The Exiles of Faloo

by Barry Pain

“Quite so,” said Lechworthy. “I do not think I shall go to sleep.”

The rebels constituted about three-quarters of the native male population of Faloo. But, as the three brothers who led them were well aware, they were very little to be depended on. And for this reason the leaders had not dared to disclose the whole of their plan. The Exiles’ Club was to be burned down, and those who escaped from the flames were to be slaughtered. The leaders found it expedient to declare that no attack on the King or the King’s property was intended, and that although in this destruction of the white men they would be disobeying the King’s orders, they would really be carrying out his secret wishes, and would readily be forgiven. The feeling against the men of the Exiles’ Club was immensely strong, and so far the leaders felt confident.

The second part of their plan they did not venture yet to disclose, for only in the excitement induced by victory and by liquor looted from the club could they hope to find followers to take part in its execution. It was proposed then to attack the King’s house; the two white men there were to be killed, and an exact vengeance was to be taken on the white woman. The King’s safety was to depend on the terms that he would make with the rebels. Now the taboo was a real thing to the natives, and equally real was their loyalty to the King and their superstitious fear of his powers; even their hatred of the men of the Exiles’ Club would not have led them to enter upon its attack at all, if they had known what sequel to it was intended.

The first part of the plan was not well executed, and with prompt action it is probable that many of the members of the club would have escaped. Had any precautions against fire been taken, it is possible that even the club-house, in spite of the inflammable material used in its construction, might have been saved. The task of firing the club-house had been entrusted to natives who were club-servants, and in their eagerness they started the two fires at least an hour before the time agreed upon, and before the cordon of armed natives had closed round the club-grounds. Several of the members had not yet gone to bed and were still in the card-room; Sir John Sweetling and Hanson were among the number. But though the fires were discovered almost immediately, there was no fire-extinguishing apparatus and no adequate water-supply. The attempts made to beat out the fire failed completely and only wasted time. With such rapidity did the flames spread that, although the alarm was given at once, there were still men in the bedrooms when the sheet of fire swept up the flimsy staircase. Most of them made a jump from the windows and escaped. One, a little man who had passed by the name of Pentwin, broke his leg in his fall and lay fainting with agony in the long grass at the back of the house.

Those who had escaped wasted much time in saving such furniture and stores as they could, dragging it on to the lawn. And there they stood around it stupidly, wondering what would happen next. Half of them did not know how the fire had originated, and did not realise that the native rising, so long talked of, had taken place at last. Mast knew perhaps, but he was demented and useless. Sir John and Hanson knew, but they were chiefly concerned in seeing that all had escaped safely from the fire.

It was bright as day on the lawn. There was a card-table, brought out just as it was, with loose cards and used glasses on it. There were heaps of Standard oil-tins. There were casks of spirits and rows of bottles with gold-foil round their necks. There was a jumble of bent-wood chairs and lounges, with legs shot cataleptically outwards and cushions shed abroad. There were piles of table-linen and full plate-baskets, mirrors in gold frames and a mezzotint of “The Soul’s Awakening.” Lord Charles Baringstoke went from one man to another, displaying a small square box of plaited grass with some exultation. “See that?” he said. “That’s my lizard. I saved the little beggar. He lost me half a quid only last night, but I saved him—damn him.” Nobody took much notice of him. Most of them stood quite still, without word or movement, staring at the fire as if under a spell. Some were bare-footed and in pyjamas, just as they had come from their beds.

They were equally unmoved when Mast, his eyes blazing with insanity, climbed up on a chair, flung his arms wide and raved. “The judgment of God is upon us,” he shouted, “the judgment of God! This is the day of Tyre and Sidon. Not with hyssop but with fire must we be made clean of our sins—this is the commandment revealed to me. Come then to the baptism of fire!” He stepped down and would have thrown himself into the burning building, but Sir John flung him roughly to the ground, and he lay there weeping. Sir John had a club-list in his hand and Hanson at his shoulder. Together they checked the list to see if any were missing. A little distance away the parrot jumped and fluttered on its perch, rattling its chain furiously, drawing innumerable corks.

“Five not here,” said Hanson, “and all men who slept in the house. I’ll run round to the back to see if I can find any of them.”

There he found a little man with a broken leg, moaning with pain. A canvas envelope had jerked out of the man’s pocket as he fell. It lay on the grass with the contents half out of it. Amongst them was a visiting-card printed in blue, and by the light of the fire Hanson read it. The maimed man made a clutch for the other papers but it was Hanson who got them. He glanced through them quickly, neglecting those that were written in cypher, and then flung them into the fire.