Chapter Eight.
Kavanagh’s Choice.
Captain Strachan was an old naval officer, who lived in a rather retired spot on the borders of Somersetshire and Devonshire. His house had a verandah round it, and one warm afternoon he was sitting at a table under this, spectacles on nose, tying artificial flies. A young son of twelve sat by him rapt, holding feathers and silk, which latter he had previously drawn through a kid glove containing cobbler’s wax, and wondering whether he should ever attain to the paternal skill in this manufacture.
Mrs Strachan and two of her girls were round another wicker-work table a little farther off, indulging in afternoon tea, their books and needlework put down for the minute. Presently the sound of a horse’s hoofs was heard upon the gravel beyond the garden hedge, and Mary, the eldest girl, jumped from her low basket chair, exclaiming—
“Here he comes!”
Everybody looked up, expectant; even Captain Strachan laid down his work—and those who have ever endeavoured to manufacture an artificial fly know what that means—as our old friend, Tom Strachan, walked up the path towards the group. As he did not look very pleased, his mother concluded the worst, and said—
“Never mind, Tom, if you have failed; very few succeed the first time, and you have two more chances.”
For Tom had been in for the competitive examination, and had now ridden over to Barnstaple to forestall the country postman and learn his fate.
“But I have not failed, mother,” said Tom; “indeed, I am pretty high up in the list—better than I expected.”
“Well done, my boy!” cried Captain Strachan. “Not that I had any fear for you, because I saw you reading steadily at home when there was no pressure put upon you. And those were the fellows who always passed in my days. But I am glad it is safe, all the same, and we will have a bottle of that old Ferrier-Jouet for dinner on the strength of it. But I say, Tom, you look as grave as a marine at a Court-Martial. No wonder your mother thought you had scored a blank.”
“Well, the fact is, my friend Kavanagh has not had my luck. It is awfully hard lines, for he has only missed it by twenty marks. It is a bad job.”
“Aye, it is a pity,” said Captain Strachan. Reginald Kavanagh was a general favourite in the family, with whom he had twice been to stay in the holidays. “A pity for him and a pity for the service. He was cut out for a soldier if ever a lad was. Well, I hope he will study hard now, and succeed next time.”
“That is the worst of it,” said Tom. “He has no second chance, for he has no money to live upon till the time comes. I told you about that will which has been stolen or lost; that was the only thing he had to depend upon, and he has got to earn his bread.”
There was a general murmur of regret. Mrs Strachan particularly pitied him for having no mother to console him, though her husband thought that this was a redeeming feature in the case. If he had to bear her disappointment as well as his own it would be a great deal worse, he said, and no young fellow of spirit wants to be pitied.
“Besides,” he added, “there is this to be thought of. Suppose he had succeeded, he would not have been in a very pleasant position. A subaltern trying to live upon his pay is placed about as uncomfortably as a lad can be. For my part, I am not sure that I would not sooner be a full private, if I must take to soldiering at all.”
“But your other friend, Forsyth, who went out to Egypt to find the man who was supposed to have the will—has nothing been heard from him?” asked Mary.
“Nothing to help,” replied Tom. “There has been one letter from him, and he was as hopeful as ever; but he had only got as far as Cairo. Of course, if he succeeds Kavanagh will be right enough, but what is he to do in the meantime? He has no relative to go to, you see.”
“We would have him here for a spell if it were likely to do him any good,” said Captain Strachan.
“Thank you, father. It will be kind to ask him, but I know he won’t come. He has never been sanguine about Forsyth’s recovering the will, and I know had made up his mind to face the situation if he failed in this. He would feel that coming here would only make it more difficult afterwards. He expected to be spun, and I have no doubt has fixed his plans.”
Although his friend’s failure damped Tom Strachan’s pleasure in his own success, it could not entirely quench it, and the family party soon grew more cheery.
Of course the publication of the list was a terrible facer for Kavanagh, and when he saw the certainty of his failure his heart thumped hard and his brain reeled for half a minute. But when the mist cleared from his eyes he drew a long breath, shook himself, and lit a cigar. He did not bother himself with “ifs.” If he had read this subject a little more, and that a little less, he would have got so many more marks. If those questions he had particularly crammed in such a subject had been set. If there had been three more vacancies, etcetera. Neither did he regret his former want of application, which he had done his very utmost to remedy the last year. Nor did he give way to a passion of vexation about the missing will, or repine at Fate. “What’s the use?” he said to himself when these thoughts recurred to him; and he smothered them as he walked towards his room—this was in the chambers of a brother militia officer who played at being a barrister and lived in the Temple. As he was a sportsman and an Alpine climber, he did not live very much in London, and finding that his subaltern, Kavanagh, was going to lodge in the capital for the sake of reading with a crammer, and having a spare bedroom which he did not want, and was thinking of letting off if he found a friend whose coming in and out would not bore him, to take it, he proposed that the lad should do so. If he liked to pay him 20 pounds a year he might; if not, it did not matter. For he had taken a great fancy to Kavanagh, who, indeed, was a general favourite. When Royce, the owner of the chambers, was away, Kavanagh had the sole use of the sitting-room as well as of the bedroom; and when he was in town it was much the same thing. They breakfasted together, but Royce spent most of the day at his club.
He was in London now, and Kavanagh wished he was not, for he did not want consolation, advice, or offer of help. He knew that he had to work out this business for himself, and the less said the better. Royce was not in now, that was one consolation. Kavanagh went up to his room, and began overhauling his clothes. He selected an old pair of corduroy trousers which he had used for shooting, with a coat and waistcoat which had been worn with them, and a pair of boots bought in the country ready-made, on an occasion when he had been obliged, by an accident to his wardrobe, to supply himself in a hurry. A much-worn check shirt, with collar attached, and a black silk handkerchief, with a pair of worsted socks, completed the lot of clothes which he laid upon the bed, and for which he then changed what things he had on. These he packed up with all his other clothes in several portmanteaus and carpet bags. He next placed his tall hat away in its box, and, having completed these arrangements, put on a wideawake, went out, and called a four-wheeler. Then he went upstairs again, and returned with a tin uniform-case on one shoulder and a portmanteau in his hand. It took him three trips to bring all his goods down and stow them on and in the cab. When at last he had accomplished it, he was stopped as he drove off by one of the officials, who said—
“Halloa, my man, where are you off to with Mr Kavanagh’s luggage?”
“I am Mr Kavanagh,” he replied.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the man, touching his hat, as he recognised him.
It was not very far that he took the cab, only across to Holywell Street, where he stopped at an old clothes shop, and dismissed the astonished cabby, after having carried all the luggage inside, a young man with a hooked nose helping him quite as a matter of course.
“Now, then,” said Kavanagh, “what are you going to give me for all these things, clothes, uniform, portmanteaus, cases, and all. Of course they will go dirt cheap, but don’t overdo it, or I shall call a cab and go on to the next establishment. I don’t mind the trouble of packing up again.”
