Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“
[blocks in formation]

"Cabuli grapes are sweet, Cabuli horses are swift, Cabuli women are fair, but a Cabuli thief is a son of Satan.”—Sayings of Yakub the Wise.

Yakub the Wise, who died at least a hundred years ago, scheduled four things for which Cabul is as famous now as it was in the days when he flourished. Cabuli grapes picked from the stem and packed in their round chip boxes are much in evidence in the upper parts of India; Cabuli horses, curved of ear and crooked of temper, are to be found in many places beyond the bounds of Afghanistan. Of the surpassing beauty of Cabuli women rumor has spoken much, but by the nature of things rumor cannot in their case be justified. They are, we must believe, fair of skin, lissom of figure; their eyes are like the stars for brilliance and the moon for tenderness. Their voices resemble the murmur of the wind playing amid the dancing blossom of peach-trees; their breath is perfumed like the jasmine; their little feet are white as the snow; their fingers recall the rosebuds that blow in Gulistan-The Land of Roses. Their love, ah! that is like a draught of snow-water to one who wanders in the desert. So it really seems that Cabuli women are exquisite creatures, though of course it is not for the eyes of a Kafir to dwell upon such perfection.

If the Cabuli woman is a perfect type of her kind (and though Kafirs, let us politely grant her to be so), we know of our own knowledge and experience that the Cabuli thief is an equally perfect type of his kind.

He

is clever, he is daring, he is ready with his knife, he moves as swiftly as he strikes; and if in the pursuit of his calling he perchance slays a Kafir, why, that too is all to the good, for the same stroke that gives him the Kafir's property ensures also his own speedy admittance to Paradise and to the presence of the houris who await him there. And of this privilege you cannot deprive him, unless you hang him in a pigskin, or having killed him burn him with fire, either of which things makes him unacceptable to the Prophet.

And now we come to Hafiz Ullah, Cabuli, who sat upon a newly-bought Cabuli horse and ate Cabuli grapes, making his way to the house of his kinsman, Chirag Ud Din, and swaggering as he did so.

Hafiz Ullah was dressed in his best finery; upon his shaven head was a turban of Kohat, the body of it black, the ends of it a glorious flare of saffron with perpendicular stripes of green, red and blue. His shirt was very clean and white, with silver studs at the throat, each linked to the next with a slender silver chain; his waistcoat was of apple-green, his baggy trousers white, and upon his feet were shoes of scarlet leather, with leather tags at the toes that curved stiffly backwards towards his insteps, showing brown and sinewy in the interval 'twixt trouser and shoe.

Certainly Hafiz Ullah was something

of a dandy; also he was light of heart, and as he rode he hummed a stave or two of some bazaar ditty that he had picked up in India. He was in a gay mood, for after serving for ten years in a regiment of native cavalry in India he had now left the service, and he rejoiced to find himself at home for good; he had wearied of guards and duties, of musketry upon the range, of grooming horses, of politeness to policemen, and of the thousand and one irksome little things that were forced on him as a temporarily civilized

man. He had wished for freedom and for home, and now he had regained both. There was money in his pockets, the Kafirs had taught him how to sight a rifle, which of course the said money would enable him to buy; he had a horse, and there were several peach-trees and a well of cool water at his house. What else was wanted? Why, of course an heir; therefore he must go courting.

So it was that we find Hafiz Ullah riding to the house of Chirag Ud Din; for his kinsman had a daughter, who might belike suit him.

Now Lala Gul, Tulip Rose as we should say, was a bewitching maiden of sixteen years; and it came to pass that she was drawing water at the well when Hafiz Ullah approached the house of her father, so that the rattle of the bucket as it splashed into the cool depths, and the draw of the rope upon the roller as she pulled it up, prevented her from hearing his approach. So lucky Hafiz Ullah had a chance of seeing her; he at once drew rein and sat quite still, and looked at her as she strained at the rope. He watched her eagerly as she poised the vessel on her head and went back into the house, and he waited awhile in case she should return to draw more water. Surely it must have been his fortunate day, for she came back, and again unseen he watched her, noting the curve

of her cheek, the slender roundness of her neck, the strength of her firm little arms; and when she had raised the bucket to the lip of the well she let it rest, and raising herself waited a moment before she picked it up and withdrew.

Hafiz Ullah tried to whistle, as he had seen his British officers do when surprised. Hafiz Ullah had been smitten with love. So he rode hastily to his kinsman's door.

"Have I not told thee," said Chirag Ud Din, "that I have betrothed the girl? Why then dost thou persist? Have done, and seek thy wife elsewhere."

For the third time Hafiz Ullah repeated his arguments.

"See then, Chirag Ud Din; am I not better than Sher Khan? Am I not a fine man? Have I not money, rupees of Hindustan, not Cabuli rupees? Am I not a kinsman? Moreover, I love this girl; give her then to me, and thou shalt not lose thereby."

