Frank Forester A Story of the Dardanelles

FRANK FORESTER

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Title: Frank Forester

A Story of the Dardanelles

Author: Herbert Strang

Release Date: June 13, 2013 [EBook #42943]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANK FORESTER ***

Produced by Al Haines.

Cover

IN TWO MINDS (See page 40)

FRANK FORESTER

A STORY OF THE DARDANELLES

BY

HERBERT STRANG

ILLUSTRATED BY CYRUS CUNEO

LONDON

HENRY FROWDE

HODDER AND STOUGHTON

First printed in 1915

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I A MEETING IN THE HILLS

II CONCERNING A CARPET

III DISTURBERS OF TRAFFIC

IV THE COMING STORM

V UNDER ARREST

VI RIGOUR

VII TEMPTATION

VIII A LEAP IN THE DARK

IX A REHEARSAL

X A BRITISH SHELL

XI DANGER

XII IN THE HILLS

XIII SHARING A SEPULCHRE

XIV 'A CHIEL AMANG THEM'

XV OUT OF ACTION

XVI TWO MEN IN A LAUNCH

XVII THROUGH THE NARROWS

XVIII THE LANDING AT ANZAC

XIX A TIGHT CORNER

XX FISHING

XXI IN A RING FENCE

XXII THE HOLY MEN

XXIII CAPTURING A SUBMARINE

XXIV V.C.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

IN TWO MINDS . . . . . . . Frontispiece (see page 40)

AT THE POINT OF DESPAIR

MAP OF THE SOUTHERN PART OF THE GALLIPOLI PENINSULA

THE FIGHT IN THE GULLY

A CRITICAL MOMENT

CHAPTER I

A MEETING IN THE HILLS

One afternoon in July 1914, a party of five men was making its way slowly through a defile in the hills of Armenia. The singular verb is strictly appropriate, for the five men kept close together, always in the same order, and, being mounted, might have appeared to a distant observer almost as one monstrous many-legged creature, hideously shaped.

At a nearer view, however, the spectator would probably have been interested in the various composition of the party, and in certain picturesque elements pertaining to its individual members. The foremost, preceding the rest by three parts of the length of his grey horse, was a study in colour. A black turban surmounted a copper-coloured face, the most striking feature of which was a thin aquiline nose hooked at the extremity, with finely arched nostrils, and a deep dent between bushy brows out of which gleamed sloe-black eyes. On either side of his nose streamed a long, black, fiercely twirled moustache, and his shaven chin stuck out with a sort of aggressive powerfulness. A blue tunic clothed him from shoulders to waist, where he was girt with a red sash bristling with a dagger, a long knife, and several pistols. Baggy white trousers were tucked into long red boots fitted with large spurs. In his right hand he held a long bamboo lance, from which dangled a number of black balls.

The two men who rode behind him, the necks of their horses level with the buttocks of his, were not so picturesque. On the right was a young Englishman of about twenty years, whose clean-shaven face was ruddy with health and exposure to the weather, and whose grey-blue eyes were shaded from the sun by the peak of a white pith helmet. He wore white drill, with a leather belt, and brown riding boots. His companion, a slight, sallow-faced youth of about the same age, was also dressed in white, but there was something in the cut of his garments that forbade his being supposed an Englishman. Close behind these two, mounted on mules which were laden with bundles of odd shapes, rode two sturdy bearded figures, whose dark features were markedly oriental. They wore turbans and tunics which had once been white, baggy red trousers, and heavy boots of undressed leather. Rifles were slung on their backs, and long knives stuck out of their belts.

The track was stony and tortuous, winding through a jagged cleft in the hills. On either side, at varying distances from the path, rose pinnacles of rock, through fissures in which the riders caught occasional glimpses of fertile valleys below, or of solitary fastnesses or monasteries perched high among the crags. Now and then a bend in the defile opened up a view of the distant peaks of the Taurus mountains. It was wild and desolate country, growing wilder as they advanced.

They rode almost in silence. The two muleteers addressed each other sometimes in murmurs, and it might have been gathered from the expression of their countenances that they did not relish their job and were becoming increasingly uneasy. The sun was hot, and the heat reflected from the rocks struck up into the riders' faces and made them shiny with sweat. But the uneasiness of the muleteers was moral rather than physical. They were Armenians, and their journey was taking them deeper and deeper into the wilds of Kurdistan, among the strongholds of the immemorial oppressors of their race. They were not without a lingering suspicion of their leader, the picturesque person of the hook nose. He was a Kurd, and though he had guaranteed the safety of the party, they had no great confidence in the good faith of a Kurd.