“Theresh no one in the street gives so good a prish as me,” said the man, turning over the different articles, and beginning to depreciate them. There was no sale for uniforms; those shirts were thin in the back; that coat was too big for most customers, and so forth. Kavanagh cut him short—
“I don’t want to know all that; come to the point, and say what you will give for the lot.”
“What do you ask?” counter-responded the Jew.
“Twenty pounds; and that’s an alarming sacrifice.”
“Twenty pounds! Did any one ever hear the like! Twenty pounds for old clothes!”
“Why, you would sell the portmanteaus and tin cases alone for ten, and that overcoat for three.”
“You think so, my tear young man? Tear, tear, how little you know of the trade! I’ll give you five pounds for the lot, and then I doubt if I shall make any profit,” and the dealer looked determined.
“Say ten pounds, and it’s a bargain,” said Kavanagh.
“No, I say five, and I mean five. Take it, or leave it.”
“Well, to have done with all bother, we will make it seven pounds,” cried Kavanagh, who was amused with his first attempt at making a deal of the kind.
The Jew compressed his lips and shook his head.
“Very good, then,” said Kavanagh, dragging one of the portmanteaus towards him, and beginning to pack it. “I will try my luck over the way there. I see it is so close a cab will not be necessary; I can carry the things across. Sorry to have troubled you.”
“Here, stop a bit,” said the Jew. “Say six pounds, and that is a more generous offer than you will get anywhere else.”
Kavanagh went on with his packing.
“Well, six ten, and that will swallow up all my profit, I fear, but I’ll risk it for once. Well, come, seven pounds then, since you must have it.”
So Kavanagh left goods and chattels, which had cost about seventy pounds, behind him, and walked out with a tenth part of that sum in cash.
Then he went down the Strand till he came to a pawnbroker’s, where he disposed of the rings, studs, and pins which he possessed, thus adding a further ten pounds to his capital.
His next visit was to a watchmaker’s, where he was known, though the owner of it did not recognise him at first in his shabby clothes.
“You see I have come down in the world, Mr Balance,” said Kavanagh.
Mr Balance put on what he meant for a grave and sympathetic face.
“To wear a gold watch and chain would be absurd in my altered circumstances. Are you willing to change them for a stout silver one which will keep as good time, and pay me something for the difference?”
“Certainly I will, Mr Kavanagh; but, dear me, sir, pardon my asking; your guardian, Mr Burke, was such an old customer. I hope sir, there has been no unpleasantness between you.”
“None whatever; only he has died, poor man, and his will, in which I know that I was well treated, cannot be found. So you see I must not indulge in gold watches.”
“Dear me!” said the old man, to whom Kavanagh had gone for his first watch when quite a little boy, and upon whom he had called whenever he was in town since; to get the second handsome gold hunter now in question; to have it cleaned; to buy some little knick-knack, or merely for a chat. “Dear me; I do hope all will come right; I am sure all will come right.”
“I hope you are a true prophet,” said Kavanagh, cheerily. “But now, how about this silver watch?”
He chose a good strong one, with a chain to match, and handed over the gold, Mr Balance giving him twenty-five pounds besides.
“I say! This is too much!” cried Kavanagh. “It only cost forty pounds when new.”
“And is worth thirty-five now,” said the watchmaker. “I shall make a good profit out of the bargain, I assure you.”
Kavanagh pocketed his new watch, held out his hand, which the old man grasped, across the counter, and walked away murmuring, “Good old chap!”
It was still early in the afternoon, so to complete all his business at once he walked back to the chambers, took his sword, which he had not parted with, packed it up in brown paper, and directed it to Tom Strachan. Then he wrote this letter:—
“Dear Tom,—When I joined the Militia I hoped that it was a stepping-stone to the Line, so I would not have a tailor’s sword, but indulged in the expensive luxury of a good one. Accept it, old fellow, with all sorts of congratulations and good wishes. ‘The property of a gentleman, having no further use for it,’ eh? I must poke my way to fame with a bayonet, if I am to get there, instead of carving it with a sword. Thank your people for their kindness to me.—Yours, etcetera.”
“By-the-by,” he soliloquised, when he had stuck and directed this epistle, “I have not sent in the resignation of my commission yet.” And he took half a sheet of foolscap and wrote out the formal notice to the Adjutant of the 4th Blankshire at once. Then he said, “There is nothing else, I think, but to post the letters and send the sword off by rail; and then go in for new experiences.”
It was a good bit of a new experience for him to carry a parcel through the streets of London, and book it himself, but in his present costume he did not mind doing it one bit. Indeed, he felt quite light-hearted; knowing the worst was much better than the anxiety of the past few weeks. And then there was another matter. Having been used to a good allowance, and possessing naturally somewhat fastidious tastes, he had not been very economical, though, as he hated the idea of debt, and would rather have blacked shoes for a livelihood than have imposed on his generous godfather and guardian, he had not fallen into actually extravagant habits.
When Mr Burke died, and the will was not forthcoming, and he was thus placed face to face with actual impending poverty, Kavanagh had the sense, the manliness, and the honesty, to do violence to his tastes and feelings, by guarding against all unnecessary expenditure. But to a free-handed and generous disposition this is a very hard task; and when the end came, and he cast up his accounts, he found to his dismay that he owed more than the balance of his allowance, the last sum paid to him, would cover.
It was not much, and would not have been pressed for, but Kavanagh, though rather weak about his personal appearance, had a pound of manly pride to an ounce of girlish vanity, and would sooner have gone in rags than owed money to a tailor. The money he had obtained that afternoon would entirely clear him from every liability, and leave him with a few pounds in his pocket; and this relief made him quite light-hearted, in spite of the final tumble of his house of cards.
The question was—where to dine. He knew lots of restaurants and chop-houses, but even in the most humble of the latter, where the floor was saw-dusted, his present costume would excite remark. He had from boyhood been particular about his dress, and his collars and waistcoats had incited some of his friends to call him a dandy, so his scruples may have been exaggerated.
At last he saw several better-class artisans go into an eating-house in Oxford Street, and following them he did very well. The table-cloth was stained with brown circles from the porter pots, and was otherwise dirty; the forks were pewter, and there were no napkins; but the meat was as good as you would get anywhere, so were the vegetables, the beer also; and the cost was about half that of the most homely chop-houses he had hitherto patronised.
His dinner done, it was about the time when the theatres were opening, so he went to the gallery door of one of the principal of them, and after waiting a little while, amongst the good-humoured crowd, he surged upstairs with them—many stairs they were, and steep—and got a good place close to the chandelier. The warmth and light from it were rather too obtrusive, but did not prevent his taking an interest in the performance, which was shared by his neighbours in the most intense and hearty fashion. The women sobbed at the pathetic parts, while the men set their teeth and turned white when the villain temporarily got the best of it, and both sexes roared with delight over the comic scenes. Likewise, all sucked oranges; therefore Kavanagh purchased and sucked an orange, and ingratiated himself with his female neighbours by politely offering them that fruit!
