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

"And now?" whispered Philip. "Where to? Here's Bagdad all right, and a fellow begins to feel a little more free. But what's our next move? Besides, there's a meal to be considered."

"And a bed," Geoff told him. "This way. You'll find that we are not entirely without friends in this city. Follow straight up this street and turn off when I turn into another alley."

Proceeding along that other dark and somewhat noisome alley, Geoff suddenly ran into an obstacle – an obstacle which rebounded and which proved to be a man, who was not less startled than himself.

"Pardon!" the man cried, and would have hurried on.

"One moment; your name?" asked Geoff, using the Armenian tongue. "Your name, my friend, for there is something in your voice that reminds me of one I have known."

There was silence perhaps for a whole minute, while Philip slid up behind Geoff, ready to support him, and anticipating trouble. Then suddenly there came a glad cry of surprise from the individual who had cannoned into Geoff, and a hand gripped his arm firmly.

"My master, you are Keith Pasha. Yes?" asked the voice – the voice was Esbul's.

"I am," Geoff told him promptly in tones of relief, for indeed this was a most happy meeting.

"Then come, my master. I have a place of safety for you; there is one who will greet you warmly and find food, and space, and raiment for you. Come, my master, for I also have something which will delight your heart. Listen, Master! I have news of Douglas Pasha."

CHAPTER XIX
Tracking the German

"What luck! What splendid luck!" whispered Philip, as the trio – himself, Geoff, and Esbul – stumbled along the dark archways and across the rough courtyards of the city of Bagdad on their way to those hospitable quarters which the Armenian had mentioned; for Geoff had hurriedly told him who the man was against whom he had stumbled in the darkness, and had intimated to his chum that they were on their way to some haven.

"Spl – en – did!" emphasized Philip, muttering the word over and over again; "food, raiment, and a place in which to sleep safely. Well, it will be good to lie down and sleep soundly for one night, feeling that one isn't caged in like a bird, and isn't in immediate danger of arrest and further imprisonment."

"And better still to know that there is something before us," Geoff answered him as they reached a low doorway leading out of the courtyard, "better, far better, Philip, to hear that Esbul has news of my guardian – news of Douglas Pasha – news so valuable that he won't impart it to me out here, but is waiting until we get into this house and under shelter."

A sharp rap on the door was answered after a while by a gruff request to enter, and presently the three were stumbling up the flight of steps down which Esbul had gone when he left Benshi the Jew – that mysterious, silent, and thoughtful friend of Douglas Pasha. In a trice it seemed they were in the room he occupied, to find the Jew seated on a divan, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, the same listless unfathomable expression about his haggard face. And yet that face could show animation when he wished, could show friendship and welcome.

"Be seated," he told the two subalterns. "Be seated, Keith Pasha, ward of that one who has been my friend for many years, of Douglas Pasha. So, Esbul, it came about that in passing on your way from the house where you were watching you hit upon these two, hit upon them by mere chance, by pure accident!"

"But how – how did you learn that then?" asked Geoff impulsively; for it was but a few minutes ago only that that unexpected meeting had taken place, and how could the Jew have gained tidings of it? Had he guessed it? Had he merely divined it because of their coming together? Or had this mysterious man obtained news of the event in the same mysterious manner in which other and more valuable information came to him?

"Be seated, my master," Benshi said, ignoring the question for the moment. "Let Esbul place food before you; and to-morrow he will lead you to that place where Douglas Pasha is imprisoned. Is it not so, Esbul? You who have watched over the German, were you not on your way hither to give me tidings of this von Hildemaller and of his movements on the morrow?"

A glance at the young Armenian proved indeed that that must be the case, though how Benshi had learned of that also was beyond him. Amazement was written on every feature; he gasped with astonishment, and then smiled at our hero.

"It is even so," he told him. "Men come and go, but Benshi sits here or in the Bazaar, seeing nothing it would seem, hearing no news, merely existing the day through, and yet – and yet, news reaches him."

"Aye! Reaches me, my friend, in a manner that I will not explain; news sometimes small and petty, sometimes of great doings, of great events. Listen now, whilst Esbul brings food before you. My master, you desire news of your friends, of your expedition which has come to Mesopotamia, which fought its way to Basra and Kurnah, and from thence advanced up the Tigris to Amara? You desire tidings of those friends whom you accompanied to Nasiriyeh, and of those others who struck to the north-east and seized Ahwaz? Then, I will tell you.

"Amara fell to them as easily as a ripe orange falls to the hands of the plucker. Then came an advance up the river to Kut-el-Amara, while Turks waited the coming of the British and the Indians in full force, in positions prepared most carefully for them under the leading of Germans – men of the same cunning and skill as this von Hildemaller. Yet they were defeated."

