Chapter Nine.
Uncomfortable Quarters.
The waders had still some distance to go before reaching dry land; but, after splashing for about twenty minutes longer, they at length stood upon the shore. As the tide was still flowing in they continued up the beach; so as to place themselves beyond the reach of the water, in the event of its rising still higher.
They had to cross a wide stretch of wet sand before they could find a spot sufficiently elevated to secure them against the further influx of the tide. Having at length, discovered such a spot, they stopped to deliberate on what was best to be done.
They would fain have had a fire to dry their dripping garments; for the night had grown chilly under the influence of the fog.
The old sailor had his flint, steel, and tinder, the latter still safe in its water-tight tin box; but there was no fuel to be found near. The spar, even if they could have broken it up, was still floating, or stranded, in the shoal water, more than a mile to seaward.
In the absence of a fire they adopted the only other mode they could think of to get a little of the water out of their clothes. They stripped themselves to the skin, wrung out each article separately; and then, giving each a good shake, put them on again, leaving it to the natural warmth of their bodies to complete the process of drying.
By the time they had finished this operation, the mist had become sensibly thinner; and the moon, suddenly emerging from under a cloud, enabled them to obtain a better view of the shore upon which they had set foot.
Landward, as far as they could see, there appeared to be nothing but white sand, shining like silver under the light of the moon. Up and down the coast the same landscape could be dimly distinguished.
It was not a level surface that was thus covered with sand; but a conglomeration of hillocks and ridges, blending into each other and forming a labyrinth, that seemed to stretch interminably on all sides, except towards the sea itself.
It occurred to them to climb to the highest of the hillocks. From its summit they would have a better view of the country beyond; and perhaps discover a place suitable for an encampment; perhaps some timber might then come into view, from which they would be able to obtain a few sticks.
On attempting to scale the “dune”, they found that their wading was not yet at an end. Though no longer in the water, they sank to their knees at every step, in soft yielding sand.
The ascent of the hillock, though scarce a hundred feet high, proved exceedingly toilsome, much more so than wading knee-deep in water, but they floundered on, and at length reached the summit.
To the right, to the left, in front of them, far as the eye could reach, nothing but hills and ridges of sand, that appeared under the moonlight of a whiteness approaching to that of snow. In fact, it would not have been difficult to fancy that the country was covered with a heavy coat of snow, as often seen in Sweden, or the northern parts of Scotland, drifted into “wreaths”, and spurred hillocks, of every imaginable form.
It was pretty, but soon became painful from its monotony; and the eyes of that shipwrecked quartette were even glad to turn once more to the scarce less monotonous blue of the ocean.
Inland, they could perceive other sand-hills, higher than that to which they had climbed, and long crested “combings”, with deep valleys between; but not one object to gladden their sight, nothing that offered promise of either food, drink, or shelter.
Had it not been for their fatigue, they might have gone farther. Since the moon had consented to show herself, there was light enough to travel by; and they might have proceeded on, either through the sand-dunes or along the shore. But of the four there was not one, not even the tough old tar himself, who was not regularly done up, both with weariness of body and spirit. The short slumber upon the spit, from which they had been so unexpectedly startled, had refreshed them but little; and, as they stood upon the summit of the sand-hill, all four felt as if they could drop down, and go to sleep on the instant.
It was a couch sufficiently inviting, and they would at once have availed themselves of it, but for a circumstance that suggested to them the idea of seeking a still better place for repose.
The land-wind was blowing in from the ocean, and, according to the forecast of Old Bill, a great practical meteorologist, it promised ere long to become a gale. It was already sufficiently violent, and chill to boot, to make the situation on the summit of the dune anything but comfortable. There was no reason why they should make their couch upon that exposed prominence. Just on the landward side of the hillock itself, below at its base, they perceived a more sheltered situation; and why select that spot for their resting-place?
There was no reason why they should not. Old Bill proposed it; there was no opposition offered by his young companions, and, without further parley, the four went floundering down the sloping side of the sand-hill, into the sheltered convexity at its base.
On arriving at the bottom, they found themselves in the narrowest of ravines. The hillock from which they had descended was but the highest summit of a long ridge, trending in the same direction as the coast. Another ridge, of about equal height, ran parallel to this on the landward side. The bases of the two approached so near that their sloping sides formed an angle with each other. On account of the abrupt acclivity of both, this angle was almost acute, and the ravine between the two resembled a cavity out of which some great wedge had been cut, like a section taken from the side of a gigantic melon.
It was in this re-entrant angle that the castaways found themselves, after descending the side of the dune, and where they had proposed spending the remainder of the night.
They were somewhat disappointed on reaching their sleeping-quarters, and finding them so limited as to space. In the bottom of the ravine there was not breadth enough for a bed, even for the shortest of the party, supposing him desirous of sleeping in a horizontal position.
There were not six feet of surface, nor even three, that could strictly be called horizontal. Even longitudinally, the bottom of the “gully” had a sloping inclination; for the ravine itself tended upwards until it became extinguished in the convergence of its inclosing ridges.
On discovering the unexpected “strait” into which they had launched themselves, our adventurers were for a time nonplussed. They felt inclined to proceed farther in search of a “better bed”, but their weariness outweighed this inclination; and, after some hesitation, they resolved to remain in the “ditch” into which they had so unwillingly descended. They proceeded therefore to encouch themselves.
