CHAPTER XIII--DIPLOMACY

Before the band of horsemen had approached the edge of the little plateau where the airship lay, the two men stepped forward through the trees at its lower edge and waved to the oncomers with every sign of welcome.

"I hope none of them will recognize me," said Sir Mark in a low tone to Oliphant. "Probably few in this wild district have ever been in Tangier, where my features are tolerably well known; and having been for some time unable to shave--these followers of the Prophet are forbidden the use of the razor, and Mr. Schwab does not carry one--I look perhaps a little unlike myself."

The horsemen came up at a gallop, bringing their horses to a halt when it seemed to Oliphant that he and his companion must be trampled to the ground.

"Peace be with you!" said Sir Mark in Arabic, making a slight inclination.

"And with thee, peace!" returned the leader of the party, looking not a little surprised at this orthodox salutation from a N'zrani.

"In the name of the most Merciful!" Sir Mark continued. "Thou dost behold us in sore straits, O Son of the Mountain. We are brothers under our skin, thou and I, and I crave thy help."

"Bismillah! I am thy host, and all that I have is thine."

"Thou sayest well. Behold this strange monster that lieth on the ground beyond us. It was made by a countryman of mine, to simulate the flying of birds in the air--a most wondrous thing, and worthy to be seen by his Shereefian Majesty the Sultan himself. I was indeed on my way to visit the Sultan, but was prevented by a most untoward happening. (That is strictly true, though the fact is somewhat post-dated," he added in an aside.) "Even a bird tires with overmuch flying; and, as thou seest, this thing that imitates the flying of a bird tires also, so much so, indeed, that we saw that its wings would not carry us the full extent of our journey, and we were on our way back to the coast in order to repair its strength, when it failed us utterly. Wherefore, friend, we ask thee to lend us the assistance of some sturdy men from your village to carry our poor bird to Casa Blanca, or to any ship that may chance to be off your shore. (They may have seen the yacht.) For this service we will reward them liberally."

"Bismillah!" ejaculated the Moor. Oliphant, watching his face during Sir Mark's address, had caught a fleeting expression of perplexity and disappointment. Expecting to make an out-and-out capture, he was no doubt somewhat nonplussed at this request for assistance. But he had the Moor's ready adaptability to circumstances. His speech gave no sign of his thoughts.

"Bismillah!" he repeated. "We are all in God's hands. Let my brother give thanks to Allah the most Merciful that he came to a man so friendly disposed as Salaam son of Absalaam. It shall be even as thou wishest, Sidi. But first thou and thy son must come to my village, for your bird yonder is too heavy to be carried without much preparation. It will need the shoulders of a great number of men. But while the men are making ready, enter my house, all too unworthy to shelter you: yet we will comfort you with food, and do all that is in our power to please our guests."

"We thank thee, O Salaam, for thy proffered hospitality, which we will accept, knowing that all things will be provided for our comfort."

"So be it, Sidi. But within the walls of my village, when I first looked heavenwards and saw this strange flying thing, did I not see three men borne along in it, and one of them in djellab something like my own?"

Sir Mark smiled and, pointing to a part of the apparatus that was coloured grey, said--

"No doubt in the distance my brother mistook that for a person. We are two, as thou seest."

The Moor still looked somewhat mistrustfully around. Then, with an appearance of being convinced, he dismounted, and ordered his followers to dismount also, asking his guest to choose whichever of the horses he pleased for himself and his son. At this imputation of kinship, Sir Mark elevated his eyebrows; the young man was certainly a disreputable-looking object. Thinking it policy to accept the offer, Sir Mark mounted the head-man's own steed, Oliphant following his example with the horse of one of his party. Then, bidding a score of the men lift the airship on their shoulders, the head-man and the rest remounted, and led the way to the village. Both Sir Mark and Oliphant were glad that the distance was not great, for the high Moorish saddles were a sore trial to their unaccustomed limbs. The envoy, at any rate, was under no delusion as to the nature of the hospitality promised. From the manner in which the tribesmen escorted the two Englishmen to the village, there could be little doubt that they were prisoners.