No anxieties of this kind troubled the Englishman. But as the afternoon waned he became a little impatient. Ali the Kurdish guide had assured him twenty times that the end of the journey was near, yet hour followed hour, and they had not yet arrived. Since there was no doubt that Ali knew the way thoroughly, it could only be supposed that his notion of distance was imperfect. There were camp gear and provisions on the mules' backs; Frank Forester had already spent one night in camp since leaving Erzerum, and did not view with any pleasure the prospect of a second night; in these heights, 6000 feet above sea-level, the nights, even after the hottest days, were bitterly cold.

Come now, Ali, aren't we nearly there? Frank said at length, addressing the Kurd in a mixture of Arabic and the local dialect.

Very near, very near, said the man, extending his arm towards what appeared to be a blank wall of rock.

He's a man of two words, said Frank, with a shrug, to his companion on the left. I hope we shall get there before dark.

Yes, before dark, repeated the youth, in a thin scrapy voice.

There was silence again. The track became rougher, the wall of rock on each side steeper. At one spot Frank noticed a number of boulders, large and small, piled on a ledge almost overhanging the track.

That's rather dangerous, he remarked. If they fell they would block the road.

That is what they are there for, effendim, said Ali, turning and flashing a glance at the pile. He explained that expeditions led by Turkish governors had more than once come to grief in these hills. The Kurds knew how to deal with the Osmanli.

A few minutes afterwards Ali came to a sudden halt, and hurriedly bade the other members of the party draw in towards the left, under cover of a projecting spur.

What is it? asked Frank.

Men coming towards us, ten or twelve, replied the man. We must wait until I can see who they are.

Have they seen us?

Who can say? But I think I stopped before they saw us.

Why?

Do they not call me Eagle Eye? said the man proudly.

Frank smiled. There was an amusing simplicity about Ali's self-esteem.

Well, what do you make of them? Frank asked after a minute or two.

The Kurd, peering round the edge of the rock, had shown more and more interest as the approaching party drew nearer.

Wallaby! It is Abdi the cursed. I know Abdi and his evil eye. A bad man, truly, for he will sin against a true believer as readily as he will kill a Giaour. He is hated by all and feared by most. We must not meet him.

But you don't fear him, Ali?

Allah knows I fear him not; but I gave my word for the safety of your nobleness and these poor creatures, and it is not well we run into danger from Abdi and his larger party. Besides, there is with him, riding by his side, the dog German----

What, Wonckhaus?

Even so, effendim. That curdles your cream, or call me a liar.

He has stolen a march on us, Joseph, said Frank, turning to his companion. His tone expressed deep annoyance. He wouldn't have come into these parts on any other errand, and I shall be mad if he has pulled off the deal.--I don't want to meet Wonckhaus, Ali. Can we get out of the way until he has passed?

Ali cast a keen look around. In a few moments he discovered what he sought--a gap in which the party might remain concealed. He led them through the narrow passage between two large masses of rock, turned the corner, and instructed them to cover the animals' heads with cloths. They were now within twenty yards of the track, but wholly out of sight from it.

Some ten minutes later they heard the ringing clatter of hoofs on the stones, and the voices of men. Peeping out, Frank and Ali watched the party ride by. By the side of a villainous-looking Kurd rode a big German in loose grey clothes with a blue sash about his ample waist. Behind came nine or ten Kurds variously attired, all armed to the teeth, mounted on horses laden with packs. It was a wild fierce group, and the Armenians, peering timorously round the edges of the rock, heaved a sigh of relief when the last of the party had disappeared. The sounds died away. When all was silent Ali chuckled a Wallahy! and led the way back to the track.

Very near now, effendim, he said.

I hope we are, rejoined Frank. Joseph, I wonder whether Wonckhaus has got my carpet?

God forbid! said Joseph solemnly.

CHAPTER II

CONCERNING A CARPET

Frank Forester was the son of the owner of a large oriental carpet business, whose headquarters was in Constantinople, with branches in several parts of Asia Minor and Persia. Except for his school years in England, Frank had lived all his life in the East. He spoke Turkish like a native, and could make himself understood in Arabic and in the various local dialects in which Turkish, Arabic, and Persian all have component parts.

