A Mission is Proposed:
I had just finished breakfast and was filling my pipe when I gotBullivant's telegram. It was at Furling, the big country house inHampshire where I had come to convalesce after Loos, and Sandy,who was in the same case, was hunting for the marmalade. I flung himthe flimsy with the blue strip pasted down on it, and he whistled.
'Hullo, Dick, you've got the battalion. Or maybe it's a staffbillet. You'll be a blighted brass-hat, coming it heavy over thehard-working regimental officer. And to think of the language you'vewasted on brass-hats in your time!'
I sat and thought for a bit, for the name 'Bullivant' carried meback eighteen months to the hot summer before the war. I had notseen the man since, though I had read about him in the papers. Formore than a year I had been a busy battalion officer, with no otherthought than to hammer a lot of raw stuff into good soldiers. I hadsucceeded pretty well, and there was no prouder man on earth thanRichard Hannay when he took his Lennox Highlanders over theparapets on that glorious and bloody 25th day of September. Looswas no picnic, and we had had some ugly bits of scrapping beforethat, but the worst bit of the campaign I had seen was a tea-party tothe show I had been in with Bullivant before the war started. [MajorHannay's narrative of this affair has been published under the titleof _The _Thirty-nine _Steps.]
The sight of his name on a telegram form seemed to change allmy outlook on life. I had been hoping for the command of thebattalion, and looking forward to being in at the finish with BrotherBoche. But this message jerked my thoughts on to a new road.There might be other things in the war than straightforward fighting.Why on earth should the Foreign Office want to see an obscure Majorof the New Army, and want to see him in double-quick time?'I'm going up to town by the ten train,' I announced; 'I'll beback in time for dinner.'
'Try my tailor,' said Sandy. 'He's got a very nice taste in redtabs. You can use my name.'An idea struck me. 'You're pretty well all right now. If I wirefor you, will you pack your own kit and mine and join me?''Right-o! I'll accept a job on your staff if they give you a corps.If so be as you come down tonight, be a good chap and bring abarrel of oysters from Sweeting's.'
I travelled up to London in a regular November drizzle, whichcleared up about Wimbledon to watery sunshine. I never couldstand London during the war. It seemed to have lost its bearings andbroken out into all manner of badges and uniforms which did not fitin with my notion of it. One felt the war more in its streets than inthe field, or rather one felt the confusion of war without feeling thepurpose. I dare say it was all right; but since August 1914 I neverspent a day in town without coming home depressed to my boots.I took a taxi and drove straight to the Foreign Office. Sir Walterdid not keep me waiting long. But when his secretary took me tohis room I would not have recognized the man I had knowneighteen months before.
His big frame seemed to have dropped flesh and there was astoop in the square shoulders. His face had lost its rosiness and wasred in patches, like that of a man who gets too little fresh air. Hishair was much greyer and very thin about the temples, and therewere lines of overwork below the eyes. But the eyes were the sameas before, keen and kindly and shrewd, and there was no change inthe firm set of the jaw.
'We must on no account be disturbed for the next hour,' he toldhis secretary. When the young man had gone he went across toboth doors and turned the keys in them.'Well, Major Hannay,' he said, flinging himself into a chair besidethe fire. 'How do you like soldiering?''Right enough,' I said, 'though this isn't just the kind of war Iwould have picked myself. It's a comfortless, bloody business. Butwe've got the measure of the old Boche now, and it's dogged asdoes it. I count on getting back to the front in a week or two.''Will you get the battalion?' he asked. He seemed to havefollowed my doings pretty closely.
'I believe I've a good chance. I'm not in this show for honourand glory, though. I want to do the best I can, but I wish to heavenit was over. All I think of is coming out of it with a whole skin.'He laughed. 'You do yourself an injustice. What about theforward observation post at the Lone Tree? You forgot about thewhole skin then.'