"Defeated!" exclaimed Geoff; "you mean that the Expeditionary Force has captured Kut, really?"

"They stormed those positions; they outflanked the Turks," the Jew told him, his listless eyes wandering for one moment from the wall opposite to our hero's face and to Philip's, and then back to the old position. "They captured the town of Kut-el-Amara and pursued the fleeing Turks. And then, my masters, they followed – "

"Followed towards Bagdad?" asked Geoff, rising to his feet in his eagerness. "Followed in this direction? Then they are near already?"

Benshi waved him back to his seat with a listless movement of one hand, and went on with his story.

"Nay," he said, and sighed as if he were sorry that it was not so. "Nay, my master, the force of which we are speaking advanced in small numbers up the River Tigris towards Bagdad, till indeed but within a few leagues of it, till they reached the old tomb of the Caliph at Ctesiphon, where once more the Turks were awaiting them in prepared positions, where, indeed, they had amassed large numbers of soldiers – so much so that they outnumbered the British by at least three to one. There was a battle then in which the Turks suffered heavily and the British also, a battle which disclosed to your friends the strength of the enemy before them, and which made a retirement imperative. That was days ago – days ago; and now they are back, those British and Indian soldiers, back in Kut-el-Amara, having carried out an orderly and skilful retreat. Back in Kut, where my information tells me that they are surrounded."

He left Philip and Geoff with their mouths wide open with amazement at what they heard, their faces showing first delight at the prowess of their comrades, and then disappointment at their enforced retreat, and a greater disappointment that they too were not beside them to take their share in the fighting.

Yet Benshi did not tell all there was to be told about Asiatic Turkey, all that had to do with the British and other forces. We have intimated already in the course of this narrative how a force employed in one quarter of the world, if sufficiently powerful, may well affect the fortunes of other troops engaged in a different area altogether. We told of how the coming of Turkey into this world-conflict in partnership with Germany and Austria affected the fortunes of Russia on her European front, because of the need to hold her Caucasian frontier, and there is no need to enter into details of the fighting which took place in those mountains, almost in perpetual snow, where Turks and Russians faced one another. It will suffice if we say that, well-armed, well-equipped, and officered by Germans in numerous instances, the army corps which Turkey sent to the Caucasus at the commencement of hostilities, that is to say, during the first winter of this widespread warfare, suffered many a reverse at the hands of the Tsar's gallant soldiers. They failed to advance, failed to invade southern Russia, and indeed had their work cut out to prevent the Muscovite armies from invading Asiatic Turkey, and from pouring down into the land south of the Caucasus range – land itself some six thousand or more feet in elevation.

Indeed, the country south-west of the Caucasus range is broken up by innumerable ranges of hills and mountains, and presents large numbers of upland plateaus. It is the country in which the unfortunate race of Armenians were fostered, where they have dwelt for centuries, and on one of those upland plateaus, perched in a situation of natural strength, and defended by forts and gun emplacements, cunningly designed by German engineers, lies the city and fortress of Erzerum, the main base of those Turkish armies operating against the Russians – a fortress deemed impregnable, and one upon which the Turks and their German masters had placed the utmost importance. As that British force was fighting its way back to Kut-el-Amara, and was besieged in that little township on the River Tigris, the Grand Duke Nicholas of Russia, he who had led the Tsar's armies into Galicia a year previously, was mustering his forces and preparing his arrangements for a dash into Armenia – a dash made in the height of winter, through snow-drifts ten or more feet in depth, and in an atmosphere well below freezing. Such was the impetus of that dash, so good and careful were the preparations for it, and so great the courage and the élan of the armies of the Caucasus that, in spite of Turkish resistance, in spite of batteries cunningly placed, in spite of every obstacle, human and natural, the Russians poured down upon the fortress of Erzerum, and to the amazement of all – of the Turks and of the Germans, not less than of the others, captured it, its guns, and a goodly part of its garrison. Then, flooding over this upland plateau, carving their way westward and south-east, they rapidly forced their way in the direction of Trebizond – that port on the Black Sea by which Turkey had reinforced and revictualled her Caucasian army. To the south-east, Russian troops, in smaller numbers, pushed along the frontier of Persia, striking towards Mesopotamia, until patrols of horse and companies of foot were within measurable distance of Bagdad. Yet they were not near enough to seize the city, not in sufficient force at present to advance across the desert, not able, in fact, to lend assistance to the British force beleaguered in Kut-el-Amara, and to that other force, since organized, and sent up the River Tigris to relieve it – a force of British and Indians again, which, willing enough and eager to relieve their comrades, had, for weary weeks now, been held up by rains and floods in the country.

