Yussuf the Guide Part 62

From time to time he uttered a few words of warning, and planted himself at some awkward spot to give a hand to all in turn before resuming his place in front.

More than once there was a disposition to cry halt and rest, for the walk in the darkness was most exhausting; but the danger of being captured urged all to their utmost endeavours, and it was not till daybreak, which was late at that season of the year, that Yussuf called a halt in a pine-wood in a dip in the mountains, where the pine needles lay thick and dry; and now, for the first time, as the little party gazed back along the faint track by which they had come through the night, they thoroughly realised the terrible nature of their road.

"Everyone lie down and eat," said Yussuf in a low voice of command.

"Before long we must start again."

He set the example, one which was eagerly followed, and soon after, in spite of the peril of their position and the likelihood of being followed and captured by the enraged chief, everyone fell fast asleep, and felt as if his or her eyes had scarcely been closed when, with the sun s.h.i.+ning brightly, Yussuf roused them to continue their journey.

The path now seemed so awful in places, as it ran along by the perpendicular walls of rock, that Chumley and Lawrence both hesitated, till the latter saw Yussuf's calm smile, full of encouragement, when the lad stepped out firmly, and seeing that his wife followed, the little man drew a long breath and walked on.

Now they came to mountain torrents that had to be crossed; now they had to go to the bottom of some deep gorge; now to ascend; but their course was always downwards in the aggregate, and at nightfall, when Yussuf selected another pine-wood for their resting-place, the air was perceptibly warmer.

The next morning they continued along the faintly marked track, which was kept plain by the pa.s.sage of wild animals; but it disappeared after descending to a stream in a defile; and this seemed to be its limit, for no trace of it was seen again.

For six days longer the little party wandered in the mazes of these mountains, their guide owning that he was completely at fault, but urging, as he always led them down into valleys leading to the south and west, that they must be getting farther away from danger.

It was this thought which buoyed them up during that nightmare-like walk, during which they seemed to be staggering on in their sleep and getting no farther.

It seemed wonderful that they should journey so far, through a country that grew more and more fertile as they descended from the mountains, without coming upon a village or town; but, though they pa.s.sed the remains of three ancient places, which the professor was too weary to examine, it was not until the seventh day that they reached a goodly-sized village, whose head-man proved to be hospitable, and, on finding the state to which the travellers had been reduced and the perils through which they had pa.s.sed, he made no difficulty about sending a mounted messenger to Ansina, ninety miles away, with letters asking for help.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

Exhausted as the travellers were, sleep, good food, and the soft sweet air soon restored them, and they were ready to continue their journey long before their messenger returned, to bring faithfully the means for a fresh start, with fresh ponies, and the necessaries they required, though these were hard to obtain in so out-of-the-way a place.

The weather was threatening as they started at last for Ansina, the Chumleys electing to accompany them. In fact, on parting, their host, who had been amply recompensed for his kindness, warned them to hasten on to the port, for snow, he said, would fall before the week was out, and then the famished wolves would descend from the mountains and the plain become dangerous.

The advice was readily taken, for all were quite satisfied that their travels in Asia Minor would be better ended for the present.

In this spirit they made the best of their way to the port, where they arrived with the snow falling slightly, though high up in the mountains there was a heavy storm. They took up their quarters at the best hotel in the place, and could have gone on at once by the steamer from Beyrout, but at Lawrence's wish the departure was put off till the coming of the next boat, a fortnight later.

"You do not feel so well?" said Mr Preston anxiously.

"Eh, what, not so well?" cried Mr Burne, turning to look at Lawrence.

"Look here, don't say that. I thought we had cured him."

"Oh, I'm quite well and strong," cried Lawrence quickly.

"But you seem so dull," said the professor.

Lawrence did not answer, but turned away his head.

"I wish we had gone on," said Mr Preston anxiously. "There would have been good medical advice on board."

"No, no, I am not ill," said Lawrence; and then in a broken voice, he cried excitedly, "I wanted to put it off as long as I could."

"What! going home, my dear lad?" said Mr Burne eagerly. "You are afraid of our climate again. Then let's stay."

"No, no; it was not that," said Lawrence. "I--I--there, I must say it.

Yussuf has--has been such a good fellow, and we shall have to say good-bye at Smyrna."

The professor was silent for a few minutes.

"Perhaps not for always," he said at last. "Yes: he has been a thoroughly good fellow, and I, for one, should like to come out and have another trip with him. What do you say?"

"Yes, yes," cried Lawrence eagerly; and he rushed out of the room, to be seen the next minute holding on by the grave-looking Turk's arm and telling him the news.

"Look at that," whispered Mr Burne to the professor, as he eagerly watched Yussuf's countenance. "Now, if ever anyone tells me in the future that the Turks always hate the Christians, I can give him an instance to the contrary."

The time soon glided by for the coming of the next boat, and in due course they landed at Smyrna, where the parting with Yussuf was more that of friends and friend, than of the employer and employed.

"If you do come out again, excellencies, and I am living, nothing shall stay me from being your faithful guide," he said, as he stood at the gangway of the steamer; "and as for you, Lawrence effendi, may the blessings spoken of by the patriarchs be with you in your goings out and comings in, and may the G.o.d of your fathers give you that greatest of his blessings, health."

Lawrence did not speak, but clung to the faithful hand till the Turk descended into the boat; and he then stood gazing over the gangway till the grave, thickly-bearded countenance grew less and less and at last died from his sight.

The little party landed at Trieste, where they parted from the Chumleys, who were going home; but Lawrence and his friends, after repairing the damages to their wardrobes, went by rail to Rome, and made that their home till the rigour of the English spring had pa.s.sed away.

It was one fine morning at the beginning of June, that a cab laden with luggage stopped at the old home in Guilford Street, where the door was opened by Mrs Dunn, who stared with astonishment at the st.u.r.dy youth who bounded up the steps into the hall, and then clasped her in his arms.

"Why, my dear, dear boy!" she cried, "I had brought blankets down to wrap you in, and a warm bath ready, and asked cook's husband to be in waiting to carry you upstairs."

"Why, nurse, I could carry you up," cried Lawrence merrily. "How well you look! Ah, Doctor Shorter."

"Why, you wicked young impostor," cried the doctor; "here have I neglected two patients this afternoon on purpose to come and attend on you. I came as soon as nurse Dunn told me she had received the telegram from Folkestone. Bless my heart, how you have changed!"

"Changed, sir?" cried Mr Burne, "I should think he has changed. He has been giving up physic, and trusting to the law, sir. See what we have done!"

"Yes, doctor," said the professor, shaking hands warmly. "I think you may give him up as cured."

"Cured? That he is!" cried the doctor. "Well, live and learn. I shall know what to do with my next patient, now."

"And if here isn't Mrs Dunn crying with vexation, because she has no occasion to make gruel and mix mustard plaisters for the poor boy,"

cried Mr Burne banteringly.

"No, no, no, sir," said the old woman sobbing; "it is out of the thankfulness of my poor old heart at seeing my dear boy once more well and strong."

The doctor took out his notebook, and made a memorandum as Lawrence flung his arms round the tender-hearted old woman's neck; the professor walked to the window; and Mr Burne whisked out the yellow handkerchief he had worn round his fez, and over which he had made his only joke, that he was so yellow and red, he looked like a fezzan, and blew his nose till the room echoed. After which he was obliged to calm himself with a pinch of snuff.

"Well, Lawrence," said the professor, after they had all dined together.

"You remember what you said at Ansina?"

"Yes."

"What do you say now? Would you go through all those wearinesses and risks again if I asked you?"