Chapter V: A Rough Way

"Hold off, or I'll blow your brains out!" exclaimed Denis, suddenly starting up to a sitting position, and looking wildly around him. "Oh, Walter, is it only you? I dreamed that I had half-a-dozen Afghans upon me!--why, what is that horrible noise?"

"Only the jackals," said Walter drowsily, coiling himself up in his rug.

"Dismal noise--worse than the screeching of owls! One would think that some venerable grandfather jackal had departed this life, and that all his descendants had collected together to howl at his wake."

Walter made no observation; he was already asleep.

He was roused at daybreak to prepare for the morning's journey. The Europeans did not find it easy to start. The muleteers were unwilling to go forwards, and demanded _bakhshish_,* and leave to return. They refused to reload the mules, though Denis used very strong Hibernian language, which Walter did not care to translate. The fiery young Irishman then used the argument of the stick, which was for the time more effectual.

* A present.

The mules were laden at last; but scarcely had the party started before one of the beasts of burden was found to be lame. The slowness of progress had sorely tried the philosophy of Denis on the previous day; he now became fiercely impatient at having to curb in his steed to suit a lame mule's halting pace.

"I'd bet anything that sneaking fellow had something to do with the beast's lameness!" he exclaimed. "I'll give him another taste of my cane."

"Mr. Denis--Dermot! nothing is gained, everything hazarded by making enemies of these men!" cried Walter. "That poor creature cannot limp on with its burden; we shall have to leave something behind."

"Put the boxes on your pony," suggested Denis; "your gun, rug, and other light chattels we'll heap on the top of the other mule's burden, and then turn this wretched brute adrift."

"That arrangement will never do," said Walter, who had a good deal more common sense than his older companion. "My pony could not carry a mule's burden, and the other animal is overladen already. It is absolutely needful to leave something behind. We must part with the least important part of the luggage."

Dermot Denis was reluctant to part with anything. His weapons, of course, must be kept; his ammunition and provision for man and horse by the way, his cooking-vessels and cash--all were necessaries not to be left behind. But his choice cigars, his yellow-backed novels, crockery, glass, and plate, his looking-glass, dressing-case, brandy and champagne,--Denis made a fight for each article, was pathetic over his _eau-de-cologne_, and grudged his box of fine soap. A great deal of time was consumed in opening, unpacking, arranging, rearranging, and trying to force down lids on overflowing trunks that obstinately refused to be shut. It was long before the luggage was so readjusted, that one mule, with some help from the pony, could carry the needful part of what had been heavy burdens for two. More than one trunk had to be left behind, and a quantity of most heterogeneous articles strewed the ground--objects of great interest to curious spectators.

For, by twos and threes, a little crowd of most inquisitive Afghans had arrived on the spot. Bejewelled women appeared who had been carrying burdens--one, in addition, with a child seated on her hip, and another led by the hand. Most picturesque men, swathed in striped blankets, with long black hair hanging wildly over Jewish features, each with a gun in his hand, or a formidable knife stuck in the scarf which he wore as a belt. All looked as if they had never been washed in their lives, but would have made fine subjects for an artist. The articles on the ground were freely handled; an embroidered smoking-cap found its place on the head of a little urchin who had no clothing besides; the silver-topped bottles of the dressing-case were speedily appropriated, and vanished somewhere under the blankets. Denis was indignant at seeing his property disappearing under the very eyes of its owner.

"Walter, I say, drive these harpies away!" he exclaimed in an angry tone.

"We could not do so without using our weapons," replied Walter; "and were blood once shed, our lives would not be worth a day's purchase. In Afghanistan revenge is reckoned as a virtue."

"The Sahib had much better return," said one of the muleteers, who had been from the first most reluctant to advance.

"The Sahib is a great hero,--the Sahib never retreats," observed Hanif the Pathan, with a grin.

"Don't trust that man--he's an Afghan; he would urge you to go on," said Walter, as Denis looked to him for an explanation of words which, he could not understand.

"I need no urging--I'm resolved to go on; do you think me a weak girl to want to go back now? No, not if I had to go alone."

The Afghans not only used their eyes and their fingers, but they poured forth a volley of questions. "Who were the travellers? whence had they come? whither were they going? Were they merchants? were their camels behind them? why did they go without an escort of armed men?" Such, and many more, were the interrogations made on all sides. Walter had not time to translate half to his comrade.

"Tell them I'm a Feringhee nobleman," cried Denis, "a great friend of their Khan; that he expects me, that I bring him rich presents; that he'll hang any man, woman, or child that dares to lay a finger on my goods!"--he snatched his umbrella from the hand of a boy, and sent him spinning and howling. "Tell them that I've lots of powder and shot, and could bring down a sparrow half-a-mile off, to say nothing of a thief of an Afghan!"

Walter did not think it necessary to give a literal translation of the words of his angry companion; what he did say could hardly be heard amidst the Babel of voices, for Hanif and the muleteers were all taking on themselves to answer the questions, which they did, in true Oriental style, with wildest exaggerations.

Some of the tin cases of luxuries were on the ground, glittering in the sun. An Afghan seized on one, perhaps in hopes that the metal was silver, wrenched it open, then flung it from him with an exclamation of disgust, and a curse.

"Dogs of _Kafirs_! (unbelievers); they eat the unclean beast!" he cried, surveying the Europeans with a look of intense hatred.

"If we are to proceed, we had better go at once," said Walter to Denis. The Irishman's quick temper was as a lighted cigar, and Gurney saw that those around him were as gunpowder ready for explosion.

"I'm ready to go!" cried Denis fiercely; "but I should like to kick those fellows all round first."

"It is well that they do not understand you," observed Walter Gurney.

Denis mounted his horse, which had attracted many admiring and covetous looks from the Afghans. He shouldered his gun with a very determined expression, and glanced down significantly at the pistols stuck in his belt.

The party then moved on, the unladed mule with difficulty managing to keep up with the rest. For at least a mile the travellers were accompanied by a most unwelcome escort of Afghans; more would have come but for the temptation afforded by the loot which the strangers had left behind. Denis had insisted on Hanif's carrying for him his valuable fur-lined cloak. At the point where the Europeans at last parted company with the Afghans, Denis looked round for Hanif, but neither the guide nor the cloak were anywhere to be seen!

"The villain has robbed me!" Denis exclaimed.

"One could hardly have expected anything else," thought Walter. Indeed it was rather a matter of surprise to young Gurney that the remainder of the day passed without any attempt at attack. The road had grown steeper, the cliffs higher; it was at least impossible here to miss the way, as there was no visible opening on either side. Walter felt as if walking, with his eyes open, into a trap; but even if retreat were possible, he would not for an instant entertain the thought of deserting his friend. The march took longer than that of the previous day, but much less ground had been passed over. Before sunset men and beasts were thoroughly tired out (always excepting Denis and his high-mettled steed), notwithstanding the mid-day rest.

Again the party bivouacked, and Walter prepared the meal, which was eaten almost in silence. The mishaps of the day had greatly damped the high spirits of Denis.

"I don't care to lie on the bare earth," he said, "with nothing to keep off the night dews. Just lend me your rug."

Walter complied at once with the request, and parted with the only warm wrap in his possession.

The day had been a trying one to the missionary's son; but he had more steel in his composition than had his more excitable friend; Walter was less easily elated than Denis, was less impetuous in action, but had greater power to endure.

Yet Walter felt the need of a brief period of perfect solitude to compose his troubled mind, and hold communion for a-while with the invisible world. No trace of an Afghan was in sight. The rich red glow of the setting sun was bathing cliff and stream, and lighting up with beauty a copse to the right, a little oasis of green in the wild and sterile mountain landscape. This copse formed a tempting place of retreat; Walter would be within call of his travelling companion, yet be completely screened from observation. He made his way over some stones and tangled brushwood to the spot, buried himself in the copse, and then, in a half-reclining posture, gave himself up to thought.

"How mysterious are the dealings of Providence! When, led by gratitude for past kindness, and hope of future independence, I linked my fortunes to those of the only being on earth who seemed willing and able to help me, I thought that I was following the guidance of the heavenly pillar. Yet into what a desert has it led me! It were childish folly to close my eyes to the fact that it is more than probable that I may never return from this mad expedition; it is more than possible that my blood may stain an Afghan dagger, my body feed the mountain eagles. What then would become of all my cherished hopes of following in my father's steps with (such was my vain presumption) a wider field for missionary enterprise than was given to him upon earth. I would not, I thought, lead so dull, so monotonous a life; I would acquire knowledge, distinction, eloquence, that I might devote every gift to my Master's work, lay every talent at His feet. I hoped to become a sharp and polished instrument to be used for the welfare of men, and I find myself a kind of travelling servant to a man who cannot sympathise in my views, cannot understand my aspirations--a man whom I seem to have no power to influence for good!

"Shall I then doubt the wisdom of Him whose guidance I have sought in prayer; shall I think myself forgotten by my Master even if He let me perish here? No!" and Walter raised his eyes to a light cloud floating above, flushed with the rosy light of the sun, which was itself hidden from view by the tall cliff behind which it had set. "No! though _He slay me, yet will I trust in Him_! I have seen the child of fortune stripped of some of the things which he valued; gradually he and I may have to part with all--perhaps liberty, possibly life. But there is that of which no power either of earth or hell can deprive the Christian; _nor life, nor death, nor things present, nor things to come, can separate him from the love of Christ Jesus our Lord. Let what will come, my best treasure is safe; the Lord is the strength of my heart and my portion for ever_."