Their first attempt was made by placing themselves in a half-standing position, their backs supported upon the sloping sides of one of the ridges, with their feet resting against the other. So long as they kept awake, this position was both easy and pleasant; but the moment any one of them closed his eyes in sleep, and this was an event almost instantaneous, his muscles, relaxed by slumber, would no longer have the strength to sustain him; and the consequence would be an uncomfortable collapse to the bottom of the “gully”, where anything like a position of repose was out of the question.
This vexatious interruption of their slumbers happening repeatedly, at length roused all four to take fresh counsel as to choosing a fresh couch.
Terence had been especially annoyed by these repeated disturbances; and proclaimed his determination not to submit to them any longer. He would go in search of more “comfortable quarters.”
He had arisen to his feet, and appeared in the act of starting off.
“We had better not separate,” suggested Harry Blount. “If we do, we may find it difficult to come together again.”
“There’s something in what you say, Hal,” said the young Scotchman. “It will not do for us to lose sight of one another. What does Bill say to it?”
“I say stay here,” put in the voice of the sailor. “It won’t do to stray the wan from the tother. No, it won’t. Let us hold fast, thin, where we’re already belayed.”
“But who the deuce can sleep here?” remonstrated the son of Erin. “A hard-worked horse can sleep standing; and so can an elephant, they say; but, for me, I’d prefer six feet of the horizontal, even if it were a hard stone, to this slope of the softest sand.”
“Stay, Terry!” cried Colin. “I’ve captured an idea.”
“Ah! you Scotch are always capturing something, whether it be an idea, a flea, or the itch. Let’s hear what it is.”
“After that insult to ma kintree,” good-humouredly rejoined Colin; “I dinna know whuther I wull.”
“Come, Colin!” interrupted Harry Blount, “if you have any good counsel to give us, pray don’t withhold it. We can’t get sleep, standing at an angle of forty-five degrees. Why should we not try to change our position by seeking another place?”
“Well, Harry, as you have made the request, I’ll tell you what’s just come into my mind. I only feel astonished it didn’t occur to any of us sooner.”
“Mother av Moses!” cried Terence, jocularly adopting his native brogue; “and why don’t you out with it at wanse? You Scatch are the thrue rid-tape of society.”
“Never mind, Colly!” interposed Blount; “there’s no time to listen to Terry’s badinage. We’re all too sleepy for jesting: tell us what you’ve got in your mind?”
“All of ye do as you see me, and I’ll be your bail, ye’ll sleep sound till the dawn o’ the day. Goodnight!”
As Colin pronounced the salutation he sank down to the bottom of the ravine, where, stretched longitudinally, he might repose, without the slightest danger of being awakened by slipping from his couch.
On seeing him thus disposed, the others only wondered they had not thought of the thing before.
They were too sleepy to speculate long upon their own thoughtlessness; and one after the other, imitating the example set them by the young Scotchman, laid their bodies lengthwise along the bottom of the ravine, and entered upon the enjoyment of a slumber from which all the kettle-drums in creation would scarce have awaked them.
Chapter Ten.
’Ware the Sand.
As the gully in which they had gone to rest was too narrow to permit of them lying side by side, they were disposed in a sort of lengthened chain, with their heads all turned in the same direction. The bottom of the ravine, as already stated, had a slight inclination; and they had, of course, placed themselves so that their heads should be higher than their feet.
The old sailor was at the lower end of this singular series, with the feet of Harry Blount just above the crown of his head. Above the head of Harry were the heels of Terence O’Connor; and, at the top of all, reclined Colin, in the place where he had first stretched himself.
On account of the slope of the ground, the four were thus disposed in a sort of échelon formation, of which Old Bill was the base. They had dropped into their respective positions, one after the other, as they lay.
The sailor had been the last to commit himself to this curious couch; he was also the last to surrender to sleep. For some time after the others had become unconscious of outward impressions, he lay listening to the “sough” of the sea, and the sighing of the breeze, as it blew along the smooth sides of the sand-hills.
He did not remain awake for any great length of time. He was wearied, as well as his young comrades; and soon also yielded his spirit to the embrace of the god Somnus.
Before doing so, however, he had made an observation, one of a character not likely to escape the notice of an old mariner such as he. He had become conscious that a storm was brewing in the sky. The sudden shadowing of the heavens; the complete disappearance of the moon, leaving even the white landscape in darkness, her red colour as she went out of sight; the increased noise caused by the roaring of the breakers; and the louder “swishing” of the wind itself, which began to blow in quick, gusty puffs; all these sights and sounds admonished him that a gale was coming on.
He instinctively noted these signs; and on board ship would have heeded them, so far as to have alarmed the sleeping watch, and counselled precaution.
But stretched upon terra firma, not so very firm had he but known it, between two huge hills, where he and his companions were tolerably well sheltered from the wind, it never occurred to the old salt that they could be in any danger; and simply muttering to himself, “the storm be blowed!” he laid his weather-beaten face upon the pillow of soft sand, and delivered himself up to deep slumber.
The silent prediction of the sailor turned out a true forecast. Sure enough there came a storm which, before the castaways had been half an hour asleep, increased to a tempest. It was one of those sudden uprisings of the elements common in all tropical countries, but especially so in the desert tracts of Arabia and Africa, where the atmosphere, rarefied by heat, and becoming highly volatile, suddenly loses its equilibrium and rushes like a destroying angel over the surface of the earth.
The phenomenon that had broken over the arenaceous couch, upon which slept the four castaways, was neither more nor less than a “sandstorm”; or, to give it its Arab title, a simoom.