And between the acts, when the young men in the stalls, in their white ties, and white kid gloves, and nicely parted hair, stood up and languidly surveyed the house through their opera-glasses, Kavanagh had a sardonic amusement in the recollection as he thought that a fortnight before he had sat in that fourth stall in the third row, in evening dress, with a gardenia in his button-hole, and had similarly inspected the inferior beings around him. Froggy Barton occupied that seat to-night. Kavanagh took a squeeze at his orange, and thought he could hit Froggy with the skin. But of course he refrained from trying. Only he did look so sleek! “What much wiser people we are than the swells!” Kavanagh thought. “We enjoy ourselves without being ashamed of it, and we endure crowding and semi-suffocation without getting ill-tempered!”
But he soon had enough of it, in spite of his philosophy, and after the second fall of the curtain was glad to get into the fresh air.
When he reached the Temple he found Royce expecting him, and directly he entered he got up and shook him by the hand.
“I did not see the list till six,” he said, “and then I came to chambers in hopes of finding you, and getting you to come out somewhere. You have not been moping, I hope.”
“Moping! Not a bit of it,” replied Kavanagh. “I am not going to cry ‘I take a licking!’ because Fortune has caught me a couple of facers without a return. I have been to the theatre, and enjoyed myself vastly, I assure you.”
“To the theatre! You; in that dress!” exclaimed Royce.
“Oh, I went to the gallery. I have accepted the situation.”
“Come and sit down and light a pipe,” said Royce. “I won’t bore you with unavailing regrets. Tell me what you are going to do, and if I can help you at all.”
“Thank you; I have thought it probable I should fail, and have debated with myself deliberately what course is best to adopt. I have come to a conclusion, and no one can help me. My first thought was that if I failed to be an officer I would be a private, and the more I have thought it over the more convinced I have become that that would suit me better than anything else. I have never learned a trade, so I could not be a skilled artisan, and a soldier’s life would suit me better than that of an ordinary day labourer, whose work requires no head-piece. As for spending my days in an office, a warehouse, or a shop, it would be like going to prison for me. In short, I am going to enlist, and have also determined on the branch of the service which is to reap the benefit.”
“Cavalry, I suppose; Lancers, Dragoons, or Hussars?”
“Neither. I fixed on that arm at first; the uniform attracted me; the sword is a noble weapon; and to ride is pleasanter than to walk. But these advantages are more than counterbalanced by the lot of accoutrements a horse soldier has to clean, and the fact that at the end of a day’s march he has to attend to his horse before he can look after himself.”
“A great many gentlemen’s sons go into the Artillery.”
“I have settled upon the Infantry, and intend to-morrow morning to offer my invaluable services to the Foot Guards. You look surprised.”
“Well, yes,” said Royce. “To tell the truth I fancied that you would be anxious to get to India; there is more chance, you know, of promotion that way.”
“I have thought out that. But, to tell the truth, unless there were a prospect of active service I should prefer to remain in England, for this sole reason. I do not give up all hope of that will turning up, and if it should, I want to be in the way of getting early information, and looking after my interests.”
Royce sat in silent thought for a little while, and then said—
“I see what you mean, and upon my word I do not know how to advise you better.”
And after a little more chat they went to bed.
Next morning, when Kavanagh was dressed, he turned to his bath with a sad conviction that his morning ablutions must in future be of a much less satisfactory nature, and he sighed, for this went more home to him than almost anything. “Ta, ta, tub!” he said, as he closed the door.
He found Royce already in the sitting-room making the tea, and they breakfasted together.
When the meal was over, Kavanagh rose and said—
“By-the-by, there is my gun; it is a full-choke, and a remarkably good killer if one only holds it straight. It was a present, and I did not like to sell it. Will you have it as a memorial from a fellow to whom you have been uncommonly kind? Good-bye, and thank you for all.”
“Good-bye,” said Royce, in a voice which he had a difficulty to keep steady. “I hope luck will turn for you soon; but I feel sure it will. And if you have forgotten anything, or I can do anything for you, mind you come to me, or write if I am out of town. Good-bye again.”
Kavanagh wrung his old captain’s hand and hurried down-stairs, leaving him with a ball in his throat and moisture very near his eyes.
“Thank goodness that is over!” he murmured, as he left the Temple. “Now for the barracks.”
Instead of offering himself to one of the outside recruiters, he went straight to the Orderly Room, and told a sergeant waiting outside that he wished to join. So he was brought before the Adjutant almost at once. He stood six feet in his stockings, and measured forty-one inches round the chest, so there was no difficulty about his acceptance. They jumped at him like a trout at a May fly.
He gave his real name, Reginald Kavanagh. “If I were ashamed of what I am doing, I would not do it,” he reasoned. And besides, he wished to be traced with the greatest possible ease should the missing will be found.
Of course the life at first was extremely hard, and the companionship of some of his comrades very distasteful to him, but he took care not to show it. And others were as good fellows as ever stepped, and with them he made friends.
The fact of his knowing his drill thoroughly made matters easier for him, and he soon learned how to clean his arms and accoutrements, make his bed, and so forth. And by dint of unhesitating obedience to orders, even when foolish, and never answering or arguing with superiors, he got a good name without subserviency.
Chapter Nine.
The Army of Hicks Pasha.
It may have seemed to you that Harry Forsyth took the death of the Egyptian soldier rather callously, seeing that he was not used to such scenes, and that he ought to have been a little more impressed. But you see he had resided in Egypt, and been some way up the Nile before; and in hot countries people not only live a good deal, but die a good deal, in the open air, so that he had seen human bodies; and more than once, in the course of his journeys, he had come upon one such lying much as you will see that of a dog on the mud of a tidal river at home at low water.
It is astonishing how soon we grow hardened to such spectacles. And then, unless he has become exceptionally cosmopolitan, a Briton finds it very difficult to reckon an African, or even an Asiatic, as quite a human being. Of course he knows that he is so, just as much as himself. He knows, and perhaps vehemently asserts, if necessary, that even the lowest type of negro is a man and a brother, and not a connecting link between man and monkey. But he cannot manage to feel that he is of the same value as a European, or to look upon his corpse with a similar awe.
In the early days of the Australian colonies, an officer in a Scottish regiment quartered out in that hemisphere caught a native robbing his garden, chased him with a club, and hit him harder than he intended, so that the man fell down and never got up again, for which the officer was sorry, though held justified. About that time bad news from home oppressed his spirits to such an extent that his soldier-servant, who was much attached to him, and was allowed considerable freedom of speech in consequence of his value and fidelity, thought fit to remonstrate. He attributed his master’s lowness of spirits entirely to his brooding over the accident, and said one morning when he had brushed the clothes and brought the shaving-water—
“I ask your pardon, meejor; but it’s sair to see you take on so aboot the likes of that heathen body. A great traveller I was conversing with last night, and a respectable and trustworthy man, sir, told me that there’s thousands and thousands of them up the country.”