Chirag Ud Din wavered a little, and his greedly old eyes twinkled.

"How shall I not lose if, having promised the girl to Sher Khan, I give her to thee? Sher Khan will be my enemy, and I am but an old man."

"I will make it worth thy while," urged the lover; "name a price, old man. And as for Sher Khan, what.is he that he can harm the father-in-law of Hafiz Ullah?"

Hafiz Ullah spat to show his contempt for his rival.

"Listen then," said Chirag Ud Din: "the price I wish is a great one, but it is not in money nor in cattle."

He paused, and then continued, sinking his voice to a whisper.

"Rifles are what I want, and cartridges."

Hafiz Ullah was annoyed.

"Dost thou think, then, that I have brought rifles with me from Hindu

stan? Are rifles so easy to come by? Jest not, Chirag Ud Din, but tell me the price, and tell me quickly."

"It is no jest," was the answer; "bring me two rifles and one hundred cartridges from Hindustan, and I will give thee the girl. Otherwise she will go to Sher Khan."

Hafiz Ullah reflected for some minutes in silence; the procuring of rifles from India is not a thing that can be arranged for off-hand. He sat, then, without speaking till he had thrashed out a rough plan.

"How much time wilt thou give me?" he asked at length. "This is not a thing to be done in a day or a week, or even in a month. If I bring thee the rifles in six months, wilt then give me the girl?"

"That will I," answered Chirag Ud Din; "if thou givest me two rifles and fifty cartridges, all European, within six months from this day, the girl shall be thine."

"Swear it upon the Prophet's beard, Chirag Ud Din," said Hafiz Ullah.

"I swear," said the lady's father, and bowing his head with due reverence he took the oath.

Now when Hafiz Ullah had gone a-wooing to the house of Chirag Ud Din he had done so after the manner of Orientals; he had never seen the girl he wanted to marry, nor had he expected to do so before he was actually wedded to her; therefore he was not in love with her. He had not thought of love as forming a factor in the business; he knew all he wanted to know of the girl, for his mother had seen her and was able to assure him that she was suitable and sound in mind and limb. All he had to do was to arrange the bargain with the girl's father.

But, of course, it was the unexpected that occurred. First he had seen Lala Gul with her face uncovered, which was, of course, strictly contrary

to custom and to propriety. And then that uncovered face, which he ought not to have seen, had so charmed him, had so bewitched him, that,-oh alack for the strength of Cabuli men, for the hearts of ex-troopers of the King-Emperor! he had actually fallen in love with it. Five minutes at gaze, and that beau sabreur Hafiz Ullah Khan had fallen a victim to his quarry, instead of the quarry falling a victim to him. He was actually in love; he, swaggering, swashbuckling Hafiz Ullah! Very much in love too, so that the blood mounted to his temples at the bare thought of her, and then cascaded back to his heart, and from there danced and tingled through every vein of his body.

And to crown this folly he had engaged to procure two rifles and some ammunition and to hand them over to that old fox Chirag Ud Din. That meant a long, weary journey back to India, for the state of the market in stolen rifles most certainly did not permit of his buying them; why, they would cost him more than 2000 rupees Cabuli. So back to India he must go, and that would be the least part of the business.

Men cannot go to a shop in India and say "Please give me two Lee-Enfield rifles, and one hundred rounds. Here is my cheque." No, that cannot be done. If a native wants a Government rifle he must steal it, and stealing rifles is a difficult job. First you must mark down the regiment whom you propose to victimize; then you must study it and its habits, the habits of its quarterguard, the vigilance of its sentries. You must find out whether natives prowling round the magazines on dark nights are fired upon on sight or whether the sentry has the courtesy to challenge before he pulls the trigger. When you have done all that, you have got to get hold of the rifles; if you are detected in the act and are

caught, it is very likely that the soldiers of a red-coat regiment will kick you and trample upon you till all your bones are broken and you die; on the other hand, the men of a native regiment, if they catch you, will make a great din of talking and pull you in bits while they do so. So that you die in either case.

Again, having run that risk successfully, there are others quite as bad to follow. When you have got your rifles without stirring up the bees' nest, you make off as fast as you can either by byroads to a frontier or to a prearranged caché. And before you runs the Telegraph, and behind you come the Police. Yes, the Police-a sweating deputy-superintendent in a terai-hat and untidy clothes, a natty inspector, constables ad lib.; and in front of them, nosing out the spoor you leave behind you, the Police Tracker leads the way. The Tracker, a person unkempt and unclean, who reads tracks as the Mullah reads the Koran, with difficulty at times, but on the whole with sureness. The Tracker is a pest-to the dishonest; and then there are other police disguised as gentlemen, as babus, as what you like, who, receiving messages by the wire (which, though it hums in your ears as you pass never gives you a warning), lie in wait for you and arrest you when you least expect it. And lastly, you know that nearly all the world is against you; for even coolies, tempted by the reward and banded together, will not fear to lay you by the heels.