From his perch in the tree Tom noticed that although the majority of the horsemen accompanied his friends towards the walls, four or five detached themselves from the party and returned to the plantation, which they proceeded to search pretty thoroughly. He made himself as small as he could among the foliage when they passed beneath him, but they did not look up; apparently it did not occur to them that any one should have mounted into a tree. When they had finished their fruitless search, they went, not in the direction their fellow-villagers had taken, but towards the coast. Tom saw them spread out as they rode from the plantation, and watched them until they were mere specks in the distance. Then, when they were, he supposed, perfectly satisfied that the suspected third member of the English party could not have escaped them, they wheeled round and returned one by one again passing not far from his hiding-place. Clearly, if they were so suspicious, it would be expedient for him to remain for some time in the tree--an unpleasant prospect, for he was becoming very stiff and cramped, and suffering rather severely from hunger and thirst.

It was some hours before he ventured to slip to the ground. Even then he did not dare to leave the shelter of the wood, knowing that in the open he would inevitably be observed. But he stretched his limbs and found a few blackberries, which somewhat appeased his hunger. Every now and then he again climbed the tree to find out whether any one was approaching, or whether a watch was still being kept. Late in the afternoon he descried, on the further side of the village, a horseman approaching from the direction of the hills. He came at full gallop, and rode straight into the village, disappearing there from Tom's view.

"Hope to goodness he isn't a messenger from the sheikh!" thought Tom.

At last, when the sun had set, and the sky was darkening, he deemed it safe to leave his hiding-place. If the yacht had remained where he had last seen her--and it was scarcely likely that Mr. Greatorex would shift his anchorage--he conjectured that a five mile walk would bring him to the nearest point of the shore. Fortunately it was a beautiful night, clear and starlit, though the moon had not yet risen. Taking his bearings very carefully by the stars, in anticipation of a return journey, he started, going very slowly and cautiously, watching every shadow lest it should indicate the presence of a Moor. Ignorant of their language, he knew well that he had no chance whatever of slipping past if he were once accosted. In such a case he could trust only to his lightness of foot. But nothing happened to cause him uneasiness, and after trudging along for nearly two hours he was beyond measure delighted to see what was evidently a masthead light some distance out at sea. No native craft would show a light; he could hardly doubt that the _Dandy Dinmont_ and his friends were before him.

He was quickening his step in the pleasure of this discovery, when suddenly, without warning, he found himself at the edge of an encampment lying in a slight hollow at the summit of the cliffs. He started back, but it was too late. A Moor, swathed in his hooded djellab, came out of the darkness and spoke to him. Tom saw that it might be fatal to run now; he walked on, hoping that he might pass without replying. But the Moor spoke again, more sharply, in a more questioning tone. Tom, whose head was covered with the hood, mumbled something beneath his breath; but his unpractised tongue could not achieve the hard guttural accent of the Moorish speech, and the sentinel took a hasty step towards him.

There was now nothing for it but to take to his heels. Disguise was no longer possible, and, to free his limbs, he cast the djellab from him, and dashed at full speed across the grass to the edge of the cliff. The slope was steep, but he scarcely gave a thought to the risks he ran. Scrambling over, he lay down and rolled from top to bottom, with many a gash and bruise from sharp edges of the rock.

Loud shouts pursued him. The camp was aroused. Picking himself up, feeling breathless and dazed, he sped across the sandy stretch of beach and sent a sounding hail in the direction of the yacht; perchance his voice might carry above the rustle of the surf and the cries of his pursuers. He heard men scurrying down a path in the cliff somewhere behind him; then their footsteps on the light shingle that lay above the sand. Even if his cry had been heard on the yacht, it was impossible that a boat should reach him before he was overtaken. There was only one way to safety. He plunged into the surf, and struck out towards the vessel. A shot followed him, but he cared nothing for that; in the darkness it would puzzle an expert marksman to hit him, when nothing of him could be seen but a head bobbing up and down. Not till he had swum well out of the reach of his pursuers, who had not followed him into the sea, did the thought of sharks cross his mind. Then he trod water for a little, and, making a bell of his hands, sent another prolonged cry across the water.

Is that an answering hail? He shouts once more; yes, a cry comes back to him: "Ahoy-o!" But at the same moment he hears also the sound of paddles, to his right, apparently from a bend of the shore. The Moors have not given him up, then. Again he presses on, putting all his force into a strong side-stroke. Now another sound falls upon his ear; the welcome sound of oars plied sturdily in rowlocks. The yacht's boat is coming to meet him. But the pursuers are the nearer--will his friends arrive in time? His long exertions since he left the yacht, his want of food and sleep, have robbed him of his strength. His pace becomes slower and slower. The pursuers' boat is coming up behind, while yet the beat of oars before him sounds terribly distant. But he is still swimming; every yard he makes is a yard added to the speed of the friendly boat. He struggled on; and the Moors were still some distance behind when, gasping and spent, he was helped by Timothy and another into his ark of safety.

