traversed in twenty
minutes.  Then they stopped, and lay down
in the wood to await the dawn.

According to Frank's calculation it was
about seven miles from their landing-place
to the bungalow by the road, possibly a
little shorter distance along the cliffs.  But
they would gain nothing in time by taking
the shorter way, owing to the denseness of
the woodland.  To proceed along the road
would almost certainly be fatal, for
unfrequented though it was, no one could say
that some member of the Turko-German
party, or some messenger from a distance,
might not happen to pass on an errand,
and the sight of eight men in British uniform
would give the game away.  As soon as a
glimmer of daylight filtered through the
foliage, therefore, Frank led them on as
close to the shore as possible.  During their
pause they had taken the opportunity to eat
some bread and cheese they had brought
with them.

"There won't be time for breakfast in
the bungalow," murmured Frank with a smile.

The way along the cliffs proved
unexpectedly arduous, and it was past midday
when they arrived at the outer fence, at a
spot not far distant from where Frank had
first encountered it.  Here the warrant officer
went forward, cut the wire in two places,
and, when the party had passed through,
joined the severed ends in such a way that
they could be readily loosened, though only
a close examination would discover what
had been done.  Once more Frank took the
lead, following his scarcely distinguishable
track of two days before.  Leaving the rest
of the party among the trees, he went on
alone until he reached the live fence, and
having enlarged the small excavation through
which he had wriggled, he crept to his hiding-place
on the bank of the stream to observe
what was going on at the bungalow and
the pool.

Things were apparently very much as
when he left nearly twenty-four hours before.
There was one new feature in the scene.  A
rough country cart stood in front of one of
the huts, and two Turks--one of them the
victim of German discipline--were unloading
it and carrying the stores into the hut.  No
driver was visible, and Frank remembered
that the country people were not allowed
to come within the fence.  At the gate,
then, must be at least one man on guard.
A man crossed between the bungalow and
the adjacent hut: probably he was cook
and servant to the officers.  The
engine-man sat on an upturned tub, smoking, and
exercising his German wit on the labouring
Turks.  A look-out was perched on his
platform in the tree, peering through a
telescope.  No doubt the officers were in
the bungalow, possibly sleeping after a
wakeful night.  The whole party appeared
to consist of eight men--a small force
considering the importance of their duties; but
Frank reflected that a larger force would
have endangered the precious secret they
were guarding.

To him, of course, it was a secret no
longer.  This secluded pool had been chosen,
with admirable judgment, as the base of one
of the German submarines which had lately
been mischievous in the Ægean.  It was
probably the very submarine whose periscope
he had caught a rapid glimpse of at
Panderma.  Wonckhaus had been put in charge
of the base, no doubt because the injury to
his leg had temporarily unfitted him for the
heavy work required of the German infantry
officer.  He had expected the vessel to run
in on the previous night, until the telegraph
wire brought news that enemy torpedo boats
were watching in the gulf.  That it had not
arrived was clear at a glance.  The only
vessel in the pool was the lighter, and
Frank suspected that the packages he had
seen lowered into it contained supplies for
the submarine crew, and had been removed
from the hut for greater facility in
transferring them to the war vessel.  The "holy
men," to do them justice, did not consume
the whole of the immense consignments
which had amazed the Turkish carrier.

The object with which the small British
party had come to this secret spot was
nothing less than the capture of the
submarine.  As a preliminary to that they
must seize the settlement and its
inhabitants, a feat for which the seven British
seamen who had come under his guidance
should be amply competent.  They had
four Germans, trained men, to deal with;
three Turks, of whom one was an officer,
the two others menials; and the servant,
whose nationality Frank did not know; he
might be a Levantine, and of no account.
With the advantage of surprise and of
British daring and discipline the task of the
adventurous eight should be easy enough.
The one essential condition of success was
that none of the German's party should
get away.  The escape of a single man might
ruin the enterprise.

