The airship had scarcely come to rest before he saw, from the village below, a party of hors.e.m.e.n issuing at full speed from the gate. Tom counted more than a dozen men, and within a minute these were followed by another dozen.

"We're in for it now," he said. "They'll be on us in a few minutes."

"We can't fight 'em with only one revolver and a carbine," said Oliphant ruefully. "They'll collar us and hold us to ransom-perhaps we'll all find ourselves before long in the kasbah of Ain Afroo."

"May I make a suggestion?" said Sir Mark Ingleton. "The airship has failed us; we are, it appears, about to be surrounded by hors.e.m.e.n who are doubtless well armed; flight is therefore impossible. It is equally impossible, as Mr. Oliphant says, to fight. Before now, in similar circ.u.mstances, diplomacy has been of some avail; and it is but right that I, in whose behalf you gentlemen have been brought to your present plight, should exercise my poor abilities in disentangling the knot."

"What do you propose, sir?" asked Tom, inwardly remarking that diplomacy seemed to make a man tolerably long-winded.

"It is that Mr. Oliphant and myself should go forth to meet these children of nature, waving a white handkerchief as if to welcome them. I will explain to them, in terms they will comprehend, and with a sufficient regard for the truth, what our situation is. They will doubtless convey us to their village, whether they believe me or not. In the meantime you, Mr. Dorrell, will have hidden yourself in a tree-no difficult feat to a man of your years; and when you see a fitting opportunity, you will steal your way to the sh.o.r.e, rejoin your friends on the yacht, and take such steps as may suggest themselves in consultation with them to effect our release."

"A capital idea!" said Tom.

"But can we do it? Can you speak to the Moors in their own tongue?"

asked Oliphant.

"My dear fellow, your father selected me for this mission precisely on account of my knowledge of Arabic," said Sir Mark. "If these Riffians do not understand me, it will be because my speech is so much purer than theirs."

"Well, good luck to you!" cried Tom. "I'm off before they see me."

And donning his djellab, which he had spread on the ground to dry, he disappeared among the trees.

CHAPTER XIII-DIPLOMACY

Before the band of hors.e.m.e.n had approached the edge of the little plateau where the airship lay, the two men stepped forward through the trees at its lower edge and waved to the oncomers with every sign of welcome.

"I hope none of them will recognize me," said Sir Mark in a low tone to Oliphant. "Probably few in this wild district have ever been in Tangier, where my features are tolerably well known; and having been for some time unable to shave-these followers of the Prophet are forbidden the use of the razor, and Mr. Schwab does not carry one-I look perhaps a little unlike myself."

The hors.e.m.e.n came up at a gallop, bringing their horses to a halt when it seemed to Oliphant that he and his companion must be trampled to the ground.

"Peace be with you!" said Sir Mark in Arabic, making a slight inclination.

"And with thee, peace!" returned the leader of the party, looking not a little surprised at this orthodox salutation from a N'zrani.

"In the name of the most Merciful!" Sir Mark continued. "Thou dost behold us in sore straits, O Son of the Mountain. We are brothers under our skin, thou and I, and I crave thy help."

"Bismillah! I am thy host, and all that I have is thine."

"Thou sayest well. Behold this strange monster that lieth on the ground beyond us. It was made by a countryman of mine, to simulate the flying of birds in the air-a most wondrous thing, and worthy to be seen by his Shereefian Majesty the Sultan himself. I was indeed on my way to visit the Sultan, but was prevented by a most untoward happening. (That is strictly true, though the fact is somewhat post-dated," he added in an aside.) "Even a bird tires with overmuch flying; and, as thou seest, this thing that imitates the flying of a bird tires also, so much so, indeed, that we saw that its wings would not carry us the full extent of our journey, and we were on our way back to the coast in order to repair its strength, when it failed us utterly. Wherefore, friend, we ask thee to lend us the a.s.sistance of some st.u.r.dy men from your village to carry our poor bird to Casa Blanca, or to any ship that may chance to be off your sh.o.r.e. (They may have seen the yacht.) For this service we will reward them liberally."

"Bismillah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Moor. Oliphant, watching his face during Sir Mark's address, had caught a fleeting expression of perplexity and disappointment. Expecting to make an out-and-out capture, he was no doubt somewhat nonplussed at this request for a.s.sistance. But he had the Moor's ready adaptability to circ.u.mstances. His speech gave no sign of his thoughts.