He thought that his master was fretting over the wanton destruction of a rare specimen, a sort of dodo!
Howard and Forsyth left Khartoum and strolled towards the plain where the Egyptian army lay. A town of tents, well pitched indeed, and dressed in parallel lines, and kept fairly clean—the English officers, though they had had all their work cut out, had at length taught the Egyptians that—but wanting in all those little embellishments which distinguish an English or French encampment, especially if it is at all permanent. No little flags to mark the companies; no extemporised miniature gardens; no neat frames to hang recently-cleaned accoutrements on. The sentries mooned up and down, carrying their rifles as if they were troublesome, heavy things, they longed to threw down, that they might put their hands in their pockets.
In one block of tents, however, which they passed through there was a great difference.
The sentry stood to his front and shouldered arms, as he saw Howard approach, smartly and with alacrity. The men were cleaning their arms as if they took pride in the task, not like paupers picking oakum; others were laughing loudly, or playing like schoolboys, and Harry noticed they were all black.
“These niggers look much finer fellows than the rest,” he observed.
“I should think they were!” replied Howard. “These are Nubians, and I wish we had more of them. They hate the Arabs, too, and that is another good thing.”
“What a lot of camels!” exclaimed Harry, as, passing over the top of a little hill, they came in sight of lines and lines of those ships of the desert, lying down, kneeling, standing; “and how strong they smell. One might fancy oneself in a menagerie.”
“Yes; Hercules himself could not have kept that quarter clean; the Augean stables were nothing to it. But look at these fellows we are coming to now. You seem to be a bit of a military critic; what do you think of them, and how do you like their mounts?”
They were now passing a small camp on the further side of the mound they had crossed. Three rows of tents, and aligned with each on the reverse flank a line of horses picketed—small, almost ponies, thin in the flank, wiry, but extremely rough. There had been no pains taken in grooming them evidently. As for the men loafing or swaggering about, those who were fully dressed were so stuck all over with arms—pistols, swords, daggers—that one wondered if they were suddenly attacked what weapon they would have recourse to first, and if they would make up their minds in time.
“I am no critic at all,” said Harry, laughing, “though every Englishman thinks he is a judge of horseflesh, and I fancy those might possess endurance, if not up to much weight. As for the men, they seem to fancy themselves more than the Egyptians; but a more villainous, blood-thirsty, thievish-looking set of scoundrels, it has never been my luck to see herded together.”
“You are not far out,” said Howard, laughing. “I should not like one of them to come across me if I were wounded and helpless, and had anything worth stealing about me, let me be friend or foe. But they are useful for scouting, and there are only three hundred of them. They are called Bashi-Bazooks, you know.”
“Yes,” said Harry; “from Bash, a head; da, without; zook, brains. So called, as the ‘Old Skekarry’ said, because they live on their wits: lucus a non lucendo.”
“My dear fellow,” remonstrated Howard, “have I come all this way from conventional England to the wilds of Africa to hear once more that dreadful quotation? Go on; give us Sic vos non vobis, and follow it up with Tempora mutantur nos et mutamur in illis, or any other little House-of-Commons delicacy; only don’t say et nos, as some of the senators, who cannot, alas! Be flogged for it, often do.”
Harry apologised, and they now approached the English officers’ quarters, the Egyptian flag marking that of the General commanding the expedition.
“Wait here a little,” said Howard; “I will see if the chief is disengaged and able to see you,” and he entered the tent.
Harry sat down on a rude lounging chair he found just outside under the shade of a palm-tree, and tried to reflect, not with any great success. He was thoroughly bewildered with the events of the morning, following the variations of hope and despondency produced by the near approach to the object of his journey, and then finding it elude him, which had occurred twice in the last few weeks. Without knowing it, he was becoming a practical fatalist, inclined to do what seemed best at the moment, and let things slide, forming no plans for a future which was so very uncertain. Not a bad state of mind this for a hot country, where worry of mind is especially trying. Perhaps that is why Asiatics encourage it so much.
It was not long before Howard came to the tent door and beckoned Harry in. On entering, he saw the General seated at a table covered with writing materials, finishing a despatch for which an orderly was waiting. He was dressed in a sort of loose tunic, with pantaloons and riding-boots, and the sword which trailed by the side of his chair was straight. A pith helmet stood on the table before him, and altogether he looked like an Englishman, and not at all like a Pasha, as from the name Harry somewhat absurdly expected.
Presently Hicks Pasha looked up, and Harry at once recognised one who is born for command. There was no mistaking the bright eye, which seemed to look into the man it rested upon; the firm and manly features, the will expressed in the strong nervous hand. But it is in vain to attempt to explain this, which at the same time everybody can understand. The school-boy with his master, the soldier with his officer—every subordinate knows instinctively if it is of any use “trying it on.” Not that he looked like one who would be harsh or tyrannical. On the contrary, his face was lit up by a courteous smile as Howard introduced his newly-found friend.
“Glad to see you,” said the General, offering his hand. “The country is in a disturbed state for travellers, and I fear that you will hardly get out of it without some risk. The river is still open to Berber, and you might get across from there to Suakim. But I cannot promise to help you much.”
“It is not my object to get out of the country at present,” said Harry; “quite the reverse. I thought that perhaps you might be able to make use of me in some way, and wished to volunteer my services. I can make myself understood in Arabic, if that is any use.”
“Well, we have an interpreter,” replied Hicks Pasha. “If you had served we might be glad of you, but you are too young for that.”
“I learned my drill as a volunteer,” said Harry, “and I have been successful at Wimbledon as a shot.”
“Well, but I cannot put you in the ranks with natives,” said the General, laughing, “and I cannot take you about as a sort of animated machine-gun. Can you ride?”
“Yes,” replied Harry, who indeed had a very fair seat on horseback.
“I might make use of you then to gallop for me, or to go out with the scouts, as you speak Arabic. Well, we will attach you as a volunteer cadet to a company pro tem, at all events. An Englishman is always useful to control the fire in action. But you must understand I do not guarantee you any pay; we will put you on rations, and if your commission is made out and confirmed I will do my best to obtain arrears for you; but you must take your chance of all that.”
Harry said that he quite understood, and only asked to be allowed to accompany the expedition to El Obeid in any capacity. And then the interview was over, and Harry left the tent, feeling quite as grateful as he had expressed himself, and glad also to serve under such a chief.
It is curious how little things turn our minds in one direction or the opposite. Twenty-four hours before, Harry Forsyth had no sympathy whatever with the Turks and Egyptians, while he thought the wild tribes of the Soudan fine fellows, and worthy of the independence they sought to establish. Indeed, he had seen too much of the shameless corruption and cruel extortion of Egyptian officials to feel differently.