Frank waited some time at his post of
observation, to make sure that his estimate
of the number of the enemy was accurate.
He saw the last load carried from the cart
to the hut; it was a nine-gallon cask of
beer; then one of the Turks mounted, and
drove off down the road.  As soon as he
no longer heard the rumbling of the wheels,
Frank hastened back to his friends.

"I thought you were never coming," said
the lieutenant-commander.  "Is she there?"

"No.  Evidently she couldn't get through."

"I didn't think she would, but I'm glad
to be sure of it, for we couldn't have tackled
the whole crew.  Why were you so long?"

Frank gave the result of his observations.
The officers smiled happily.

"Now then," said the lieutenant-commander,
"the first thing is to raid the
bungalow, and collar the officers.  They
control the telegraph and telephone.  You
know the place, Forester; I'll give you two
of the men to assist.  They'll take their
instructions from you.  I'll wait until I get
a signal from you that you have done the
trick, or until I hear a row in that direction.
They are sure to show fight.  But I needn't
say that if you can manage it quietly, so
much the better for our ultimate success."

"I'll do my best," said Frank.  "It's a
good deal later than when I was here yesterday,
and I shouldn't be surprised if they're
taking their siesta."

"Very well.  Now let me take my bearings.
How do I steer?"

"You go straight on until you reach the
stream.  You'll see the place where I have
scooped a passage for you at the foot of one
of the posts supporting the wire.  The men
must be careful, or they'll be electrocuted."

"I'll see to that."

"You cross the stream, turn to the left,
cut along the bank--and there you are."

"Perfectly clear sailing directions.  But
what about the road?"

"Cross that: you can slip along among
the trees.  Better keep a look-out for the
Turk who went down with the cart.  He'll
be coming back presently, with the German
seaman who I suspect was on guard at the gate."

"You'll be a staff-officer some day, my
friend.  Well, it's all clear.  We'll arrange
our plans: you had better cut off.  Here,
Moggs and Parker, you're under
Mr. Forester's orders."

Two strapping seamen jumped up and
saluted.  One of them hitched up his
breeches and spat on his hands.

"Good luck, then," said the lieutenant-commander.

Frank nodded, smiled, and led the men
along the route he had followed the previous
day to the timber stack at the rear of the
bungalow.  On the way he halted for a
few minutes to explain in general terms
what his purpose was, and to impress on
them the need of absolute silence.  When
he reached the trees, he left them there
under cover, to await his signal.  Then he
stole forward alone.

There was no sound except the servant
moving about in the kitchen part of the
building.  He peeped through a chink in
the wall of the verandah.  No one was in
view, but he now heard a succession of
snores and grunts from somewhere in the
interior.  Turning, he beckoned to the
seamen to join him.  They came swiftly on
tiptoe, screened from the look-out in the
tree-top, not far away to their left, by the row
of trees that almost overhung the bungalow.

Frank signed to them to stoop and follow
him.  Bending low, he crept along below
the verandah, stopped for a moment to
peep into a room, and finding that it was
a bedroom and empty, led them on towards
the kitchen.  This, too, a glance showed to
be unoccupied.  But the servant must be
near at hand, for Frank heard the splashing
of water and the clatter of crockery.  He
must be washing up.

Moving still more cautiously, Frank came
to the corner of the building.  He looked
round.  Just outside the door a young
sallow-hued oriental was washing up in a
trough.  Frank stole back to his men.

"Parker, you'll come with me," he
whispered.  "I'll leave you here, Moggs, to
watch that fellow.  If you hear a row
inside the building, collar him and keep him
quiet.  But don't move otherwise unless I
call you."

"Ay, ay, sir."

Followed by Parker, he went to the French
window of the empty bedroom, gently forced
the catch with his clasp knife, and entered.
Tiptoeing across it, he passed out of the
open door, into a short passage.  From the
left he heard the faint sounds of the cook's
movements: the kitchen was in that direction.
On the right, a few steps along, light
fell across the passage from an open door.
Frank stole up to this and peeped in.  It
was another bedroom, like the first
unoccupied.  Almost opposite this was a closed
door; there was no other door on either
side or at the end.  This must be the
sitting-room, parlour or sanctum of the holy men.
Muffled by the timber, there came through
the door the sound of snoring he had heard
outside.  He listened for a moment.  The
snores were all in one tone: it appeared
likely that he had only one man to deal
with.  Was it Wonckhaus or the Turk?
Or perhaps Wonckhaus was sleeping, and
the other man admiring him.

