CHAPTER XVIII
In the Nick of Time
"Steady, lads! Aim low. Don't throw a single shot away."
Calmly and resolutely Captain M'Bride's voice travelled along the whole length of the trench. Every man possessing a rifle gripped the weapon resolutely, while the rest of the defenders, armed with whatever means of defence came to hand, braced themselves for the coming desperate struggle.
It was close on sunset. Not a breath of wind tempered the still stifling heat. The gale of wind that had beset the whaler had not yet reached the sun-baked sand-dunes where the Portchester Castle's survivors still held grimly to their scanty defences.
After a series of feints extending over the greater part of the day, the Senussi were at last about to make a determined onslaught. The camel-men had dismounted and sent their docile animals out of harm's way, but the horsemen had massed in a long curved line of foot. There was some semblance of military order in the array, taught no doubt by their former Turkish instructors, for on each flank, and on rising ground, riflemen were posted so as to pour a converging force upon the British, while the horsemen, supported by hundreds of dismounted Arabs armed with sword and spear, charged the extreme left of the defences.
This was a masterly stroke that Captain M'Bride had not anticipated, for here the trench ran in a diagonal direction to the sea, and if carried would expose the rear of the centre to a flanking and enfilading fire. But what the attackers did not know was the existence of a novel form of fougasse—the row of petrol tins.
Clearly the foremost of the assailants were visible in the slanting rays of the setting sun. Behind them followed a cloud of sand, thrown up by the horses' hoofs, through which could be discerned the indistinct forms of a howling mob of fanatical warriors armed with cold steel. In the forefront rode a tall bearded fellow with green jibbah and turban. With his right hand he brandished a long, straight two-edged sword, while in his left he bore a green banner with a scarlet crescent.
"They are not fighting under Turkish colours," remarked Captain M'Bride to Dacres, who stood by his side. "A sort of Holy War banner, I take it."
Evidently Afir-al-Bahr was of the same opinion, and, finding that he had not to fight against a force under the Turkish Crescent, he picked up a huge axe that had come ashore in one of the ship's boats.
"What's that fellow doing?" enquired the skipper hurriedly.
Dacres, whose service in Egypt had made him fairly proficient with the language of the Eastern Mediterranean States, spoke a few words to the Turkish airman.
"I think it's all right, Captain M'Bride," explained Dacres. "The man has no intention of breaking his parole. He knows quite well that if he should fall alive into the hands of the Senussi their treatment would be much worse than ours. He told me that some time ago a party of these meek and mild gentlemen mutinied, and murdered their Ottoman officers."
"Then let him carry on," decided the skipper. He gave a quick glance in the direction of the oncoming foe. The foremost were now within two hundred yards.
"Volley firing by sections—ready!"
A well-timed volley burst from the British trench. The high-velocity bullets, fired at point-blank range, wrought havoc in the crowded ranks of the Senussi. Saddles were emptied by the dozen, and before the stricken riders had time to fall to the ground the second section poured in a murderous fire.
Yet undaunted the Senussi pressed on, the standard-bearer, apparently unhurt, still brandishing his gleaming weapon. Then, slowly yet surely, he began to lean forward until he lay across the horse's neck. The banner dropped from his nerveless grasp just as a bullet, striking the animal on its white blaze, brought man and steed to the ground.
In an instant another Arab had snatched up the green flag, and, with redoubled shouts, the dense and now disorganized mob came thundering across the level stretch of ground in front of the zariba.
It was now Osborne's time to take up the work with which the absent Webb had charged him. Already one of the bright-red petrol cans had been holed by a couple of accurately placed shots, and the highly volatile fluid was escaping and soaking into the hot sand. The Lieutenant could even detect the pungent fumes of the evaporating spirit. Raising the short, smooth-bored pistol, Osborne pressed the trigger. The missile—a red rocket—burst against the perforated tin, just as the foremost of the assailants were leaping over the mound that partly concealed the line of tins.
The next instant flames shot twenty feet or more into the air—a fire so intense that the heat could be distinctly felt by the defenders of the trench, while the zariba quivered in the current of air set up by the sudden rise of temperature.
Five seconds later the adjacent tin exploded, and then another and another, until the tongues of fire darted a good fifty feet skywards.
That part of the attack was checked and beaten back. The fire barrage was impassable; but on the enemy's left their impetuous rush brought them right up to the zariba.
