Chronicles of the Secret Service (18 page)

‘It is well. You have committed the message to memory – repeat it.’

The Afghan did so.

‘Is it not your wish,’ he added, ‘that I carry writings with me, master?’

‘It is not my wish. I use only word of mouth. You are my messenger. In you I have implicit trust.’ He rose, and turned smilingly to the man. ‘Go, Yusuf, and may Allah go with you.’

The giant seized his hand, conveyed it to his forehead; then, without another word, departed on his mission.

It was not Aziz Ullah’s way to hold himself entirely aloof from his men who had elected to form themselves into his personal bodyguard. When in their mountain retreat, he encouraged them to engage in games and sports, and even joined with them sometimes. Many were the wrestling bouts held there in that great mountain range which forms the western part of the grim, towering Himalayan wall round northern India. At first, the men had been shy and embarrassed at indulging in their simple pastimes before or with him, but he displayed such hearty, good-humoured enjoyment that they quickly forgot any restraint; laughed and shouted like excited children, and entered into everything with the utmost zest. It was hard to realise when watching them at play, that these simple, unsophisticated creatures could be the fierce, cruel, sometimes brutally vicious men they were by nature, even though their appearance indicated it.

Yusuf returned after an absence of thirty-six hours to report that he had delivered the message. The date and time fixed
for the meeting, he announced, had met with the approval of the minister. The members of the mission would at once be selected, and Aziz Ullah would be expected to arrive punctually. He thanked Yusuf, and informed the men that he would remain in the mountains until the day of the appointment drew near. It was his intention to respect the stipulation imposed, principally in order to give not the slightest excuse for treachery, also to prepare the matters which he would put before the officials chosen to hear him. It was necessary to get his ideas in order. His orations to the people, in which he had exhorted them to claim improved conditions, reduced taxation, better housing, organised training for the young, and satisfactory scales of wages, to mention but a few of their needs, had been delivered without much idea as to how these reforms were to be carried out. That rested with the government, but the delegation would naturally expect something in the nature of suggestions or plans. He had six clear days in which to prepare them, and he spent a considerable amount of thought on them. It was an extremely difficult task, for they had to be of such a nature that they would mean no violent clash with the extremely conservative temperament of the people they were intended to benefit and, at the same time, be well within the power and financial resource of the government to provide.

He smiled to himself many times as he laboriously drilled his ideas into shape. He had little thought, when commencing on his enterprise, that he would actually appear before an official mission to plead for the oppressed thousands. However, he eventually satisfied himself that he had prepared a well-ordered and concise harangue which should meet with the approval of
all. He provided himself with no documents, everything being committed to memory, and repeated over and over again in the seclusion of his cave, until he was word perfect.

Yusuf and his other followers were not at all sanguine concerning the visit to Kabul. Like the majority of Afghans of their class, they utterly distrusted everything connected with officialdom. They saw in this invitation to The Master nothing but a treacherous bid by the government to get him into its power, because all other means had failed. They dared make no further attempt to dissuade Aziz Ullah from going; they were too much in awe of him for that, but they formed plans among themselves for his protection. If Aziz guessed anything of this, he gave no indication. It was noticed, however, that a smile was on his face and no hint of surprise, when, on the day before the appointed meeting, on descending from his retreat, he found a vast crowd, entirely composed of men, awaiting his coming. Almost all were armed in some sort of fashion, while the absence of women and children was a significant factor that was not lost on him. As a matter of fact, he had expected something of the sort. He had not been blind to the absence of three of his disciples during the preceding three days; neither did he fail to notice the unobtrusive manner in which they now attached themselves to him again.

He was greeted by the throng as a saviour, and was greatly embarrassed by the men who strove to kneel before him and place his foot upon their heads. True to his determination to refrain from any public speaking, in accordance with the condition imposed, he merely contented himself with a sonorous, ‘
Salaam alaikum
’, and proceeded on his way. The crowd fell in behind,
and he made no attempt to stop them. It would be as well, he thought, if the government did purpose treachery, that its intentions should be restrained by actual evidence of that with which it had to contend. On the road, more and more men fell in behind The Master. When, towards evening, Kabul was sighted, there must have been close on ten thousand with him. How they provided themselves with the means of satisfying hunger and thirst, Aziz Ullah did not inquire, but obviously they had done so. On deciding to camp for the night outside the walls of the city, hundreds of fires sprang up in a remarkably short space of time, pots and pans appeared miraculously from bundles, and the smell of cooking quickly permeated the air. Aziz Ullah’s own necessities were provided by the faithful twenty.

A white man riding a native pony, followed by a servant on another, leading a pack mule, approached Kabul shortly after the horde had settled down. He gazed at it in astonishment, then rubbed his eyes. Darkness was not due to fall for some time, and the light was perfect. He could not be mistaken. Reining in his animal, he turned to the bearer.

‘Do you see what I see, Rashid?’ he asked in Urdu.

‘Indeed I do, sahib,’ was the reply. ‘It is a camp, and there are many men.’

‘You are right. For a little while I thought perhaps the sun had blinded my eyes and put visions into my sight that did not exist. It is strange that such a concourse should gather outside Kabul.’

‘Very strange, sahib. It is my mind that The Master has been apprehended and these have come to demand his release.’

Mahommed Rashid was actually a havildar in a Punjabi
regiment; had been for some time on Intelligence service and had proved his value. Major Kershaw – he was the white man – vowed he would not change him for a dozen officers of the political branch of the police.

‘By Jove!’ exclaimed Ginger in English and in a somewhat perturbed tone. ‘I hope to God you’re wrong.’ Mahommed Rashid understood English passably well, but he was a poor hand at speaking it. He waited, and presently his companion reverted to Hindustani. ‘Ride over and find out, Rashid. Leave the mule with me. Be judicious in your questioning. I know there is a Persian saying, much quoted in this country, that he who remains silent questions easily, but I must know if harm has befallen Aziz Ullah.’

The havildar, garbed as a bearer and wearing nothing that might indicate the soldier, galloped his pony across the rough ground, until he reached a group of wild-looking peasants, squatting solemnly round a hookah. Their fierce eyes regarded him questioningly, but they responded civilly enough to his salutation.

‘I am the servant of the English lord over yonder,’ he announced. ‘Many times a year he comes to Kabul, where he has friends and does much business. His eyes have fallen on this mighty gathering, and it is in his mind that there is trouble. If that is so, he will return to India. Speak, therefore, friends, that I may tell him whether or not he should proceed.’

They laughed. One, whose shaggy locks hung untidily round his face and mingled with his ragged beard, spat somewhat contemptuously.

‘Does the unbeliever fear danger to himself?’ he asked.

‘Nay. It is only that he likes not to be present at matters that concern him not. Truly he is a brave man, and a kind and considerate master.’

‘Then tell him we have come hither in peace. Have you heard tell of The Master, stranger?’

‘I have heard many wonders concerning that great one, the peace of Allah be with him.’

He bowed his head respectfully. The Afghan’s eyes showed their approval, as they responded reverently to his pious wish.

‘Then know,’ went on the spokesman, ‘that tomorrow The Master enters Kabul to have speech with the government regarding our many wrongs. These,’ he waved his hand round him to indicate the lounging multitude, ‘have accompanied him without desire of his, because it is feared that danger may threaten him. We do not trust the great ones of government. Many lies have they spread regarding his works, many times have they wished to take possession of him, and throw him into prison. If they intend to respect him, and listen with peace to his words, all will be well. But if they purpose harm; then shall we rise in our anger to his aid.’

‘You are indeed men,’ returned Rashid approvingly. ‘May the blessings of Allah descend on you and on your children, and may He prosper you.
Salaam!
’

He wheeled his pony; galloped back to Major Kershaw who awaited his coming a trifle impatiently. The havildar retailed that which he had been told, whereupon the Intelligence officer became deeply thoughtful.

