Under the Rebel's Reign Part 25

He stopped in front of the window and looked up at the sky. He stretched his arms and took hold of the two iron bars and shook them repeatedly, but they seemed quite firm and immovable. Several times he tried them, but each attempt left him more convinced than before that efforts in this direction were futile.

At last, utterly worn out and sick at heart, he leant against the wall and involuntarily his eyes closed; several times, as he dozed off, his knees gave way under him, and he narrowly escaped falling to the ground. Again he roused himself and started to walk.

He had not taken more than half-a-dozen steps when a hissing, crackling sound caught his ear and he paused to listen. What could it be? He went to the door from whence the sound proceeded. As he did so he noticed an unmistakable smell of burning.

He rushed to the window and looked out. The sky was clear and brilliantly illuminated with stars. Here the air was sweet and fresh. Turning again to the door, he noticed that the smell of burning had increased and the crackling was still going on. The truth flashed on him suddenly!

The gaol was on fire!

"So they would roast me alive, the scoundrels!" he muttered, as he stood hesitating as to what he should do.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Pull and shake as he would, the iron seemed to remain firm in its socket." p. 211]

Glancing first at the door, then at the window, he quickly made up his mind as to the best course to adopt. Smoke was already penetrating the cracks of the doorway. If he were to escape, it must be through the window. At that instant he thought of poor old Hakesh, and wondered what was happening to him. Where was he? Did they intend to roast him too?

"The inhuman devils!" he cried, as these thoughts flashed through his mind. He forgot about his own safety for the moment, as his mind wandered to the old priest. A flash of light through the crack of the door brought him back to his own position, and seizing the iron bars of the window with both hands he heaved and shook at them till the wall rocked, but they gave not an inch.

Gasping for breath, his hands sore with his terrible grip on the iron, he paused for a moment and cast about in his mind for a new idea. No other means of escape presented itself, so with the energy of despair he flung himself again on the rough iron. The room was rapidly filling with smoke, and he already found difficulty in breathing.

Pull and shake as he would, the iron seemed to remain firm in its socket, and he was about to cease his efforts, when he noticed that the mud wall that held it was cracked, and hope again filled him.

Leaving the bars for a moment he picked up a narrow piece of wood and jammed it as far as possible into the crack, then seizing the bar with one hand, he drew himself up and, placing his feet against the wall, pulled with all his strength. The wall opened out, and he drove the wedge far into the crack with his disengaged hand, and once more dropped to the ground.

The fire was rapidly increasing, the room was filled with blinding, choking smoke, and he became at once convinced that he had not many moments to spare before the fire would be upon him. One thing seemed certain, that, whoever had set light to the place must have been ignorant of his whereabouts in the building, or they intended to let the process of cooking him be slow. To what refinement had they brought their art of torture!

Seizing the iron bars again, he set to work. The wood he had inserted held the crack open, and the bar, now under the terrific power he used, began to move about. For two minutes he worked incessantly, every moment bringing the chance of escape nearer. With feverish anxiety he watched the loosening bar. Once he looked round; the flames were lapping the door, and the hissing, crackling of the fire sounded in every direction.

Again turning to his work, he gave one supreme wrench at the obstinate iron, and with a crack it yielded, flinging him to the floor. A lot of the brickwork had come away with the bar, and, as he sprang to his feet, he saw that in releasing one of the iron bars he had torn away sufficient of the wall to free the others. He tore them from their place in a flash, and at last the window was clear of obstruction.

Taking one of the iron bars with him, he climbed up to the aperture, but found the process of squeezing himself through was no easy one; cheered on by hope, and with fear of the fire behind, he at last succeeded, and dropped to the ground outside, only to find that the high wall surrounding the prison barred his way.

At least he had escaped the fire, but now, how to get out of the yard? He ran round the burning building in the hopes of finding an outlet, expecting every moment to fall in with some of the guard, but to his astonishment not a soul was about. At first this seemed strange, but as he realized that the building had been set on fire purposely, the desertion of it was quickly accounted for.

The only means of escape that now presented itself was a small outhouse built against the wall. This he clambered on to, and then, by the aid of some loose planks in the roof, succeeded in reaching the top of the wall.

The moment he looked over he cursed himself bitterly for not having waited until the house had burnt itself out before attempting to go further, for then, no doubt, thinking him dead, the crowd would have deserted the place. As it was, he saw a cl.u.s.ter of rebels standing watching the fire carry out its fell work.

He withdrew his head the instant he saw the murderous-looking mob.

To expose himself on the top of the wall was merely to make a target of his body for a dozen rifles to "pot" at, and so nullify all he had accomplished. Yet how was he to get over on to the other side without being observed? If he could but alight on firm ground safely, he could then make a rush for it, and trust to the luck which, so far, had been on his side. He thought of the shadow cast by the wall, owing to the brilliant light of the burning prison behind, and he determined to try this one chance of escape.

In the excitement of the leap from the window he dropped his weapon, and only just discovered the fact. Scrambling back, he soon found it, and climbing once more on to the outhouse, without further hesitation he gradually rolled himself full length on to the top of the wall, slid his legs over, and letting himself down to arms'

length, dropped to the ground. The wall was nearly fifteen feet high, so that he had dropped about seven. The moment he landed he recovered himself and ran for dear life, not knowing in the least where he was going.