Dauntlessly the Arabs sought to tear away the prickly barrier. Rifles cracked, but the number of small arms at the disposal of the British was insufficient to annihilate—it could only diminish—the great superiority of the enemy's forces.
Several of the seamen, armed with knives and marline-spikes lashed to the end of oars and poles, rendered yeoman service by the use of these improvised pikes. Others, having provided themselves with a supply of large stones, hurled them across the intervening barrier at the nearmost of their assailants.
Nor was Afir-al-Bahr to be denied. With his axe he fought desperately, dealing smashing blows whenever a fanatical Arab succeeded in getting within reach.
For some moments the situation was extremely critical. The improvised pikes were no match for the long broad-bladed, razor-edged spears, and the advantage of fighting behind the zariba was fast disappearing as the fearless and desperate Senussi persevered in the work of tearing away the wall of thorns.
Against these tremendous odds the handful of the Portchester Castle's crew fought magnificently, making the best use of their ungainly weapons. British courage and dogged pluck were there. The men meant to hold their position at all costs, but already the numbers were being thinned by the relentless pressure of the Arab assault.
At this critical juncture Captain M'Bride, realizing that the British left was in no immediate danger—for the contents of the whole line of exploded petrol cans were blazing furiously—rushed up every available rifleman. In a few moments the attack, that had had every appearance of being successful, broke down. The Arabs melted away, the survivors retreating in disorder, leaving fifty or more of their number huddled in front of the partly demolished zariba, and others at varying distances from the defences.
"We've been and gone and done it now," commented Major Fane.
"How's that?" queried Dacres, as he held out his left wrist for his chum to apply a bandage to a deep but clean gash caused by the partly-parried thrust of a spear.
"We've fired all the petrol except the two tins we held in reserve. We have none available to repeat the dose."
"I fancy they've had quite enough, eh, what?" rejoined Dacres. "Thanks, old man, it feels absolutely all right. A trifle on the tight side, perhaps, but for an amateur, Billy, you know how to doctor a fellow. Hallo, Osborne; how goes it? My word, that petrol flare shook 'em up a bit; but we needn't have used the lot. I was just saying——"
"It is indeed unfortunate," interposed Captain M'Bride. "We certainly ought not to have used the whole quantity. I had no idea that it would make such a furnace. Nearly lifted my eyebrows off, by Jove!"
"It's my opinion that the Arabs won't come up for a second dose," remarked Dacres.
"If they do they'll exercise more caution," said the skipper. "We must be prepared for a night attack. I've told off a party to pick up the rifles, ammunition, and spears of the Senussi left on the field. Mr. Osborne, will you see that the zariba is repaired?"
The Lieutenant saluted, and hurried away to carry out the Captain's order. Already twenty additional Mauser rifles had been brought in, and about four hundred rounds of ammunition. These were served out to the seamen, the recipients being specially cautioned to keep the captured ammunition apart from the British Service cartridges, so that no confusion would arise in the event of a possible attack during the hours of darkness.
Osborne had not allowed the lessons of the grim conflict to pass without gaining useful hints. At his suggestion the zariba was increased in thickness, the height remaining the same, while the ground for a width of twenty yards in front was liberally "salted" with sharp-pointed thorns that were buried "business end uppermost" in the sand, leaving a couple of inches projecting as a trap for unwary and unshod feet.
Since there was not another fougasse to fire, the Lieutenant loaded the Very's pistol and lashed it to the stump of a bush about a hundred yards from the trenches. To the trigger he tied a thin piece of cord, obtained by unreeving the strands of a length of rope, and secured the other end to a picket driven deeply into the sand. In the event of any of the Senussi creeping up to the defences at night, contact with the cord would instantly give the alarm.
By dint of hard work, these preparations were completed before the short twilight gave place to intense darkness. It was now blowing hard from the nor'east, and, in spite of the fact that only a narrow strip of ground lay between the rear of the trenches and the sea, the defences were exposed to irritating clouds of fine sand that penetrated almost everything—even the intricate breech-mechanism of the magazine rifles.
"I wonder how the whaler is faring?" was the question that rose to the lips of almost every member of the shipwrecked crew, not once but many times. With the rising breeze the men realized that the boat had a dead beat to wind'ard, and that, even if she could still carry canvas, her progress towards the distant goal would be very, very slow.