He drew his revolver, very gently turned
the handle of the door, and looked in when
the crack was wide enough.  The room had
only one occupant.  Wonckhaus, big,
ungainly, lay stretched in a long cane chair,
his head lolling sideways, his mouth wide
open, one arm hanging limp, a long German
pipe held loosely in the other hand.  On a
small round table beside him were a tobacco-jar,
a black bottle, and a glass.  Beyond
this was another long chair, beside which
stood a stool, bearing a glass, a carafe of
water, and a few small pale lemons.  And
the room rang with German snores.

Frank's eye, swiftly ranging the room,
passed from the lemons to the open mouth.
It was a happy chance.  He turned to
Parker at his elbow and whispered a few
words.  The man nodded.  Then Frank
opened the door, and stole on his toes
round the back of Wonckhaus's chair to
the stool.  From this he took up a lemon
about the size of a hen's egg, and with the
quickness of a conjurer slipped it into the
gaping mouth.  The German awoke with a
convulsive start and shudder--and his eyes,
bleared with sleep, fell on a revolver pointed
within six inches of his temple, and above it
the face, a little grimmer than it had ever
appeared in a photograph, of the man whom
he had not seen for many weeks, even in
his dreams.

Before he could collect his wits, Parker
stepped up to him on the other side and with
some ends of thin rope which he had taken
from his capacious blouse tied the German's
hands and feet, with a British seaman's
quickness and thoroughness.

"Now for the cook," said Frank.

They went back into the passage.  The
cook was still washing up.  Entering the
kitchen noiselessly, they crept to the door.
Frank made a sign, Parker rushed out,
caught the unsuspicious servant by the
throat, and in two minutes had laid him,
gagged and trussed, just inside the kitchen
door.  It was a credit to the discipline of
the British navy that Moggs, watching these
proceedings with amazement round the
corner, neither moved nor uttered a sound.

It was now time to bring up the rest of
the party, who, he guessed, had by this
time reached a point from which he could
be seen if he moved a few yards from the
bungalow towards the hut opposite.  But in
making this movement he would be seen
also from the tree-top.  The look-out must
be prevented from giving the alarm.  Frank
showed the seamen how they might
approach the tree from the rear unperceived,
and ordered them to make the man their
prisoner.  When that was done he would
give the expected signal to the others.

The seamen had only just disappeared
among the trees when Frank was startled
by the sound of a horse cantering up the
road towards the bungalow.  Running to
the window of the room facing the road,
he saw that the horseman was the Turkish
officer who had been with Wonckhaus two
days before.  It seemed that the naval
party had not yet arrived, or they would
certainly have intercepted the Turk.

Frank weighed the chances of tackling
this opponent alone, and quickly made up
his mind.  With two of the enemy already
accounted for, and a third, the look-out,
soon to be helpless, the noise of a struggle
would bring up the rest of his party before
the remaining four men could interfere to
his harm.  He waited within the room.  The
Turk reined up and dismounted at the door,
and walked in unsuspiciously.  At this
moment there was a shout from the direction
of the look-out tree, and the officer turned
quickly and ran out into the open.  Frank
sprang after him.  The Turk heard his
footsteps and faced round, not rapidly
enough to brace himself for the shock of
Frank's sudden onset.  He was hurled to
the ground, shouting an alarmed call for
Wonckhaus.