A narrative of the incidents of the Mesopotamian operations may be truthfully said to be one of brilliant actions, of most gallant fighting on the part of our soldiers, and of a display of soldierly virtues which equalled, if it did not surpass, those fine qualities shown by British troops in days gone by. This desert warfare was so different from that which had now fallen upon the armies battling in Flanders against the Germans. There, in the absence of forts constructed of masonry as formerly, there was nevertheless a species of fort running from Switzerland north to Verdun, and running in a north-westerly direction to the Belgian coast. A fort consisting of muddy trenches, delved deep in the soil, sheltering hosts of soldiers, and strengthened and supported in thousands of places by earthworks, by machine-gun redoubts, and supported in rear by an array of guns on either side, the number of which had never been seen before, had never even been nearly equalled in any warfare. But the desert of Mesopotamia gave opportunity for other fighting. Troops, both British and Turkish, were not sufficiently numerous to man a line running right across the country, and thus there was an opportunity to manœuvre, the chance of outflanking an enemy, and every now and again an opening for a charge, often enough brilliantly executed, by the British.

Yet the main line of advance must, because of that desert, of that arid country, follow the winding channel of the Tigris River, on which the troops were dependent for their water-supply. And that river itself was bounded in numerous places by marsh land, which often enough obstructed the march of troops, and which, in the neighbourhood of Kut, produced positions similar, on a very small scale – to those in Flanders and in France; that is to say, just as the sea bounds that line to the north in France, so marsh land in the neighbourhood of the Tigris River obstructed the advance of the British force marching to the relief of the beleaguered garrison at Kut-el-Amara. They could not easily get round those marshes, for the need of water held them to the river, and advancing along its banks they came upon a part where those marshes, coming close together, left but comparatively narrow space through which they could make progress, a space deeply trenched by the Turks, and fortified in similar manner to those trenches in France, held by a numerous and well-armed enemy, flanked by redoubts, and supported by machine-guns and artillery. A position, indeed, of formidable strength, more particularly as to outflank it was impossible, and a frontal attack must be undertaken. Add to these difficulties atrocious weather – rains which poured upon the British force, which drenched the men to the skin, bitterly cold rains, which, stopping at last, left the troops stewing in a watery atmosphere under a blazing sun, wading knee-deep in a muddy marsh which covered the country.

Having thus outlined to some small degree the enormous difficulties of the Mesopotamian force and its gallant conduct so far, we can now return to Geoff and Philip, and ascertain their fortunes after that momentous meeting with Esbul, the Armenian.

In the feeble rays cast by the guttering candle suspended above the old Jew's head there stood, on that memorable evening when Geoff and his chum reached the city of Bagdad, no more eager individuals, none more intensely interested in the tale of the prowess of the British forces, than they.

"And so our men have been quite close to this city, have fought their way nearly to Bagdad?" said Geoff, his face glowing with enthusiasm.

"That is so, Excellency," Benshi admitted, his lips hardly moving, his withered frame bent as he squatted, his eyes still wandering over the opposite wall as if seeking for something there; "a gallant force indeed, who struck boldly, and who struck heavily, against the troops of the Sultan. If their own losses were heavy, those of the Turks were treble perhaps; while the fact that they were forced to retire is not to be wondered at, does not take from them honour or credit; for those troops, handled by German officers, were three, even four, to one of your people, while the need for water, the lack of it, in fact, made a retreat – seeing that Bagdad could not be reached – a matter of urgency. But now, Excellency, you have heard of your people. They are back in Kut-el-Amara this many a day, besieged there, surrounded, they tell me, holding the enemy at bay, yet too weak to cut a road through them. Maybe you will join them there, maybe no; and meanwhile you are in this city, in Bagdad, wherein not so long ago I had speech with Douglas Pasha. Listen, then, to the tale Esbul has to tell us. Speak on!" he commanded, turning to the Armenian.

At once all eyes were cast upon the youthful figure of Esbul, now squatting on the floor, his face almost as impassive, almost as inscrutable, as that of Benshi, yet his fingers working, his lips compressed, and sometimes twitching – indications of the excitement under which he was labouring.

"Then hear, Master," he began, "hear my tale. This von Hildemaller, this huge German with the pleasant countenance – "

"Ah!"

Benshi gave vent to a grunt, a grunt which might have expressed disgust, appreciation, pleasure, anything, in fact, for his features did not relax, they displayed no sign of his feelings.