The misty vapour that late hung suspended in the atmosphere had been swept away by the first puff of the wind; and its place was now occupied by a cloud equally dense, though perhaps not so constant, a cloud of white sand lifted from the surface of the earth, and whirled high up towards heaven, even far out over the waters of the ocean.
Had it been daylight, huge volumes, of what might have appeared dust, might have been seen rolling over the ridges of sand, here swirling into rounded pillar-like shapes, that could easily have been mistaken for solid columns, standing for a time in one place, then stalking over the summits of the hills, or suddenly breaking into confused and cumbering masses; while the heavier particles, no longer kept in suspension by the rotatory whirl, might be seen spilling back towards the earth, like a sand shower projected downward through some gigantic “screen.”
In the midst of this turbulent tempest of wind and sand, with not a single drop of rain, the castaways continued to sleep.
One might suppose, as did the old man-o’-war’s man before going to sleep, that they were not in any danger; not even as much as if their couch had been under the roof of a house, or strewn amid the leaves of the forest. There were no trees to be blown down upon them, no bricks nor large chimney-pots to come crashing through the ceiling, and crush them as they lay upon their beds.
What danger could there be among the “dunes?”
Not much to a man awake, and with open eyes. In such a situation there might be discomfort, but no danger.
Different, however, was it with the slumbering castaways. Over them a peril was suspended, a real peril of which perhaps on that night not one of them was dreaming, and in which perhaps not one of them would have put belief but for the experience of it they were destined to be taught before the morning.
Could an eye have looked upon them as they lay, it would have beheld a picture sufficiently suggestive of danger. It would have seen four human figures stretched along the bottom of a narrow ravine, longitudinally aligned with one another, their heads all turned one way, and in point of elevation slightly en échelon, it would have noted that these forms were asleep, that they were already half buried in sand, which, apparently descending from the clouds was still settling around them; and that, unless one or other of them awoke, all four must certainly become “smoored.”
What does this mean? Merely a slight inconvenience arising from having the mouth, ears, and nostrils obstructed by sand, which a little choking, and sneezing, and coughing would soon remove.
Ask the Highland shepherd who has imprudently gone to sleep under the “blowin’ sna”; question the Scandinavian, whose calling compels him to encamp on the open “fjeld”; interrogate Swede or Norwegian, Finn or Lapp, and you may discover the danger of being “smoored.”
That would be in the snow, the light, vascular, porous, permeable snow, under which a human being may move, and through which he may breathe, though tons of it may be superpoised above his body, the snow that, while imprisoning its victim, also gives him warmth, and affords him shelter, perilous as that shelter may be.
Ask the Arab what it is to be “smoored” by sand; question the wild Bedouin of the Bled-el-Jereed, the Tuarick and Tiboo of the Eastern Desert, they will tell you it is danger, often death!
Little dreamt the four sleepers as they lay unconscious under that swirl of sand, little even would they have suspected, if awake, that there was danger in the situation.
There was for all that a danger, great as it was imminent; the danger, not only of their being “smoored”, but stifled, suffocated, buried fathoms deep under the sands of the Saara; for fathoms deep will often be the drift of a single night.
The Arabs say that, once “submerged” beneath the arenaceous “flood”, a man loses the power to extricate himself. His energies are suspended, his senses become numbed and torpid, in short, he feels as one who goes to sleep in a snow-storm. It may be true; but, whether or no, it seemed as if the four English castaways had been stricken with this inexplicable paralysis. Despite the hoarse roaring of the breakers, despite the shrieking and whistling of the wind, despite the dust constantly being deposited on their bodies, and entering ears, mouth and nostrils, despite the stifling sensation one would suppose they must have felt, and which should have awakened them, despite all, they continued to sleep. It seemed as if that sleep was to be eternal.
If they heard not the storm that raged savagely above them, if they felt not the sand that pressed heavily upon them, what was there to warn, what to arouse them from that ill-starred slumber?
Chapter Eleven.
A mysterious Nightmare.
The four castaways had been asleep for a couple of hours, that is, from the time that, following the example of the young Scotchman, they had stretched themselves along the bottom of the ravine. It was not quite an hour, however, since the commencement of the sandstorm; and yet, in this short time, the arenaceous dust had accumulated to the thickness of several inches upon their bodies; and a person passing the spot, or even stepping right over them, could not have told that four human beings were buried beneath; that is, upon the supposition that they would have lain still, and not got startled from their slumbers by the foot thus treading upon them.
Perhaps it was a fortunate circumstance for them, that by such a contingency they might be awakened; and that by such they were awakened.
Otherwise their sleep might have been protracted into that still deeper sleep from which there is no awaking.
All four had begun to feel, if any sensation while asleep can be so called, a sense of suffocation, accompanied by a heaviness of the limbs and torpidity in the joints; as if some, immense weight was pressing upon their bodies, that rendered it impossible for them to stir either toe or finger. It was a sensation similar to that so well-known, and so much dreaded, under the name of nightmare. It may have been the very same; and was, perhaps, brought on as much by the extreme weariness they all felt, as by the superincumbent weight of the sand.
Their heads, lying higher than their bodies, were not so deeply buried under the drift; which, blown lightly over their faces, still permitted the atmosphere to pass through it. Otherwise their breathing would have been stopped altogether; and death must have been the necessary consequence.
