Kitabı oku: «The Adventures of Akbar», sayfa 7
CHAPTER XIII
OVER THE PASS
Gratitude had longer to wait than even Foster-father, who always took a gloomy view of things, had thought for, since the next morning found the shed almost hidden beneath a snowdrift. Still, as Old Faithful remarked, it was not altogether to be regretted since the covering kept out the cold and allowed them to save their small store of firewood for cooking. The lack of light was, however, terrible until Old Faithful, whose experience with Babar the brave made him full of expedients, hit on the plan of setting Tumbu to work to dig out a hole through the drift, for they had nothing with them to use as a spade. What he did was to set the door wide, cut a narrow tunnel with his sword as far as he could reach in the banked-up snow, and thrust a bit of food in its farther end. Then Roy brought Tumbu and said:
"Fetch it out, good dog! fetch it out!" while Mirak and Bija looked on delightedly, calling, "Good dog! Dig it out! dig it out!" Tumbu, the most playful of animals, soon entered into the fun, and set to work shovelling out the snow till he found the food. Then another bit was thrust in, always in an upward direction.
"'Tis slow," said Old Faithful, "but not so slow as trampling down a road!"
Not half so slow, for after a time Tumbu seemed to understand what they would be at, and needed no more bits of food to make him dig, but went on solidly, every now and again giving a yap just to make himself believe he really was digging something out. In fact, he got on so fast that Roy, who, as the slimmest of the party, had to keep the tunnel clear of the dug-out snow, had almost more to do than he could manage. It was frightfully exciting, and Mirak and Bija were dancing about, unable to keep still, when a sudden shaft of light that burst into the dark shed, and a furiously joyful barking that came down the funnel as if it had been a speaking trumpet, announced Tumbu's arrival in free air.
"Now, we shall do," said Old Faithful with much importance. "Lo! how one clever idea begets another. But for Firdoos Gita Makâni trampling a road I should never have thought of a tunnel!"
Roy, however, was already hard at work improving on the idea by widening the way with Old Faithful's sword, being only let from doing more by Head-nurse's exclamation that the melting snow would flood the shed.
"Let be, boy!" said Foster-father; "the hot air from within, rising through the tunnel, will melt the sides by degrees. To-morrow will see it large enough for you, at any rate, to pass through."
And so it proved. Not next day, but the day after, not only Roy, but Mirak and Bija, had managed to climb up to the outer world by the notches which Roy cut in the snow walls.
It was a strange, chill world which they saw. Far as the eye could reach, nothing but snow, the air frosty and sharp, though the sun was shining once more. Mirak was keen to snowball, but Roy would not hear of it; the snow was melting with the faint heat of the mid-day sun, he said, and a step might make the frost film break, and down into the powdery drift they might go, never to come up again. So they only stood looking about them for a few minutes and then prepared to go back.
"Take care, my lord, take care!" cried Roy, as Mirak, who was preparing to descend legs foremost, as he had been told to do, suddenly looked up with a face full of mischief, let go with his hands, and pouf! disappeared down the slippery tunnel like a pea in a pea-shooter. A burst of laughter from below told them he had arrived safely, and nothing would suit Bija but to do likewise, Roy being still too tight a fit to slide quickly. In fact, the children were eager to climb up once more and do it again, but Head-nurse said she could not hear of it; their clothes were wet enough as it was; besides, it was most unlady-like for a real Princess!
The days, therefore, did not pass so uncomfortably, though pressing anxiety sat on Foster-father's honest face, and every time Roy returned from a climb up to outer air he would ask him if he had seen anything.
"Nothing," Roy would reply, "and the snow wastes but little, we are so high up."
At last one night, after the children were asleep, Foster-father summoned a council of war. It would not be wise, he said, to remain where they were, without making any effort at escape, until their provisions were exhausted. Then they would be helpless. Now they still had enough for two or three days, and it behooved them to make a push—but whither?
"Not back on our steps," advised Old Faithful. "Firdoos Gita Makâni always said: 'No retreat till there is no advance.' Besides, see you, if we go down, the snow will be melting and give us no foothold. But at night the frost will hold on the pass. And it is but little farther to the next shelter; for, see you, I have come twice this way from Kandahâr; but never the other way back. So my memory of land-marks—if there be any—would be nothing on the downward journey. But upward it might come to life. Again, upward there is less chance of missing the way, as all the valleys converge to the Pass, whereas downward they spread out in different directions."
