The Adventures of a Special Correspondent: Chapter 20

Chapter 20

In a moment the passengers, more or less bruised and alarmed, were out
on the track. Nothing but complaints and questions uttered in three or
four different languages, amid general bewilderment.

Faruskiar, Ghangir and the four Mongols were the first to jump off the
cars. They are out on the line, kandijar in one hand, revolver in the
other. No doubt an attack has been organized to pillage the train.

The rails have been taken up for about a hundred yards, and the engine,
after bumping over the sleepers, has come to a standstill in a sandhill.

"What! The railroad not finished--and they sold me a through ticket
from Tiflis to Pekin? And I came by this Transasiatic to save nine days
in my trip round the world!"

In these phrases, in German, hurled at Popof, I recognized the voice of
the irascible baron. But this time he should have addressed his
reproaches not to the engineers of the company, but to others.

We spoke to Popof, while Major Noltitz continued to watch Faruskiar and
the Mongols.

"The baron is mistaken," said Popof, "the railway is completed, and if
a hundred yards of rails have been lifted here, it has been with some
criminal intention."

"To stop the train!" I exclaim.

"And steal the treasure they are sending to Pekin!" says Caterna.

"There is no doubt about that," says Popof. "Be ready to repulse an
attack."

"Is it Ki-Tsang and his gang that we have to do with?" I asked.

Ki-Tsang! The name spread among the passengers and caused inexpressible
terror.

The major said to me in a low voice: "Why Ki-Tsang? Why not my lord
Faruskiar?"

"He--the manager of the Transasiatic?"

"If it is true that the company had to take several of these robber
chiefs into its confidence to assure the safety of the trains--"

"I will never believe that, major."

"As you please, Monsieur Bombarnac. But assuredly Faruskiar knew that
this pretended mortuary van contained millions."

"Come, major, this is no time for joking."

No, it was the time for defending, and defending one's self
courageously.

The Chinese officer has placed his men around the treasure van. They
are twenty in number, and the rest of the passengers, not counting the
women, amount to thirty. Popof distributes the weapons which are
carried in case of attack. Major Noltitz, Caterna, Pan-Chao, Ephrinell,
driver and stoker, passengers, Asiatic and European, all resolve to
fight for the common safety.

On the right of the line, about a hundred yards away, stretches a deep,
gloomy thicket, a sort of jungle, in which doubtless are hidden the
robbers, awaiting the signal to pounce upon us.

Suddenly there is a burst of shouting, the thicket has given passage to
the gang in ambush--some sixty Mongols, nomads of the Gobi. If these
rascals beat us, the train will be pillaged, the treasure of the Son of
Heaven will be stolen, and, what concerns us more intimately, the
passengers will be massacred without mercy.

And Faruskiar, whom Major Noltitz so unjustly suspected? I look at him.
His face is no longer the same; his fine features have become pale, his
height has increased, there is lightning in his eyes.

Well! If I was mistaken about the mandarin Yen Lou, at least I had not
mistaken the general manager of the Transasiatic or the famous bandit
of Yunnan.

However, as soon as the Mongols appeared, Popof hurried Madame Caterna,
Miss Horatia Bluett, and the other women into the cars. We took every
means for putting them in safety.

My only weapon was a six-shot revolver, and I knew how to use it.

Ah! I wanted incidents and accidents, and impressions of the journey!
Well, the chronicler will not fail to chronicle, on condition that he
emerges safe and sound from the fray, for the honor of reporting in
general and the glory of the _Twentieth Century_ in particular.

But is it not possible to spread trouble among the assailants, by
beginning with blowing out Ki-Tsang's brains, if Ki-Tsang is the author
of this ambuscade? That would bring matters to a crisis.

The bandits fire a volley, and begin brandishing their arms and
shouting. Faruskiar, pistol in one hand, kandijar in the other, has
rushed onto them, his eyes gleaming, his lips covered with a slight
foam. Ghangir is at his side, followed by four Mongols whom he is
exciting by word and gesture.

Major Noltitz and I throw ourselves into the midst of our assailants.
Caterna is in front of us, his mouth open, his white teeth ready to
bite, his eyes blinking, his revolver flourishing about. The actor has
given place to the old sailor who has reappeared for the occasion.

"These beggars want to board us!" said he. "Forward, forward, for the
honor of the flag! To port, there, fire! To starboard, there, fire! All
together, fire!"