Whether it was a genuine nightmare or no, it was accompanied by all the horrors of this phenomenon. As they afterwards declared, all four felt its influence, each in his own way dreaming of some fearful fascination from which he could make no effort to escape. Strange enough, their dreams were different. Harry Blount thought he was falling over a precipice; Colin that a gigantic ogre had got hold of and was going to eat him up; while the young Hibernian fancied himself in the midst of a conflagration, a dwelling-house on fire, from which he could not get out!
Old Bill’s delusion was more in keeping with their situation, or at least with that out of which they had lately escaped. He simply supposed that he was submerged in the sea, and as he knew he could not swim, it was but natural for him to fancy that he was drowning.
Still, he could make no struggle; and, as he would have done this, whether able to swim or not, his dream did not exactly resemble the real thing.
The sailor was the first to escape from the uncomfortable incubus; though there was but an instant between the awakening of all. They were startled out of their sleep, one after another, in the order in which they lay, and inversely to that in which they had lain down.
Their awakening was as mysterious as the nightmare itself, and scarce relieved them from the horror which the latter had been occasioning.
All felt in turn, and in quick succession, a heavy crushing pressure, either on the limbs or body; which had the effect, not only to startle them from their sleep, but caused them considerable pain.
Twice was this pressure applied, almost exactly on the same spot; and with scarce a second’s interval between the applications. It could not well have been repeated a third time with like exactness, even had such been the design of whatever creature was causing it, for, after a second squeeze, each had recovered sufficient consciousness to know he was in danger of being crushed, and make a desperate effort to withdraw himself.
The exclamations, proceeding from four sets of lips, told that all were still in the land of the living; but the confused questioning that followed did nothing towards elucidating the cause of that sudden and almost simultaneous uprising.
There was too much sneezing and coughing to permit of anything like clear or coherent speech. The shumu was still blowing. There was sand in the mouths and nostrils of all four, and dust in their eyes. Their talk more resembled the jabbering of apes, who had unwisely intruded into a snuff-shop, than the conversation of four rational beings.
It was some time before anyone of them could shape his speech so as to be understood by the others; and, after all had at length succeeded in making themselves intelligible, it was found that each had the same story to tell. Each had felt two pressures on some part of his person; and had seen, though very indistinctly, some huge creature passing over him, apparently a quadruped, though what sort of quadruped none of them could tell. All they knew was that it was a gigantic, uncouth creature, with a narrow body and neck, and very long legs; and that it had feet there could be no doubt, since it was these that had pressed so heavily upon them.
But for the swirl of the sandstorm, and the dust already in their eyes, they might have been able to give a better description of the creature that had so unceremoniously stepped upon them. These impediments, however, had hindered them from obtaining a fair view of it; and some animal, grotesquely shaped, with a long neck, body, and legs, was the image which remained in the excited minds of the awakened sleepers.
Whatever it was, they were all sufficiently frightened to stand for some time trembling. Just awakening from such dreams, it was but natural they should surrender themselves to strange imaginings; and, instead of endeavouring to identify the odd-looking animal, if animal it was, they were rather inclined to set it down as some creature of a supernatural kind.
The three midshipmen were but boys; not so long from the nursery as to have altogether escaped from the weird influence which many a nursery tale had wrapped around them; and as for Old Bill, fifty years spent in “ploughing the ocean” had only confirmed him in the belief that the “black art” is not so mythical as philosophers would have us think.
So frightened were all four that, after the first ebullition of their surprise had subsided, they no longer gave utterance to speech but stood listening, and trembling as they listened. Perhaps, had they known the service which the intruder had done for them, they might have felt gratitude towards it, instead of the suspicion and dread that for some moments kept them, as if spell-bound, in their places. It did not occur to any of the party that that strange summons from sleep, more effective than the half-whispered invitation of a valet-de-chambre, or the ringing of a breakfast-bell, had, in all probability, rescued them from a silent but certain death.
They stood, as I have said, listening. There were several distinct sounds that saluted their ears. There was the “sough” of the sea, as it came swelling up the gorge; the “whish” of the wind, as it impinged upon the crests of the ridges; and the “swish” of the sand as it settled round them.
All these were voices of inanimate objects, phenomena of nature, easily understood. But, rising above them, were heard sounds of a different character; which, though they might be equally natural, were not equally familiar to those who listened to them.
There was a sort of dull battering, as if some gigantic creature was performing a Terpsichorean feat upon the sand-bank above them; but sharper sounds were heard at intervals, screams commingled with short snortings, both proclaiming something of the nature of a struggle.
Neither in the screams nor in the snortings was there anything that the listeners could identify as sounds they had ever heard before. They were alike perplexing to the ears of English, Irish, and Scotch. Even Old Bill, who had heard, some time or other, nearly every sound known in creation, could not classify them.
“Divil take him!” whispered he to his companions; “I dinna know what to make av it. It be hawful to ’ear em!”
“Hark!” ejaculated Harry Blount.
“Hish!” ejaculated Terence.
“Wheesh!” muttered Colin. “It’s coming nearer, whatever it may be. Wheesh!”
There could be no doubt about the truth of this conjecture; for as the caution passed from the lips of the young Scotchman, the dull hammering, the snorts, and the unearthly screams were evidently drawing nearer; though the creature that was causing them was unseen through the thick sand-mist still surrounding the listeners. These however heard enough to know that some heavy body was making a rapid descent down the sloping gorge, and with an impetuosity that rendered it prudent for them to get out of its way.
More by an instinct, than from any correct appreciation of the danger, all four fell back from the narrow trench in which they had been standing; each as he best could retreating up the declivity of the sand-hill.
