From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

“That’s an odd sound,” I observed to Mr Rozario, who was riding by my side; “larks, I suppose, disturbed by the tinkling of our mule-bells.”

“Yes, sir, it sounds like the voice of birds. There it is again, farther off.”

The sounds ceased, we crossed the bridge and clearing a patch of thin brushwood, got on to a bit of plain country. It was just midnight, my horse was very tired, and his rider was very sleepy. So I drew aside to let the baggage get on, and dismounted to await my riding-camel in the rear of the column. Its saddle required a little adjusting, and all meanwhile went ahead except myself, the camel-driver, the khavass Ilyás, and one of our escort.

“All is ready,” said Hydar Ali, the driver, and I took my seat behind him. The camel had just risen from the crouch, when there came the sound of a confused buzz of voices, and a quick rustling of footsteps on the hard plain behind us.

“Bang! bang!” from my attendants as they shot ahead full speed, shouting, “To the baggage!—quick! quick! to the baggage!” “Bang! bang!” again as they turned in their saddles and fired into our pursuers. And amidst a din of shouts and guttural sounds, I found myself joggled along at a pace equal to that of the horses. Two minutes brought us to the baggage, all halted and clustered together in a packed mass. The escort came to the front, and with threats followed by shots, kept the robbers at bay, whilst their cháwash or officer had the baggage unladen and the loads piled in a semicircular breastwork, the mules ranged outside and the followers inside. All this was done with the rapidity of lightning, and in less time than it has taken me to describe it, we found ourselves, half a dozen horsemen, arms in hand, at either end of the breastwork, facing a party of thirty or forty Arab robbers at the edge of some brushwood not as many yards of.

“I know them,” said the cháwash. “This is our only chance. If we move, they will shower their javelins amongst us and then rush in with their knives.” “Bang! bang!” “Have a care! we mean to fight,” shouted some of our party; and Ilyás answered their demands for the zawwár Ajam (Persian pilgrims) to be made over to them as their lawful prize, by the bold intimation that we were not pilgrims at all, but thirty Englishmen, all armed with rifles. The venerable old Shekh too put in a word, or rather many words, in a horribly harsh and savagely energetic language. What he said I don’t know, but it led to a noisy and confused discussion amongst the robbers, who suddenly disappeared, leaving an ominous silence to puzzle us.

The night had now become dark, and the figures in front of us could no longer be traced, either by their movements or voices. Presently, whilst we were intently peering into the dim belt of bushes in front of us, a suppressed whiseet-whiseet was heard on the plain to our right. “Look out!” shouted our cháwash as he rushed from side to side to encourage his men; “they are on both our flanks. Don’t fire now; wait till they come close, and then shoot and use your swords.” Another silence, and then faint sounds in front “They are here,” said two or three voices, and immediately a couple of shots turned our attention towards them, and we stood, pistols in hand, ready to meet a rush.

And so it went on for three hours, the cháwash now and again warning us to be on the alert, as the robbers reckoned on our becoming sleepy and careless in the silence. “They are not gone,” he would shout, “let them see you are awake.” And the warning seemed necessary, for our followers who were unarmed had quietly rolled themselves up in their blankets, and disposed themselves to sleep under the shelter of the baggage—a strange instance of oriental indifference and resignation to fate.

About three in the morning day began to dawn, and we found the bushes in our front empty, and discovered the cause of our safety in a dry water-cut running along their front. Two or three of our escort were sent out to reconnoitre the land, and finding all clear, we loaded the baggage and proceeded, after standing at bay upwards of three hours. “I see no signs of our firing having taken effect,” I said to the cháwash. “No, thank God,” he replied, “we did not wound any of them. If we had, they would have got reinforcements from the Arab camps around, and we should not have escaped their hands.”

After proceeding a little way, we came to a deserted roadside sarae. “There,” said the cháwash, “that’s the place where these very robbers plundered a káfila only last night.” A dead donkey with its pack-saddle lay under the shade of its walls, and we went past congratulating ourselves on our providential escape. Onwards our road went across a level country, well cultivated, and covered with villages and date-groves, the last a feature in the scene we had not before now met with.