“Who am I?” shouted he of the sandy whiskers. “Why, blast your impudence, I’m Sir Arthur Ashby, the governor of Zaila. Who the deuce are you?”
The scene that followed baffles all description. The air rang with frenzied shouts and cheers, soldiers, natives, and visitors surged madly round the little band, and the musicians, quick to grasp the situation, struck up the inspiring strains of “Lo, the Conquering Hero Comes!”
Sir Arthur shook himself loose from the embrace of his enthusiastic friends.
“The Portuguese!” he roared. “The rascal will escape. Pursue him! Capture him!”
Now the people comprehended for the first time. A furious rush was made for the residency, the door was jammed in an instant with a struggling crowd of troops and civilians, and then they swept on through the broad hallway in pursuit of the wretched fugitive.
In five minutes the town was in an indescribable uproar. The vessels in the harbor fired showers of rockets, and the alarm guns boomed hoarsely from the fortifications.
Manuel Torres, however, overthrown at the very moment of his greatest triumph, made good his escape. He bolted through the back door of the residency, evaded the sentries at the town wall, and fled to the desert.
That same night, after a sumptuous repast, Guy Chutney, at Sir Arthur’s request, modestly related the story of their adventures to the most interested audience that ever graced the walls of the residency. A breathless silence greeted the speaker as he showed the damnable proofs of Manuel Torres’ guilt and treachery, and described with thrilling effect the awful journey through the bowels of the earth. When he concluded the tale that made him a hero in spite of himself, a burst of applause fairly made the residency tremble.
Then Sir Arthur rose to his feet.
“Gentlemen,” he said, in a voice which quivered with emotion, “I deem this to be a fitting time to express my—to express our—admiration of my young countryman. All my comrades. I am glad to say, displayed a heroism, during our days of trial and suffering, which has never been surpassed by any men in any clime. But, if one man is worthy of special mention for cool bravery, for dogged perseverance, for unflinching, unwavering fortitude and unselfishness, that man is Guy Chutney. Gentlemen,” he continued, raising his glass, “I ask you to drink with me to the health of the bravest man I ever met—Guy Chutney.”