.. _`A CRITICAL MOMENT`:

.. figure:: images/img-280.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: A CRITICAL MOMENT

   A CRITICAL MOMENT

Though taken by surprise, the Turk
proved to be a more formidable antagonist
than Frank had expected.  His frame was
well-knit and sinewy, and he held Frank in
a fierce grapple.  They heaved and rolled
on the ground, each struggling desperately
to throw off the grip of the other.  In less
than a minute Frank was aware that the
contest, if fought out, must be a long one.
By a sudden convulsive twist, indeed, the
Turk had managed to reverse the positions
and get above him.  There were shouts
near at hand, and the sound of running
feet.  Frank feared that the Germans were
coming to the officer's help, and wrestled
vigorously to regain the upper hand.  Just
as he felt that his opponent was weakening,
the Turk suddenly relaxed his grip wholly
and fell over.  Springing up, Frank found
that one of the seamen from the
lieutenant-commander's party had run ahead of the
rest, and finished the struggle with the butt
of his rifle.

Meanwhile the officers and the rest of the
men had been busy at the huts.  The few
inmates, alarmed at the shouts, had started
to run towards the bungalow, but came to a
sudden stop when, on the other side of the
buildings, they saw five British naval men
charging in the same direction.  They
hesitated, paralysed by surprise; and when the
lieutenant-commander rushed up with drawn
revolver and called on them to surrender,
they yielded without a show of resistance,
and were soon prisoners in their own huts.

"Where's Wonckhaus?" were the
lieutenant-commander's first words as he joined
Frank at the bungalow.

"Come and see."

He led him into the room where Wonckhaus
lay bound in his chair, the lemon
still wedged between his teeth.  The naval
officer concealed a smile.

"Perhaps the gentleman would prefer
some beer," he said.  "Remove that plug,
Simpson," he added to the warrant officer,
indicating the lemon.  "Give the major
some beer, and then lock him in his bedroom.
We shall want this room."

Wonckhaus glared at Frank with
unspeakable hate, but uttered no word.  When
he had been removed, the warrant officer
went to see what had become of Moggs and
Parker, and met them returning in high
feather with their prisoner.  The look-out
had caught sight of them just as they
reached the tree, and given the shout which
had alarmed the Turkish officer.  But seeing
himself immediately covered by the sailor's
rifles he had surrendered at once.  The place
was won, and all its personnel disposed of.

Having ordered his men to prepare dinner
from the bungalow's abundant stores, the
lieutenant-commander with his second and
Frank sat down to discuss the more difficult
problem--the capture of the submarine.

"Our only chance is if it comes in
to-night," said the lieutenant-commander.
"As it was expected last night, it is pretty
certain to come to-night, and our ships have
ostentatiously cleared off.  If it doesn't
come, we are done, for we can't remain here
undiscovered for another day."

"Why not?" asked the lieutenant.

"Well, apart from possible visits from
Germans or Turks, there's the telegraph.
A message is sure to come through, and it
will be in Turkish probably.  It was the
Turk who took the message when you were
here before, Forester?"

"Yes."

"Very well.  You can work the telegraph,
Bickford, but you don't know Turkish.
Forester knows Turkish, but----"

"I can't work the telegraph," said Frank.

"Then if we are called up we must simply
ignore the call.  That will lead to investigation
and discovery.  There's my proposition
proved.  We must help the submarine to
come in to-night.  Where are those lights worked?"

"Let's go and see," said Frank.

After no long search two electric lamps,
fed from the dynamo that charged the fence
wire, were discovered in the cliff opposite
the centre of the channel.  They were so
placed as to give a straight course to any
vessel coming up from the sea.  Another
lamp, invisible from the sea, marked the
entrance to the pool.  It was decided to
switch on the current at dusk.

To guard against trouble on the landward
side, two seamen were stationed in hiding
near the gate of the inner fence, which was
left open.  If anyone should approach, he
was to be allowed to pass in; but the gate
was then to be closed, cutting off his retreat.
For safety's sake, the electric current
was switched off from the fence.

It was now about four o'clock.  The
lights would not need to be shown till
nearly seven.  There were three hours for
rest and for recruiting their strength from
Wonckhaus's larder.  The officers hastened
back to see what sort of a meal had been
provided for them.  It beggared their most
hopeful expectation.  There were pork
cutlets--"the place is all pig, sir," remarked
the extempore cook--several kinds of sausage,
many varieties of pickle and relish, pots of
caviare and pâté de foie gras, smoked
salmon, a mellow gruyère cheese, as well as
a very strong German cheese which the
lieutenant-commander ordered to be
removed immediately, tinned fruits, good white
bread--"none of your potato flour for
Wonckhaus"--and oceans of beer.  Neither
officers nor men had had such a meal for months.

