Barclay of the Guides

by Herbert Strang

With the thought of the imminent extinction of the light a wild chance suggested itself. On the charpoy, close to his feet, was a small bundle of straw which had apparently been used as a pillow. It was almost opposite to the lamp. Drawing up his feet slightly, he gently pushed the bundle to the edge of the charpoy. He was careful to move it slowly, for straw crackles, and he expected that the slight rustle he could not help making would be heard by the men. But if they heard the sound at all, they probably attributed it merely to his uneasy movements. He pushed the bundle inch by inch until it came to a position where in a few moments it must fall over the edge of the charpoy to the floor. Would it fall on the lamp? If it did, would it extinguish the flame? If it did not extinguish the flame, would it catch light quickly enough to prevent the men from quenching the flame? To all these questions was added another: Would the signal gun be fired before anything could be done?

Ahmed saw that the men were so near to the lamp that even if the bundle caught fire they could stamp out the flames before they made such a glare as would raise an alarm. By some means this must be prevented. The very signal he had dreaded lent him aid. The gun was fired. The fakir rose to go. In another moment the lamp would be put out. Ahmed gave the little bundle the last tilt necessary to cause it to overbalance, and next instant he drew his feet up, stuck them under the charpoy, and, suddenly shooting them out, kicked it directly upon the three men, who were still squatting on the floor, looking towards the fakir as they bade him farewell. The three or four seconds thus gained achieved his object. The straw was ignited, a huge flame shot up in an instant to the roof. This, as in all Indian huts, was low. Being made of thatch it caught fire readily. The hut was ablaze.

For the moment the conspirators were thrown so completely off their balance that they knew not how to act. But it soon dawned on them that the fire must bring the whole camp down on them; already there were cries from without. The discovery of Ahmed bound, dead or alive, would be fatal to them. They could not get rid of him. Safety lay in flight alone. Barely five seconds after the sudden outbreak of flame they dashed out of the hut, rushed among the men who were flocking up, and in the confusion made for the gate and disappeared.

But the fakir was not with them. On the point of departing when the straw caught fire, he too had been dazed for a moment by the sudden glare, and took a step forward to flee. But then he turned, whipped out his knife, and ran to where Ahmed lay. Ahmed saw him coming, saw the knife in his hand, knew his fell purpose. Quick as thought he wriggled against the wall and drew up his knees. Minghal came swiftly towards him, intent only on his murderous design. Suddenly out shot the prisoner's bound feet; they caught the stooping fakir square on the knees. He reeled back against the loose matting of the doorway, and stumbled against one of the crowd whom the fire had summoned.

The man hurled him aside. He fell and was trampled by the feet of others. There were cries all around; some were shouting for water, others were beating at the burning roof with their swords; no one paid heed to the man on the ground. Bruised with kicks he wriggled through the press until he came near the gate; then, in full sight of the sentry, he raised his hands and piously besought the aid of Allah to save the dwellings of the faithful.

Meanwhile the British officers had run up to the scene of the conflagration. First of them was Lieutenant Hawes, the adjutant. The men fell back from him as he pushed his way towards the blazing hut.

"Where are the men?" he cried. "Is any one inside?"

"That we know not, sahib," replied a Gurkha.

"We cannot see through the smoke, sahib," added a tall Afridi; "we are beating out the flames."

"Idiots!" cried the lieutenant. "Out of the way!"