Scarce were they able to obtain footing in their new position, when the sounds they had heard not only became louder and nearer, but the creature that had been causing them passed close to their feet; so close that most of them could have touched it with their toes.
For all that, not one of the party could tell what it was; and after it had passed, on its way down the ravine, and was once more lost to their view amid the swirling sand, they were not a bit further advanced in their knowledge of the strange creature that had come so near crushing out their existence with its ponderous weight!
All that they had been able to see was a conglomeration of dark objects, resembling the head, neck, body and limbs of some uncouth animal; while the sounds that proceeded from it were like utterances that might have come from some other world; for certainly they had but slight resemblance to anything the castaways had ever heard in this, either upon sea or land!
Chapter Twelve.
The Maherry.
For some length of time they stood conjecturing, the boys with clasped hands, Old Bill near, but apart.
During this time, at intervals, they continued to hear the sounds that had so astonished them, the stamping, the snorts and the screaming, though they no longer saw the creature that caused them.
The sand gully opened towards the sea in a diagonal direction. It could not be many yards to the spot where it debouched upon the level of the beach; and the creature that had caused them such a surprise, and was still continuing to occupy their thoughts, must have reached this level surface, though not to suspend its exertions. Every now and then could be heard the same repetition of dull noises, as if some animal was kicking itself to death, varied by trumpet-like snorts and agonising screams which could be likened to the cry of no animal upon earth.
But that the castaways knew they were on the coast of Africa, that continent renowned for strange existences, they might have been even more disposed to a supernatural belief in what was near them; but as the minutes passed, and their senses began to return to them, they became more inclined to think what they had seen, heard, and felt, might be only some animal, a heavy quadruped, that had trampled over them in their sleep.
The chief difficulty in reconciling this belief with the actual occurrence was the odd behaviour of the animal. Why had it gone up the gorge, apparently parenti passu, to come tumbling down again in such a confused fashion? Why was it still kicking and stumbling about at the bottom of the ravine—for such did the sounds proclaim it to be doing?
No answer could be given to either of these questions; and none was given, until day dawned over the sand-hills. This was soon after; and along with the morning light had come the cessation of the simoom.
Then saw the castaways that creature that had so abruptly awakened them from their slumbers, and, by so doing, perhaps, saved their lives. They saw it recumbent at the bottom of the gorge, where they had so uneasily passed the night.
It proved to be, what, from the slight glimpse they got of it, they were inclined to believe, an animal, and a quadruped; and if it had presented an uncouth appearance, as it stepped over them in the darkness, not less so did it appear as they now beheld it under the light of day.
It was an animal of very large size, in height far exceeding a horse, but of such a grotesque shape as to be easily recognisable by any one who had ever glanced into a picture book of quadrupeds. The long craning neck, with an almost earless head and gibbous profile; the great straggling limbs, callous at the knees, and ending in broad, wide-splitting hoofs; the slender hindquarters, and tiny tufted tail, both ludicrously disproportioned, the tumid, misshapen trunk; but, above all, the huge hunch rising above the shoulders, at once proclaimed the creature to be a dromedary.
“Och! it’s only a kaymal!” cried Old Bill, as soon as the daylight enabled him to get a fair view of the animal. “What on hearth is it doin’ ere?”
“Sure enough,” suggested Terence, “it was this beast that stepped over us while we were asleep! It almost squeezed the breath out of me, for it set its hoof right upon the pit of my stomach.”
“The same with me,” said Colin. “It sunk me down nearly a foot into the sand. Oh, we have reason to be thankful there was that drift-sand over our bodies at the time. If not, the great brute might have crushed us to death.”
There was some truth in Colin’s observation; but for the covering of sand, which acted as a cushion, and also from that which formed their couch yielding underneath them, the foot of the great quadruped might have caused them serious injury. As it was, none of them had received any hurt, beyond the fright which the strange intruder had occasioned them.
The singular incident was yet only half explained. They saw it was a camel that had disturbed their slumbers; that the animal had been on its way up the ravine, perhaps seeking shelter from the sandstorm, but what had caused it to return so suddenly back down the slope? Above all, why had it made the downward journey in such a singular manner? Obscure as had been their view of it, they could see that it did not go on all-fours, but apparently tumbling and struggling, its long limbs kicking about in the air as if it was performing the descent by a series of somersaults.
All this had been mysterious enough; but it was soon explained to the satisfaction of the four castaways; who, as soon as they saw the camel by the bottom of the gorge, had rushed down and surrounded it.
The animal was in a recumbent position, not as if it had been lain down to rest, but in a constrained attitude, with its long neck drawn in towards its fore-legs, and its head lying low and half buried in the sand.
As it was motionless when they first perceived it, they fancied it was dead; that something had wounded it above. This would have explained the fantastic fashion in which it had returned down the slope, as the somersaults observed might have been only a series of death struggles.
On getting around it, however, they perceived that it was not only still alive, but in perfect health; and its late mysterious movements were accounted for at a single glance. A strong hair halter, firmly noosed around its head, had got caught in the bifurcation of one of its fore-hoofs, where a knot upon the rope had hindered it from slipping through the deep split. This had first caused it to trip up, and tumble head over heels, inaugurating that series of struggles, which had ended in transporting it back to the bottom of the ravine, where it now lay with the trailing end of the long halter knotted inextricably around its legs.
Chapter Thirteen.
A liquid Breakfast.
