Читать книгу Hussein - Patrick O’Brian - Страница 8

Some time before, while Hussein was asleep, Gill had come back to the river with a small black-buck over his shoulder. Jehangir, standing shoulder-high in the stream, had seen him, and had come out on to the bank; they waited for Hussein in the shade of a twisted tree among the rocks. After some time the Englishman blew on his whistle; Hussein, in his tree, heard it, and shouted back. But the wind was in his direction, and although it carried the sound of the whistle to him, it carried his own voice away. Nevertheless, he felt rather better now that he knew where Gill was, for the sound obviously came from the river bank some way to his right. Hussein stopped his ears with a piece of bread that he still had in his dhoti, so that he might not hear the howling of the dholes, for it seemed to melt the strength from his bones, and he climbed down to a branch that touched a limb coming from another tree that lay towards the river. As he crawled out to the thin end of the bough, it bent down and swayed so much that it just brought him within reach of the leaping dholes for a moment: one of them, snapping at a twig growing from the branch, hung there as it swung up again. Then the dhole scrambled on to the branch and rushed at Hussein. Luckily the rounded branch gave the dog no foothold, and it fell to the ground before reaching him. Before the branch swung down again, Hussein had caught hold of the other one; he swung himself on to it. Although it was much stouter, it still swayed up and down a great deal, so that one moment he was practically in the jaws of the dholes as they leapt up, and the next he was far above them. The wild dogs were furiously excited: the noise was appalling. As soon as he could steady himself, Hussein scrambled along the branch to the trunk, where he rested, and pulled the bread from his ears, for his first panic was over, and he felt master of himself again.

There was a dead creeper on the tree, and he broke off lengths of it, throwing them at the dholes. They sat down and waited, with their red tongues hanging out, their ears pricked, and their thick tails brushing to and fro.

From this tree he could see his way plainly for about the spread of five large trees and a few smaller ones. After that a confused mass of greenness blocked out everything else. There were innumerable creepers joining the higher branches. Hussein saw a big grey langur running swiftly along them, and he decided to go by the same way. He found that they were easily strong enough to hold him. Grasping one of the thickest of the lianas he walked gingerly along.

In the middle, where the supporting branches were far apart, the monkey’s road swayed a good deal, and one or two dead creepers fell in long strands; but it held, and he quickly made his way through the trees, holding the thinner lianas with his hands, and walking along on the great cable-thick parasites that grew all over the biggest trees, and crushed the smaller ones to the ground. He was practically hidden among the leaves and blazing crimson flowers of the giant creepers, and he was high above the ground, so that for the space of two trees the dholes lost sight of him. His heart leapt, and he ran along the twisted stems: there was a chance that they would wait under one tree, while he could get away. But he went too fast in his eagerness, and missed his footing; he almost fell, but he snatched at a long liana that ripped away from the rest, and swung him hard against a branch. He grasped it, and was safe; but the noise had brought the dholes to the tree, and they crowded round it, howling like demons.

He rested awhile, as the fall had shaken him; his ribs were bruised, and he felt them tenderly. Nothing was broken — the leaves had checked the speed of the swing, but it was a nasty knock, and it had winded him. When his breath came back he went on, but soon he came to the last big tree. A sea of waving bamboos stretched away almost to the river. There was no large tree standing among them, and there were no creepers: he saw that he could go no farther.

He climbed as high as he could among the dark green shadows: nearly at the top of the great tree he poked his head out of the leaves. At first the sun blinded him, but when his eyes got used to the brilliant light he could see the river plainly, and by the place where they had crossed he could see Gill and Jehangir.

There were several kites circling above him; they were following the dholes for a share in their kill. Hussein unwound his turban and waved it, shouting as loud as he could. He could hear Gill whistling impatiently: the white man saw nothing, and Hussein saw him sit down on a rock; but Jehangir, who had been vaguely uneasy for some time, turned his head from side to side, with his great ears outstretched, and his trunk held straight out, sniffing the wind.

