Jules Verne (23 page)

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 Weissschnitzerdörfer? 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!"

And so it was Ki-Tsang who had just attacked the Grand Transasiatic on
the plains of Gobi. The pirate of Vunnan had learned that a van
containing gold and precious stones of enormous value had formed part
of this train! And was there anything astonishing in that, considering
that the newspapers, even those of Paris, had published the fact many
days before? So Ki-Tsang had had time to prepare his attempt, and had
lifted a portion of the rails, and would probably have succeeded in
carrying off the treasure if Faruskiar had not brought him to his feet.
That is why our hero had been so uneasy all the morning; if he had been
looking out over the desert so persistently, it was because he had been
warned of Ki-Tsang's plans by the last Mongol who had joined the train
at Tchertchen! Under any circumstances we had now nothing to fear from
Ki-Tsang. The manager of the company had done justice on the
bandit—speedy justice, I admit. But we are in the midst of the deserts
of Mongolia, where there are no juries as yet, which is a good thing
for the Mongols.

"Well," said I to the major, "I hope you have abandoned your suspicions
with regard to my lord Faruskiar?"

"To a certain extent, Monsieur Bombarnac!" Only to a certain extent?
Evidently Major Noltitz is difficult to please.

But let us hasten on and count our victims. On our side there are three
dead, including the Chinese officer, and more than twelve wounded, four
of them seriously, the rest slightly, so that they can continue their
journey to Pekin. Popof escaped without a scratch, Caterna with a
slight graze which his wife insists on bathing.

The major has the wounded brought into the cars and does the best for
them under the circumstances. Doctor Tio-King offers his services, but
they seem to prefer the Russian army surgeon, and that I understand. As
to those who have fallen it is best for us to take them on to the next
station and there render them the last services.

The thieves had abandoned their dead. We covered them over with a
little sand, and that is all we need say.

The place where we had been stopped was halfway between Tcharkalyk and
Tchertchen, the only two stations from which we could procure help.
Unfortunately they were no longer in telegraphic communication,
Ki-Tsang having knocked down the posts at the same time as he lifted
the rails.

Hence a discussion as to what was the best thing to be done, which was
not of long duration.

As the engine had run off the rails, the very first thing to do was
evidently to get it onto them again; then as there was a gap in the
line, the simplest thing to do was to run back to Tchertchen, and wait
there until the company's workmen had repaired the damage, which they
could easily do in a couple of days.

We set to work without losing a moment. The passengers were only too
glad to help Popof and the officials who had at their disposal a few
tools, including jacks, levers and hammers, and in three hours the
engine and tender were again on the line.

The most difficult business is over. With the engine behind we can
proceed at slow speed to Tchertchen. But what lost time! What delays!
And what recriminations from our German baron, what donnervetters and
teufels and other German expletives!

I have omitted to say that immediately after the dispersal of the
bandits we had in a body thanked Faruskiar. The hero received our
thanks with all the dignity of an Oriental.

"I only did my duty as general manager of the company," he replied,
with a truly noble modesty.

And then at his orders the Mongols had set to work, and I noticed that
they displayed indefatigable ardor, for which they earned our sincere
felicitations.

Meanwhile Faruskiar and Ghangir were often talking together in a
whisper, and from these interviews arose a proposition which none of us
expected.

"Guard," said Faruskiar, addressing Popof, "it is my opinion that we
had much better run on to Tcharkalyk than go back; it would suit the
passengers much better."

"Certainly, sir, it would be preferable," said Popof; "but the line is
broken between here and Tcharkalyk, and we cannot get through."

"Not at present, but we could get the cars through if we could
temporarily repair the line."

That was a proposal worth consideration, and we assembled to consider
it, Major Noltitz, Pan-Chao, Fulk Ephrinell, Caterna, the clergyman,
Baron Weissschnitzerdörfer, and a dozen others—all who understood
Russian.

Faruskiar spoke as follows:

"I have been looking at the portion of the line damaged by the band of
Ki-Tsang. Most of the sleepers are still in place. As to the rails, the
scoundrels have simply thrown them onto the sand, and by replacing them
end to end it would be easy to get the train over to the uninjured
track. It would not take a day to do this, and five hours afterward we
should be at Tcharkalyk."

Excellent notion, at once approved of by Popof, the driver, the
passengers, and particularly by the baron. The plan was possible, and
if there were a few rails useless, we could bring to the front those we
had already run over, and in this way get over the difficulty.

Evidently this Faruskiar is a man, he is our true chief, he is the
personage I was in want of, and I will sound his name over the entire
universe in all the trumpets of my chronicle!

And yet Major Noltitz is mistaken enough to see in him only a rival to
this Ki-Tsang, whose crimes have just received their final punishment
from his hand!

We set to work to replace the sleepers that had been shifted aside from
where they had left their mark, and we continued our task without
intermission.

Having no fear of being noticed amid the confusion which followed the
attack, I went into the luggage van to assure myself that Kinko was
safe and sound, to tell him what had passed, to caution him on no
account to come put of his box. He promised me, and I was at ease
regarding him.

It was nearly three o'clock when we began work. The rails had been
shifted for about a hundred yards. As Faruskiar remarked, it was not
necessary for us to fix them permanently. That would be the task of the
workmen the company would send from Tcharkalyk when we reached that
station, which is one of the most important on the line.

As the rails were heavy we divided ourselves into detachments.
First-class and second-class, all worked together with good will. The
baron displayed tremendous ardor. Ephrinell, who thought no more of his
marriage than if he had never thought about it, devoted strict
attention to business. Pan-Chao was second to nobody, and even Doctor
Tio-King strove to make himself useful—in the fashion of the
celebrated Auguste, the fly on the chariot wheel.

"It is hot, this Gobi sun!" said Caterna.

Alone sat Sir Francis Trevellyan of Trevellyanshire, calm and impassive
in his car, utterly regardless of our efforts.

At seven o'clock thirty yards of the line had been repaired. The night
was closing in. It was decided to wait until the morning. In half a day
we could finish the work, and in the afternoon we could be off again.

We were in great want of food and sleep. After so rude a task, how rude
the appetite! We met in the dining car without distinction of classes.
There was no scarcity of provisions, and a large breach was made in the
reserves. Never mind! We can fill up again at Tcharkalyk.

Caterna is particularly cheery, talkative, facetious, communicative,
overflowing. At dessert he and his wife sang the air—appropriate to
the occasion—from the
Voyage en Chine
, which we caught up with more
power than precision: