Chapter Twenty-one “Those who survive this night shall have brave memories!”

FRAGMENT

Oh, fear and hate shall have their spate
(For both of the twain are one)
And lust and greed devour the seed
That else had growth begun. 
Fiercely the flow of death shall go
And short the good man’s shrift! 
All hell’s awake full toll to take,
And passions hour is swift.

But there be cracks in evil’s tracks
Where seed shall safe abide,
And living rocks shall breast the shocks
Of overflowing tide. 
Castle and wall and keep shall fall,
Prophet and plan shall fail,
And they shall thank nor wit nor rank
Who in the end prevail.

Looking back after this lapse of time there seems little difference between the disordered dreams of unconsciousness and the actual waking turmoil of that night.  At first as I came slowly to my senses there seemed only a sea of voices all about me, and a constant thumping, as of falling weights.

There were great pine torches set in the rusty old rings on the wall, and by their fitful light I saw that I lay on a cot in the castle keep.  Monty, Fred, Will, Kagig and Rustum Khan were conversing at a table.  Gloria sat on an up-ended pine log near me.  A dozen Armenians, including the “elders” who had disagreed with Kagig, stood arguing rather noisily near the door.

“What is the thumping?” I asked, and Gloria hurried to the cot-side.  But I managed to sit up, and after she had given me a drink I found that my foot was still the most injured part of me.  It was swollen unbelievably, whereas my bandaged head felt little the worse for wear, and the knife-wound did not hurt much.

“They’re bringing in wood,” she answered.

“Why all that quantity?”

The thumping was continuous, not unlike the noise good stevedores make when loading against time.

“To burn the castle!”

At that moment Rustum Khan left the table, and seeing me sitting up strode over.

“Good-by, sahib!” he said, reaching out for my hand.

“The lord sahib has given me a post of honor and I go to hold it.  Those who survive this night shall have brave memories!”

I got to my feet to shake hands with him, and I think he appreciated the courtesy, for his stern eyes softened for a moment.  He saluted Gloria rather perfunctorily as became his attitude toward women, and strode away to a point half-way between the door and Monty.  There he turned, facing the table.

“Lord sahib bahadur!” he said sonorously.

Monty got up and stood facing him.

“Salaam!”

“Salaam, Rustum Khan!” Monty answered, returning the salute, and the others got to their feet in a hurry, and stood at attention.

Then the Rajput faced about and went striding through the doorless opening into the black night—­the last I was destined to see of him alive.