And now, because he wanted to get to El Obeid on the chance of catching Daireh, and because English officers of position and experience commanded an Egyptian army, and the General of it had a “presence” which inspired him with confidence and respect, he was ready to take up arms in defence of a cause which had nothing, so far as he knew, to recommend it, except that a certain amount of civilisation, the wearing of trousers and petticoats, banking, railways, and steam navigation were on one side, and a very primitive mode of life with nudity, or getting on to it, on the other. True, that there is the question of the slave trade, and that iniquitous business is kept up entirely by the Arabs, but that very important matter had no weight at that time with Harry, who merely knew that the slaves he had met were almost as free and much better off than the Fellaheen or peasantry of Egypt.
“You must now come and make the acquaintance of my particular chief,” said Howard, as they left. “You must know that I am an irregular volunteer like yourself; at least, my appointment as surgeon requires confirmation.”
And so they went to the medical quarters, and Harry was introduced to the head of that department, who took a professional view of the advent of the new-comer, and observing that he was very young for the work before him, asked if he was acclimatised.
But when he learned that he had got through the hot season without any serious illness, he concluded that he had as good a chance of standing the campaign as any one. That same evening, Harry made acquaintance with the other English officers, to the company of one of whom he was next day posted in orders. And then came the matter of getting uniform, a horse, and a sword, which was accomplished at once, without much difficulty in the shops of Khartoum; and he found himself once more Europeanised.
There was no time for delay, as the expedition was to set out in a few days. The seniors received Harry kindly and cordially enough, but they were extremely hard-worked, every man having to do the duty of ten. They were full of high spirits and confidence, however, sure of defeating the Mahdi, recapturing El Obeid, and conducting the campaign to a satisfactory conclusion, and the men caught a great deal of their spirit.
The mass of them had fought under Arabi at Tel-el-Kebir, and had there conceived a great idea of the prowess of their conquerors. English officers they imagined could not be defeated, and led by them they felt certain of victory. They were also much inspirited by the martial music with which the air was always filled. The bugle bands were really good, and some of the native airs lively and harmonious, but the constant beating of their tam-tams would have been somewhat trying to a nervous person, to whom quiet was the first condition of happiness.
Plenty was found for Harry to do, and as he showed zeal, alacrity, and intelligence, he soon became a favourite. “Send the young ’un” was often the decision come to when a matter requiring promptitude and gumption, and which the seniors could not well leave work in hand to attend to, had to be done. The great ambition of a subaltern in any capacity, civil or military, should be that his superior may learn to trust him; and Harry Forsyth succeeded in that.
He was happier now than he had been for a long time, for he was too much occupied with his new duties to worry about Daireh and the missing will. And if a shadow of melancholy came over him, it was when he thought of the cottage at Sheen, and the anxiety his mother and sister would be in on his behalf. He wrote a long letter home, giving an account of all his proceedings and his present occupation, and sent it off the day before the march across the desert commenced.
At length the camp was struck, and the army was on the march—7,000 infantry, 120 cuirassiers, 300 Bashi-Bazooks, and 30 guns with rocket battery. There were some 1,000 camp followers, and 6,000 camels and horses. At first the route of this seemingly never-ending cavalcade lay along the Nile bank.
Then it was committed to the desert. One hundred and eighty miles of trackless, parched waste lay between them and El Obeid. The first few days had indeed been weary work; the ground was full of broad, deep cracks, for it had been under water when the Nile rose, and on the river receding the fierce sun had had this effect upon the mud. Mimosa shrub also grew thickly in parts; and it was important that the men should not straggle, for that was the opportunity the Arabs were on the look-out for, and so many fearful disasters had already occurred from this very cause. For the soldiers, if the fierce children of the desert rushed upon them unexpectedly when they were in loose formation, were as helpless as sheep, though, when in a compact body, and under the immediate eyes of their English officers, they could fight steadily enough, as was proved at the battle of Marabia in the spring of that same year, when they inflicted very severe losses upon the Arabs, whom they totally defeated at little cost to themselves.
But though the march had been toilsome, the river was near at hand, and the worst enemy of the desert, thirst, was not to be dreaded. But now they were to leave the Nile behind them, and depend for their water supply entirely on the wells, which were understood to be at certain places on the line of march, though these were often found to be at much greater distances than had been represented.
The progress was very slow, for they had to march in square—the leading battalion in line, the rear also in line, the right and left faces moving in fours, or in column, according to circumstances. In the centre were the camels and other baggage animals, with the two things which were as necessary to existence as air to breathe—ammunition and water.
When, through inequality of ground or any other cause, the lines bulged, or the columns were broken, it was necessary to halt till all closed up again, and this of course delayed the march very much. Ten miles a day were the utmost they could accomplish without running most unjustifiable risk. The irregular cavalry now proved of extreme value; preceding the army, scattered out in front and on each flank, they were bound to come upon any ambushed enemy in time to gallop back and warn the main body, who would then be able to close up, and present a front on every side, which the enemy would find no opening to break in at.
On the fourth day, as the troops were passing over a plain of sand which stretched away to the horizon all round, without a shrub to break the monotony, only here and there a block of rock, or the skeleton of a camel, showing where some wretched overtried animal had sunk under the too great presumption upon his wonderful powers of endurance, the scouts gave notice of Arab approach, and a figure could be seen coming over the summit of a sand-hill, thus proving that the ground, though apparently flat, was undulating.
Field-glasses were turned towards the object, which could then be recognised as a man mounted on a camel, and the distance beyond him was eagerly scanned for the host of which he was assumed at first to be the precursor. But no one else appeared; he was quite alone, and he came directly towards the troops.
As he was well mounted, and they were moving to meet him, it was not long before he was quite close, and then it could be seen that he was dressed in robe and turban, with a shawl round his waist, and that these garments, as well as his face, were stained with blood. And he leaned forward on his camel, as if well-nigh exhausted with wounds and fatigue.
When the officer out with the scouts met and accosted him, he demanded to be led to the chief, and when he was accordingly brought before the General, he said—
“I am the Sheikh Moussa. Neither I nor any of my tribe have acknowledged the Mahdi, whom we hold to be a False Prophet and impostor. Whereupon he sent a body of troops to attack the village where seven families of us dwelt. They came at the rising of the moon, and set fire to our huts, but we flew to arms, and thrice drove them back, slaying two for one. But they were ten to one, and at each onset we were fewer and more weary. At last the fight turned to mere slaughter. I sought my dromedary and fled, in hopes of vengeance. They have slain my wife, my children, my slaves; there is a blood feud between the Mahdi and me. Then I remembered that the Turks led by Englishmen were at Khartoum, preparing for an attack upon my enemy, and I said, I will seek the English Turk, the Hicks Pasha, and I will say, ‘I would be avenged upon my enemy, but I am alone, and what can one arm do? I have a sharp sword, I have a far-killing gun, I have a blood feud with your enemy. Let me fight in your ranks.’ I rode part of a night, and a day, and a second night; I had only filled my water-bottle once. It ran dry; my wounds grew stiff. I said, ‘I shall never reach Khartoum, I shall die unavenged. It is Allah’s will; praise to Allah, and the One Prophet, for whom I am.’ When lo! The English-led Turk army has risen up and gone forth to meet me. It is Fate.”