"Bismillah!" he repeated. "We are all in G.o.d's hands. Let my brother give thanks to Allah the most Merciful that he came to a man so friendly disposed as Salaam son of Absalaam. It shall be even as thou wishest, Sidi. But first thou and thy son must come to my village, for your bird yonder is too heavy to be carried without much preparation. It will need the shoulders of a great number of men. But while the men are making ready, enter my house, all too unworthy to shelter you: yet we will comfort you with food, and do all that is in our power to please our guests."

"We thank thee, O Salaam, for thy proffered hospitality, which we will accept, knowing that all things will be provided for our comfort."

"So be it, Sidi. But within the walls of my village, when I first looked heavenwards and saw this strange flying thing, did I not see three men borne along in it, and one of them in djellab something like my own?"

Sir Mark smiled and, pointing to a part of the apparatus that was coloured grey, said-

"No doubt in the distance my brother mistook that for a person. We are two, as thou seest."

The Moor still looked somewhat mistrustfully around. Then, with an appearance of being convinced, he dismounted, and ordered his followers to dismount also, asking his guest to choose whichever of the horses he pleased for himself and his son. At this imputation of kinship, Sir Mark elevated his eyebrows; the young man was certainly a disreputable-looking object. Thinking it policy to accept the offer, Sir Mark mounted the head-man's own steed, Oliphant following his example with the horse of one of his party. Then, bidding a score of the men lift the airship on their shoulders, the head-man and the rest remounted, and led the way to the village. Both Sir Mark and Oliphant were glad that the distance was not great, for the high Moorish saddles were a sore trial to their unaccustomed limbs. The envoy, at any rate, was under no delusion as to the nature of the hospitality promised. From the manner in which the tribesmen escorted the two Englishmen to the village, there could be little doubt that they were prisoners.

From his perch in the tree Tom noticed that although the majority of the hors.e.m.e.n accompanied his friends towards the walls, four or five detached themselves from the party and returned to the plantation, which they proceeded to search pretty thoroughly. He made himself as small as he could among the foliage when they pa.s.sed beneath him, but they did not look up; apparently it did not occur to them that any one should have mounted into a tree. When they had finished their fruitless search, they went, not in the direction their fellow-villagers had taken, but towards the coast. Tom saw them spread out as they rode from the plantation, and watched them until they were mere specks in the distance. Then, when they were, he supposed, perfectly satisfied that the suspected third member of the English party could not have escaped them, they wheeled round and returned one by one again pa.s.sing not far from his hiding-place. Clearly, if they were so suspicious, it would be expedient for him to remain for some time in the tree-an unpleasant prospect, for he was becoming very stiff and cramped, and suffering rather severely from hunger and thirst.

It was some hours before he ventured to slip to the ground. Even then he did not dare to leave the shelter of the wood, knowing that in the open he would inevitably be observed. But he stretched his limbs and found a few blackberries, which somewhat appeased his hunger. Every now and then he again climbed the tree to find out whether any one was approaching, or whether a watch was still being kept. Late in the afternoon he descried, on the further side of the village, a horseman approaching from the direction of the hills. He came at full gallop, and rode straight into the village, disappearing there from Tom's view.

"Hope to goodness he isn't a messenger from the sheikh!" thought Tom.

At last, when the sun had set, and the sky was darkening, he deemed it safe to leave his hiding-place. If the yacht had remained where he had last seen her-and it was scarcely likely that Mr. Greatorex would shift his anchorage-he conjectured that a five mile walk would bring him to the nearest point of the sh.o.r.e. Fortunately it was a beautiful night, clear and starlit, though the moon had not yet risen. Taking his bearings very carefully by the stars, in antic.i.p.ation of a return journey, he started, going very slowly and cautiously, watching every shadow lest it should indicate the presence of a Moor. Ignorant of their language, he knew well that he had no chance whatever of slipping past if he were once accosted. In such a case he could trust only to his lightness of foot. But nothing happened to cause him uneasiness, and after trudging along for nearly two hours he was beyond measure delighted to see what was evidently a masthead light some distance out at sea. No native craft would show a light; he could hardly doubt that the _Dandy Dinmont_ and his friends were before him.