"Please, sir," said Moggs, coming to the
bungalow after the men had finished their
dinner in the hut opposite.

"Well, what is it?"

"Can we strafe some more beer?"

"No, you've had enough.  We've got
work to do to-night."

Moggs looked disappointed.

"Then it won't be done, sir," he said.

"What won't be done?"

"Why, sir, Parker said if we was allowed
to strafe another barrel he'd be screwed up
to concert pitch, and would be very happy
to sing the Hymn of Hate to the German
gentleman abaft yonder.  He must want
cheering up, says he."

"Get out with you!  Parker can sing
what he likes when we get back aboard.
Tell him he's to take first watch on the
cliff to-night."

At dusk the men went to their appointed
stations.  Parker was posted on the cliff
near the entrance to the channel.  The
warrant officer took charge of the
donkey-engine, Moggs was entrusted with the
crane; the other men hauled from the
storehouse several cases of ammunition,
weighing in all three or four tons, piled them
near the crane, chained them together, and
covered them with a thick blanket taken
from the bungalow.  The lieutenant's task
was to do what was necessary in the
powerhouse.  Frank sat with the
lieutenant-commander in one of the huts.

It was about ten o'clock when Parker
came in hurriedly from his post on the cliff.

"Submarine coming in, sir," he reported.
"I heard her purring under water first;
then the engines stopped, and I saw her
come awash just outside the channel.  She'll
be nearly here, sir."

The officers went to the door of the hut,
and listened anxiously.  No sound was
audible above the dash of the waterfall.
Had the commander of the submarine
become suspicious and run out to sea again?
In a few minutes, however, the sound of
the engines came faintly on the breeze.
Looking through the darkness to the gap
in the cliffs where the pool and the channel
met, they at last saw the dark shape glide
in.  The engines were stopped, but the
vessel's steerage way carried her into the
pool, and she was brought up deftly
alongside the lighter.

From below came a hail in Turkish.
Frank, now standing beside the crane, replied.

"Why didn't you answer our signals?"
demanded the voice, huffily.

Frank, who was unaware of any signals,
answered at a venture:

"There is something wrong with our lamps."

"Who are you?  Where is Talik?"

"He is invalided.  I am taking his place.
Are you coming up?"

"Yes.  Why isn't Major Wonckhaus here?"

"He'll be here directly."

"Well, switch on the light: what are
you waiting for?"

"The switch is broken."  Frank referred
to the switch of an electric lamp at the top
of the crane.  "You must come up in the
dark.  Look out!  The chain is running out."

The engine had started, and the chain
was swinging down over the arm of the
crane.  The commander of the submarine
caught it, set his foot in the loop provided,
and was hauled slowly up, and swung
inward towards the huts.  Meanwhile the
men in waiting had removed the blanket
from the pile of cases, and the moment the
commander's feet touched the ground he
was muffled closely in the blanket, and
carried struggling into a hut, where his
captors had materials ready for securing him.

"Good man!" murmured the lieutenant-commander,
clapping Frank on the back.
"With him out of the way all's well, I
think.  Now, I'll take up the running.--Look
alive with those cases," he added, still in a
low tone, addressing the seamen who were
attaching the massed cases to the end of
the chain.  The crane swung out, and the
weighty mass dangled directly over the
submarine, on whose deck the crew could
be dimly seen, gazing up in surprise: surely
they were not to take in ammunition at
this hour of the night.  How much greater
was their astonishment when they heard
from above a ringing voice in English.

"Below there!  Any of you speak English?"

After a short interval a man replied in
the affirmative.

"Thank you," called the lieutenant-commander.
"I am in command of an English
landing-party.  Your commander is a
prisoner.  If your vessel attempts to move,
I'll cut away the weight you see above
you, and sink you.  I give you three minutes
to surrender."