He had a drink of water given to him, and then the General asked him if he knew El Obeid well.
“Every street, every corner of the ramparts,” he replied. “Did I not take part in the defence when the Mahdi—may his grave be defiled!—was driven from them with slaughter?”
“You may ride with us,” said the General. “Look to his cuts, Howard,” he added, seeing him close by, with a sponge and a bandage already in his hand.
It was a sparing drop of water that was used, and that was presently drunk with avidity, defiled as it was. Howard declared the cuts to be mere flesh wounds of no consequence.
“I am the most unlucky fellow that ever was!” he exclaimed; “I never do get any gun-shot wounds, hardly.”
The Sheikh Moussa certainly proved an acquisition that day, for he took them a route diverging somewhat from that which they had been following, and so cutting off some three miles of their journey to the wells where they were to halt till the moon was up. And three miles when the water is running low are a matter of tremendous import to the traveller in the desert. After that the General often sent for the Sheikh Moussa to ride with him on the march; and he questioned him, and compared his answers with the maps and plans he had. And the more he was tested the more genuine did the man appear. The tribe, too, to which he claimed to belong was known to be friendly, and not as yet overawed into owning allegiance to the Mahdi.
And so the square dragged slowly on from well to well through the long scorching mornings and the bright moonlight nights, and was swallowed up in the desert.
Chapter Ten.
Sent out Scouting.
It is one of the first principles of warfare that an army should always keep up communication with what is called its base, that is, the safe place from which food, ammunition, stores of all kinds, and fresh men to supply the place of those who fall, can be sent to it, and to which the sick and wounded may be returned. But as there is no universal rule in anything, and people have often to do what they can, rather than what they know to be best, it so happens that columns have sometimes to be launched into an enemy’s country without any communication with seaport, town, or friendly frontier, so that they are entirely self-dependent, with no resources beyond what they have at hand, and liable to be attacked on all sides.
This is termed being “in the air,” and is a very great risk, which is only voluntarily incurred for the sake of gaining some equally great advantage. In civilised warfare failure under such circumstances means surrender; in expeditions against barbarians it involves utter destruction.
Hicks Pasha’s little army was now thus isolated, and, after several days’ march across the desert, matters began to wear a very serious aspect. As has been said, ten miles a day were the utmost that could be accomplished, and the distance between the places where water could be obtained increased as they advanced.
Water was carried by camels in tanks with galvanised linings, which kept it fresh, and free from the nauseous taste which it gets from the skins in which travellers generally have to keep it. It is true that there is an earthenware water-bottle, which is in much request, and the inhabitants of a town on the Nile earn their livelihood by manufacturing them. But the porousness of the clay, which keeps the contents so deliciously cool, makes them very brittle.
In these tanks sufficient water could be carried for twenty-four hours, which meant at the present rate of marching but ten miles. There came an occasion when, at the end of the first day’s halt from the last well, an order was given to put men and horses on a half ration of the precious fluid. Considering that the full ration was very insufficient, this caused much suffering, especially as, there being no moon, night marches were out of the question, and the parched troops had to toil through the sand in the mornings and evenings, though they were forced to rest and get what shelter they could in the hottest part of the day.
That night Harry was roused from a dream of plunging in the river at Harton, which, however, refused to cool or wet him, but seemed to turn to hot sand at his touch, by a shot and then a volley, a little in their front. He started to his feet and found Howard standing beside him.
“Some stupid mistake of a sentry, very likely,” said he. But presently the outposts came running in with three of their number missing, and two others with slight spear wounds, and reported an attack of the enemy. The force stood to its arms at once, and as it bivouacked in square, in the order in which it marched, every man was in his place without delay or confusion, and there was no danger of surprise, and some of the men would keep firing uselessly into darkness, and it gave their officers some trouble to stop them. This was done, however, and the waste of ammunition was left to the Arabs, who kept up a dropping fire till dawn, wounding a poor camel by chance, but unable to do much damage by starlight from the distance at which they kept.
“No gun-shot wounds for you at present,” said Harry, when he rejoined the surgeon.
“I don’t want any,” replied Howard. “I could not attend to a poor fellow after treating him, in any satisfactory way, on the march, and without water. Do you know, I am tempted to drink the contents of my medicine bottles.”
“Then you must be thirsty, poor fellow. But, I say, do you call this being under fire? There! Something struck the ground which I fancy must have been a bullet.”
“Yes; they are making very long shots, but as some of them get into our neighbourhood, I suppose one may be said to be so. Why?”
“Only because I have never been under fire before, and I expected to be in a funk.”
“There is time enough; I daresay you will get a satisfactory test of your nerves before long. But courage is a comparative thing, depending very much upon circumstances. I, for example, am a non-combatant, and though I have little dread of infectious diseases, which many heroes would shrink from risking contact with, I hold all lethal weapons in strong dislike. And yet, if there were a barrel of beer in front, though it were guarded by the best shots in Boer land, I would have a fight for it.”
“I should think you would!” cried Harry. “Beer! How can you be so cruel as to mention the word?”
But though the Arab fusillade was almost innocuous, it harassed the troops, keeping them on the alert all night. And when, with the first streaks of dawn, the dreary march began, all traces of the foe had disappeared. All the morning dragged along, till fatigue and the heat of the sun compelled the mid-day halt. Then forward again till dark; and no wells reached! Hardly a drop of water left for each man! Several had dropped and died in the course of that day’s march, and several horses. The bugle bands, which had been so cheery in the start, were silent now; the poor fellows were too parched to blow their instruments. Even the tam-tams were silent. Not that either would have been prudent, for though, doubtless, they were never lost sight of by the enemy’s scouts, there was no advantage in publishing their whereabouts.
Harry was on outpost duty that night, and when the firing was renewed, which happened soon after dark (though no enemy had been sighted all day), he, not being hard pressed, would not withdraw his men. The stars were very bright, and objects were distinguishable at about thirty yards distance; perhaps further by Harry, who was particularly clear of vision, that being the reason, possibly, of his fine shooting. The Arabs got closer to the rocks, amongst which the outpost was situated, with sentries at intervals connecting it with the square. Harry felt savage with thirst, fatigue, and this aggravating annoyance, and was strongly tempted to try and make an example. He took a rifle from one of his men, and began stalking carefully in the direction of the flashes; not directly towards them, of course, which would have been trying to meet the bullets, but on the flank.