"With the pleasant countenance, my master; he who has deceived so many of us, who carries on the surface smiles which fascinate, which hide the crafty, cunning, cruel mind behind it. Early in the morning he came to this city, passing by silent ways to his quarters, endeavouring to evade notice. Yet Benshi saw him, while I have since been to those quarters, have clambered about them, have listened, and now know something of his movements."

"Ah!" it was Geoff's turn to give vent to a grunt of anticipation. "His movements! Yes," he said eagerly, "they are?"

"Indefinite!" Esbul replied. "Indefinite at present, my master; but so definite, so promising, that it may well be that you will think fit to take note of them. He is preparing for a journey outside the city. To-morrow, as the dusk comes, a conveyance will await him on the road beyond the gates west of Bagdad, and men also – but three of them – I gathered."

"Hold! Three men you said," Philip blurted out. "Turks, Armenians, or what? All cut-throats, I guess, in any case."

For a moment Esbul looked puzzled, for though he could speak English with some fluency the term "cut-throats" was a little foreign to him. But Geoff hurriedly explained, whereat the Armenian nodded his head emphatically.

"Murderers, yes!" he said. "One of them the same who drove him into this city, the one who was to have carried out the murder of Douglas Pasha."

"And they assemble, where?" asked Geoff, while the two subalterns exchanged swift glances, as though indeed the same thought had occurred to both of them.

"As I have said, my master, they assemble with this carriage outside the western gate of the city, where the German joins them as dusk is falling."

"And then?" asked Geoff.

"And then, who knows, my master?" said Esbul. "Those who follow the German and his escort may learn, for though I have striven to gather news of their destination I have failed completely. But this I know, it has to do with Douglas Pasha."

As a matter of fact, the crafty Esbul had been even more successful than he had anticipated, than he could have hoped, considering the difficulties of the situation. Having clambered over the walls of the compound which surrounded the quarters in which the German usually lived, and to which he had returned after that visit to the prison in which Geoff and Philip had been incarcerated, Esbul, as we have learned already, had found not a light, not an illuminated chink, not a sound, nothing to guide him as to whether von Hildemaller were there or not, or whether he had merely come back to go out again promptly. Yet Esbul was a knowing fellow, and gifted with an abundance of patience. Passing round the house, he reached a point where a wall enclosed a small yard within it, and, clambering on this, was able to reach the roof – a flat affair, on which the owner could rest and sleep, if need be, in the hot weather. Still, there was no sign of the German, not a sound to betray his presence. Esbul crept about the place, peeped over the parapet, laid his ear on the roof, and yet was baffled. Then, by a lucky chance, he went to the only chimney of which the place boasted, and, peering down it, saw a light far below, and heard voices. More than that, he found soon enough, or rather guessed, that this chimney was merely a ventilator for some chamber in which people were talking, in which von Hildemaller, without doubt, was seated. More startling still was the discovery that sounds were accentuated by the chimney, were gathered together as it were, and were delivered to his ear louder, perhaps, than when uttered by those far below him. In that way, then, by a mere stroke of luck, by a fortunate chance, more fortunate perhaps than his accidental meeting with Geoff and Philip that night, the Armenian had unearthed the secrets of the German.

There was silence in the tiny room beneath the guttering candle for some few minutes, while two busy brains were hard at work piecing up the information given them, concocting plans, and seeking for measures to outwit von Hildemaller. Two busy brains, we have said, though no doubt Esbul's wits were sharpened. As for Benshi, he still sat on his divan, his eyes wandering over the opposite wall, his face – long, thin, ascetic, and angular – with not an expression on it. He might have been a wooden figure for all they knew, a silent, thoughtless figure. And yet the old man had already given indications of possessing unusual wisdom and acumen – of possessing, indeed, uncanny powers of looking into the future. It was he, in fact, who first broke that silence, and who, in the most amazing manner, seemed to have divined the very thoughts of Geoff and Philip.

He actually gave vent to a feeble chuckle, looked up suddenly at the spluttering candle, and then across at the two disguised subalterns. Indeed, he treated them to quite a long inspection – something strangely rare in the case of the Jew – an inspection which took in every feature, their dusty, dishevelled appearance, their borrowed clothes, and the transformation they had made with them.

