CHAPTER XVIII
THE TIMELY BOMB
This is not the place, even if it were now possible, to describe in detail the brilliant campaign in which General Maude retrieved previous errors and disasters, and struck a blow at German aggression in the east from which, it is to be hoped, it will never recover. A bare outline will suffice to bridge the gap between Burnet's last day on the island, and the day, three months later, when, fully recovered from his wound, he made another solitary entry into Bagdad.
On the night of December 13 the great advance, the climax of months of the most careful preparation, began. General Maude, by a surprise attack, seized a point on the Hai stream some seven miles south of Kut, and threw his mixed force of cavalry and infantry northward towards the enemy's formidable entrenched position round that town. About a week later, his airmen, who had done invaluable work in scouting and in raiding the enemy's camps, heavily bombed his ammunition dumps higher up the river. While one of his corps, under General Cobbe, was making deceptive demonstrations against the fortifications at Sanna-i-Yat, on the north bank of the Tigris, another, under General Marshall, steadily pressed the Turks back towards the south bank; and parties of cavalry harassed their communications between the Tigris and the Euphrates.
For three weeks more the enemy maintained an obstinate resistance to General Marshall's pressure; then they were compelled to abandon all their positions south of the river, and fell back beyond Kut. It was not until February 22 that General Cobbe's force captured the first two lines of trenches at Sanna-i-Yat. On that night also British and Indian troops, after heroic efforts, forced the passage of the river at Shumran, some ten miles upstream, and next day the fortifications which had defied all the attacks of the troops who attempted to relieve General Townshend were in British hands. The immediate result was the fall of the town which had been the scene of almost the greatest surrender in British history.
There was no relaxation in the forward movement. While cavalry and airmen chased the fleeing enemy on and over the land, gunboats harried them from the river. Here and there they made attempts to stand, but lost so heavily, especially in guns and prisoners, that their flight degenerated into a stampede. Within less than a week they had been hunted half-way to Bagdad. Then the rapidity of the pursuit necessitated a halt, in order that supplies might be brought up and the extended lines of communication secured. This inevitable halt prevented General Maude from destroying the Turks as a military force, and enabled them to restore some semblance of order.
The advance was resumed on March 5, after only a week's delay. The Turks had had time to throw up entrenchments in more than one well-selected position, and here they contested the ground with the stubbornness for which they are famed. At the Diala river, twenty miles below Bagdad, they were massed in great strength, and fought with courage and tenacity to prevent the British troops from crossing. The story of the forcing of the passage, after repeated failures and terrible losses, by the Lancashire and Wiltshire regiments, is one of the most heroic in our annals.
When the river was crossed, the enemy lost heart, and withdrew towards Bagdad. On March 11 General Cobbe occupied the railway station on the right bank of the Tigris, and General Marshall flung his advanced troops into the outskirts on the left bank. Without parade or the insolence of victors the British troops marched into the city, between crowds of inhabitants, a mixed population with elements from almost every race known in the East, shouting, dancing and clapping their hands. For the first time in history the city of Haroun al Raschid welcomed a Western conqueror.
A few hours before this historic event, Firouz Ali, the barber of Bagdad, came within an ace of losing his life.
When it became clear that the city must soon fall to the victorious British forces, the Turkish soldiery, with a licence which their German masters could hardly have exceeded, had begun to plunder the inhabitants, among whom they were always foreigners and the agents of a corrupt despotism. They stripped the houses of everything valuable that they could carry away, and with threats, blows and actual murder extorted huge sums of money from the wealthier citizens. Having thus provided themselves, they crowded into the last outward-bound trains, and left the city to its fate.
Their departure was the signal for all the ruffians of the place to sally out of their haunts and loot the defenceless citizens. Checked by no authority, restrained by no scruples, they pillaged from midnight till dawn, gutting houses and shops, sparing none who resisted them, and even wrenching away the beds of the wounded in the Turkish hospital from under them.
Among those who suffered in this orgy of plundering was Firouz Ali. He had barricaded his house and shop, but in the early morning an excited mob forced an entrance, and in a few minutes stripped the place of everything, sweeping even such trifles as shaving brushes along with every portable article of value that the old man possessed. Vigorously protesting, he followed the looters into the street, crowded with the dregs of the population mingled with a few Turkish soldiers who had not succeeded in escaping, or had perhaps remained to increase their spoils.
Almost at once the cry of "Spy!" was raised. One of the soldiers—the sentry who had arrested Firouz Ali and his supposed apprentice—had recognised the barber. Resenting the reprimand he had suffered on account of the two men, he found himself in a position to wreak vengeance. His cry was sufficient, in their present temper, to bring up every soldier within hearing, and there were not a few among the civilian rabble willing enough to spare a minute from looting to enjoy the sport of baiting and torturing a personal victim. Firouz Ali was seized by the sentry, and dragged from the platform of his shop to the road. A dozen swords and knives, straight and curved, of many different patterns, were whipped out, and the old man, forced to his knees, a silent dignified figure among that wild throng, awaited a cruel fate.
THE BARBER IS MOBBED
Suddenly there was an explosion close by, that flung innumerable fragments of masonry like falling leaves into the street, and made the very earth tremble. The startled mob broke apart, the group surrounding the barber loosed their hold on him; the soldiers, who knew what the noise meant, gazed up into the sky. Then, with shouts and curses, they rushed blindly this way and that, seeking doorways, alleys, dens where they could find shelter from the dreaded bombs.