Melancholy as was the situation of the self-caught camel, it was a joyful sight to those who beheld it. Hungry as they were, its flesh would provide them with food; and thirsting as they were, they knew that inside its stomach would be found a supply of water.
Such were their first thoughts as they came around it.
They soon perceived, however, that to satisfy the latter appetite it would not be necessary for them to kill the camel. Upon the top of its hump was a small flat pad or saddle—firmly held in its place by a strong leathern band passing under the animal’s belly. This proved to be a “maherry,” or riding camel—one of those swift creatures used by the Arabs in their long rapid journeys across the deserts; and which are common among the tribes inhabiting the Saara.
It was not this saddle that gratified the eyes of our adventurers, but a bag, tightly strapped to it, and resting behind the hump of the maherry. This bag was of goat’s-skin; and upon examination was found to be nearly half full of water. It was in fact the “Gerba”, or waterskin, belonging to whoever had been the owner of the animal—an article of camel equipment more essential than the saddle itself.
The four castaways, suffering the torture of thirst, made no scruple about appropriating the contents of the bag; and, in the shortest possible time, it was stripped from the back of the maherry, its stopper taken out, and the precious fluid extracted from it by all four, in greedy succession, until its light weight, and collapsed side declared it to be empty.
Their thirst being thus opportunely assuaged, a council was next held as to what they should do to appease the other appetite.
Should they kill the camel?
It appeared to be their only chance; and the impetuous Terence had already unsheathed his midshipman’s dirk—with the design of burying it in the body of the animal.
Colin, however, more prudent in council, cried to him to hold his hand; at least until they should give the subject a more thorough consideration.
On this suggestion they proceed to debate the point between them. They were of different opinions, and equally divided. Two, Terence and Harry Blunt, were for immediately killing the maherry and making their breakfast upon its flesh; while the sailor joined Colin in voting that it should be reprieved.
“Let us first make use of the animal to help carry us somewhere,” argued the young Scotchman. “We can go without food a day longer. Then, if we find nothing, we can butcher this beast.”
“But what’s to be found in such a country as this?” inquired Harry Blount. “Look around you! There’s nothing green but the sea itself. There isn’t anything eatable within sight—not so much as would make a dinner for a dormouse!”
“Perhaps,” rejoined Colin, “when we’ve travelled a few miles, we may come upon a different sort of country. We can keep along the coast. Why shouldn’t we find shell-fish enough to keep us alive. See; yonder’s a dark place down upon the beach. I shouldn’t wonder if there’s some there?”
The glances of all were instantly directed towards the beach, excepting those of Sailor Bill. His were fixed on a different object; and an exclamation that escaped him, as well as a movement that accompanied it, arrested the attention of his companions, causing them to turn their eyes upon him.
“Shell-fish be blow’d!” cried Bill; “here’s something far better for breakfast than cowld oysters. Look!”
The sailor, as he spoke, pointed to an oval-shaped object, something larger than a cocoa-nut, appearing between the hind legs of the maherry.
“It’s a shemale!” added he, “and’s had a calf not long ago. Look at the ‘udder’, and them tits. They’re swelled wi’ milk. There’ll be enough for the whole of us I warrant yez.”
As if to make sure of what he said, the sailor dropped down upon his knees by the hindquarters of the prostrate camel; and, taking one of the teats in his mouth, commenced drawing forth the lacteal fluid which the udder contained.
The animal made no resistance. It might have wondered at the curious “calf” that had thus attached himself to his teats; but only at the oddness of his colour and costume; for no doubt it had often before been similarly served by its African owner.
“Fust rate!” cried Bill, desisting for a moment to take breath. “Ayqual to the richest crame; if we’d only a bite av bred to go along wi’ it, or some av your Scotch porritch, Master Colin. But I forgets. My brave youngsters,” continued he, rising up and standing to one side. “Yez be all hungrier than I am. Go it, wan after another; there’ll be enough for yez all.”
Thus invited, and impelled by their hungry cravings, the three, one after another, knelt down as the sailor had done; and drank copiously from that sweet “fountain of the desert.”
Taking it in turns, they continued “sucking”, until each had swallowed about a pint and a half of the nutritious fluid; when, the udder of the camel becoming dry, told that her supply of milk was, for the time, exhausted.
Chapter Fourteen.
The Sailor among the Shell-Fish.
It was no longer a question of slaying the camel. That would be killing the goose that gave the golden eggs. Though they were still very hungry the rich milk had to some extent taken the keen edge off their appetites; and all declared they could now go several hours without eating.
The next question was: where were they to go?
The reader may wonder that this was a question at all. Having been told that the camel carried a saddle, and was otherwise caparisoned, it will naturally be conjectured that the animal had got loose from some owner, and was simply straying. This was the very hypothesis that passed before the mind of our adventurers. How could they have conjectured otherwise?
Indeed it was scarce a guess. The circumstances told them to a certainty that the camel must have strayed from its owner. The only question was, where that owner might be found.
By reading, or otherwise, they possessed enough knowledge of the coast on which they had been cast away to know that the proprietor of the “stray” would be some kind of an Arab; and that he would be found living, not in a house or a town, but in a tent; in all likelihood associated with a number of other Arabs in an “encampment.”
It required not much reasoning to arrive at these conclusions, and our adventurers had come to them almost on that instant when they first set eyes on the caparisoned camel.
You may wonder that they did not instantly set forth in search of the master of the maherry; or of the tent or encampment from which the latter should have strayed. One might suppose that this would have been their first movement.
