Life in the Eagle's Nest

by A. L. O. E.

"What mean ye?" asked the Afghan chief. "Mustapha left the fort at noon and cannot return at night, for the key of the gate is with me."

"I know not how that may be," said Mir Ghazan, with impatience; "I found the gate open not an hour ago, for there had been a stirring in the courtyard, and I knew that some mischief was brewing. I went forth, following two figures that moved before me; they stopped just below the Vulture's Crag. I was present, unseen, at a meeting where, had they caught a glimpse of me, I had been silenced with a dagger. Mustapha is rousing the tribe against us Christians. I outstripped the rebels to give you warning, but even at this moment the bloodthirsty throng must be close at the gate. Hark! hear you not their wild yells!"

Sultána, pale, but perfectly calm, with Rahim, her ten-days' old babe in her arms, now stood by the side of her husband. "We have no means of escape," she said; "if we go to the gate we but meet them. Let us hasten to the Feringhee's room" (it still commonly went by that name); "it has a strong door and a lock. We can at least hold out there for some hours—till the Lord, in His mercy, send us succour."

There was no time for more words. Mir Ghazan's wife, roused by the noise, was at the foot of the dark stair which led up to the chief's apartments. The small band of Christians with hurried steps made their way into the court-yard, open to the silver moonlight, and then sped up the ladder staircase, Ali Khan himself being the last to mount it. Scarcely had he entered the Feringhee's room when the court-yard was full of Pathans, some shouting the Moslems' hulma* some, "Down with the renegade Karanis! Mustapha! Mustapha! he is our chief!"

* "There is but one God, and Mohammed is his prophet."

The door was shut, the key turned in the lock. Thus a breathing space of time was secured to the fugitives, standing in semi-darkness within their narrow place of retreat.

"Let us pray," said Sultána, and every knee was bent in silent prayer.

There was a rush up the ladder, an angry knocking and thumping at the door; but the timber of which it was made was strong, and resisted the efforts of Ali Khan's assailants.

"Let alone!" cried a voice from without, loud enough to be heard above the clamour. "We have good allies within yon room. Unless the eagles bring the Kafirs food, and the hot winds water, hunger and thirst will soon force them to open the door!"

The words had their effect. The assault was for the time reduced to a blockade. No one was to be suffered to come out of the prison which the Christians had made their fortress. Pent up in their narrow quarters, exposed to hunger, thirst, and heat (for the month was May), the Kafirs should be driven at last to surrender and apostatise—or perish. In the meantime their enemies should feast; there should be a banquet to celebrate the elevation of Mustapha to the leadership of the tribe, and his fallen rival should hear the festal mirth.