"It is well, it is well, my masters!" he said at last, and his voice was positively cheerful. "It is well, this scheme of yours, this plan that you have been formulating. Listen, Esbul! To-morrow evening, as the dusk falls, a conveyance will be waiting outside the western gate of this city for the German known as von Hildemaller. This German hound will stride through the streets of the city, will push his way past the sentries, will browbeat any who may dare to stand before him, and will plump himself in this conveyance. Then he will be driven off, driven to a destination which I do not know, which I have sought for months past, driven, you tell us – and I can easily believe it – to the prison which holds my old friend Douglas Pasha. And then, my masters, let us take closer heed of the three who accompany this ruffian – of the one who drives the conveyance, and of those other two who, mounted on animals, ride beside it. Let me whisper a secret to you, a secret undreamt by the German, unsuspected by him, a secret which must be kept relentlessly from this German. That man who drives the vehicle is not the rascal ready to cut a throat for but a small reward, eager to slay even his best friend so that he may claim the gold of the German; no, my masters, it is Esbul, this Armenian youth who owes almost as much to Douglas Pasha as I do."

Geoff glanced swiftly across at the Armenian, and noticed, with something akin to amazement, that Esbul showed no sign of astonishment at the words he had heard, seemed, indeed, to have known the part he was to take even before Benshi had spoken, seemed to know it, in fact, just as well as he, Geoff, knew it, and doubtless as well as Philip also. The thing was positively uncanny, yet so simple, so calmly put before him, that he could hardly wonder – though when he pondered later it made him exclaim, as he realized how successful the Jew had been at divining his own thoughts and feelings.

"It is so, Benshi. I shall be on that conveyance," said Esbul, when a few moments had passed; "and beside me will be those two mounted men escorting the German."

"And they, Esbul, can you guess who they will be?" asked Philip, Geoff in the meanwhile having hurriedly interpreted Benshi's words to him.

"I can, my master. The one will be Keith Pasha, the other yourself. The thing must be done swiftly and quietly, done now, for here is an opportunity to outwit the German, the only opportunity, perhaps, which will come our way."

That such a plan might easily undermine any which the German had made, and outwit him and utterly fog him, seemed possible enough, though there were other matters to be considered. Supposing Geoff and his friends were able to take the place of those three men, as seemed already to have been decided, there would be the journey with the German in their company to some destination unknown; then what then? Would there follow a meeting with Douglas Pasha? Or could it be that Esbul had been mistaken, and von Hildemaller about to journey on some other business altogether? Yet it was a chance worth taking, an opportunity in a thousand, one which demanded instant action.

Long into the night they sat in that room, with Benshi motionless before them, interjecting a word now and again, giving them advice, foretelling movements in the most uncanny and inscrutable manner. Then, wearied with their discussion, tired out after their long journey, Geoff and his friend lay down to sleep, and doubtless the Jew and Esbul retired also, though the two young subalterns were ignorant of the fact, for hardly had their heads touched the flooring when they were fast asleep and snoring.

The following day, however, found them alert and brisk and eager to be moving. Having eaten their full, and donned the clothing which Esbul brought for them – for a visit to the Bazaar had easily procured suitable raiment – the three young men passed out into the open street and wandered slowly in the direction of the house occupied by von Hildemaller. Stationing themselves at different points of vantage, they waited with what patience they could summon, and watched carefully for signs of the German and his followers. And when some hours had passed, and their patience was almost exhausted – when, indeed, in the case of Philip, that excellent young fellow was positively stamping with vexation – Geoff sent along a whistle – the signal agreed upon – and was observed a moment later to be following three men, who had appeared, it seemed, from nowhere, in the street, and were wending their way along it. In the wake of Geoff came another figure, slimmer than he – the figure of Esbul, dressed as a Bazaar porter, carrying a box on his head, slowly making his way over the cobbles, and behind him Philip fell in promptly, looking just as much a ruffian as Esbul, and as if he were following with a view of assisting him with his burden. In that order, showing no haste, keeping a considerable distance between themselves and the men who had issued from the German's house, Geoff and his comrade made their way through the heart of Bagdad, down cobbled, ragged streets, through narrow alleys, across courtyards littered with garbage, and so on till they approached the outskirts of the city, those walls which had been erected to keep out the barbarians.

It was at that point that the three men in advance halted and looked craftily about them; then they suddenly dived through an open archway and disappeared from view, leaving Geoff and his friends a little staggered.

"Come along," he cried, for Esbul and Philip had by now drawn quite close to him. "After them as quick as you can, or we may lose them. Keep close together, and carry the matter through as we promised."

Dashing along the street, they reached the archway within a few seconds, and, diving into the stone passage to which it gave access, raced through it and across a courtyard even dirtier than any they had passed before. There was not a soul in sight, not a voice to be heard, and it looked at first as if they had missed the men they were following. Then Geoff pointed to a doorway, held his hand up for silence for just half a minute, and later, without a word, turned and threw himself at the aperture.