At first he thought he had escaped notice, but it was not so, for scarcely had his brain formed the hope than one wild shout went up from the rebels, and the next instant he found himself closely followed by a hooting, murderous mob.

CHAPTER XIX

THE ESCAPE

The moment George realized he had been discovered, the spirit of "do or die" entered into his soul, and he flew along at the utmost speed at his command. He did not even check his hope that the race would end in his favour; he did not pause to wonder where he was going, or how he would elude his pursuers. He had got a short start of them which he meant to keep, and, if possible, increase. He could hear the gibbering of the mob gradually getting louder and louder as the crowd gathered up fresh recruits and surged along in pursuit of him.

The distant burr increased to yells and shouts, and the clatter of fire-arms became so loud that George began to fear that his attempt at escape was quite futile. He never lost heart, however, and raced on and on at a pace surprising even to himself.

A man never learns what is possible until he is placed in a position that requires the apparently impossible. This was the situation George was now in. If he had stopped to ask himself the question, "Can I do it?" he probably would have been forced to answer it in the negative. As it was, he paid no heed to the danger behind, and thought only of the safety in front, if he could but keep up his speed long enough.

The infuriated rebels finding themselves unable with even their greatest efforts to come up with their prey, now began to fire at him, but, as their shots were not those of very expert marksmen, George became more amused than frightened as the bullets dropped either short of him or flew far above his head.

He was now getting into the inhabited part of the town, and tried to elude the pursuers by turning abrupt corners, but there was little chance of success in these tactics, for the "blackies" knew more about the place than he was ever likely to, and kept cutting him off in an alarming manner.

The day was beginning to break, and George felt that he must soon give in. As he was making a rapid turn in his path a well-aimed nabout came most uncomfortably close to his head. This incited him to greater effort, not so much from fear of being hit, as from the knowledge of the nearness of his pursuers.

Breathless, and with the life almost run out of him, he continued his mad career, the hue and cry of the mob goading him on and lending wings to his feet. Swift of foot as the blacks had been, they had shown themselves no match so far for the trained athlete they were pursuing. But there comes a time when even the best man must give in, and that time George felt was rapidly approaching. He had been running now for a long time, and had traversed a lot of ground. However, he was not done yet, and he still kept on, although in what direction he knew not. The street he was now in looked like one of the princ.i.p.al thoroughfares, and, as he was nearing the end of it, he saw, to his horror, another crowd ahead, running towards him.

Instinctively he turned into a bye-way, and darted along in the shadow of the buildings. The turning proved fatal--it was a blind court, and ended in a small paved square, hemmed in on all sides by the best cla.s.s houses. Seeing the mistake he had made, George paused for a moment to glance round. The mob were tearing down the court, their cries filling the air and making the calm morning hideous with discord.

Seeing no means of escape, Helmar made up his mind to sell his life as dearly as possible, and, rus.h.i.+ng into the porch of the biggest house he saw, put his back to the wall and waited the oncoming mob.

Headed by a dozen or more soldiers, he saw the crowd enter the square. At sight of him standing at bay a loud, exultant cry went up, and they dashed towards him. He was fairly trapped now, and he knew it; with his iron bar upraised he awaited the leaders, determined that three or four should not escape him before he was done to death. At this instant he heard a sound beside him, and glancing in the direction, saw a door suddenly thrown open.

With instinct of self-preservation, he ran to it, and, without waiting to see who was inside, rushed in, and immediately the door was closed with a slam.

He had not the faintest idea where he was, and, for all he knew, might have fallen into a worse trap than before; but the opportunity had been too good for him to refuse to accept, and, as he paused in the dim hall, ready to strike down any one who attempted any violence, he was surprised to find it deserted.

Outside, the disappointed fanatics beat and hammered at the door, and every moment Helmar expected to see it forced in. He scarcely knew what to do. Suddenly he noticed in front of him a curtained archway; he ran towards it, and flinging back the heavy tapestry he started back as if he had been struck--he stood face to face with a smiling countenance. He dropped his weapon and rushed forward with hands outstretched, crying----

"Naoum! Friend Naoum! Thank G.o.d!"

"Luck is with you, friend Helmar," said the Arab quietly. "Allah is great! Allah is good! He has brought you to me in your extremity.

But come in here, I must quiet the children of darkness."

He led the way in, and George found himself in a room of great splendour, arranged in Eastern style. Turning to his old friend he was about to speak, but the latter interrupted him.

"No, no, wait. There is danger; I must go and speak to the rebels,"

and he turned swiftly and left the room.

In a few moments the hammering and noise ceased, and presently Naoum returned.

"Now tell me what all this means," he said, glancing at George's dishevelled appearance, and doubtfully eyeing the torn clothes and the worried face in front of him.

"It simply means that they wanted to murder me by roasting me alive, and, failing that, with knives and clubs."

Helmar then recounted all that had happened to him from the time he had left Alexandria with the patrol. When he had finished, Naoum looked thoughtful.

"So you are an escaped prisoner of Arabi's," he said at last; "that is not good. It makes my task harder, but you must be saved somehow," and he relapsed into deep thought, drumming on the side of a cabinet which he leant against. "Just now I am very powerful with Arabi, he has forced me into service, with the alternative of confiscating my property. I am now one of his means of raising money, and as my fortune is considerable, he cannot quarrel with me, but----"