Crouching down under a sand ridge, he got pretty close, crawled a little nearer on his hands and knees, and peered forwards. There was a flash and a report quite near to him, and then Harry could plainly distinguish the man kneeling up, withdrawing the old cartridge from his Remington. He levelled his rifle, but could not see the fore-sight, so as to align it with the object. For a moment he was nonplussed, but suddenly remembered having read of a dodge for night shooting, and resolved to try it.
He had in his pocket a small box of matches, and, taking one of these, he broke the end off and rubbed in on the fore-sight very gently, careful not to let it explode, and succeeded in making the little projection so luminous that he could align it with the back-sight and the Arab’s body. Then he pulled the trigger, and saw the dark figure leap forward and fall prone. Saw it, indeed, but only in a fraction of a second, for he stole back to the sand ridge, slipping in another cartridge as he went.
There he lay still a minute, listening and peering. Presently a tall figure, which looked gigantic in the dim light, bounded close to him, with a gun in his left hand, and a spear in his right. He had evidently made a rush in the direction of the flash, and now stood, looking right and left for the man who had fired. Harry almost touched him as he pressed the trigger, and the savage lay at his very feet. “I’ll have his spoils any way,” thought he; so he picked up the spear and Remington, and got back to his men as fast as he could. The Arab scouts, bothered by these two shots, were probably uncertain about the movements of the troops, and thought they had shifted their ground since they had marked them down, and possibly had flanking parties who might surround them. For they withdrew to a distance, fired a few shots in the direction where Harry had been, which was quite away from the main body, and the outpost too, and then gave no more trouble for that night.
In the course of the next day the water gave out entirely, and there was not a drop in the army beyond what some few far-seeing, self-denying men, had hoarded in their gourds.
Harry had not been one of these, and when the mid-day halt came he thought he was dying, and fell down in the glare of the sun, senseless. When he returned to life he found himself under the scanty shade of a mimosa tree, supported by the strong arm of a man whose sun-burned face and flowing beard, the loose robe which he wore, and the silk scarf which surrounded his tarboosh, with the pistol and dagger thrust into a shawl round his waist, seemed to betoken a native of the country; but the kindly eyes were those of an Englishman, as were the murmured words, “Poor lad! Poor lad!” which fell on his ear. His brow was deliciously cool, and his throat less parched; and he recognised that it was the man whose wonderful journey to Merv had so enthralled him when he read of it who had now spared the water, which was life, to damp his brow and give him respite; and he was certain that it was Mr O’Donovan, the newspaper correspondent, now accompanying the army of Hicks Pasha, who had saved his life.
Howard, who came up at the moment, was almost awe-struck at the sacrifice.
“I have known one man allow his veins to be drained to supply the life-blood which might be infused into the veins of his friend; but what was that to sparing water now!” he said.
The patience and discipline of the men during this trying time were admirable; there was no grumbling, no repining against their leaders; and just fancy how the sturdy Briton would have growled!
The officers did their best to cheer them up, assuring them that they were certain to reach the wells that afternoon, and always bearing an air of confidence in the future before them. But when they were alone together, and looked into each other’s eyes, it was evident that they thought they were in a very desperate position.
However, let them reach and carry El Obeid without too great delay, and all would yet be right. Their assurance to the men concerning the wells was verified; and when they approached the mud-holes which bore that name, discipline for once broke down. First the Bashi-Bazooks urged their fainting steeds to a gallop; then the infantry broke from their ranks and hurried forward; and had the enemy come down in force at that moment, they would have had an easy prey. But, oh horror! The puddles were choked with the putrefying bodies of men, horses, and camels, who, wounded in a recent fight near the spot, had crawled hither to drink, and die.
Thirst, however, overcame disgust; the contaminating carcases were dragged away, and many plunged their faces in the filthy pools. Others had the self-control to dig or scrape holes for themselves, and wait till a purer water had percolated into them, when they slowly satisfied themselves and their faithful horses, and then managed to collect a supply for the next march.
Wonderful was the effect of the water, when at last a sufficiency for all had trickled out. The musicians found their instruments, and played once more; the outposts stepped off to their stations with alacrity; and all felt as if El Obeid had already fallen.
But several days’ more terrible marching, with insufficient water, and many a death from sheer hardships, fatigue, or sunstroke, were to elapse before they neared the fortress. At last, however, the time came when, on starting at dawn, the guide assured the General that he should see the sun set behind its walls. After four hours’ march one of the senior officers called Harry.
“You and your nag look pretty fit,” he said; “that comes of being a light weight. Is your water-bottle full?”
“Yes,” replied Harry; “I have not touched it since we left the last wells.”
“That is right; I want you to take six men out scouting. You see that rocky hill, with trees, out to the north?”
“Yes.”
“The General wants to know if the enemy are behind there in any force. Go cautiously; and if you see no one, pass through the wood, and have a look on the other side of the hill; you can see from here that it cannot be very extensive on the top. But if you find Arabs in the cover, try to draw them; and if you succeed, and they are in force, come back at once. But should they keep in cover, so that you cannot tell whether there are half a dozen or a considerable body, skirt round the hill, and see if there is any sign of a camp, or a large body of the enemy concealed by it. Be cautious, so as not to get cut off. I have selected six of the best mounted Bashi-Bazooks, in case you have to make a bolt for it. Of course, you see the importance of knowing what we have in our rear before attacking the place.”
“All right, sir,” said Harry; and in another minute he was trotting across the plain, followed by his six picturesque, irregular horsemen.
Of course he did not go fast, as it was most important to reserve the powers of the animal that carried him for the emergency of having to gallop for his life, which it was not at all improbable that he would be called upon to do; but half an hour’s steady trot, the ground being fairly free from obstacles, and not so yielding as usual, brought the party to the foot of the hill.
Harry ordered his men to extend, and they threaded their way among the rocks in a line, working cautiously up towards the belt of trees. When they were within a hundred yards, however, a couple of shots were fired from the cover, and the bullets came pattering against the rocks.
Harry had impressed upon the men beforehand what to do in such a case: to retire slowly, halting to return the fire at intervals; and they did it pretty fairly, though not quite so steadily as could be wished. And when they were down on the level plain, a couple of them showed a decided inclination to try the mettle of their steeds in a race in the direction of the column, but Harry managed to stop them; and, withdrawing a little, the party dismounted, and fired a few ineffective shots at the Arabs, who were mounted, and came down towards them.
There were but eight in the party, and Harry could see no more behind them, so he concluded that it was clearly his duty to skirt the hill and see what was on the other side. Besides, seven to eight was not such prodigious odds as to justify bolting without a bit of a fight, he thought.
So he got his men together, and, drawing his sword, told them he meant to charge the moment the Arabs were at the bottom of the hill, so as to overthrow them by the impetus before they could get any pace on, and trotting quietly on with this object, he got within thirty paces, and then, cramming his spurs in, went at them as they got clear of the declivity. And he showed good judgment, in spite of his inexperience; for he bowled one enemy over with the force of the shock, and a Bashi-Bazook on his right served another the same, and got a slice at him as he rolled over, which made the number of combatants level.
But, unfortunately, the other Bashi-Bazooks did not charge home, but swerved, wheeled, withdrew a little, and began firing wildly. Harry was engaged in single combat with another Arab, who could have given him any number of points in sword-play, and presently made a drawing cut at him which would infallibly have taken off his head, had not his horse at that very quarter of a second suddenly fallen, shot dead by one of his own men.
Seeing their officer down, the Bashi-Bazooks fairly turned and galloped as hard as they could go, the Arabs who were otherwise disengaged racing after them—five pursuing six; for the man who had been ridden down had got a broken thigh, the second was killed, and the third was now dismounting in order to polish off Harry comfortably as he lay on the ground.
But our friend, though he was pinned down by the body of his horse, which lay on his left leg, was not hurt, and his right arm was free. He drew his revolver, and when the Arab stood over him he shot him in the breast. The man fell—but not dead—across Harry, with whom he grappled, seeking to clutch him with the left hand by the throat and sabre him with the right. But Harry caught his right wrist, and a struggle took place, in which each strained every muscle.
In his efforts, Harry got his leg from under the dead horse, the sand being loose; but as he did so his enemy got his sword-arm free and cut him over the head—not with much force, for he was weak and in a cramped position, but sufficiently to inflict a nasty wound. It was an expiring effort; he fell over helpless, the blood gushing from his mouth, and Harry had no need to give him another barrel, which he was prepared to do, but rose to his feet to survey the scene of conflict. The Bashi-Bazooks and their pursuers could be seen in the distance, still going at a great pace. The horses of the broken-legged and the two dead Arabs were careering about; his own head-dress had fallen off, which was a serious affair, though the afternoon was waning.
But before putting it on he bound his head with a strip of cotton torn off the garment of the Arab at his feet, for the cut on the scalp was bleeding freely. Then, feeling very thirsty, he took the man’s water-bottle, but it was empty. So, picking up his sword, he moved over to the other dead Arab and tried his, and with better success; there was a refreshing draught in it, which Harry was thus able to benefit by without infringing on his own supply. Then he considered that he must get out of sight somewhere before the Arabs returned, which they were sure to do, to look after their missing friends. He had now no horse, and to make his way on foot across the open plain by daylight was to ensure being seen by the returning horsemen and cut off.
The best place to hide in would surely be the wood, where he felt certain that there were no more Arabs, or they would have come out to join in the chevy. He would lie there till nightfall, and then endeavour to make his way to the column, though he did not feel like taking a long walk just at present.
As he was going up the hill, however, he saw the Arab with the broken leg lying helpless. The string which held his water-bottle had broken, and the gourd lay beyond his reach. The man glared like a wild beast when Harry picked it up, and clutched at his waist-band, but there was no weapon in it.
“Don’t fear me,” said Harry in Arabic, holding out the gourd, which the other snatched viciously; “I am an Englishman, and the English never hit a foe when he is down, unless he is very obstinate and unreasonable, and insists on biting or kicking.”
But the wounded man made no reply. It is to be feared that he only thought either that the speaker was a great liar, or else that his countrymen were great fools. It was evident that, so far from being touched, he would be the first to betray the secret of Harry’s hiding-place to his returning friends if he knew it. So as Harry did not like to shoot him through the head, or draw his sword across his throat, he made a détour as if going across the desert, and did not commence the ascent until he was out of the other’s sight. It was not very steep or very high, but Harry had some difficulty in getting up it. He felt very weak, giddy, and queer, and had hardly got to the wood, and sunk down under the shade of trees behind a big black boulder, than he lost consciousness, for he had bled more than he knew for, and it was that which turned him faint.
How long he lay without consciousness he did not know; and I daresay that you have noticed in story-books that people never do know. Indeed, it would take a very methodical person to look at his watch just as he was going off in a swoon, and refer to it again as he came to. Harry Forsyth certainly never looked at his watch, but he snatched his water-bottle, for one effect of loss of blood is to cause intense thirst. A quantity of liquid being taken out of the body. Nature seems to point out in this way that the loss should be supplied; you know she is said to abhor a vacuum. If he had had all his senses about him, he would merely have taken a sup and held it in his mouth some time before swallowing it; but he was half dazed, and did not know where he was, and he yielded to the instinct of thirst and took a long, deep draught. For the present it was the best thing he could have done, for the effect was that he sank into a sound restoring sleep, which must have lasted many hours, for when he woke again the night was far advanced, and there were streaks of dawn in the east, and it was quite two hours to sunset when he had begun his nap. The wound in his head smarted, but otherwise he felt stronger and more refreshed, only hungry. He had crammed some biscuits into his kharkee jacket the day before, and these he ate, washing them down with what remained in the water-bottle, which he emptied without much compunction, as he reckoned that he would easily strike the trail of the column and come up with it in a short time.
They had reckoned before he left that it was three hours’ march at the longest to the wells within sight of El Obeid, where they were to halt for the night, and he thought that he surely ought to be able to walk, alone and unencumbered, at least as fast again as the square moved, and he had little fear of not being in time for the attack. The place could hardly be carried by a coup de main; they would have to breach the walls with artillery first. Of course he might be cut off on his road; that was a risk which could not be helped or avoided.
Directly he could see his way, he retraced his steps down the hill, and went round the base to the side where he had had the skirmish; but he did not look to see whether the dead Arabs had been buried by their comrades, or to inquire after the welfare of his friend, the enemy with the broken leg. No, he stole along that part as quietly as he could.
The orange, purple, violet, old gold flashes shone wider and higher, but the only way in which Harry heeded them was by keeping the point, at which it was evident from the intensity of glory that the sun would rise, at his back, for he knew that El Obeid lay due west of his present position. It was true that he had a compass attached to his watch chain, but for some unknown cause the thing had struck work a fortnight back, and now the black half, which ought always to have turned to the north, perversely remained where you choose to place it. But, after all, the sun in the morning and evening, and the polar star at night, will put you somewhere in the right direction, when you can see them.
As for hitting off the exact track by which he had come on leaving the column, he could no more do that than on the sea, for there were no marks to guide the eye, and the surface of the plain was the same as water. One dead camel’s skeleton is uncommonly like another, and they lay about in various directions, showing that caravans converged to or diverged from El Obeid by different routes. When the sun burst forth with all that inconceivable grandeur which drives artists who visit the country to despair, and causes untravelled gazers on their pictures to accuse them of exaggeration, when their efforts have as a fact fallen far short of the reality, Harry’s eyes scanned the horizon in every direction for an enemy, but he was alone on the sandy expanse.
No! What were those black figures moving along the side of yonder dune? His hand went to the butt of his revolver as he saw them. But he was presently reassured; they were only vultures and eagles over-gorged by the fruits of war; the only beings besides wolves and hyaenas, who pluck them.