The Flag of the Adventurer

by Sydney C. Grier

“Well, they may say whether they’ll be shot, or drowned in the storm. I’d much rather be drowned——” She stopped suddenly, for the second pistol, which had lain beside her knee, was hastily withdrawn, and a shot rang out behind her. Then she laughed rather wildly, for the deferential voice of the old bearer murmured—

“This humble one made bold to fire at one of the sons of wickedness who was climbing into the boat behind the Beebee’s back.”

“Quite right!” she said, still laughing, then turned sharply upon Mr Firozji. “Tell them they are wasting time. If the storm overtakes us ’twill be their fault. I’m tired of this. Let them make up their minds.”

Again there was a prolonged conversation, and apparently the Kajias gave a grudging assent to the condition. “If the Beebee is determined to drown all of us and the Kajias too, she must,” remarked Mr Firozji sourly as he scrambled on board the boat, having taken the opportunity of putting in a word for himself in the course of the negotiations. Yet Eveleen had the idea that he was not really displeased, and she wondered whether he could possibly be in league with the Kajias after all. But the notion seemed so absurd that she banished it again, though disregarding coldly his hints that the night air was unhealthy, and refusing to invite him into the cabin. The Kajias—or the boatmen—or perhaps they were the same: it was impossible to see—were very busy, working with an alacrity rather surprising in the circumstances. There was a slight chill breeze to be felt now, and they were hoisting the sail, and also getting out their poles. Were they really indifferent which bank they landed on, or were they plotting further treachery? As noiselessly as she could, Eveleen supplemented the chair which served her as a parapet by such other pieces of furniture and packages as she could reach, and whispered to Abdul Qaiyam to do the same at the other end of the cabin, entrusting him with one of the pistols. In feeling about, she came across Ketty, who had preserved such an unwonted silence during the stirring events of the last half-hour that her mistress had forgotten all about her. But she had been employing her time to advantage, as Eveleen discovered when she found her dressing-case open and largely denuded. Her handmaid had been removing such fittings as were of convenient size, and concealing them about her person.

“What in the world are you doing, Ketty?” The tone would have been louder but for prudential reasons.

“What madam doing without her things?” was the self-righteous reply, calculated to make Eveleen repent her unjust suspicions. Were they really unjust? she wondered.

“Well, I hope y’are taking care of the Sahib as well,” she said. “He needs much more than I do.”

The sniff with which Ketty replied suggested that she considered this would be trespassing on Abdul Qaiyam’s province, but her mistress had no time to see whether she was obeying or not, for there were other things to think of. The tardy storm was coming up at last, heralded by the breeze which was taking the boat across the stream. Great drops of rain were falling like bullets on the cabin roof, and the air was full of a hissing noise. The boat was in the main stream now, and the boatmen drew in their poles, and evidently settled down to hold tight and hope for the best. The river seemed bewitched, cross-currents driving the boat now this way, now that, and the men who were managing the clumsy sail had no easy task. The vessel was not built for rough weather, her draught being too shallow and her deck-load too heavy. She bounced and bobbed about, shipping a good deal of water, and hurling all the loose things in the cabin from side to side with every lurch. Fearful of a surprise, Eveleen durst not leave her post even to see that Richard was safe, and had to take what comfort she could from the knowledge that his charpoy was fixed to the deck. By the sounds she heard, she gathered that the two servants were in the throes of sea-sickness, and she wondered dismally what would happen if she herself were prostrated by it as on the voyage from Bombay. But her mental preoccupation probably saved her, and she was able to maintain her watch. Sheets of rain were falling now, and she was soaked to the skin, but did her best to shelter the pistol under the wadded quilt she dragged from her bed. The lightning was almost continuous, and whenever the howling and shrieking of the wind would allow, the rolling thunder filled up any pauses. The boat appeared to have embarked with enthusiasm on a series of experiments—now trying to stand on her head, now on her tail, and then seeing how far she could heel over without actually dipping gunwale under. It was wonderful that the mast did not go, though the great sail had been partly torn and partly cut away, and replaced by a tiny one which just kept the vessel before the wind. By the flashes of the lightning Eveleen noted grimly the miserable huddled figures forward, and guessed that the Kajias were not particularly happy in their conquest.

