In the evening he told me several interesting stories, laughable in their cleverness, of the way in which these Pathans managed to obtain from Peshawur weapons of English manufacture.
The Midnight Alarm.
The tents had been put up facing the river on the edge of the high bank, in order to catch as much breeze as possible. The Armenian’s tent was just at a corner where a nullah or dry water-course cut the bank; mine was next. The nullah was perhaps twelve feet deep, and the bank of the river some twenty feet above the surface of the water.
I turned in about ten o’clock and slept soundly till about midnight, when I was awakened suddenly by the sound of a scuffle. Instantly it occurred to me, “the Shenwarris are after my guns.”
I threw a cloak round me and stepped out of the tent. It was very dark, but there appeared to be a free fight going on. I could dimly make out a body of men struggling, could hear the thuds of blows and the Armenian’s voluminous voice roaring in manifest rage. There were no reports of firearms, but it occurred to me as an advisable precaution to be possessed of a revolver before entering the mêlée. Mine, a heavy one, had been carried by the Armenian the day before, and since he was not using it I concluded it must be in his tent. Hastily, therefore, so as not to be out of the fun, I made for his tent. Remembering the high bank and the rapid river below, I groped round the back of the tent, stumbling over the ropes, until—down I went. I had forgotten all about the nullah. Instinctively throwing out a hand, I caught a tent-peg. It cracked dangerously at the sudden jerk, and for a moment I was hanging over the edge at arm’s length on this rickety concern; then I found my feet resting on a ledge. I was very annoyed at being so entirely shelved, and was considering how I could get out of the position with dignity and honour, when I heard the sound of some one running and the Armenian’s voice calling,
“Sir! Sir! Where are you?”
I answered, as it were, from the bowels of the earth, and when he had localized my whereabouts he hauled me up. I had to leave my dignity behind. He said—
“Sir, please, you go back, you not trouble; I manage these bally rascal: these dogs’ sons. A little I afraid you get hurt.”
Of course, I was not going back to my tent until I knew what the row was all about.
A light was brought. The Colonel commanding the station, and a crowd of people, all more or less excited, were to be seen. They pulled out a charpoy from one of the tents for me to sit on, and tea was brought—why, I don’t know. When we had drank tea everyone began to explain at once. The Colonel in Persian; the soldiers in Pushtu; and the Armenian in involved English. The Colonel and the soldiers spoke very fast and loudly, constantly interrupting one another, and I caught only a word here and there. What the Armenian wished to express I could not imagine. A man was then brought forward with his arms bound behind his back.