The night was cold, for the sand radiated its heat with remarkable rapidity, while the on-shore wind was bitterly keen. Without adequate clothing the men suffered acutely, their condition accentuated by the quick contrast with the scorching rays of the sun during the day. Those not detailed for sentry work huddled together in the trenches, the wounded being provided with awnings fashioned from the boats' sails stretched between pairs of oars. Slowly the hours passed, for, although not a single watch belonging to the castaways had survived the prolonged immersion in salt water, a fairly accurate count of time could be kept by means of the position of certain well-known stars.
At about midnight the sky was overcast, and even this means of calculating time was at an end. In utter silence the sentries maintained a vigilant look-out, while their comrades either dozed fitfully or lay awake, shivering with cold, and on thorns of expectancy for the night attack.
Suddenly the tense stillness of the night was broken by a sharp report, followed by the appearance of a vivid light two hundred feet or more in the air. The Very pistol had been discharged.
Instantly the defenders sprang to their feet. Those having rifles manned the loopholes, opened the "cut-offs" of the magazines, and prepared to pour a withering fire into the expected mass of Senussi.
But nothing in the nature of a wild chorus of war-cries pierced the darkness. In the distance could be heard sounds of commotion amongst the Arabs, who had encamped at about two or three miles from the scene of the previous encounter. In front of the zariba all was quiet.
"Did you see anything, Wilson?" asked Osborne of one of the sentries.
"Nothing, sir," was the reply. "And when that rocket went off it was as clear as day, in fact my eyes are still dazzled by the light."
"Perhaps it was a sniper or a scout," suggested Dacres, who at the first alarm had hurried to his post.
"If so, I fancy he's made himself scarce," added Osborne.
"By the by, Osborne," remarked Major Fane, "did you set that cord up fairly tight when you fixed it to the trigger?"
"As taut as I dared," replied the Lieutenant. "It wanted only a four-pound pull to set off the cartridge."
"Then I fancy I can explain," continued the Major. "You didn't make any allowance for the contraction of the cord with the dew."
Osborne bit his lip. He was too straightforward to offer excuses. He knew perfectly well the effect of damp upon rope, and at this critical time he had omitted to make practical use of his knowledge. The false alarm had turned out every man when they badly needed sleep and rest.
The Very's pistol was reloaded and the trigger-line slacked off. Once more the men not on sentry sought to gain some hours of slumber in their uncomfortable surroundings.
The rest of the night passed without further incident, the enemy making no further attempt to molest the camp. With the dawn the defenders were roused. A small quantity of water, half a biscuit, and a morsel of salt beef were served out, and on this scanty ration each man had to exist for the next six hours.
"Where's that Turkish fellow?" enquired Osborne. "He hasn't put in an appearance for his food."
No one had seen him, for owing to his religious scruples the Ottoman aviator had constructed his shelter at a little distance to the rear of the trench.
"I seed 'im makin' for his caboodle just after that there set-to last night, sir," volunteered one of the seamen. "Shall I rout 'im out?"
"No, I'll go," said Dacres. "I can speak his lingo." And crossing the intervening stretch of sand he reached the artificial hollow that the Turk had dug out.
Afir-al-Bahr was lying on his side; his "prayer-carpet", which devout Mohammedans carry with them in all circumstances, was spread at his feet. To all appearance the Turk was sleeping peacefully—but it was the sleep of death. During the attack on the zariba he had received a mortal wound; yet, with a remarkable reticence, he had crawled away to die in solitude.
They buried him hastily in the hollow he had constructed. No volleys were fired over his grave—cartridges were too precious for that; no "Last Post" rent the air, since no bugle was available. Yet the homage of the Portchester Castle's ship's company to a brave and gallant enemy—a man who had done his level best to blow the ship to pieces, and had afterwards fought side by side with his country's foes—was none the less sincere.
Hardly had the last rites been accomplished when signs of renewed activity were visible amongst the Senussi. During the night their numbers had been augmented by other bands of desert nomads, until the present strength more than exceeded the force that had delivered the previous attack with such disastrous results.
Yet the Arabs appeared to be in no immediate hurry. Evidently they guessed that the defenders were scantily supplied with food and water. They could afford to wait until the British, faint with hunger, and weakening under the effect of the enervating, torrid atmosphere, would be unable to offer any strenuous resistance.
"I almost wish they'd make a move, by Jove, I do!" remarked Dacres. "Suppose I oughtn't to say it though, since the longer they wait the more chance we have of rescue; but it's slow work hanging on to a mound of sand and expecting those fellows to make a rush."