“If only there was a man on board worth a halfpenny—barring my poor Ambrose,” she said to herself, “we’d retake the ship in no time. But who is there at all? Firozji is no mortal use; if Bearer can fire a pistol, that’s the most he can do; and as for the boatmen, if they ain’t Codgers themselves, they’re every bit as bad. Indeed and they’re worse, for they ain’t sea-sick.”

Her self-communing was interrupted by a tremendous clap of wind, which came down on the boat as though determined to end her gambols at one blow. But once more she righted herself, though the cabin roof was torn bodily from its supports and carried gaily down the river. Eveleen’s heart failed her until she had assured herself, by groping and feeling, that Richard and the two servants were still there. The roar and crack had been so overwhelming that for the moment she fully believed the boat had broken in two, and they were all so wet already that the exposure to the rain hardly signified. Moreover, the loss of the mast and the cabin made the boat decidedly steadier, though Eveleen was less grateful for this than might have been expected, since she saw distinct signs of returning animation among the captors when the lightning made them visible. Could they be nearing the shore? she wondered. How long they had been tossing about, yet on the whole forging eastwards, she could not tell, but now that the lightning was less continuous, it seemed to her that between the flashes the darkness was not quite so in tense. It was a poor prospect—to be turned out on an unknown shore with a sick man and two frightened servants; but the expectation of treachery was so strong in her mind that she would have been thankful if they had been already there. Certainly it was not goodwill on the part of the Kajias that had induced them to undertake a voyage of so much danger and difficulty to get rid of their prisoners, with the prospect of another even more difficult and dangerous in getting back to their own side of the river; what then was it? It was not fear. During her tempestuous vigil she had seen that clearly. Her bluff before the storm had been spirited, but at any moment she might have been rushed from behind and thrown overboard, or a man on a mashak, shooting at the sound of her voice in the dark, might have crippled or killed her without the slightest risk to himself. It could hardly be vengeance, since—though it might involve more suffering to your captives to maroon them on the barren shore where they had mistakenly asked to be placed than to kill them and dispose of their bodies in the river—their sufferings, which you would not see, would hardly be sufficient compensation for the risk to yourself involved in getting them there. Mr Firozji, too. A certain complacence about the little man’s manner led Eveleen to the conclusion that the greater part of his merchandise must consist in precious stones hidden about his person, so that he could regard lightly the loss of all the rest. But if she could guess this, so could the Kajias, and were they really going to allow him to escape with it? The whole thing—like all the events of the night—was beset with riddles, and all that could be done was to keep a sharp watch against surprise. But in what direction? Eveleen did not know where to look, and moreover, the unceasing strain of the last few hours was telling upon her. She had been soaked so repeatedly that she could hardly remember what it was to feel dry and warm; she was aching in every limb, and—what was worse—her eyes would hardly keep open. In spite of the misery of body and anxiety of mind which had already endured so long, she began to find her eyelids closing involuntarily and imperceptibly, when she knew she ought to redouble her vigilance of the night now that dawn would soon give her enemies the advantage. She had no longer even the shelter of the cabin from which to fire, and her poor attempt at a barricade had been disintegrated long ago, and its component parts strewn upon the waters. She turned her head with difficulty, and saw—yes, the light must be increasing, since now she could see dimly Richard’s white face as he lay stark and stiff, like a dead man, on the charpoy, which was fortunately fixed against the framework of the cabin at the corner where it had suffered least, the old bearer crouched beside him, one hand clenched on the pistol, and Ketty hunched up, like a little old monkey, nearer to herself. They were defenceless but for the two pistols—even if the charges were not too damp to fire. The Kajias could shoot them down without the slightest risk, or—supposing their matchlocks also were useless, or their powder too precious to waste on such game—kill them with their knives with little danger to themselves. Why had they not done it long ago?