But the boat did not head at once for the yacht.

"Give way, men!" cried Captain Bodgers himself, at the tiller.

He pointed the nose of the boat straight for the Moors' light craft. Eight sturdy British sailors pulled with a will. There was a crash, a cry, and a dozen Moors were in the water, struggling to right their capsized boat.

"That's all right. Now we'll get back, my men," said Captain Bodgers, and some few minutes thereafter Tom was assisted up the side of the yacht, and into the arms of Mr. Greatorex.

"God bless my soul, what has happened?" said the worthy merchant.

"We've got him--Ingleton," murmured Tom faintly. "He's with Oliphant, captured again. Schwab's in the cave with Abdul."

"He's light-headed, poor fellow!" said Mr. Greatorex. "Here, some one, blankets, and brandy--look _alive_ now."

Tom was soon stripped, dried, swathed in warm blankets, and dosed with brandy till his blood tingled. Mr. Greatorex fussed round him, waiving his proffered explanations until he was thoroughly recovered. Then Tom gave him an account of all that had happened since he left the yacht, Mr. Greatorex breaking in every now and then with "Dear, dear!" "You don't _say_ so!" "The villains!" "What a _mercy_!" and such like exclamations. Early in the narrative he interrupted with a question:

"You say Oliphant! Who's Oliphant? Am I on my _head_ or my _heels_?"

"Oh, I forgot you didn't know," said Tom with a smile. "Your new stoker was Oliphant in disguise. You see, Byles, your late stoker, had to remain at home and attend to his sick mother."

"No more sick than I am!" declared Mr. Greatorex. "Don't believe he _had_ a mother! M'Cracken, indeed! I'll M'Cracken him! I hope his father will get him well _thrashed_ when he goes back to school."

"He's rather big for that, don't you think?"

"The bigger the better! I never _heard_ of such a thing! The impudence of it! And taking us all _in_ so! What things are coming to I don't know. No obedience, no respect for age--pretending to be Scotch, too----"

"Well, he is Scotch, you know."

"Don't tell _me_! He's only Scotch when it suits him. There are others like him in the Lords. He was never Scotch in _my_ house--where he shall never show his face again, _never_!"

Tom was not deceived by this explosion of wrath. He knew very well that Mr. Greatorex was only relieving the tension of his feelings, and working off his nervous excitability on the most convenient object. "Les absents ont toujours tort," he remembered. Mr. Greatorex presently calmed down, and heard the rest of the story in comparative quietude.

"And what are we to _do_?" he said at the close. "Swob doesn't matter; we're not bound to lift a finger for _him_; but we can't leave Ingleton and M'C---- and Oliphant in the hands of those wretches. They'll break up our machine, too, and play the very deuce with _my property_. What are we to _do_?"

What Tom answered is shown by subsequent events. Two or three hours after his return to the yacht, when he had had a thorough rest and a good meal, a well-armed party, consisting of the whole ship's company except the cook and one seaman, left the yacht, on which all lights had been extinguished, and rowed with muffled oars to a sheltered cove on the south side of the bay--that furthest removed from the Arab encampment. Mr. Greatorex had insisted on joining the party. In vain Tom pointed out that a hard march was before them, suggesting delicately that Mr. Greatorex was not so light as he once was. The merchant puffed the objection away. They disembarked in dead silence, and, leaving two of their number to take the boat back to the yacht, made their way cautiously up the cliff.

Led by Tom, the party, ten in all, struck off in the direction of the village. Thanks to the light of the moon, which now lay a little above the horizon, Tom was able to make a fairly straight course for the plantation in which he had hidden during the previous day. Once or twice he strayed from the proper track, and ultimately found that he was nearly a mile from his objective; but this was not bad, considering that there was no beaten road, and they had to tramp across rough country. When he reached the plantation he was no longer in doubt as to the true direction; during his long stay among the trees he had had time to take his bearings pretty thoroughly.

Mr. Greatorex was blown by the time they came to the clearing in which the airship had descended, and Tom begged him to remain hidden in the plantation while the rest went on to the village.

"Pff!" panted the perspiring old gentleman. "Never gave up _anything_ yet; on you go!"