"Looks as though your half-expressed wish will be gratified, old man," replied Major Fane, as a swarm of white-robed men edged along to the right of the defenders' position, taking considerable care to keep good cover. "See their move? They're making for the beach. If they get behind us, there'll be the deuce to pay!"
The tactics of the Senussi necessitated a rearrangement of the defenders. At Captain M'Bride's order, those of the riflemen who had been armed with rifles taken from the dead Arabs were detached from the centre and moved to a flanking position, so as to command the approach along the shore. Those seamen who had brought their own rifles were still retained in front of the zariba, so as to check any frontal attack.
Meanwhile Osborne, assisted by two volunteers, boldly left the shelter of the trenches and began to dig up the scorched and blistered petrol tins. These they set up in a conspicuous place a few yards in front of the original line, coolly completing the task in spite of an erratic fire from the Arab sharpshooters.
"What's the move?" enquired Dacres when the Lieutenant returned safely to shelter.
"It may work; it's a little ruse," replied Osborne. "They'll see the tins easily enough. I've put the best side of them facing outwards. If they think that we'll be able to repeat the curtain-of-fire business, they'll think twice before making a frontal attack. It's quite bad enough to be taken in the rear of both flanks, without a direct rush."
"There's the green banner again," exclaimed Fane. "That looks like business."
"Steady, my lads," shouted the heroic skipper. "Let 'em have it."
The rattle of musketry sounded along the shore. The result surpassed all expectation, for, to the defenders' surprise, scores of Senussi toppled over on the sand, some writhing, although for the most part those who fell lay still. The rush ended abruptly, the rest of the Arabs turning and running at full speed for the shelter of the dunes.
"That's knocked the stuffing out of them," declared Captain M'Bride. "Now, lads, there's another haul of equipment."
A dozen or more of the seamen who did not possess rifles made their way through the zariba, and approached the fallen foe with the intention of despoiling them of their arms. While engaged in this task, quite fifty of the fallen Senussi sprang to their feet, and fell upon the tricked men. The ruse was disastrous as far as the defenders were concerned, for those remaining in the trenches dare not fire for fear of hitting their comrades. Before a rescue-party could approach, the over-eager despoilers, hopelessly outnumbered, were cut down to a man, while the cunning Arabs, pursued by a fierce fire from the vengeful defenders, succeeded in regaining the main body with severe losses.
The handful of the Portchester Castle's crew who had fallen in this daring ruse could ill be spared. Although they had fought and died gamely, and had accounted for more of the enemy than their own numbers, the relative loss went against the beleaguered force. They had gained experience at a high price.
Another grave discovery was brought home to the sorely pressed men. Their ammunition was running short. Magazine rifle-fire is apt to make heavy inroads upon the stock of cartridges, and, although the men had exercised considerable restraint and had hardly thrown away a single shot; the fact remained that the supply had dwindled down to less than a couple of hundred.
"And the worst of it is," confided Major Fane, "we have those four women—passengers from the Sunderbund—in our hands. They are as plucky as one could wish; by Jove, they are! If the worst comes to the worst——"
"Yes, Major," added Captain M'Bride quietly. "I understand. We must never let them fall alive into the hands of these brutes."
Throughout the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon the Senussi continued their wearing-down tactics, making numerous feints, either singly or simultaneously at different points; yet no definite attack matured. All the while a long-range fire was directed upon the defences, and although the enemy wasted prodigious quantities of ammunition the net result was two men severely, and four slightly wounded.
"Now they mean business, I fancy," said Major Fane, as a tremendous hubbub, in which the beating of drums figured largely, came from the enemy position. "These fellows seem to fancy the hours before sunset."
A vast semicircle of dark-featured Arabs, their strength now exceeding three thousand, told pretty plainly that the defences were to be rushed from all available directions. This time, save for a few exceptions, all the attackers were on foot, although in the centre rode another green-turbaned Amir, bearing the emerald-hued banner that was to bring victory to the Faithful.
Even as the survivors of the Portchester Castle stood ready for the order to open fire, the air was torn by the shrill screech of a heavy projectile, quickly followed by another and another. With a succession of terrific crashes, twelve-pounder shells burst fairly amidst the dense serried ranks of the Senussi. It was more than fanatical courage could stand. They broke and fled, leaving the green banner torn to shreds in the grasp of the lifeless Amir.
Too utterly done up even to cheer, the rescued garrison gazed seawards. Less than two miles from shore, and pelting onwards at a good twenty-five knots, was a British destroyer. It was rescue in the very nick of time.