Then he shuffled quickly away towards the trees; Gill saw that something was the matter, and ran after him. The elephant paused and looked at Gill, considering whether he would be useful or not. He made up his mind quickly, and unceremoniously took Gill about the waist with his trunk, hoisting him up on to his back.

Hussein saw them coming, and climbed quickly down the tree. About half-way down he stepped right on top of a fat snake that lay coiled under a cluster of leaves; it fell, without striking him, and hit the ground squelchily. Hussein saw that his luck was in that day, and took heart of grace. As he came down lower the dholes greeted him with a deafening howl. He put on his turban again, and waited for Jehangir. He heard a crashing sound among the bamboos — Jehangir was making his own path. The dholes heard it too, and they looked this way and that: they were clearly puzzled, but they stayed under the tree.

At the edge of the clearing Jehangir paused for a moment. Gill was seated astride his neck, with a shot-gun in his hands, and the HV rifle, which he had brought for the leopard, across his knees; he had grasped the situation when he heard the dholes howling. Jehangir was thinking for a moment, trying to decide the best method of attack: the dholes stood motionless, the hair upright on their backs.

‘Call him to you and jump on to his back,’ shouted Gill, who had found that nothing he said or did had the least effect on the elephant. ‘I’ll pepper them with the shot-gun until we get clear.’

Hussein nodded and came down lower; the dholes leapt up at him, two and three at a time. He called gently to the elephant, ‘Hitherao, Jehangir.’

Jehangir came out from the bamboos with his trunk curled up: Gill blazed away into the dense, reddish-brown mass of the wild dogs, and in another moment Jehangir had passed under the branch, and Hussein had dropped on to his broad back. They were out of the clearing before the dholes had time to follow what was happening. But the wild dogs, though they were confused, were not daunted, and giving tongue they streaked away after the elephant. None of them was killed or even seriously injured, as the gun was only loaded with shot for partridge or sand-grouse.

Jehangir crashed through the thick bamboos as if they were grass; the stems struck the men on his back like whips.

The dholes wriggled through the undergrowth, yelping like young hounds in a covert. They came out into the open, and Jehangir began moving really fast. The wild dogs were strung out on either side, with a bunch just behind him. Altogether there were between fifty and seventy-five of them — a very formidable pack. They ran silently, keeping their distance, and waiting for a lead. Gill and Hussein changed places, a very difficult thing to do on the elephant’s swaying back, and Gill tried to pick off some of the dholes with his rifle; but Jehangir, going at full speed, rolled like a ship in a heavy sea, so his shooting was rather wild.

‘Shall we cross the river?’ he asked.

‘No,’ replied Hussein, ‘for they swim well; moreover, even Jehangir likes to take his time over a crossing and, being worried by these scum, he might be injured.’

As they were speaking one of the dholes running at the side came in and snapped at the elephant’s flank; he hung there for a moment, and dropped. Several others followed his lead, and soon the whole pack was close behind. Jehangir stopped suddenly, so that Gill was almost jerked off; then he turned very nimbly; the dholes fell away on either side, but he stamped on two of the slowest, destroying them utterly.

Then he went on, rumbling a little to himself in his throat. For a little while the pack kept its distance, but soon they were snapping behind him again. Gill was getting more used to the rolling now, and he wounded one of the leaders severely. In a moment the wounded dhole was torn to pieces; he had been the leader of the pack, and was very unpopular with the younger dholes. The pack swept on, leaving him for the following kites.

At this time they were passing through the bare rocks where the dholes had their lairs. Some of them ran ahead to a rocky defile where a ledge overhung the path. They leapt down as the elephant passed. Three of them got a footing on Jehangir’s hind-quarters, and they came at Gill. Hussein knocked one off, and Gill another, but the third got the Englishman’s arm between his teeth, and hung on. The heavy, thick-set brute had Gill half off before Hussein caught up his ankus (he had tucked it into the pad) and beat the dhole so hard on the head that it died at once. But even then its jaws stayed clamped, and they had to prise them open.