And it was with no property daggers he was armed, nor dummy pistols
loaded with Edouard Philippe's inoffensive powder. No! A revolver in
each hand, he was bounding along, firing, as he said, right and left
and everywhere.

Pan-Chao also exposed himself bravely, a smile on his lips, gallantly
leading on the other Chinese passengers. Popof and the railwaymen did
their duty bravely. Sir Francis Trevellyan, of Trevellyan Hall, took
matters very coolly, but Ephrinell abandoned himself to true Yankee
fury, being no less irritated at the interruption to his marriage as to
the danger run by his forty-two packages of artificial teeth.

And in short, the band of robbers met with a much more serious
resistance than they expected.

And Baron Weissschnitzerd�rfer? Well, he is one of the most furious of
us all. He sweats blood and water, his fury carries him away at the
risk of his being massacred. Many times we have to rescue him. These
rails lifted, this train stopped, this attack in the open Gobi desert,
the delays that it will all occasion, the mailboat lost at Tientsin,
the voyage round the world spoiled, his plan come to grief before he
had half accomplished it! What a shock to his German self-esteem!

Faruskiar, my hero--I cannot call him anything else--displays
extraordinary intrepidity, bearing himself the boldest in the struggle,
and when he had exhausted his revolver, using his kandijar like a man
who had often faced death and never feared it.

Already there were a few wounded on both sides, perhaps a few dead
among the passengers who lay on the line. I have had my shoulder grazed
by a bullet, a simple scratch I have hardly noticed. The Reverend
Nathaniel Morse does not think that his sacred character compels him to
cross his arms, and, from the way he works, one would not imagine that
it was the first time he has handled firearms. Caterna has his hat shot
through, and it will be remembered that it is his village bridegroom's
hat, the gray beaver, with the long fur. He utters a gigantic maritime
oath, something about thunder and portholes, and then, taking a most
deliberate aim, quietly shoots stone dead the ruffian who has taken
such a liberty with his best headgear.

For ten minutes or so the battle continues with most alarming
alternations. The number of wounded on both sides increases, and the
issue is still doubtful. Faruskiar and Ghangir and the Mongols have
been driven back toward the precious van, which the Chinese guard have
not left for an instant. But two or three of them have been mortally
wounded, and their officer has just been killed by a bullet in the
head. And my hero does all that the most ardent courage can do for the
defence of the treasure of the Son of Heaven.

I am getting uneasy at the prolongation of the combat. It will continue
evidently as long as the chief of the band--a tall man with a black
beard--urges on his accomplices to the attack on the train. Up till now
he has escaped unhurt, and, in spite of all we can do, he is gaining
ground. Shall we be obliged to take refuge in the vans, as behind the
walls of a fortress, to entrench ourselves, to fight until the last has
succumbed? And that will not be long, if we cannot stop the retrograde
movement which is beginning on our side.

To the reports of the guns there are now added the cries of the women,
who in their terror are running about the gangways, although Miss
Bluett and Madame Caterna are trying to keep them inside the cars. A
few bullets have gone through the panels, and I am wondering if any of
them have hit Kinko.

Major Noltitz comes near me and says: "This is not going well."

"No, it is not going well," I reply, "and I am afraid the ammunition
will give out. We must settle their commander-in-chief. Come, major--"

But what we are about to do was done by another at that very instant.

This other was Faruskiar. Bursting through the ranks of the assailants,
he cleared them off the line, in spite of the blows they aimed at him.
He is in front of the bandit chief, he raises his arm, he stabs him
full in the chest.

Instantly the thieves beat a retreat, without even carrying off their
dead and wounded. Some run across the plain, some disappear in the
thickets. Why pursue them, now that the battle has ended in our favor?
And I must say that without the admirable valor of Faruskiar, I do not
expect any of us would have lived to tell the story.

But the chief of the bandits is not dead, although the blood flows
abundantly from his chest.

He has fallen with one knee on the ground, one hand up, with the other
he is supporting himself.

Faruskiar stands over him, towering above him.

Suddenly he rises in a last effort, his arm threatens his adversary, he
looks at him.

A last thrust of the kandijar is driven into his heart.

Faruskiar returns, and in Russian, with perfect calmness, remarks:

"Ki-Tsang is dead! So perish all who bear weapons against the Son of
Heaven!"

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