For some months he had been in charge of the small branch house at Erzerum, where he conducted the business with the aid of Joseph, his Armenian clerk. A few days before the incident just related, a bazar rumour had come to his ears which suggested a promising stroke of business. It was to the effect that an important Kurdish chief, living about two days' journey to the south, had been so heavily squeezed by the Turkish governor of the province that he felt himself forced to raise money by parting with a very valuable old Persian carpet that had long been an heirloom in his family. Tradition said that it was part of the loot obtained by an ancestor of the chief at the sack of Shiraz during one of the civil wars that ravaged Persia in the seventeenth century. It held among his hereditary possessions the same place as a precious jewel or an Old Master among the treasures of a western house. The rumour that it was coming into the market caused as much excitement among carpet dealers as the announcement of the approaching sale of a Correggio or a Rembrandt would cause among the connoisseurs of New York.

Frank Forester was thrown into a flutter when the first whispers reached him. He had not hitherto taken an important part in his father's business, and it was only recently that he had been placed in charge of a branch. The chance of signalizing his stewardship by securing the carpet appealed to his imagination as well as his business instincts. But the problem was, how to bring off a deal with the chief. The old Kurd was not likely to condescend to travel to the town. On the other hand there would be some risk in making a journey to his mountain fastness. The country in which it lay bore the worst of reputations. Even the Turkish authorities never ventured into it without a strong military escort, amounting in fact to an expedition. The peaceful, timid Armenian traders would have ventured into a den of lions as soon as into the hill country where for centuries no Armenian had ever penetrated except as a captive.

Frank's interest in the matter was complicated and heightened by business rivalry. A year or two before, a German named Hermann Wonckhaus had come to Erzerum and set up in business as a carpet dealer next door to Mr. Forester. The Englishman, who had been established there for many years, felt too sure of his position to regard the arrival of his competitor with any alarm. He met him, indeed, in the friendliest spirit, and at first did him some small services in a business and a social way. But it soon became clear that Wonckhaus was a snake in the grass. There were signs that his object in settling next door to Mr. Forester was to keep a watch on him, with a view to discovering with whom he traded and endeavouring to cut into his connection. Once or twice Mr. Forester found himself forestalled in business transactions by the German, and as soon as he became aware of his rival's crooked methods he put himself on his guard and maintained only the coolest of relations with him. Still, he was not greatly troubled. The Armenian, shifty as he may be himself in business, respects rectitude in others, and Mr. Forester knew that if it ever came to a straight pull between himself and the German the result would be in his favour. He lived very simply, without parade; Wonckhaus, on the other hand, kept up a considerable style, and aimed at a kind of leadership in the small European colony. He was a man of good presence, great ability and certain social gifts, by means of which he became a personage; but though he had pushed himself into a position of influence he was always regarded with some distrust by the Europeans other than his own countrymen; and the natives, very shrewd in their silent estimate of western strangers, had taken his measure pretty thoroughly.

Knowing that the bazar rumour would certainly have reached Wonckhaus's ears, Frank was anxious to lose no time in opening negotiations with the Kurdish chief for the purchase of the carpet. It was obvious that his best course was to make a personal visit to the owner. He sent for a Kurd whom his father had sometimes employed and found trustworthy, and enlisted his services as guide to the distant stronghold. Ali confessed that the journey would entail some risk, but he promised that he would do his utmost to ensure the safety of the party, and in fact they had come without adventure within a mile or two of their destination when the appearance of Wonckhaus on the track showed that he had again forestalled his rival. The only question now was, had he managed to strike a bargain with the chief and brought away the carpet among his packs?

When Frank resumed his journey, he discussed the chances rather anxiously with Ali. The Kurd took a pessimistic view.

Abdi is a nephew of the chief Mirza Aga, he said. Does he not always boast of his relationship in the bazar? He is a liar by nature, but in that he speaks the truth. Therefore it is that the German has taken him as guide. Without doubt Abdi said to him: 'I am in high favour with my uncle, Allah be good to him, and when I say to him, this is the excellency that will give a good price for the carpet, he will bless me, and perhaps bestow upon me some poor fraction of the money.' Without doubt we have eaten the dust of our journey for nothing.

Well, we'll go on and prove it. Having come so far I won't go back without knowing the truth.

A march of a little over an hour brought the party to a narrow side track that wound up into the hills. It was some time before a turn in the toilsome ascent opened a view of the chief's stronghold. Perched high up on the mountain side, it resembled in the distance a child's building of wooden bricks; but its massive proportions and structure became impressive as the travellers gradually mounted towards it. In this country of mean hovels its appearance was palatial. The lower part consisted of solid masonry broken by one large gate and two or three small square windows, unglazed and shutterless. Upon this stout pillars supported a number of arches surrounding an open chamber or arcade rectangular in shape and covered with a flat roof. To the left of the arches was a second storey whose walls were as solid as those of the lower; within these, as Frank knew, were the women's apartments. The whole place