In fact, there were so many points in favour of advance that the decision was made for it, and the next night settled on for the start. There were not many preparations to make except for the women, who had to bake what flour they had into hearth cakes. They had a little wheat and pulse, too, and this they roasted and tied up in the corners of their veils. Everything that was heavy had to be left behind, for they knew that even unburdened they might have difficulty in getting the frost film on the snow to bear their weight. It was a bright, starlight night when, the snow tunnel having been enlarged by Roy, regardless of flooding the shed, the whole party crept out and stood on the wide, snowy expanse. Tumbu was first, and with joyful yaps began to career about in circles curved like a comma, biting and snapping at the snow. Down came last, and meaowed piteously, lifting up first one cold foot, then another, and shaking it in disgust. Finally an idea seemed to come into her head; she made a bound toward Tumbu, and the next moment was on his back, clawing onto his fluffy black fur; whereat everybody laughed. So, with many a prayer for guidance, the little party set off, Old Faithful leading the way. At first they managed pretty well, though the men and women, being heavy, sank over the ankles at each step. But both Bija and Mirak, and even Roy, being light, found the surface hard enough to bear them; so they ran on ahead and chattered and laughed, the whole business being to them a huge joke. Thus an hour passed cheerfully enough; then Bija began to get tired, and Foster-father took her in his arms. The result sent his heart into his mouth with sudden fear, sudden certainty that no help could come that way. Even her slight additional weight sent him almost waist deep into the snow. He could scarcely move! And ere long the Heir-to-Empire would doubtless weary also; then what was to be done? For every hour after midnight would bring the thawing sun nearer and nearer; they might have to remain on the Pass till night brought frost again, and in that case what would become of the children?
Then suddenly his eye caught Tumbu, who was marching along sullenly, Down nestling, fast clawed in his broad, furry back. Could the dog carry a child? A creature with four feet had greater purchase of foothold than one with two.
"Roy," he said, "turn the cat off and put the Heir-to-Empire on the dog's back; he must be tired also."
Mirak, nothing loath, climbed quickly to his mount; but ere he had settled himself on its back Tumbu had begun to sink slowly. The little lad's weight was too much for even four feet; there was a struggle, over went the little Prince, and both he and Tumbu had to be picked up and set on their legs again on a fresh, unbroken place.
Foster-father looked in despair at Old Faithful, and for a minute no one said anything. Then the old man's face lit up. "Lo! I had forgotten it utterly, but the time and place bring memory back. Firdoos Gita Makâni—who knew all things under the sun—had a favourite horse, that strained itself falling into a drift. They were for leaving it to die, but that did not suit Firdoos Gita Makâni, who was kind to all God's creatures. So, having read of the like somewhere, he set us to make a sort of platform with our lances and blankets underneath the poor brute, and so we dragged him over the snow, until we reached a place where there was water and grass."
"We have no lances," said Foster-father, "and there is no wood." He looked around helplessly.
"My lord has a sword," put in Roy eagerly, "and so has Faithful. If he were to tie them crossways to the scabbards—" He had already thrown off his skin coat and was unwinding his long muslin waistband to tear it into strips to use as a cord.
"It is worth the trying, friend Foster-father," said Old Faithful, unbuckling his sword.
"Aye!" continued Roy, elated with the idea, "and Tumbu can drag it. He makes no mark on the snow, so it will be smooth and slippy—and the curved scabbards will be like runners."
His dexterous fingers were hard at work binding the long sword blades to place. Then a strip of woollen shawl was fastened to them as a seat, Meroo's turban served as harness, and in less time than could have been imagined the quaint sledge was ready for trial.
Mirak sat on it first. "Now then, Tumbu! Good dog!" said Roy in a flutter for fear of failure. Tumbu turned round, looked at his little master with a broad grin of red tongue and white teeth, gave a little grunt, and started.
The sledge slid on over the frozen snow quite easily!
"Now praise be to God!" cried Foster-father, overjoyed.