On the contrary, it was likely to be their very last; and for sufficient reasons which will be discovered in the conversation that ensued after they had swallowed their liquid breakfasts.
Terence had proposed adopting this course, that is, to go in search of the man from whom the maherry must have wandered. The young Irishman had never been a great reader, at all events no account of the many “lamentable shipwrecks on the Barbary coast” had ever fallen into his hands, and he knew nothing of the terrible reputation of its people. Neither had Bill obtained any knowledge of it from books; but, for all that, thanks to many a forecastle yarn, the old sailor was well informed both about the character of the coast on which they had suffered shipwreck, and its inhabitants. Bill had the best of reasons for dreading the denizens of the Saaran desert.
“Sure they’re not cannibals?” urged Terence. “They won’t eat us, anyhow?”
“In troth I’m not so shure av that, Masther Terry,” replied Bill. “Even supposin’ they won’t ate us, they’d do worse.”
“Worse!”
“Ay, worse, I tell you. They’d torture us, till death would be a blissin’.”
“How do you know they would?”
“Ach! Masther Terry!” sighed the old sailor, assuming an air of solemnity, such as his young comrades had never before witnessed upon his usually cheerful countenance; “I could tell yez something that ’ud convince ye av the truth av what I’ve been sayin’, an’ that’ll gie ye a hidear av what we’ve got to expect if we fall into the ’ands av these feerocious Ayrabs.”
Bill had already hinted at the prospective peril of a encounter with the people of the country.
“Tell us, Bill. What is it?”
“Well, young masthers, it beant much, only that my own brother was wrecked some ’ere on this same coast. That was ten years agone. He never returned to owld Hingland.”
“Perhaps he was drowned?”
“Betther for ’im, poor boy, if he ’ad. No, he ’adn’t that luck. The crew—it was a tradin’ vessel, and there was tin o’ them—all got safe ashore. They were taken prisoners as they landed, by a lot o’ Ayrabs. Only one av the tin got home to tell the tale; and he wouldn’t a ’ad a chance but for a Jew merchant at Mogador that found he ’ad rich relations as ’ud pay well to ransom him. I see him a wee while after he got back to Hingland; and he tell me what he had to go through, and my hown brother as well; for Jim, that be my brother’s name, was with the tribe as took ’im up the counthry. None o’ yez iver heerd o’ cruelties like they ’ad to put up with. Death in any way would be aisy compared to what they ’ad to hendure. Poor Jim! I suppose he’s dead long ago. Tough as I be myself, I don’t believe I could a stood it a week, let alone tin years. Talk o’ knockin’ about like a Turk’s head. They were knocked about an’ beat an’ bullied an’ kicked an’ starved worse than the laziest lubber as ever skulked about the decks o’ a ship. No, Masther Terry! we mustn’t think av thryin’ to find the owner av the beest; but do everythink we can to keep out av the way av both him an’ his.”
“What would you advise us to do, Bill?”
“I don’t know much ’bout where we be,” replied the sailor; “but wheresomever it is, our best plan are to hug by the coast, an’ keep within sight o’ the water. If we go inard, we’re sure to get lost one way or t’other. By keepin’ south’ard we may come to some thradin’ port av the Portagee.”
“We’d better start at once, then,” suggested the impatient Terence.
“No, Masther Terry,” said the sailor; “not afore night. We mustn’t leave ’eer till it gets dark. We’ll ’ave to thravel betwane two days.”
“What!” simultaneously exclaimed the three midshipmen. “Stay here till night! Impossible!”
“Ay, lads! an’ we must hide, too. Shure as you are livin’ there’ll be somebody afther this sthray kaymal, in a wee while, too, as ye’ll see. If we ventured out durin’ the daylight they’d be shure to see us from the ’ills. It’s sayed, the thievin’ schoundrels always keep watch when there’s been a wreck upon the coast; an’ I’ll be bound this beest belongs to some av them same wreckers.”
“But what shall we do for food?” asked one of the party; “we’ll be famished before nightfall! The camel, having nothing to eat or drink, won’t yield any more milk.”
This interrogative conjecture was probably too near the truth. No one made answer to it. Colin’s eyes were again turned towards the beach. Once more he directed the thoughts of his comrades to the shell-fish.
“Hold your hands, youngsters,” said the sailor. “Lie close ’eer behind the ’ill; an’ I’ll see if there’s any shell-fish that we can make a meal av. Now that the sun’s up, it won’t do to walk down there. I must make a crawl av it.”
So saying, the old salt, after skulking some distance farther down the sand gully, threw himself flat upon his face, and advanced in this attitude like some gigantic lizard crawling across the sand.
The tide was out, but the wet beach, lately covered by the sea, commenced at a short distance from the base of the dunes.
After a ten minutes’ struggle, Bill succeeded in reaching the dark-looking spot, where Colin had conjectured there might be shell-fish.
The old sailor was soon seen busily engaged about something; and from his movements it was evident that his errand was not to prove fruitless. His hands were extended in different directions; and then at short intervals withdrawn, and plunged into the capacious pockets of his pea-jacket.
After these gestures had been continued for about half an hour, he was seen to “slew” himself round, and come crawling back towards the sand-hills.
His return was effected more slowly than his departure; and it could be seen that he was heavily weighted.
On getting back into the gorge, he was at once relieved of his load; which proved to consist of about three hundred “cockles”, as he called the shell-fish he had collected, and which were found to be a species of mussel.