Firouz All, left alone, got up slowly and went back into his dismantled shop.
Late that evening, after the entry of the British troops, and when order had been restored in the town, Roger Burnet came to the house.
"Peace be with you!" said the old man, greeting him warmly. "Surely this is a day of deliverance, and a blessed answer to my prayers."
"You have been plundered, I see," said Burnet after returning his greeting. "I hoped you had escaped."
"Barely I escaped with my life. The sword was at my throat when a bomb fell on that very arsenal which you and I noted when we walked the city together. The villains were afraid, and left me, or I should not be alive now to welcome the son of my benefactor and my friend."
Burnet felt a strange thrill.
"Those walks of ours, that plan I made over the map, were useful to us both, my old friend," he said. "It was I who dropped the bomb on that arsenal, which I saw a rabble of Kurds looting. I can never be too thankful that I was able to do a service unawares to one to whom I owe so much."
"Mashallah! Surely it was the hand of God. And I rejoice that I have lived to see the day for which I have yearned for many years, and to know that the son of Burnet Aga has had a part in the triumph of the cause his father had at heart. And now let us sit down, even among these ruins, which are but a small price to pay for my soul's contentment, and you shall tell me all that has happened since last I bid you go in peace."
THE END
A FEW STIRRING ROMANCES
BY HERBERT STRANG
The Air Patrol
A Story of the North-West Frontier.
Illustrated in colour by CYRUS CUNEO.
In this book Mr. Strang looks ahead—and other books have already proved him a prophet of surprising skill—to a time when there is a great Mongolian Empire whose army sweeps down on the North-West Frontier of India. His two heroes luckily have an aeroplane, and with the help of a few Pathan miners they hold a pass in the Hindu Kush against a swarm of Mongols, long enough to prevent the cutting of the communications of the Indian army operating in Afghanistan. The qualities which marked Mr. Strang's story, "The Air Scout," and won extraordinarily high commendation from Lord Roberts, Lord Curzon, and others, as well as from the Spectator and other great journals, are again strikingly displayed; and the combination of thrilling adventure with an Imperial problem and excellent writing, adds one more to this author's long list of successes.
"An exceptionally good book, written moreover in excellent style."—Times.
"'The Air Patrol' is really a masterpiece."—Morning Post.
The Air Scout
A Story of National Defence.
Illustrated in Colour by W. R. S. STOTT.
The problems of National Defence are being discussed with more and more care and attention, not only in Great Britain, but also in all parts of the Empire. In this story Mr. Strang imagines a Chinese descent upon Australia, and carries his hero through a series of exciting adventures, in which the value of national spirit, organisation, and discipline is exemplified. The important part which the aeroplane will play in warfare is recognised, and the thousands of readers who have delighted in the author's previous stories of aviation will find this new book after their own heart.
LORD ROBERTS wrote:—"It is capital reading, and should interest more than boys. Your forecast is so good that I can only hope the future may not bring to Australia such a struggle as the one you so graphically describe."
LORD CURZON writes:—"I have read with great pleasure your book, 'The Air Scout.' It seems to me to be a capital story, full of life and movement: and further, it preaches the best of all secular gospels, patriotism and co-operation."
"We congratulate Mr. Strang on this fine book—one of the best fighting stories we have read."—Morning Post.
Palm Tree Island.
Illustrated in Colour by ARCHIBALD WEBB.
In this story two boys are left on a volcanic island in the South Seas, destitute of everything but their clothes. The story relates how they provided themselves with food and shelter, with tools and weapons; how they fought with wild dogs and sea monsters; and how, when they have settled down to a comfortable life under the shadow of the volcano, their peace is disturbed by the advent of savages and a crew of mutinous Englishmen. The savages are driven away; the mutineers are subdued through the boys' ingenuity; and they ultimately sail away in a vessel of their own construction. In no other book has the author more admirably blended amusement with instruction.
"Written so well that there is not a dull page in the book."—The World.
Rob the Ranger: A Story of the Fight for Canada.
With Illustrations in Colour and Maps.
Rob Somers, son of an English settler in New York State, sets out with Lone Pete, a trapper, in pursuit of an Indian raiding party which has destroyed his home and carried off his younger brother. He is captured and taken to Quebec, where he finds his brother in strange circumstances, and escapes with him in the dead of the winter, in company with a little band of stout-hearted New Englanders.
General Baden-Powell, In recommending books to the Boy Scouts, places "Rob the Ranger" first among the great scouting stories.
One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for India.
With Illustrations in Colour and Maps.
Desmond Burke goes out to India to seek his fortune, and is sold by a false friend of his, one Marmaduke Diggle, to the famous Pirate of Gheria. But he escapes, runs away with one of the Pirate's own vessels, and meets Colonel Clive, whom he assists to capture the Pirate's stronghold. His subsequent adventures on the other side of India—how he saves a valuable cargo for his friend Mr. Merriman, and assists Clive in his fights against Sirajuddaula—are told with great spirit and humour.
"An absorbing story.... The narrative not only thrills, but also weaves skilfully out of fact and fiction a clear impression of our fierce struggle for India."—Athenaeum.