"And Grand-dad!" said the little Prince, who always listened to everything; "but I knew he would help us, didn't you, Bija?"
"But I want to go on the thing, too," she whimpered.
"Mayhap it might support them both," put in Head-nurse; "she is but a featherweight, and there is plenty of room."
Ere five minutes were over the little party, greatly heartened up by finding this unexpected way out of their difficulties, started once more, Roy encouraging Tumbu, who, in truth, seemed to feel his task quite a light one, while Foster-father, in his relief and gratitude, allowed Down, the cat, to creep once more inside his fur coat. Her weight made him sink a little farther into the snow, but he was strong, and felt he could have done more for the sake of the children's safety.
On and on they went, the frost film giving firmer foothold on the top of the pass, while the chill which always precedes dawn took away still more from the difficulty of Tumbu's task. In fact, the curved scabbards slipped over the hard snow as if it had been ice.
So they went on till a glimmer of dawn showed them that the summit had been reached, the downward slope begun. But still, far and near, nothing but snow was to be seen. Then suddenly, ahead of them, a shadow showed, a shambling shadow! Tumbu stopped dead, sniffed, then with a bound was off full tilt after it, the sledge, with the two children in it, flying behind him!
For an instant the others were too much astonished to speak. Then Roy, with frantic cries to Tumbu to come back, was off after them. In vain! As he crested a little rise he saw by the growing light a big brown Isabelline bear shambling along contentedly, seeming to go no pace at all, yet gaining steadily on the sledge that was giving chase.
"I will follow as fast as I can!" panted the Râjput lad breathlessly, as Foster-father, Meroo, and Old Faithful, hampered by their greater weight, ran up. "It is a bear; but they cannot catch it—and Tumbu will tire—then he always comes back. Follow you on my tracks with the women."
With that he was off like an arrow from a bow behind the bear, Tumbu, the sledge, the Heir-to-Empire and the Princess Bakshee Bâni Begum, who by this time had all disappeared behind the hilly horizon.
CHAPTER XIV
IN THE VALLEY
Roy ran and ran and ran until he was breathless; yet still he ran, until little by little he recovered his breath again as wild animals do. Every moment he hoped to see Tumbu either returning or standing still, panting and waiting for the others to come up. But he saw nothing save, stretching away as far as the eye could reach, a smooth, not over steep, snowy slope. So far there was little fear of the sledge being overset.
Then, after he had run a long way, he paused, for there were now two tracks instead of one. The marks of the bear went up a little side valley, the marks of the sledge went down the slope. What could have happened? Had Tumbu in his haste missed the bear's trail? That was not likely. Having come so far, had he determined to go on? That was not likely either, unless the children had urged him forward. Knowing Mirak's bold, adventurous spirit, this seemed possible, and Roy's heart sank; but he started off running again, knowing that no matter what had happened he must follow his little master, and follow fast.
But as he ran downward and downward the frost film on the snow became less and less firm. The sun was rising now, and even its earliest rays seemed to melt his foothold, and he began to sink at every step. The sledge, however, appeared from the faint marks it left to have slid on without difficulty. No doubt, he thought, because of the children's light weight, and because the platform between the swords and scabbards which supported them was so large; many times larger than his own feet! Why, even Tumbu's four broad, furry paws had sunk into the snow a little, and would doubtless have sunk more but for the pace at which he must have been going.
The sledge was the thing! How clever it was of Old Faithful to remember Firdoos Gita Makâni's way of saving his horse; but after all, when one came to think of it, the thanks were due to Babar the brave for being a real King, kind-hearted to animals.
And now Roy's task became dangerous as well as hard, for every moment lessened the firmness of the ice film. And he was now running down a shallow valley, which was completely blocked up by drift, except in the very middle, where every now and again you got a glimpse of a roaring torrent—kept unfrozen by its snowy covering—hollowing its way downward; but for the most part it was invisible, the only sign of it being a roar, a tremble beneath your feet. Thus he was, as it were, on a snow bridge, of which the surface might at any moment give way. And that meant certain death in the dark pools below. In one place, indeed, he was all but lost; however, a wild leap landed him on safe ground, and with a gasp of fear, not for himself, but for the children ahead of him, he ran on, comforted by the sight of the sledge track going on and on.