I felt myself getting red. 'That was all rot,' I said, 'and I can'tthink who told you about it. I hated the job, but I had to do it toprevent my subalterns going to glory. They were a lot of fire-eatingyoung lunatics. If I had sent one of them he'd have gone on hisknees to Providence and asked for trouble.'Sir Walter was still grinning.
'I'm not questioning your caution. You have the rudiments of it,or our friends of the Black Stone would have gathered you in atour last merry meeting. I would question it as little as your courage.What exercises my mind is whether it is best employed in thetrenches.''Is the War Office dissatisfied with me?' I asked sharply.'They are profoundly satisfied. They propose to give you commandof your battalion. Presently, if you escape a stray bullet, youwill no doubt be a Brigadier. It is a wonderful war for youth andbrains. But ... I take it you are in this business to serve yourcountry, Hannay?'
'I reckon I am,' I said. 'I am certainly not in it for my health.'He looked at my leg, where the doctors had dug out the shrapnelfragments, and smiled quizzically.'Pretty fit again?' he asked.
'Tough as a sjambok. I thrive on the racket and eat and sleep likea schoolboy.'
He got up and stood with his back to the fire, his eyes staringabstractedly out of the window at the wintry park.'It is a great game, and you are the man for it, no doubt. Butthere are others who can play it, for soldiering today asks for theaverage rather than the exception in human nature. It is like a bigmachine where the parts are standardized. You are fighting, notbecause you are short of a job, but because you want to helpEngland. How if you could help her better than by commanding abattalion - or a brigade - or, if it comes to that, a division? How ifthere is a thing which you alone can do? Not some _embusque businessin an office, but a thing compared to which your fight at Loos wasa Sunday-school picnic. You are not afraid of danger? Well, in thisjob you would not be fighting with an army around you, but alone.You are fond of tackling difficulties? Well, I can give you a taskwhich will try all your powers. Have you anything to say?'My heart was beginning to thump uncomfortably. Sir Walterwas not the man to pitch a case too high.
'I am a soldier,' I said, 'and under orders.''True; but what I am about to propose does not come by anyconceivable stretch within the scope of a soldier's duties. I shallperfectly understand if you decline. You will be acting as I shouldact myself - as any sane man would. I would not press you forworlds. If you wish it, I will not even make the proposal, but letyou go here and now, and wish you good luck with your battalion.I do not wish to perplex a good soldier with impossible decisions.'This piqued me and put me on my mettle.
'I am not going to run away before the guns fire. Let me hearwhat you propose.'
Sir Walter crossed to a cabinet, unlocked it with a key from hischain, and took a piece of paper from a drawer. It looked like anordinary half-sheet of note-paper.'I take it,' he said, that your travels have not extended to theEast.'
'No,' I said, 'barring a shooting trip in East Africa.''Have you by any chance been following the present campaignthere?'
'I've read the newspapers pretty regularly since I went to hospital.I've got some pals in the Mesopotamia show, and of course I'mkeen to know what is going to happen at Gallipoli and Salonika. Igather that Egypt is pretty safe.'
'If you will give me your attention for ten minutes I willsupplement your newspaper reading.'
Sir Walter lay back in an arm-chair and spoke to the ceiling. It wasthe best story, the clearest and the fullest, I had ever got of any bit ofthe war. He told me just how and why and when Turkey had left therails. I heard about her grievances over our seizure of her ironclads,of the mischief the coming of the _Goeben had wrought, of Enver andhis precious Committee and the way they had got a cinch on the oldTurk. When he had spoken for a bit, he began to question me.'You are an intelligent fellow, and you will ask how a Polishadventurer, meaning Enver, and a collection of Jews and gipsiesshould have got control of a proud race. The ordinary man will tellyou that it was German organization backed up with Germanmoney and German arms. You will inquire again how, since Turkeyis primarily a religious power, Islam has played so small a part in itall. The Sheikh-ul-Islam is neglected, and though the Kaiser proclaimsa Holy War and calls himself Hadji Mohammed Guilliamo,and says the Hohenzollerns are descended from the Prophet, thatseems to have fallen pretty flat. The ordinary man again will answerthat Islam in Turkey is becoming a back number, and that Kruppguns are the new gods. Yet - I don't know. I do not quite believein Islam becoming a back number.'