He was quickening his step in the pleasure of this discovery, when suddenly, without warning, he found himself at the edge of an encampment lying in a slight hollow at the summit of the cliffs. He started back, but it was too late. A Moor, swathed in his hooded djellab, came out of the darkness and spoke to him. Tom saw that it might be fatal to run now; he walked on, hoping that he might pa.s.s without replying. But the Moor spoke again, more sharply, in a more questioning tone. Tom, whose head was covered with the hood, mumbled something beneath his breath; but his unpractised tongue could not achieve the hard guttural accent of the Moorish speech, and the sentinel took a hasty step towards him.

There was now nothing for it but to take to his heels. Disguise was no longer possible, and, to free his limbs, he cast the djellab from him, and dashed at full speed across the gra.s.s to the edge of the cliff. The slope was steep, but he scarcely gave a thought to the risks he ran.

Scrambling over, he lay down and rolled from top to bottom, with many a gash and bruise from sharp edges of the rock.

Loud shouts pursued him. The camp was aroused. Picking himself up, feeling breathless and dazed, he sped across the sandy stretch of beach and sent a sounding hail in the direction of the yacht; perchance his voice might carry above the rustle of the surf and the cries of his pursuers. He heard men scurrying down a path in the cliff somewhere behind him; then their footsteps on the light shingle that lay above the sand. Even if his cry had been heard on the yacht, it was impossible that a boat should reach him before he was overtaken. There was only one way to safety. He plunged into the surf, and struck out towards the vessel. A shot followed him, but he cared nothing for that; in the darkness it would puzzle an expert marksman to hit him, when nothing of him could be seen but a head bobbing up and down. Not till he had swum well out of the reach of his pursuers, who had not followed him into the sea, did the thought of sharks cross his mind. Then he trod water for a little, and, making a bell of his hands, sent another prolonged cry across the water.

Is that an answering hail? He shouts once more; yes, a cry comes back to him: "Ahoy-o!" But at the same moment he hears also the sound of paddles, to his right, apparently from a bend of the sh.o.r.e. The Moors have not given him up, then. Again he presses on, putting all his force into a strong side-stroke. Now another sound falls upon his ear; the welcome sound of oars plied st.u.r.dily in rowlocks. The yacht's boat is coming to meet him. But the pursuers are the nearer-will his friends arrive in time? His long exertions since he left the yacht, his want of food and sleep, have robbed him of his strength. His pace becomes slower and slower. The pursuers' boat is coming up behind, while yet the beat of oars before him sounds terribly distant. But he is still swimming; every yard he makes is a yard added to the speed of the friendly boat.

He struggled on; and the Moors were still some distance behind when, gasping and spent, he was helped by Timothy and another into his ark of safety.

But the boat did not head at once for the yacht.

"Give way, men!" cried Captain Bodgers himself, at the tiller.

He pointed the nose of the boat straight for the Moors' light craft.

Eight st.u.r.dy British sailors pulled with a will. There was a crash, a cry, and a dozen Moors were in the water, struggling to right their capsized boat.

"That's all right. Now we'll get back, my men," said Captain Bodgers, and some few minutes thereafter Tom was a.s.sisted up the side of the yacht, and into the arms of Mr. Greatorex.

"G.o.d bless my soul, what has happened?" said the worthy merchant.

"We've got him-Ingleton," murmured Tom faintly. "He's with Oliphant, captured again. Schwab's in the cave with Abdul."

"He's light-headed, poor fellow!" said Mr. Greatorex. "Here, some one, blankets, and brandy-look _alive_ now."

Tom was soon stripped, dried, swathed in warm blankets, and dosed with brandy till his blood tingled. Mr. Greatorex fussed round him, waiving his proffered explanations until he was thoroughly recovered. Then Tom gave him an account of all that had happened since he left the yacht, Mr. Greatorex breaking in every now and then with "Dear, dear!" "You don't _say_ so!" "The villains!" "What a _mercy_!" and such like exclamations. Early in the narrative he interrupted with a question:

"You say Oliphant! Who's Oliphant? Am I on my _head_ or my _heels_?"

"Oh, I forgot you didn't know," said Tom with a smile. "Your new stoker was Oliphant in disguise. You see, Byles, your late stoker, had to remain at home and attend to his sick mother."

"No more sick than I am!" declared Mr. Greatorex. "Don't believe he _had_ a mother! M'Cracken, indeed! I'll M'Cracken him! I hope his father will get him well _thrashed_ when he goes back to school."