And then, ten years perhaps in the Andamans!

It hardly bears thinking of. Yes it does, if you think at the same time of Lala Gul.

CHAPTER II.

Hafiz Ullah and his brother lay on their stomachs and wriggled a little

closer to the shallow depression, hardly a ditch, that ran between the road and the parade-ground. Across the road were the barracks of a British infantry regiment, arranged in blocks that receded from the road in two more or less parallel lines; nearest the road, facing it, and fifty yards from it, was the quarterguard, its door open and its oil-lamp shining dimly through the darkness of the sweltering night. The shadowy form of the sentry obscured it each time that he passed the door, pacing steadily to and fro upon his beat; another sentry stood motionless in the verandah, and upon the latter were fixed the eyes of Hafiz Ullah. The standing sentry was the one who had chiefly to be reckoned with, the other might be dodged; but a thief, even a Cabuli thief, could hardly expect to enter the door unseen by a man who stood beside it. Once inside the guardroom the affair would not be so difficult; the other members of the guard would probably be heavy with sleep, their drowsy ears would hear nothing. If one awaked, he might perhaps be knifed, or the lamp could be knocked over, and the intruders could bolt through the door and fly into the darkness, risking the hasty aim of the sentries. But first of all that sentry standing motionless by the door must be avoided.

In this matter Hafiz Ullah had a plan, for he was far too wise to attempt that sort of thing haphazard; but his plan depended on various things, and luck counted largely. Hitherto luck had not favored him; for nearly three weeks he had waited patiently night after night for the chance that he wanted, but it had not come, and dawn after dawn had seen him and his brother withdraw carefully and cunningly to the bazaar where by day they lay in hiding.

The standing sentry turned and peered into the guardroom, then de

scending from the verandah took the mallet and struck the hour upon the gong; the ringing strokes sounded curiously loud in the dead stillness of the June night, one two-three four-five six-seven eight-nine ten-eleven—. The man hung the mallet upon the tripod of the gong, and straightened himself.

"No. 1 and all's well," he cried in a sing-song voice.

"No. 2 and all's well," replied the other sentry, and from round the corner there came, like an echo, the voice of the sentry upon the magazine"No. 3 and all's well."

In the distance, to show that they too heard, some jackals howled and yowled miserably, their voices sounding like the cries of babies in torment.

Hafiz Ullah turned upon his back and studied the sky. At last, a long last, it seemed as if his chance was coming. The stifling, heavy, breathless air, the heat oppressive, almost insupportable even at this late hour of night, gave presage of relief to comerelief that would come with rousing violence and would give to Hafiz Ullah the chance which he so much desired.

As he turned to look at the sky the distant rumbling and grumbling of thunder broke upon his ear; a ponderous inky mass of cloud, showing dense against the murky darkness, filled the whole of the lower sky. Hafiz Ullah heard, saw, hoped, braced his muscles for action. The silver ring on his finger rattled faintly on the haft of his knife as he hitched it forward to his hand.

"In three minutes." he whispered to his companion; "in three minutes, if it be the will of God."

Slowly, slowly, the minutes passed; fast and faster came the great sombre mass of cloud. There was a great stillness of the air, but the thunder, sounding ever nearer and nearer, was

like a continuous ruffle of the drums of heaven.

And then, and then, with a roar, with a howling shriek the dust-storm swept upon them; it wrenched at the straining, creaking trees, it leapt at them like a tidal wave, bending them and tearing them till their limbs cracked and fell. And the dust! The yellow, blinding, choking dust, which forced its way into the hair, the eyes, the nose, the mouth; which made the darkness, black enough before, impenetrable with its driving, drifting grains of sand.

The guardroom light flickered for a moment, and then its feeble ray vanished, as with a crash the wind hurled the lantern to the ground.

"Come," cried Hafiz Ullah into his brother's ear; and the two rose and with bent bodies ran for the guard

room.

"Hurry up with that lamp, you men," called the sergeant of the guard to the two sentries, who were vainly trying to light it. The sergeant hur

ried to join them; within the guardroom the other soldiers of the guard, cursing or chaffing as the mood took them, covered each his mouth with his blanket and wished for day. The noise in the room was deafening, for the wind whirled and swirled, whistling through the timbers of the roof, seeking for crannies to escape; outside the storm roared and the deafening crashes of the thunder seemed to split the sky.

So no one saw or heard the two dusty figures, each with a knife between its teeth, which crept quickly in, and silently seizing the arm-rack carried it bodily forth into the outer darkness.

[blocks in formation]
« AnkstesnisTęsti »