'Blast Elphy Bey,' says he. 'He's cutting it dooced fine. And I believe these brutes have got muskets from some-where at last -
listen.' He was right; there were as many shots coming from outside as from inside the house. They were smacking into the walls and knocking splinters from the shutters, and presently another jawan gave a yelp and staggered back into the room with his shoulder smashed and blood pouring down his shirt.
'Hm,' says Burnes, 'this is gettin' warm. Like Montrose at the Fair, eh, Charlie?' Charlie gave him the ghost of a smile; he was scared stiff and trying not to show it.
'How many rounds have you got, Flashy?' says Burnes. I had only six left, and Charlie had none; the ten jawans had barely forty among them.
'How about you, Jim?' shouts Burnes to Broadfoot, who was at the far window. Broadfoot shouted something back, but in the din I didn't catch it, and then Broadfoot stood slowly up, and turned towards us, looking down at his shirt-front. I saw a red spot there, and suddenly it grew to a great red stain, and Broadfoot took two steps back and went head first over the window sill. There was a sickening crash as he hit the courtyard, and a tremendous shriek from the mob; the firing seemed to redouble, and from the rear, where the smoke of the burning stables was pouring in on us, came the measured smashing of a ram at the back door.
Burnes fired from his window, and ducked away. He squatted down near me, spun his pistol by the guard, whistled for a second or two through his teeth, and then said: 'Charlie, Flashy, I think it's time to go.'
'Where the hell to?' says I.
'Out of here,' says he. 'Charlie, cut along to my room; you'll find native robes in the wardrobe. Bring 'em along. Lively, now.' When Charlie had gone, he said to me 'It's not much of a chance, but it's all we have, I think. We'll try it at the back door; the smoke looks pretty thick, don't you know, and with all the confusion we might get clear away. Ah, good boy, Charlie. Now send the havildar across to me.'
While Burnes and Charlie struggled into their gowns and puggarees, Burnes talked to the havildar, who agreed that the mob probably wouldn't hurt him and his men, not being feringhees, but would concentrate on looting the place.
'But you, sahib, they will surely kill,' he said. 'Go while ye can, and God go with you.'
'And remain with you and yours,' says Burnes, shaking his hand. 'Shabash and salaam, havildar. All ready, Flash? Come on, Charlie.'
And with Burnes in the lead and myself last, we cut out down the staircase, across the hall, and through the passage towards the kitchen. From the back door, out of sight to our right, there came a crackling of breaking timber; I took a quick glance through a loophole, and saw the garden almost alive with Ghazis.
'Just about in time,' says Burnes, as we reached the kitchen door. I knew it led into a little fenced-off pen, where the swill-tubs were kept; once we got into that, and provided we weren't actually seen leaving the house, we stood a fair chance of getting away.
Burnes slipped the bar quietly from the door, and opened it a crack.
'Luck of the devil!' says he. 'Come on, juldi!'
We slipped out after him; the pen was empty. It consisted of two high screen walls running from either side of the door; there was no one in sight through the opening at the other end, and the smoke was billowing down in great clouds now, with the mob kicking up the most hellish din on either side of us.
'Pull her to, Flashy!' snapped Burnes, and I shut the door behind us. 'That's it - now, try to batter the damned thing down!' Arid he jumped at the closed door, hammering with his fists. 'Open, unbelieving swine!' he bawled. 'Feringhee pigs, your hour has come!
This way, brothers! Death to the bastard Sekundar!'
Seeing his plan, we hammered along with him, and presently round the end of the pen came a handful of Ghazis to see what was what. All they saw, of course, was three of the Faithful trying to break down a door, so they joined in, and after a moment we left off, Burnes cursing like blazes, and went out of the pen, ostensibly to seek another entrance to hammer at.
There were Afghans all over the garden and round the burning stables; most of them, it seemed to me, were just berserk and running about and yelling for no particular reason, waving their knives and spears, and presently there was a tremendous howl and a crash as the back door caved in, and a general move in that direction. The three of us kept going for the stable gate, past the burning building; it was a creepy feeling, hurrying through the confused crowd of our enemies, and I was in dread that little Charlie, who was new to native dress, and not nearly as dark as Burnes and I, would do something to be spotted. But he kept his hood well forward over his face, and we got outside the gate in safety, where the hangers-on were congregated, yelling and laughing as they watched the Residency, hoping no doubt to see the bodies of the hated feringhees launched from the upper windows.
'May dogs defile the grave of the swine Burnes!' roared Sekundar, spitting towards the Residency, and the by-standers gave him a cheer. 'So far, so good,' he added to me. 'Now shall we stroll down to the cantonments and have a word with Elphy? Ready, Charlie? Best foot forward, then, and try to swagger like a regular badmash. Take your cue from Flashy here; ain't he the ugliest-lookin'
Bashie-Bazouk you ever saw?'
With Burnes in the lead we pushed out boldly into the street, Sekundar thrusting aside the stragglers who got in the way like any Yusufzai bully; I wanted to tell him to go easy, for it seemed to me he must attract attention, and his face was all too familiar to the Kabulis.
But they gave way before him, with a curse or two, and we won clear to the end of the street without being spotted; now, thought I, we're home in a canter. The crowd was still fairly thick, but not so noisy, and every stride was taking us nearer the point where, at worst, we could cut and run for it towards the cantonment.
And then Burnes, the over-confident fool, ruined the whole thing.
We had reached the end of the street, and he must pause to yell another curse against the feringhees, by way of a final brag: I could imagine him showing off later to the garrison wives, telling them how he'd fooled the Afghans by roaring threats against himself. But he overdid it; having called himself the grandson of seventy pariah dogs at the top of his voice, he muttered something in an under-tone to Charlie, and laughed at his own witticism.
The trouble is, an Afghan doesn't laugh like an English-man. He giggles high-pitched, but Burnes guffawed. I saw a head turn to stare at us, and grabbing Burnes by one arm and Charlie by the other I was starting to hurry them down the street when I was pushed aside and a big brute of a Ghazi swung Burnes round by the shoulder and peered at him.
'Jao, hubshi!' snarled Burnes, and hit his hand aside, but the fellow still stared, and then suddenly shouted:
'Mashallah! Brothers, it is Sekundar Burnes!'
There was an instant's quiet, and then an almighty yell. The big Ghazi whipped out his Khyber knife, Burnes locked his arm and snapped it before he could strike, but then about a dozen others were rushing in on us. One jumped at me, and I hit him so hard with my fist that I overbalanced; I jumped up, clawing for my own sword, and saw Burnes throwing off the wounded Ghazi and shouting:
