So it was that in the pre-dawn haze of one fateful February morning Danny and Jack made the most fateful decision of their young lives. Exhausted by weeks of hand-to-hand fighting and overwhelmed by fear and cold they secretly forged awful disguises from rags stripped from dead Mujahedeen and wrapped poor Terry in a carpet stolen from an officer’s tent. They tied him to the back of an old mule and slipped out a back gate as darkness fell and headed for Karachi.
Deserters from the British Army brought a prized bounty in India, so for two long weeks the trio was forced to stay hidden among the shadows by day and forced to move silently by night, gradually sifting their way slowly down through the mountain passes. They had very little money and had few trinkets to trade so they were soon forced to beg for occasional handfuls of food and they rationed the tiny supply of quinine that they had stolen for Terry.
Finally one evening, as Jack tried to keep Terry hushed in his delirium, Danny crept through a window of a small Hindu temple hoping to steal enough food to keep them going. Finding none, he crept silently toward a back door and collided in the dark with an old man lost in the silent mantra of his evening prayers. Recovering quickly, the old one took control and thrust the point a long blade under Danny’s nose. Danny was certain he would be arrested when the priest began to shout and raise a great deal of commotion. His threats ceased immediately when Jack suddenly stepped out of the shadows and pointed a pistol at the old one’s face. As the boys began to back away toward the door, cries from outside as two others from the temple had discovered Terry and had taken him hostage. Mercifully the situation was finally defused when the old priest recognized Terry’s plight and ordered the others to bring them food.
Two days later, the three were on the move again. This time escorted by the old man’s nephew and hidden in a small caravan headed to Karachi. Their journey was poisoned by the young man’s insistence to regale them with his plans to spend lavishly the rich bounty the British are sure to pay him for these putrid deserters. When they finally reached the outskirts of Karachi, Danny and Jack seized the nephew at gunpoint and demanded that he guide them immediately to a hospital.
Dr. Persuad had trained at the Royal St. George Hospital in Liverpool and still spat with anger whenever he recalled the abuse poured on him by the soldiers of the local garrison. At first he refused to see Terry and reluctantly agreed only after his head nurse implored him to do so. Despite their heroic attempts to save Terry, he finally succumbed on the afternoon of the second day in Dr. Persuad’s surgery.
“Well, that’ll end the pay home to mum,” Jack lamented.
“Do recall his mother’s name?”
“No, he was always very secretive about all that.”
The next morning after trading the pistol for money and food, Jack arranged for a traditional Hindu cremation ceremony for Terry, convinced it would be their best cover. Danny then slipped two pound notes and a written message to Doctor Persuad’s asking him to send it on to England. The doctor agreed to try and shook his hand. “I am very sorry about your friend,” he whispered, “very sorry.”
Then Danny and Jack slipped out the back door into the alleys and back streets to begin to find their way down to the harbour. They were absolutely certain now that their only hope to survive was to find a ship headed to the United States.
After quietly nosing around the docks listening for voices that spoke English, a reluctant Dutch sailor pointed Jack in the direction of a dilapidated custom’s shed. When he asked the man for a contact name, he called back over his shoulder, “Ali, you make sure it’s Ali.”
They waited until it was near dark and slipped into the shack and stepped quietly toward the counter. “We’re looking for Ali,” Jack said barely above a whisper. A well-dressed Muslim woman nodded, stood up and tapped twice at a side door. She waved the boys into the office.
Ali stood up from his desk. He was tall and thin with a narrow mustache, likely mid-forties and well turned out in a grey linen suit, maroon silk tie and matching fez. He smiled knowingly and nodded, “Welcome, welcome my British friends.” He spoke perfect English with the slightest touch of an Indian accent. “How can I be of humble service to two brave soldiers of the Empire?”
The boys glance at each other in surprise. “Oh come, come now gentlemen …” his smile expanded as he stepped around the corner of his desk, “everyone on the docks of Karachi already knows you are here and have surmised your condition. It is no secret I assure you. Please have a seat.”
They hesitated and eased themselves down into the two wooden chairs. “Shall I cut to the chase?” Ali continued to smile as he sat down on the corner of the desk and lit a cigarette. “Cut to the chase, it’s one of my favourite English phrases,” he said glibly as smoke exhaled heavily from his nostrils, “it makes everything seem so … correct, doesn’t it?”
The boys had no reply although Danny did attempt to clear his throat.
“Very well, then gentlemen. You’re in need of a ship, passage to somewhere beyond the reach of the Empire. And by your unfortunate attire, you haven’t much in the way of money to pay for such a voyage. Am I correct?” Again there was no response.
“Have you any money at all to allow me to assist you?”
Danny reached into his pocket to retrieve the last few pounds from the sale of the revolver. He set the money on the desk, “That’s it,” he muttered. “That’s the last of it.”
Ali shook his head, “Oh my,” he muttered then reached down and tucked the four one pound notes into his vest pocket. “Well gentlemen, four pounds won’t buy you passage on the Empress of India, but we may be able to find you something that can answer your requirements.”
Ali paused just long enough to capture their complete attention. “I am aware there is a steamer, the ‘Esmeralda’, heading out on tonight’s tide for America.” The boys immediately turned to each other.
“Yes, to Philadelphia, I think.” Ali’s stared at them pathetically. Then his face began a long low smile, “Will that be suitable gentlemen?”
“Very,” Jack grinned across at Danny, “very suitable indeed.”
“Very well then. You head along with my man here,” he said, pointing to a face buried in the shadows of the opposite corner.
They were stunned to realize they hadn’t even noticed the man standing there all the while. He was very large, muscular and unsmiling with a great scar that travelled across the width of his face from cheek to cheek just below his nose. He stood mute, unflinching with his right hand wrapped around the handle of a large dagger tucked beneath his sash.
“Nazim does not speak. An unfortunate misunderstanding with the British army, but he will direct you safely to your point of embarkation.”
The boys did not flinch, but would not take their eyes from him. “Well then, you must hurry along to make the tide as other clients await my assistance. Good luck to you gentlemen. Enjoy your trip to America.” And with a simple wave of this hand Ali showed them the door.
As the sun begun to set Danny and Jack lay silently buried among a large load of cotton bales and spice barrels set to be slung deep into the hole of a rusted old steamer. Curled beneath a stretch of filthy canvass, the boys closed their eyes and held their breaths as they were hoisted up by the ropes of a wretched old crane and down into the dark of the guts of the ship. Later that night as the old tub finally grumbled its way out of the harbour, they celebrated in quiet relief and crept up on deck to watch the lights of Karachi disappear on the horizon. They beamed and congratulated themselves for making good their escape, from the catastrophes of the British army and all the miseries of India. They were secured onboard an American ship, headed for home and were free to make their way to a new life.