Patrick O’Brian 3-Book Adventure Collection: The Road to Samarcand, The Golden Ocean, The Unknown Shore. Patrick O’Brian
ridge by this valley would find themselves brought up short by the perpendicular cliff at the hither end of it. The plan was that the Kazaks should be lured up this ravine to its very end, and that there they should be caught by rifle-fire from the heights.
They strung themselves out along the sides, finding good hiding-places among the boulders. They would have several hours to wait, but as it was impossible to say for certain when Hulagu and his men would lead their pursuers into the trap, they must remain hidden, silent and motionless for the whole of the long wait. When they had been there an hour Chang barked. ‘Put a strap round that dog’s muzzle,’ snapped Sullivan. Some minutes later there came a soft whistle, to which Chingiz replied, and they saw another group of Mongols creeping among the rocks on the other side, taking up places opposite to them.
The hours passed slowly, very slowly, and the sun crept up the sky. A wind blew up from the farther steppe: it increased in strength, and as it howled and whistled through the rocks and down the narrow gully, it became very difficult to listen for the sounds they hoped to hear.
Derrick was changing from one cramped position to another when he saw the heads of the three men to his left all whip round at the same moment; they were listening intently down the length of the ravine. He froze motionless, and he heard the crackle of many rifles, far away and whipped from them by the wind.
Sullivan nodded and winked his eye: at the same instant Derrick became aware of the Professor’s lanky form stretched out behind him and creeping towards Sullivan.
‘Forgive me, Sullivan,’ whispered the Professor, ‘if this is an inopportune moment – I should have thought of it before, but it slipped my mind. What I wished to say was that although I am conversant with the general principles underlying the use of firearms, I have never actually –’
‘Get down,’ hissed Ross, pulling the Professor off the skyline. ‘Here they come.’
Derrick flung himself flat and rammed home his bolt: he heard the same sharp, metallic sound to his right and his left. From where he lay he had a perfect view of the whole of the gulley, and he saw Kubilai and Hulagu with some twenty of their men coming into sight at the far end. Behind them came the Kazaks. It was difficult to see how many there were, because of the number of spare horses that galloped with them, but they were many; and as they raced nearer Derrick saw among them a white horse whose rider carried a lance with a yak’s tail flying like a pennant.
‘That is the son of the Altai Khan,’ murmured Chingiz, staring down his sights.
‘Quiet,’ whispered Sullivan. ‘Wait for it, wait for it.’
Now Hulagu and his men put on a great burst of speed: as they passed the silent watchers, Hulagu took the reins in his teeth, turned in his saddle and fired back. He scanned the rocks anxiously, and raced by.
The Kazak lances swept nearer and nearer, and above the wind came the thundering of their horses’ hooves. ‘Just a little closer,’ whispered Sullivan, cuddling the stock into his shoulder, ‘and you’re for it.’
A shot rang out behind them. The bullet spat rock six inches from Derrick’s heels, and the Professor said, ‘Dear me, it went off.’
The Kazaks pulled up in a cloud of dust. Ross and Chingiz fired together and two men fell. There was confusion in the ravine, some pushing on and some turning back. Sullivan waited a moment and then fired six shots so fast that it sounded like a burst of machine-gun fire. On the other side the Mongols opened up, and Hulagu’s men from the foot of the cliff kept up a rapid fire.
‘One,’ said Olaf, calmly reloading. Li Han aimed at the white horse and fired at last: he struck an escaping man fifty yards in the rear.
In the van of the Kazaks the yak’s tail banner tossed and waved. There was a piercing shout from below and the banner rushed forward, with fifty men behind it, charging for the dismounted men at the foot of the cliff. In a moment they had swept by the withering fire from the heights, and they were engaged in a battle at hand to hand, so close that the men above could not fire without hitting their own friends.
The Kokonor men were outnumbered more than two to one: the sheer cliff was behind them, and they could not fly.
‘Professor, stay here with Derrick and Chingiz. Pick off the Kazaks down the valley,’ said Sullivan, as he lowered himself over the side. Ross was already going down before him, and Olaf followed fast. On the far side the Kokonor Mongols were also climbing down. One fell, and rolled the whole length of the steep slope to a Kazak lance.
Ross was the first down, but Sullivan out-paced him to the fight. Two horsemen came at him, and running he missed his shot, but he leapt aside from the nearer lance and sprang for the horse’s head. He wrenched horse and rider to the ground, and the second man came down in the threshing legs. The Kazaks bounded free and came for him again, but before they could strike he hurled his rifle at them. He was within their guard, and in each hand he held a Kazak by the neck. With a crack like a rifle-shot he smashed their heads together: the helmets rang and fell, and the Tartars dropped senseless from his hands.
Sullivan gave a bellow like an angry bull and dashed into the fight. A horseman, wheeling, cut the shoulder off his coat: as the horse reared Sullivan gripped the rider by the leg and jerked him down. The Kazak fought like a wild-cat: Sullivan raised him, hurled him down on the rocks and then flung his body into the knot of swordsmen surrounding Hulagu. He followed right behind the hurled body, roaring and striking right and left.
The battle was more even now. Ross, using his rifle as a club, was over on the right, taking the Tartars from behind: Olaf was by his side, with a boulder in each great hand that converted his fists into two deadly maces. A rush of horsemen from the farther end was checked by the men above: the Professor had the hang of his weapon now, and now even Li Han could hardly miss. Only four men got through.
In the middle of a ring of Kazaks, Sullivan fought like a man possessed. He had no weapons, but he held a man by his feet, and whirling him round he drove the Kazaks before him. They scattered, and he threw the body with all his force, knocking three of them down. From one of the fallen men he snatched a sword, and for a moment he stood alone. It was a long blade, heavy and straight: he shifted it in his hand. It was a brave man who came against him, Attay Bogra, the son of the Altai Khan. The blades leapt in the sunlight, hissing against each other, hissing and clashing so that the noise was like the noise in a smithy when two men hammer on the iron. They went to and fro, and men fell back from either side of them. The red wound from a half-parried blow sprang open on Sullivan’s forearm, and the blood flowed fast. He gave back a step, but as he stepped the Tartar lunged, slipped in a pool of blood and almost fell. He straightened, saw Sullivan’s sword whip up in both hands to the height above him, and flung up his sword against the blow, but in vain: the sword flashed down, a blinding arc of light, and through helmet, skull and bone the sword bit to the ground. The Tartar fell, clean cut in two. There was a great cry, and a moment of sudden panic among the Kazaks. At this instant the Kokonor Mongols from the farther cliff reached the bottom – they had had a longer and a steeper climb, but now they flew into the fight.
Sullivan wiped the blood from his eyes and glanced around to find the thickest of the fray. There was none. The Kazaks were already horsed, and the survivors were racing down the gulley.
At the edge of the Takla Makan they met the old Khan of Kokonor. He was a little man with a straggling white beard and streaming white moustaches that flew out on each side of his helmet. Derrick thought he looked a curious figure to lead the fiercest horde in Mongolia, and he was surprised at the deference with which Ross and Sullivan greeted him. They dismounted before he did, and walked across the sand to shake his hand: the old Khan was ill at ease out of the saddle, and he waddled on his bowed legs as he advanced to meet them.
Everyone stood well aside in silence while the three talked. After a little while they parted: the Khan shook hands again, nodded to his sons, and was gone in a cloud of dust.
‘Was that funny little man the