King of the Air; Or, To Morocco on an Aeroplane

by Herbert Strang

Rather more than an hour passed. Schwab became more and more anxious. At last a much larger party rode down at a gallop, among them the sheikh himself. Raising his voice when he came below the cave, he called on the occupants to surrender, threatening them with the most fearful tortures if they persisted in defying him. It was evident from the terms he used that he was under the impression that his escaped prisoners and their rescuers were all in the cave together, and thus that he had them fairly trapped. Abdul made the most of this mistake. He warned the sheikh against braving the power of the white man. He had already had one example of it; the Firangi had shown him more mercy than he deserved; the second example would entail dire consequences on himself and his village. But this reply only fanned the flames of the sheikh’s wrath; he was not to be intimidated by words: and, hurling more threats, he began to consult with his followers as to some means of enforcing his summons.

It was clearly a hazardous if not indeed an impossible task to approach the cave from below. One man in the cave, so long as he kept himself out of range of rifle fire, could hold any number at bay. How much more, then, would it be disastrous to make the attempt against, as the sheikh supposed, five or six well-armed men? But, as Abdul well knew, it was just possible to gain the plateau above the cave, from which access to it could be obtained, by climbers acting in concert on the eastern face of the hill. That this longer but easier ascent would be known to the enemy there was no doubt, for Abdul had just recognized, among the horsemen who had accompanied the sheikh, a young man who had been his companion in former days, and with whom as a boy he had actually performed the feat.

Anxiously he watched the colloquy below. Behind, Schwab was imploring him to explain what the sheikh had said. It turned out as he had feared. His former companion with a few others left the sheikh and disappeared; the rest made themselves comfortable within a few yards of the foot of the hill. Abdul had little doubt that he would soon have to reckon with an attack from above; not an easy matter, in truth, but far more likely to succeed than any attempt from below.

There was a long interval. Under stress of fear and hunger, Schwab was nearly demented. He walked about the cave, with his hands pressed hard upon the neighbourhood of the lowest button of his waistcoat, uttering guttural groans, making lugubrious appeals to the Homeland, and to a lady whom he called at one time Mrs. Bottle, at another “mein briddy Chain,” and ever and anon anathematizing Thomas Dorrell, “vat do nozink for me—for me, vat do so much for him viz Photographic Sensitizer Preparation Number Six.” Abdul paid no heed to the German’s fumings and frettings, nor to the entreaties of Salathiel ben Ezra, who, stretched on his back, tied hand and foot, added to his prayers the most lavish promises if the Moor would only release him and help him to return to his own place.

At last, Abdul, squatting silent and watchful just within the opening of the cave, saw a pair of legs dangling in front of him. Some of the enemy had, as he had foreseen, made their way to the top of the hill, and were about to attempt to reach the cave from above. It was a foolhardy proceeding, for they could only come singly, and the occupants of the cave could easily dispose of them. Indeed, Abdul surmised that the sheikh was trying an experiment, sending one of his men to draw the badger. However that may have been, the application of the point of Abdul’s knife to the calf of one of the dangling legs caused the owner of them to draw them hastily up and to swarm up the rope to which he was clinging, as a spider runs up his filmy thread when threatened by an enemy.

Apparently the sheikh was satisfied that a direct assault, whether from above or below, was hopeless, for thenceforth the cave party were left in peace. But it was peace only externally. Even Abdul himself, who had hitherto preserved extraordinary composure, now showed signs of perturbation. What was the enemy doing? He dared not attempt to see, for he knew that if he showed his head it would be the target for a dozen bullets. Did the sheikh intend to starve them out? Their food was all gone; the tin of water was almost empty; it was impossible to get a fresh supply of either. Voices were heard from below; once Abdul heard an answering call from above; it appeared indeed as if the sheikh had resolved on an investment, knowing that sooner or later the occupants of the cave must yield or die.

The day passed. Schwab fell into a sleep of exhaustion. Abdul remained sleepless, wondering why the Englishman had not reappeared with the airship, as he had said he would do. Had some mishap befallen him? Surely he had not wilfully deserted them! This Abdul refused to believe. When morning broke he ventured to go to the mouth of the cave and look out. The Moors were still below; apparently they had camped all night on the ground. They caught sight of Abdul, and mockingly invited him to share their cous-cousoo. He made no reply, and again withdrew into the shadow.

Schwab was by this time a wreck. He lay silent. From the back of the cave came piteous moans from Salathiel, begging to be relieved of his bonds. But Abdul was obdurate; he had enough to do to keep watch on the enemy in front, without having to reckon with the Jew besides, for he knew that Salathiel would stick at no treachery.

Impassive as Abdul appeared, he was in reality on the verge of despair. The time was fast approaching when he must choose between starvation and surrender. The choice did not trouble him; he would never surrender to the sheikh of Ain Afroo. What troubled him was the thought that his old enemy would once more triumph; that the vengeance on which he had set his whole mind for years was to be snatched from him.