They were not only edible, but delicious, at least they seemed so to those who were called upon to swallow them.
This seasonable supply did a great deal towards allaying the appetites of all; and even Terence now declared himself contented to remain concealed until night should afford them an opportunity of escape from the monotony of their situation.
Chapter Fifteen.
Keeping under Cover.
From the spot, where the camel still lay couched in his “entetherment”, the sea was not visible to one lying along the ground. It was only by standing erect and looking over a spur of the sand-ridge that the beach could be seen, and the ocean beyond it.
There would be no danger, therefore, of their being discovered, by any one coming along the strand, provided they kept in a crouching attitude behind the ridge, which, sharply crested, like a snow-wreath, formed a sort of parapet in front of them. They might have been easily seen from the summit of any of the dunes to the rear; but there was not much likelihood of any one approaching them in that direction. The country inward appeared to be a labyrinth of sand-hills, with no opening that would indicate a passage for either man or beast. The camel, in all probability, had taken to the gorge, guided by its instincts, there to seek shelter from the sandstorm. The fact of its carrying a saddle showed that its owner must have been upon the march at the time it escaped from him. Had our adventurers been better acquainted with Saaran customs, they would have concluded that this had been the case; for they would have known that, on the approach of a shumu, the forecasts of which are well-known, the Bedouins at once and in all haste break up their encampment and put themselves and their whole personal property in motion. Otherwise, they would be in danger of getting smoored under the settling sand-drift.
Following the counsels of the sailor, whose desert knowledge appeared as extensive as if it, and not the sea, had been his habitual home, our adventurers crouched down in such a way as not to be seen by any one passing along the beach.
Scarcely had they placed themselves in this humble attitude when Old Bill, who had been keeping watch all the while, with only the upper half of his head elevated above the combing of the sand-wreath, announced, by a low exclamation, that something was in sight.
Two dark forms were seen coming along the shore, from the southward; but at so great a distance that it was impossible to tell what sort of creatures they might turn out.
“Let me have a look,” proposed Colin. “By good luck, I’ve got my glass. It was in my pocket as we escaped from the ship; and I didn’t think of throwing it away.”
As the young Scotchman spoke, he took from the breast of his dreadnought jacket, a small telescope, which, when drawn out to its full extent, exhibited a series of tubes, en échelon, about half a yard in length. Directing it upon the dark objects, at the same time taking the precaution to keep his own head as low as possible, he at once proclaimed their character.
“They’re two bonny bodies,” said he, “dressed in all the colours of the rainbow. I can see bright shawls, and red caps and striped cloaks. One is mounted on a horse; the other bestrides a camel, just such a one as this by our side. They’re coming along slowly, and appear to be staring about them.”
“Ah, that be hit,” said Old Bill. “It be the howners of this ’eer brute. They be on the sarch for her. Lucky the drift-sand had covered her tracks, else they’d come right on to us. Lie low, Masther Colin. We mayn’t show our heeds over the combin’ o’ the sand. They’d be sure to see the size o’ a saxpence. We maun keep awthegither oot o’ sicht.”
One of the old sailor’s peculiarities—or, perhaps, it may have been an eccentricity—was, that in addressing himself to his companions, he was almost sure to assume the national patois of the individual spoken to. In anything like a continued conversation with Harry Blount, his “h’s” were handled in a most unfashionable manner; and while talking with Terence, the Milesian came from his lips in a brogue almost as pure as Tipperary could produce.
In a tête-à-tête with Colin, the listener might have sworn that Bill was more Scotch than the young Macpherson himself.
Colin perceived the justice of the sailor’s suggestion; and immediately ducked his head below the level of the parapet of sand.
This placed our adventurers in a position at once irksome and uncertain. Curiosity, if nothing else, rendered them desirous to watch the movements of the men who were approaching. Without noting these, they would not be able to tell when they might again raise their heads above the ridge; and might do so, just at the time when the horseman and the rider of the maherry were either opposite or within sight of them.
As the sailor had said, any dark object of the size of a sixpence would be seen if presented above the smooth combing of snow-white sand; and it was evident to all that for one of them to look over it might lead to their being discovered.
While discussing this point, they knew that some time had elapsed; and, although the eyes they dreaded might still be distant, they could not help thinking, that they were near enough to see them if only the hair of their heads should be shown above the sand.
They reflected naturally. They knew that these sons of the desert must be gifted with keen instincts; or, at all events, with an experience that would enable them to detect the slightest “fault” in the aspect of a landscape, so well-known to them, in short, that they would notice anything that might appear “abnormal” in it.
From that time their situation was one of doubt and anxiety. They dared not give even as much as a glance over the smooth, snow-white sand. They could only crouch behind it, in anxious expectation; knowing not when that dubious condition of things could be safely brought to a close.
Luckily they were relieved from it, and sooner than they had expected. Colin it was who discovered a way to get out of the difficulty.
“Ha!” exclaimed he, as an ingenious conception sprang up in his mind. “I’ve got an idea that’ll do. I’ll watch these fellows, without giving them a chance of seeing me. That will I.”
“How?” asked the others.
Colin made no verbal reply; but instead, he was seen to insert his telescope into the sand-parapet, in such a way that its tube passed clear through to the other side, and of course commanded a view of the beach, along which the two forms were advancing.
As soon as he had done so, he placed his eye to the glass, and in a cautious whisper announced that both the horseman and camel-rider were within his “field of view.”