The terse sentences, the peremptory tone,
left no room for doubt.  Before the three
minutes were up, the crew had come to a
unanimous decision.  They would surrender.

"Thank you.  Now every one of you go
aboard the lighter and leave your arms
behind."

The men went silently from one vessel
to the other.  Then the crane switch was
suddenly found to be in order, and a light
flashed from the top.  From the lighter the
men were hauled up by ropes, one by one.

"How many are there of you?" asked
the lieutenant-commander of the first.

"Twenty."

The same question put to one or two
more received the same reply.  As the men
passed him, the officer counted them.

"Eighteen!  Nineteen!  No more?" He
turned to two British sailors.  "Down you go!"

They slid down the rope, boarded the
submarine, and dived below.  In a few
moments they returned, hauling a man
between them.  They made him fast to
the chain, and by the time he was hoisted
they had swarmed up the rope.

"Just going to fire the magazine, sir,"
said one.

"Tie him up."

Half an hour later the submarine was
heading out to sea, running on the surface.
On the deck, uncomfortably crowded, lay a
number of well-trussed figures--the
commander and crew, and Wonckhaus: his
subordinates at the station were left behind.
Beyond Mitylene, as morning dawned,
the lieutenant-commander exchanged signals
with a destroyer out at sea.  The vessel
stood in, and in due time the submarine
came alongside her.  Cheers broke from
the men on her deck.  Willing hands hoisted
the prisoners on board and loosed them
from their bonds at the bidding of the commander.

"I much regret it was necessary to bind
you, gentlemen," he said to the officers.
"The necessity was clear."

They heard him in glum silence--all but
Wonckhaus.

"Necessity!" he blustered.  "Is necessity
to override the laws of civilised warfare?
What sort of treatment is it to choke a
German officer with lemons, tie him up,
and sling him from a crane?  It is unfair;
it is barbarous."

The commander glanced at Frank, standing
in the background.

"Is it wise to talk of civilised warfare,
Herr Wonckhaus?" he said quietly, stepping
forward.  "Shall I refresh your
memory of what happened at Erzerum?"

"You were in my power," snarled the
German, not a whit abashed, and sublimely
unconscious of inconsistency.  The humour
of the situation tickled the British officers:
they laughed aloud.

"That is unanswerable, sir," said the
commander, with ironical courtesy.  "You
will no doubt do me the favour to go below.
Mr. Watson, please show Major Wonckhaus
the way."

The smallest midshipman on the ship
came forward, gravely saluted, and repressing
a smile with obvious effort, said:

"This way, sir."

Wonckhaus looked from the midshipman
to the commander.  Something in the
expression of the latter helped him to make
up his mind.  And a broad grin enwrapped
the whole ship's company as the big German
stalked away under convoy of the boy.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`V.C.`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIV


.. class:: center medium

   V.C.

.. vspace:: 2

Two months later a little party were
lunching together in a hotel on one of the
Ægean islands.  Mr. Forester was there;
Isaac Copri and his son; Tomlinson,
promoted lieutenant, and enjoying a week's
leave; and Frank.  The last had his right
arm in a sling.

"Yes," the elder Kopri was saying,
"Mirza Aga's carpet is now on its way to
London.  I contrived to get it shipped at
Athens, and it is on the bill of lading of the
steamship *Eirene*, that left the Peiraeus a
week ago."

"Splendid!" said Frank.  "I must find
out where Wonckhaus is imprisoned, and
let him know.  His fury will be my
revenge....  I hope you didn't wait long
for me at Gallipoli."

"I waited until I gave up all hope of
seeing you again.  We searched the ruins
of Benidin's house, Joseph and I, for traces
of you, and stayed in the port two or three
days in case you should appear.  Then we
heard that the massacres had broken out, and
we escaped to Dedeagatch, just in time."

"How did you get your wounds, sir?"
asked Joseph.

"Oh!  I was just potted in a gully."

Tomlinson laughed.

"Strictly true, but hopelessly inadequate,"
he said.  "It was like this."