‘I like it not, Rashid,’ he declared presently. ‘It is in my mind that treachery is intended. The present Afghan government is
half composed of men of corrupt ideas, who fear reform lest it rob them of their ill-gotten gains, make impossible for the future any profits by fraud, and even force them from office. It is difficult to believe they will be prepared to meet Aziz Ullah with honest purpose in their hearts.’

The havildar had a similar thought to that which had some days before occurred to The Master.

‘It may be, sahib,’ he observed, ‘that the amir has ordered that he be heard.’

‘I wonder. Hark you! Ride again to those men with whom you had speech. Say that I have heard much of the greatness of him they call The Master, and if they think he will not scorn to meet an unbeliever, who yet has much respect for the Muslim faith, I have a desire to send him my
salaam
s and to be received by him.’

Rashid’s heavy black brows met together in a frown.

‘You would be seen in public with him, sahib?’ he asked.

Kershaw nodded.

‘There will not be the time to meet in the usual way before he goes before the government officials; also the risk would now be too great. Go, Rashid!’

Like a good soldier, the havildar obeyed orders although he nursed a feeling that Kershaw sahib was not behaving with his usual wisdom. The Englishman watched him gallop across the uneven ground to the men from whom he had obtained his information. This time he dismounted; joined the circle round the hookah, which was pushed towards him as a sign of good fellowship. Kershaw sat his pony patiently, smiling to himself a little at the realisation that his request was apparently
causing a good deal of argument. At last one of the men rose, and went off through the camp. There was another long period of waiting before he returned, accompanied by a giant of a man who seemed to be literally bristling with arms. The latter spoke to Rashid, who promptly sprang to his feet and, taking his pony by the bridle, led the fellow to Kershaw. The major thought he had never seen a dirtier or fiercer-looking Afghan. His greasy locks, unkempt beard, and dark, glittering eyes gave him a wilder aspect than most; yet he carried himself with a dignity that was rather impressive. There was a good deal of insolent contempt in the stare he directed at the slight, freckled Englishman.

‘The Master has bidden this man take you to him, sahib,’ announced Rashid.

‘I feel it a very great honour,’ replied Kershaw.

Yusuf, for it was he, looked questioningly at the havildar. Apparently he did not understand Urdu. The Englishman promptly repeated his remark in Persian, receiving a grunt from the other.

‘Come!’ he directed.

Without waiting to ascertain whether he was being followed at once or not, he turned, and strode back towards the camp. Kershaw dismounted, threw the reins to Rashid, and set off after him. He found it difficult to keep pace, since Yusuf took long and rapid strides. It was a considerable distance to the spot, under a group of trees, where Aziz Ullah was reclining. The Master was in the very centre of the camp, the thousands who had joined him having placed themselves round him in a huge circle, obviously with the intention of guarding him.
Those comprising the inner circle had remained at a respectful distance, however, his own immediate followers being the only men actually in his vicinity.

Kershaw’s progress through the camp was an ordeal from which a good many Englishmen would have shrunk. The Afghans stood to watch him pass, and there were not many present who did not openly show they regarded him with the utmost suspicion. They were a fierce, unruly-looking lot, few of whom gave any indication that they were of other than the lowest order of Afghan society. The Englishman, however, seemed actually to enjoy the sensation he created. He nodded and smiled, as he progressed through their ranks, appearing completely at ease, which indeed he was. Few people had ever seen Kershaw out of countenance. He had the wonderful faculty of being at home under all circumstances and in any company; could adapt himself to everything, no matter what it happened to be.

Aziz Ullah rose, as he entered the clearing behind the giant Yusuf. There was not a flicker of recognition in the eyes of either, as they looked at each other. Aziz bowed low. Kershaw followed suit, standing a few yards from the man he had come to see as though he thought it might be disrespectful to approach too close. This attitude on the part of an Englishman greatly impressed the many who viewed the meeting. The stock of Kershaw rose very much.

‘It is to me a great privilege,’ he observed in his flawless Persian, ‘to be permitted to meet Your Holiness. I have heard—’