After a while he had to cease running from sheer fatigue; but still he plodded on, telling himself that even half an hour would have made a difference in the snow. That where he found danger, the children might have found safety; and always before him that track of the scabbard-sledge showed him that so far, at any rate, all had gone well.
And then, as he turned a sharp curve in the shallow, snow-covered valley, he saw a little below him something that made him turn sick with fear. It was the sledge, empty, deserted! A second glance, however, showed him that it was not overset. Those who had been in it must have left it of their own accord; and the cause of this was soon made clear. Within a few yards the snow ended and a rocky descent began, down which the sledge could not have gone. So either Tumbu or the children had been wise; and they were still in front of him, but how far off who could tell? The sun was already high, hours must have passed since he first started in chase; but now that they were on foot there was some chance of overtaking them before anything dreadful happened.
In his hurry Roy almost flung himself from rock to rock down the descent; but he had to pause to take off his fur coat, for in this sheltered spot the sun beat shadelessly, the snow melted as he passed, the stones ran with moisture, and in the crannies of the rocks young green things were everywhere starting into growth. The past storm of bitter cold had ended winter; spring had begun. And now the rushing torrent, escaping finally from its snowy blanket, dashed over the boulders beside him, carrying with it great blocks of melting snow.
On and on he went, thinking the descent would never end, till at a turn he saw below him a tiny valley, just a sort of cup in the hills, through which the stream rushed, sparkling in the sunshine. The banks were still brown, but they were patched with great beds of rose-pink primula, blue gentian, and yellow dog pansies. And on a perfect carpet of these sat three dark figures! Never in his life was Roy so overjoyed. He forgot his fatigue, and ran on until he could plainly see Princess Bakshee Bâni Begum making cowslip balls out of the pink primulas, the Heir-to-Empire contentedly munching a cold hearth cake, and giving bits of it to Tumbu, who, with his head cocked on one side, had evidently heard Roy's distant step. The next instant a furious barking showed that he was on the alert to defend his young charges, and Roy had to call to him again and again before he was satisfied that the newcomer was a friend.
"Why, what a long time you've been coming," said the Heir-to-Empire calmly. "We've had our breakfast, 'cos we couldn't wait any longer. You can't have come as fast as you could. No more would Tumbu, only we made him not be lazy, 'cos Head-nurse says—what is it she says, Bija?"
The little girl looked solemn. "She says every one should do everything as quick as ever they can. So we shouted at Tumbu and pulled his tail just a liddly-wee bit like the bullock drivers do. And then we had the loveliest ride, and Tumbu wasn't a bit cross; but he wouldn't go down the rocks and growled. So we had to get out and walk. And then we came here, and first of all we picked flowers; then I had hearth cakes and popcorn in my veil, and so we ate our breakfast, and then you came—and that's all, thank you!" She had just finished a lovely soft ball and she flung it full at the Heir-to-Empire. It hit him, but he took no notice. He was thinking of something else.
"But where," he began, and his little lip went down, "is Head-nurse—and Foster-father—and Foster-mother—and Old Faithful—and Meroo—and Down? What have you done with them, slave?"
He was half angry, half ready to cry, so Roy, though his own heart failed him as he thought of the dangers of the road, had to soothe and comfort him by saying, as cheerfully as he could, that they would come before long. But would they? Now that the relief of finding the children were safe was over, poor Roy began to see the difficulties before him. If those others did not come, what would he, a mere lad, do? How could he care for his little master and mistress? They had had their breakfast, it is true—Roy forgot he had had none himself!—but what could they have for supper? He could not even think, he felt too giddy and tired even to sleep; so, after he had rolled his fur coat into a soft pillow for the little Prince and Princess, who were drowsy for their mid-day rest, and covered them over with their own, he sat with his head between his hands, his eyes closed, wishing he were not so stupid, wishing he could only think of something to do; for in reality he was quite wearied out. If the others did not come! Of course they might come at any moment; and yet the moments passed to minutes, the minutes to hours, while the children slept in the sunshine, and Roy felt that he was a fool.
And then something cold touched his hand. He opened his eyes and saw that it was Tumbu's nose; Tumbu, who had something strange in his mouth—something like a rabbit and yet like a squirrel!
In reality it was a fresh-killed young marmot, an animal that lives amid the snow and ice and rocks of the very highest hills. Tumbu, having handed over charge of the children, must have gone off on his own hunting, found a colony of the quaint creatures, and, as usual, brought home his bag! Roy did not in the least know what the marmot was, but he saw it was something to eat! The relief was too much for him! Here, at least, was supper. He flung his arms round Tumbu's neck and burst into tears, murmuring with choking sobs that he, Roy, had been foolish, but Tumbu was a wise, wise, good doggie. And so he was!
After this Roy felt better, and having, as all Indian boys used to have in those days, a flint and steel with him, began to look around for fuel with which to light a fire and cook the supper. There were, of course, no trees and no bushes; but right away at the farther end of the long valley there were some patches of very dark green. They did not look promising, but he would go and see. They proved to be a creeping sort of evergreen plant that trailed its stiff branches right on the very ground. He picked a bit, and on trying to light it, found to his surprise, that it blazed up in a fierce flame. For it was juniper, and so full of resin.
He now had the possibility of fire, so that evening the little cup in the hills held quite comfortable encampment.
Roy had brought down the sledge, and using the swords and their scabbards as supports, had made a lean-to tent against a warm rock out of the strip of shawl. In this he had strewn juniper branches to make a soft bed, and the children could just creep into it. Then they had the marmot, roasted in its skin, for supper, and all the three were too hungry to ask themselves if marmot flesh was as toothsome as rabbit or as bitter as squirrel! And Tumbu ate the bones with an air as if he would say, "It is not bad, but to-morrow I must catch two marmots."
After that there was peace and quiet in the camp, Roy sitting beside the fire and making it blaze up every now and again by putting on a fresh juniper branch. For he knew that since the others had not arrived by daylight, they must either all have perished on the road or else be waiting until the cold of night once more froze the ice-film on the snow. In this case the firelight seen from afar might be a guide.
So the night passed. More than once Roy fell asleep, for despite his care the smoke of the juniper branches could not quite be avoided, and that, every one knows, is terribly sleepifying. He woke every time, however, before the fire was quite out, and hastened to send up a flare of flame. As he did so the last time it was answered by a hulloo from the rocks above, and shortly afterward Meroo, the scullion's, blubbering voice could be heard as he uttered thanks to Heaven.
"And the others?" asked Roy anxiously, as out of the darkness Meroo appeared and cast himself at the lad's feet, bellowing joy.
"They come, they come! They are but a short way back. I saw the fire, and the sight of it warmed the cockles of my heart! Lo! I shall cook once more! I shall not die hungry in the wilderness. Nay! go not," for Roy was starting up. "True! the women are nigh dead, and Foster-father hath his fingers frost-bitten, but—nay, put more flame to the fire, boy! It is the fire they need!"
He was half beside himself, but he was right. As the fresh juniper branches blazed up Head-nurse came tottering and stumbling into its light. Roy sprang to help her, but she pushed him aside.
"The Heir-to-Empire?" she muttered, her lips almost refusing to form the words. "The Heir-to-Empire, the Admired-of-the-World–"
Roy pointed to the little tent. "There! Safe! Well! Asleep!" he cried; and the poor woman with a sob sank as she stood, and lay prone muttering long strings of titles.
Before a minute had passed Foster-father and Foster-mother struggled into the circle of light, and after a word of question and reply, sank down also.
Then there was a long pause, but no sign came of good Old Faithful's tall, gaunt figure. At last Roy spoke.
"Faithful?" he asked in a low whisper. "What of him?"
There was no answer at first; only Foster-father covered his face with his hands. At last he spoke gently.
"He was faithful to death. He was going first, as ever, cheering us all with his sayings of Firdoos Gita Makâni. I saw him there one moment turning to tell us words of wisdom—the next the snow bridge had given way beneath his feet and he was gone. We waited on the bank of the awful chasm for a long time, but there was no sound save the roaring of the stream below. Firdoos Gita Makâni, his master, had called him. Peace be with them both!"