Gill recovered his balance as Jehangir turned again and stamped four times: at each stamp there was a short gasp as a dhole was flattened into the ground. But this time the dholes did not scatter: they leapt up all round, worrying the elephant’s legs. Jehangir plucked them off with his trunk, and hurled them against the rocks, but more came on. Some scrambled up to the ledge, and jumped down at Gill and Hussein. They were prepared, however, and knocked them off with clubbed guns. Jehangir stamped twice more, and broke away.

The chase began again, and for quite a long while the wild dogs kept a good distance off. Gill was firing rapidly, and he managed to pick off one or two now and then. They went on and on: the river was left far behind, and they were in a very desolate country with bare, reddish ground thinly covered with thorn trees. Gill’s left arm, just above the elbow, was badly torn, and it made his aim very unsteady after a while. He kept on firing, however, as he thought that the noise might keep the dholes off, even if it did not hit any of them; but soon they took very little notice of it.

Every now and then Jehangir turned, but the dholes were intent on tiring him out, so they fell back, and would not close with him.

The elephant was limping with his off fore foot now — a long thorn had lodged in it. The pace was telling on him, and his speed grew less and less. He stumbled, but recovered and went on. Imperceptibly the dholes drew in. They were silent now, and they ran with their tongues hanging out. When they were fairly close, Gill and Hussein took the rifle and the shot-gun, holding them clubbed, for there would be no time to load if all the dholes rushed them together.

Jehangir stumbled again; he fell to his knees, and stopped. He turned and faced the dholes. They spread out in a wide circle; they were panting fast by now, but they were still good for half a day’s running, whereas the elephant, with his heavy load and his lame foot, could not go much farther. Suddenly the circle contracted, and they were surrounded by a seething mass of dholes. Some scrambled with amazing agility on to his back; Gill guarded one side and Hussein the other, but they could hardly keep themselves from being pulled off. The elephant slipped to his knees again as he stamped on a dhole, and several of them came over his shoulders. They were beaten off, but one seized Hussein’s foot, and another tore Gill’s coat from his back. They all drew off for an instant, yelling like fiends: it was obvious that they were going to make a concerted charge. In a second they rushed all together. In desperation Hussein shouted, ‘Break away, hathi-raj!’

Jehangir grunted, and heaved himself out of the mass of dholes. He shook his great shoulders, and stamped again and again; he stumbled twice, and nearly went over, but he broke away. Dholes hung on to him all over, like leeches: Hussein and Gill beat them off. It was clear that he could not go much farther without a rest, and without having the thorn pulled from his foot. Before they had beaten the last dhole off, the elephant crossed a path. He uncoiled his trunk and sniffed the wind: then he turned along the path. The wild dogs followed.

‘By the mercy of Allah', said Hussein, ‘he has smelt a village.’

‘If only he can reach it,’ replied Gill, ‘everything will be all right.’

They swept on, the dholes running silently. Behind them, at the place where Jehangir had almost fallen, the kites and jackals, who had followed at a distance, closed in on the dead or dying wild dogs.

Jehangir was going along at a good speed, but his breath was coming short, and he faltered now and again in his stride. The dholes were less confident now; they came on just the same, but none of them was anxious to give the lead in attacking the elephant.

By a fluke Gill shot two of them with two successive shots, killing both. But just then the path dipped into a little valley. There was a muddy stream at the bottom, and as Jehangir came to it he hesitated, and the dholes crowded behind him, howling with new ferocity.

Hussein bent over his head, patting him and urging him on; at the bank he stopped dead, and several of the wild dogs leapt; one caught Jehangir’s tail; the sudden pain startled him, and he shot forwards: they were across the slow stream in a flurry of spray before the elephant realised it. The dholes swam across. There were only about thirty heads bobbing in the water now, but the pack was still quite large enough to be very dangerous, as all the weaker dholes had fallen back, and only the biggest and fiercest ones remained.

Jehangir smelt that the village was not far away, and he put on an extra spurt. After a little while a dense patch of thorns appeared; the path led in and out to the mud walls of the village, which was quite near now. Jehangir took no count of the path; he went straight through the thorn bushes; they crackled as he smashed through them.