But a slight halt was made while Tom completed arrangements for his night raid. The village was walled; the gates would no doubt be shut, as at Ain Afroo; the wall must be scaled. Captain Bodgers selected the biggest men to give their more active comrades a "leg-up." These latter were provided with ropes, by which they might haul up the others when they had themselves gained a footing on the wall. Tom impressed on them all the necessity of maintaining dead silence. He estimated that the village contained about a hundred fighting men, and if the approach of the raiders were discovered in time for the walls to be manned, the chance of a successful coup would be small indeed.

All carried firearms except Mr. Greatorex. He had a knobbed stick, capable of dealing a very damaging blow.

"There's bound to be a _fight_, I suppose?" he had said when Tom was discussing his plans on the yacht. "I don't like _that_, you know. I'd punch a man's nose and knock him down without scruple, of course; but that needn't _kill_ him, you know. Besides, how do I _stand_? This is uncommonly like a piratical raid--like Jameson's, and he might have been _hanged_. However!"

Tom assured him that no blood should be shed if it could possibly be avoided; but he had small hopes that the night would end without a fight, and a very brisk one.

The party set off for the village, stealing along under what cover was afforded by bushes and inequalities in the ground. When about three hundred yards from the wall all such protection ceased; the ground was level and apparently open. Tom's heart was in his mouth lest their footsteps should be heard as they crossed this. He dared not set them at a run, for the soil all around was stony, and the sound of near a dozen men rushing at speed could not fail to be heard in the village. So he kept up the same stealthy approach, and his caution was justified, for level as the space had appeared at a distance, it proved to have patches of loose stones, and some yards of boggy land, through which ran a narrow and evil-smelling creek; to rush would have ended in disaster.

They arrived beneath the wall without having heard any alarm raised within. In a trice the men began to clamber up. It was made of mud and rubble, and was not in so ruinous a condition as the wall of Ain Afroo. The first man reached the top. Immediately there was a shout and the sound of hurrying feet, and Tom sprang up to the sailor's side in time to see a Moor in long djellab dashing from the nearest house towards the wall. Suddenly he halted, and fired. The young sailor winced as the bullet struck him; but he was not badly hurt, and letting down his rope, calmly proceeded to haul up one of his comrades. After firing, the Moor made a rush along the wall. Tom grappled with him; both fell, dropping their weapons, and Tom felt in an instant that he was no match for the sinewy figure that had him in his arms. The Moor forced him down; his hands were already at Tom's throat, when Timothy Ball, who had accompanied the party in spite of his half-healed wound, threw himself upon the enemy from behind, dragged him backwards, and left him half-strangled, but yet alive.

When Tom rose dizzily to his feet, all his party were within the wall. One or two shouts were heard from the village, but apparently the Moors were not yet quite awake to what was happening. Tom pulled himself together, and led the way straight for the kasbah, which, from his lofty perch in the tree during the day, he had seen slightly to the right of the place at which the entry into the village had been made. When they dashed up to the main gate, this was being opened to give exit to a couple of men who were apparently about to inquire into the cause of the slight commotion and the rifle shot that had been heard. The two were instantly bowled over by the onrush of British seamen, the party swarmed through into the kasbah, the gate was shut, and they came face to face with the head-man.

"What have you--got to--_say_ for yourself?"

The Moor had naturally nothing to say for himself. He saw himself confronted by an elderly whiskered foreigner, in a yachting cap and blue serge suit, brandishing a formidable stick. Mr. Greatorex was in a passion. The exertions of the march, the pains of being hauled up a wall, not without bumps, the scamper at the rear of his men into the Moor's kasbah, had deprived him equally of breath and of self-control. Determined not to be left ignominiously out of the hurly-burly, he forced himself to the front, and thrust his stick under the very nose of the Moor--who stood a foot above him--calling him to account in the spluttering sentence recorded above.

For a few moments there was a deadlock, and Tom felt the need of an interpreter. Eventually he persuaded Mr. Greatorex to give way, and managed to make the Moor understand that if he valued his life he must at once bring out the Firangi whom he had recently introduced to his house. Finding himself shut off by the gate of his own kasbah from the support of his men, the Moor recognized that he had no choice but to comply, and at a command from him one of his servants brought Sir Mark Ingleton and Oliphant from the upper floor into the patio, looking none the worse for their brief incarceration.

"_Delighted_ to see you," said Mr. Greatorex, stepping forward and wringing the diplomatist's hand; Oliphant he studiously ignored.

"Mr. Greatorex, I presume," returned Sir Mark. "I hope to make your better acquaintance, sir. Meanwhile, if I may be allowed----"

His quick eye had taken in the situation at a glance.

