The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west Frontier — John Shaqi
The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west FrontierStrang, Herbert
General
The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west Frontier
Strang, Herbert
Adventure stories; Airplanes -- Juvenile fiction; British -- India -- Juvenile fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Juvenile fiction
The boys shivered as they saw the portly man dangling over the river.
They expected every moment that the rope would break and plunge him into
the depths, carrying with him the workmen on their platform below. It
seemed impossible to give him any aid, for a gap of sixteen feet, now
unbridged, separated them from him. But luckily there was lying near
them a plank intended for use farther on. They caught it up, and pushed
it within reach of the workmen, who hastily threw it across the gap in
such a way that the Babu could just reach it with his knees.
The description of his appearance which the boys afterwards gave made
their uncle laugh heartily.
"His face was positively green," said Lawrence, "and his eyes were
rolling like the eyes of a giant in one of those moving magic lantern
slides. He was yelling at the top of his voice--invoking strange gods
by the sound of it. When he felt the plank beneath his knees he began
to shuffle along sideways, but away from us instead of towards us; he
was in such an awful state of funk that he didn’t know which way he was
going. When he got to the beam he threw his legs across it and sat there
shaking, with the rope under his arms. We couldn’t get him to budge
even when we had laid another plank across, so that the way back was
perfectly safe. He looked just like a ’varsity stroke pumped out at the
end of a race--bar the complexion, of course. We tried to persuade him
to get up and walk back, but he did nothing but shake his head and moan.
He wouldn’t speak for a bit; at last he said that he must wait till
morning light. ’Buck up!’ I said: ’make an effort!’ but he only rolled
his eyes and groaned and sighed. You can’t do anything with a chump
like that."
Ditta Lal indeed refused all entreaties, and kept his perch through the
cold night. Lawrence sent him a bowl of soup, but he declined to
unwreathe his arms from the rope. Only when, early next day, the planks
had been firmly nailed to their supports did he allow himself to be
wheeled in a trolley--for his limbs were numbed and useless--back to the
mine. For the rest of the day he was not seen. For a week he avoided
the boys, and made no more calculations except the elementary addition
and subtraction of his store book-keeping.
CHAPTER THE FIFTH
THE LIGHT IN THE GALLERY
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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