'Look at it in another way,' he went on. 'if it were Enver andGermany alone dragging Turkey into a European war for purposesthat no Turk cared a rush about, we might expect to find theregular army obedient, and Constantinople. But in the provinces,where Islam is strong, there would be trouble. Many of us countedon that. But we have been disappointed. The Syrian army is asfanatical as the hordes of the Mahdi. The Senussi have taken a handin the game. The Persian Moslems are threatening trouble. There isa dry wind blowing through the East, and the parched grasses waitthe spark. And that wind is blowing towards the Indian border.Whence comes that wind, think you?'
Sir Walter had lowered his voice and was speaking very slow anddistinct. I could hear the rain dripping from the eaves of thewindow, and far off the hoot of taxis in Whitehall.'Have you an explanation, Hannay?' he asked again.'It looks as if Islam had a bigger hand in the thing than wethought,' I said. 'I fancy religion is the only thing to knit up such ascattered empire.'
'You are right,' he said. 'You must be right. We have laughed atthe Holy War, the jehad that old Von der Goltz prophesied. But Ibelieve that stupid old man with the big spectacles was right. Thereis a jehad preparing. The question is, How?''I'm hanged if I know,' I said; 'but I'll bet it won't be done by apack of stout German officers in _pickelhaubes. I fancy you can'tmanufacture Holy Wars out of Krupp guns alone and a few staffofficers and a battle cruiser with her boilers burst.'
'Agreed. They are not fools, however much we try to persuadeourselves of the contrary. But supposing they had got sometremendous sacred sanction - some holy thing, some book or gospelor some new prophet from the desert, something which would castover the whole ugly mechanism of German war the glamour of theold torrential raids which crumpled the Byzantine Empire and shookthe walls of Vienna? Islam is a fighting creed, and the mullah stillstands in the pulpit with the Koran in one hand and a drawn swordin the other. Supposing there is some Ark of the Covenant whichwill madden the remotest Moslem peasant with dreams of Paradise?What then, my friend?'
'Then there will be hell let loose in those parts pretty soon.''Hell which may spread. Beyond Persia, remember, lies India.''You keep to suppositions. How much do you know?' I asked.'Very little, except the fact. But the fact is beyond dispute. I havereports from agents everywhere - pedlars in South Russia, Afghanhorse-dealers, Turcoman merchants, pilgrims on the road to Mecca,sheikhs in North Africa, sailors on the Black Sea coasters, sheep-skinned Mongols, Hindu fakirs, Greek traders in the Gulf, as wellas respectable Consuls who use cyphers. They tell the same story.The East is waiting for a revelation. It has been promised one.Some star - man, prophecy, or trinket - is coming out of the West.The Germans know, and that is the card with which they are goingto astonish the world.'
'And the mission you spoke of for me is to go and find out?'He nodded gravely. 'That is the crazy and impossible mission.''Tell me one thing, Sir Walter,' I said. 'I know it is the fashion inthis country if a man has a special knowledge to set him to somejob exactly the opposite. I know all about Damaraland, but insteadof being put on Botha's staff, as I applied to be, I was kept inHampshire mud till the campaign in German South West Africawas over. I know a man who could pass as an Arab, but do youthink they would send him to the East? They left him in mybattalion - a lucky thing for me, for he saved my life at Loos. Iknow the fashion, but isn't this just carrying it a bit too far? Theremust be thousands of men who have spent years in the East andtalk any language. They're the fellows for this job. I never saw aTurk in my life except a chap who did wrestling turns in a show atKimberley. You've picked about the most useless man on earth.''You've been a mining engineer, Hannay,' Sir Walter said. 'Ifyou wanted a man to prospect for gold in Barotseland you wouldof course like to get one who knew the country and the people andthe language. But the first thing you would require in him wouldbe that he had a nose for finding gold and knew his business. Thatis the position now. I believe that you have a nose for finding outwhat our enemies try to hide. I know that you are brave and cooland resourceful. That is why I tell you the story. Besides ...'He unrolled a big map of Europe on the wall.