The dholes were losing ground as they picked their way among the bushes. As they came nearer and nearer to the village many of them stopped.

Only one was near the elephant now: this one, with a prodigious effort, leapt up and snapped his teeth on the heel of Gill’s boot. It snarled, and bit clean through the heel; then Gill killed it with the butt of his rifle.

To their amazement they saw that the gates of the village were shut. Two or three shots rang out from the walls, and the bullets hummed unpleasantly close to their heads. But Jehangir was determined to get to the village, and nothing short of heavy artillery could have stopped him now; he rolled up his trunk under his tusks, bent his head, and putting on an extra burst of speed he fairly flew at the gates. Gill and Hussein crouched flat on his back. There was a rending crash; a cloud of dust flew up. When it faded they saw that Jehangir had destroyed the gates and half the thick mud wall as well; he was now standing in a deserted square surrounded by huts. A man crept from beneath the wreckage.

‘What the devil did you mean by firing on us?’ shouted Gill.

Hussein pointed, and whispered, ‘Ismail Khan.’

Gill said, ‘You’re right,’ and to the man, ‘Put your hands up.’ He covered him with his rifle, for he recognised Ismail Khan, a notorious dacoit.

The man salaamed. ‘Pray do not threaten a poor honest thief, huzoor,’ he said; ‘we will be peaceable.’

‘Then call your men out one by one, and tell them to lay down their arms: if anything else happens, I’ll shoot you as you stand.’

Ismail Khan obeyed: as each man came out from his hut Hussein covered him with the shot-gun. They laid down their weapons — ancient blunderbusses and matchlocks for the most part — in a pile by Jehangir, who stood quite still, breathing heavily.

‘We should have been able to entertain you more like men,’ said Ismail Khan, with a grin — for he held his hereditary and ancient profession to be no shame — ‘if we had not run out of powder. Will it be a hanging or only the jail-khana?’

‘That depends,’ said Gill; ‘now you will get me a very long rope. Let no other man move. Hussein, follow that man, and shoot him if he tries to escape.’

Hussein followed Ismail Khan, scowling fiercely to show that he was not at all afraid. The dacoit led the way into a hut where there were various jars of grain and stores. He paused for a moment, and Hussein raised his gun.

‘That jar is full of rupees,’ remarked the dacoit. ‘Get the rope,’ replied Hussein.

‘Handsome young mahouts can do a lot with a jar of rupees.’

‘That is true, but I do not believe that there are any there.’

‘Look and see for yourself — I am very liberal to my friends.’

‘Yes, and put my gun down: I am not quite a fool,’ said Hussein.

The dacoit turned the jar on its side: a stream of silver coins came out on to the mud floor. ‘Help yourself,’ he said. Hussein said nothing.

The dacoit showed another jar — smaller this time. ‘Gold,’ he whispered, opening a leather bag from inside the jar, ‘you understand?’ Hussein nodded; the dacoit threw the bag, and Hussein caught it in one hand, keeping his distance from the dacoit.

‘Now look the other way,’ said Ismail Khan, ‘so that you can swear by the Beard of the Prophet that you did not see me go.’

‘No,’ said Hussein.

‘What in Jehannum?’

‘I said no; now get that rope.’ He pointed the gun at the dacoit — he had tucked the little bag into his dhoti.

‘O son of Eblis — incredibly base leper …’

‘Silence, soor-ka-butcha. Get the rope.’ Hussein scowled ferociously. With no more words, but with an evil look, Ismail Khan brought out a coil of rope. Coming out of the door he made a rush at Hussein, flinging the heavy coil. Hussein ducked, and jabbed the dacoit in the stomach with the gun — he was not sure how to fire it. When Ismail Khan got his breath again, he picked up the rope and walked back quietly to the square where Gill sat on Jehangir, guarding the other prisoners. Gill dismounted and took the rope: as he put his rifle under his arm to take it, someone threw a knife: it knocked his topi off, but did no harm. Ismail Khan gathered himself together for a spring, and Hussein clubbed him from behind with the butt of the shot-gun. Before his topi had reached the ground, Gill fired from his hip, killing the man who had thrown the knife.

After that the dacoits were quite meek. They stood in a line with their hands behind them, and Hussein bound them, linking them all together.

They bound Ismail Khan and put him across Jehangir’s back. Before the dacoits were bound it had been touch and go whether Gill and Hussein would get out alive; but no man cared to be the first to move, although if several had attacked together they would have been certain of victory; yet no one wanted to be the first to get shot. Also, they were cowed by the ease with which Jehangir had crushed their wall, and some even made remarks about people who employed djinn to fight for them.

Now Gill, having discovered the dacoits’ village by accident, did not wish to remain in a part of the country that might be swarming with their friends, nor did he want them to have time to recover from their despondency, so he asked Hussein if it were possible for Jehangir to make the journey back again at once.

‘Yes,’ replied Hussein, ‘when I have got this thorn out, and provided he is given a great jar of arrack; I saw some where the rope was.’

‘Go and get it, then,’ replied Gill.

Hussein went, and returned with the jar: his dhoti seemed curiously swelled, and he clanked gently as he walked.

Jehangir lifted up his foot, and Hussein soon got the thorn out. Then the elephant sniffed at the jar, picked it up with his trunk, and emptied it down his throat. He flapped his ears, and seemed brighter in a few minutes, for the immensely powerful spirit gave him heart. Leaving Hussein to guard the bound prisoners, Gill searched the huts, finding nobody until he came to the last and biggest. He opened the door of this one with some effort, for it was being held closed from within. He poked his head in; there were piercing screams. He slammed the door. ‘Oh Lord,’ he said, ‘women.’

There was a passable horse in the village; he commandeered it, so as to relieve Jehangir, and rode out with his prisoners over the ruins of the shattered wall. They were tied in a string, and as he had forbidden them to speak, they were quite easy to manage. As they were crossing the Jhelunga they made a faint-hearted effort to escape when Gill’s horse became skittish and nearly threw him in, but a shot over their heads quietened them at once.

By keeping them at a sharp trot, Gill managed to reach the road-head before nightfall, which was fortunate, as they would have had more chance to escape in the dark. It was a very good thing to have got them all at once, as this band had spoiled the countryside for years, and in spite of the most determined efforts of the police, their hiding-place had never been found.

The villagers were really grateful, and they showed it by sending messengers for miles to Gill to report remarkable heads of deer, or good-sized leopards.

When he got in, Gill sent his policemen back for the women, and got his arm bound up. Then, after food, he went round to the elephant lines to see Hussein and Jehangir.

The elephant was surrounded by a crowd of mahouts, all dealing with his hundreds of small wounds with their strange remedies.

Mustapha was attending to Jehangir’s tail, and Gill asked where Hussein was. Mustapha guided him to their hut, where Hussein was squatting before a great pot of steaming saffron stew, made from the tails of sheep, and between mouthfuls he was telling the tale to a gaping circle.

Gill paused outside the door, in the shadows. ‘And so,’ said Hussein, ‘I plucked a branch from a tree, and cleared my way through these dholes, thus rescuing Jehangir and the Sahib, who were beset on all sides. Then I guided them to this village, and — with a little help, it is true — I overset the walls of it. After a long fight — I killed some four of them, I believe — we subdued them, and having tied them cunningly, one after the other, I brought them back, the Sahib being unconscious from a blow on the head. He only recovered just before we arrived, and he pressed gold on me: I would have refused, but he said that it might seem to imply that his life which I had saved (or so he was good enough to say) was of no value.’

‘Inshallah! But surely the youth deceives us?’ said a young man, enviously.

‘Yes, where is the proof?’ asked another youth, still more desirous of confounding Hussein.

‘Here is the gold,’ said Hussein, simply. He poured it in a shining heap from the bags in his dhoti. From all around there were admiring cries. ‘Bismillah! He is another Rustum,’ said someone.

Gill crept away unheard, for he would not spoil a good tale, and besides, Hussein had really saved his life at least twice that day.