"Dry up, Tommy; it's an old story now."

"All the better, like this port."

"Well, bottle it up, then."

"I should like to hear the full story,
Mr. Tomlinson," said Mr. Forester.  "Frank has
told me little more than the bare fact."

"There you are, Frank.  You want
uncorking.  Well, when Frank came back to
the peninsula I didn't see him for a while.
He was interpreting; a soft job, by all
accounts, for the Turkish prisoners are very
reticent.  But the battery on Sari Bair
began to be very troublesome, and our
fliers couldn't locate it.  Frank offered to
have a shot, and crept up the gully one
night, in rags borrowed from a prisoner;
you wouldn't have known him.  He spotted
the guns overlaid with scrub near that
sepulchre of his, reported next morning,
and offered to go up again and set light to
the hollow tree, as a beacon for our gunners.
If that didn't deserve the D.S.O.--well, I
know what Anzac thinks."

"Cut it short, man.  I knew the place,
and if the Turks had seen me they'd have
taken me for a ghost and skedaddled."

"The fellow who potted you didn't take
you for a ghost, anyway.  He went up, sir,
with a lot of pills in his pocket--small
incendiary bombs, you know; fired the tree
and the brushwood round, and made a
fine old blaze, by the light of which
somebody gave him two bullets in the arm as
he was running down the gully.  Our guns
got the range in a few minutes--and we've
had no more trouble from that particular
battery.  I tell you, all Anzac was mad
with delight, and carried Frank round the
camp cheering like----"

"Have you seen this?" interrupted an
officer at the next table.  "I couldn't help
overhearing."

He handed Frank a copy of the *Times*,
pointing to a paragraph half-way down a
column headed "New V.C.'s."  Frank
looked, flushed, and passed the paper silently
to his father.

"Read it out, sir," cried Tomlinson.

Mr. Forester rubbed his glasses, and had
some trouble in clearing his throat.  He
mumbled a word or two, then, more
distinctly, read:

"For signal bravery in volunteering twice
to locate an enemy battery, and enabling
our naval guns to destroy it ... had already
shown conspicuous proofs of courage and
resource."

"And that's all they say about it!"
Tomlinson exclaimed.  "Is it D.S.O., sir?"

"It appears to be V.C.," said Mr. Forester.

"Hurray!" cried Tomlinson, flinging up
his cap.  "That's news to carry back to Anzac."

At this moment, from somewhere outside
came the strains of a band.

"Ah!  It couldn't have come in more
pat," added Tomlinson.

The officers stood at the salute as the band
played "God save the King."

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center

THE END

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center small white-space-pre-line

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY R. CLAY AND SONS, LTD.,
BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center large

   HERBERT STRANG'S WAR STORIES

.. vspace:: 2

FIGHTING WITH FRENCH: A TALE OF THE NEW ARMY.

.. vspace:: 1

A HERO OF LIÉGE: A STORY OF THE GREAT WAR.

.. vspace:: 1

SULTAN JIM: A STORY OF GERMAN AGGRESSION.

.. vspace:: 1

THE AIR SCOUT: A STORY OF HOME DEFENCE.

.. vspace:: 1

THE AIR PATROL: A STORY OF THE NORTH-WEST FRONTIER.

.. vspace:: 1

ROB THE RANGER: A STORY OF THE GREAT FIGHT FOR CANADA.

.. vspace:: 1

ONE OF CLIVE'S HEROES: A STORY OF
THE GREAT FIGHT FOR INDIA.

.. vspace:: 1

BARCLAY OF THE GUIDES: A STORY OF THE INDIAN MUTINY.

.. vspace:: 1

THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY ROCHESTER:
A STORY OF MARLBOROUGH'S CAMPAIGNS.

.. vspace:: 1

BOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE: A STORY
OF THE PENINSULAR WAR.

.. vspace:: 1

KOBO: A STORY OF THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR.

.. vspace:: 1

BROWN OF MOUKDEN: A STORY OF THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR.

.. vspace:: 6

.. pgfooter::