'I can't tell you where you'll get on the track of the secret, but Ican put a limit to the quest. You won't find it east of the Bosporus- not yet. It is still in Europe. It may be in Constantinople, or inThrace. It may be farther west. But it is moving eastwards. If youare in time you may cut into its march to Constantinople. Thatmuch I can tell you. The secret is known in Germany, too, to thosewhom it concerns. It is in Europe that the seeker must search - atpresent.'
'Tell me more,' I said. 'You can give me no details and noinstructions. Obviously you can give me no help if I come to grief.'He nodded. 'You would be beyond the pale.''You give me a free hand.''Absolutely. You can have what money you like, and you can getwhat help you like. You can follow any plan you fancy, and goanywhere you think fruitful. We can give no directions.''One last question. You say it is important. Tell me just howimportant.'
'It is life and death,' he said solemnly. 'I can put it no higher andno lower. Once we know what is the menace we can meet it. Aslong as we are in the dark it works unchecked and we may be toolate. The war must be won or lost in Europe. Yes; but if the Eastblazes up, our effort will be distracted from Europe and the great_coup may fail. The stakes are no less than victory and defeat,Hannay.'
I got out of my chair and walked to the window. It was adifficult moment in my life. I was happy in my soldiering; aboveall, happy in the company of my brother officers. I was asked to gooff into the enemy's lands on a quest for which I believed I wasmanifestly unfitted - a business of lonely days and nights, of nerve-racking strain, of deadly peril shrouding me like a garment. Lookingout on the bleak weather I shivered. It was too grim a business, tooinhuman for flesh and blood. But Sir Walter had called it a matterof life and death, and I had told him that I was out to serve mycountry. He could not give me orders, but was I not under orders -higher orders than my Brigadier's? I thought myself incompetent,but cleverer men than me thought me competent, or at leastcompetent enough for a sporting chance. I knew in my soul that ifI declined I should never be quite at peace in the world again. Andyet Sir Walter had called the scheme madness, and said that hehimself would never have accepted.
How does one make a great decision? I swear that when I turnedround to speak I meant to refuse. But my answer was Yes, and Ihad crossed the Rubicon. My voice sounded cracked and far away.Sir Walter shook hands with me and his eyes blinked a little.'I may be sending you to your death, Hannay - Good God, whata damned task-mistress duty is! - If so, I shall be haunted withregrets, but you will never repent. Have no fear of that. You havechosen the roughest road, but it goes straight to the hill-tops.'He handed me the half-sheet of note-paper. On it were writtenthree words - '_Kasredin', '_cancer', and '_v. _I.'
'That is the only clue we possess,' he said. 'I cannot construe it,but I can tell you the story. We have had our agents working inPersia and Mesopotamia for years - mostly young officers of theIndian Army. They carry their lives in their hands, and now andthen one disappears, and the sewers of Baghdad might tell a tale.But they find out many things, and they count the game worth thecandle. They have told us of the star rising in the West, but theycould give us no details. All but one - the best of them. He hadbeen working between Mosul and the Persian frontier as a muleteer,and had been south into the Bakhtiari hills. He found outsomething, but his enemies knew that he knew and he was pursued.Three months ago, just before Kut, he staggered into Delamain'scamp with ten bullet holes in him and a knife slash on his forehead.He mumbled his name, but beyond that and the fact that there wasa Something coming from the West he told them nothing. He diedin ten minutes. They found this paper on him, and since he criedout the word "Kasredin" in his last moments, it must have hadsomething to do with his quest. It is for you to find out if it hasany meaning.'
I folded it up and placed it in my pocket-book.'What a great fellow! What was his name?' I asked.Sir Walter did not answer at once. He was looking out of thewindow. 'His name,' he said at last, 'was Harry Bullivant. He wasmy son. God rest his brave soul!'