"Peace be with thee!" he said in Arabic, turning with a bland smile to the scowling Moor, "You perceive, O Salaam, that my friends also, being alarmed at my absence, have availed themselves of your generous hospitality. They are distressed at the unceremonious manner of their entry, but you will assuredly deign to pardon it, for have you not professed yourself my devoted servant? You will be the first to forgive an intrusion due solely to the too great zeal of my friends."

The Moor, chagrined and bewildered, had no option but to acquiesce in this polite fiction, though it is to be feared his reply lacked something of the diplomatist's ease and suavity.

"But we are a large company," Sir Mark went on, "and should be loth to trespass on your hospitality. You will be relieved, I am sure, if we betake ourselves to the vessel that awaits us off your coast. You will, of course, honour us by giving us your company so far. Indeed, if you will do us the favour to accompany us on board our vessel, we shall endeavour to return in some slight measure the gracious hospitality that has been vouchsafed to myself and--my son. If you add to your favours by assisting us in the march--by showing us the easiest road and defending us from the perils that may beset us, such as are known to you, O Salaam--you may be assured that we shall show our gratitude in very tangible form. There are, as you know, even in Morocco, evil counsellors, men of violence, some who would even dare to lift their hands against the Sultan himself. If there be any such in this village, which truly I am loth to believe, I advise you, as brother advises brother, to exhort them to mildness of demeanour. These friends of mine who now enjoy your hospitality are men of war; they have arms, you perceive, in the use of which they are well skilled; and since, in our progress to the shore, you will of course occupy the place of honour at my right hand, in all likelihood you would suffer hurt if there are among your followers any men of Belial whose hearts incline towards bloodshed; that would be a great grief to us. And now, O Salaam, as the night draws towards dawn, it will be well if you perform your morning ablutions and devotions and prepare to lead us forth. Bismillah!"

Sir Mark, as he laughingly informed Mr. Greatorex afterwards, had purposely made his address somewhat lengthy, so as to give Salaam plenty of time to regain his self-possession and to weigh the pros and cons. The upshot was that, shortly after dawn, the whole party, with Salaam son of Absalaam in their midst, set off towards the coast, the airship being carried on the shoulders of a troop of the villagers who had been promised liberal bakshish in return for their services.

On arriving at the shore, Captain Bodgers signalled to his men on the yacht to send a boat, and with it a fresh supply of fuel for the airship, which had been deposited just above high-water mark. While this was being done, Mr. Greatorex emptied his pockets of small coin, to redeem the promise to the carriers, and Sir Mark kept up an even flow of amicable talk, apparently quite oblivious of the throng of Arabs who had observed the proceedings from their encampment on the cliff, and by and by came down to the shore and stood around, listening with looks of amazement to this fluent Nazarene who discoursed so pleasantly of things intimate to them.

The men soon arrived with a large tin of the fuel-paste. It was placed in the car; Tom made an inspection of the machinery to assure himself that it had suffered no hurt while in the charge of Salaam; then Oliphant joined him. A few moments later, with a mighty whirring sound, the airship rose gallantly into the air, to the great wonderment of the Moors. While they were intently watching the manoeuvres of the airship, filling the air with their cries of "Mashallah!" Sir Mark and the rest of the party embarked and pulled out into the bay, two of the men sitting in the stern of the boat with their faces to the shore and their rifles held conspicuously ready. Salaam indulged in a burst of fury at the manner in which he had been outwitted. His followers gathered around him and held excited consultation, some being apparently inclined to fire on the departing boat, others to pursue the airship. But they had made up their minds to neither course by the time the party reached the yacht; and when Captain Bodgers trained on them the two brass guns she carried, they hurriedly broke up and disappeared over the cliffs.

"You were just in time, Mr. Greatorex," said Sir Mark Ingleton as they sat together in the boat. "A messenger came in from the sheikh yesterday afternoon, and I shrewdly suspect that arrangements had been made to transfer us to our old quarters in the kasbah. I say 'our old quarters,' forgetting that Mr. Oliphant----"

"Oliphant!" interrupted Mr. Greatorex. "_There_ now! What do you think of _this_, Sir Mark?"

And he proceeded to delight his guest with a vigorous indictment of M'Cracken, and Byles, and Byles' sick mother, and Lord Langside for having sent an English gentleman on a mission to such an abominable country, and for having such an outrageously impudent son.