<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></SPAN>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“W</span>HAT’S the meaning of this, Mansoor?” cried Belmont harshly. “Who are
these people, and why are you standing staring as if you had lost your
senses?”</p>
<p>The dragoman made an effort to compose himself, and licked his dry lips
before he answered.</p>
<p>“I do not know who they are,” said he in a quavering voice.</p>
<p>“Who they are?” cried the Frenchman. “You can see who they are.
They are armed men upon camels, Ababdeh, Bishareen—Bedouins, in short,
such as are employed by the Government upon the frontier.”</p>
<p>“Be Jove, he may be right, Cochrane,” said Belmont, looking inquiringly
at the Colonel. “Why shouldn’t it be as he says? why shouldn’t these
fellows be friendlies?”</p>
<p>“There are no friendlies upon this side of the river,” said the Colonel
abruptly; “I am perfectly certain about that. There is no use in
mincing matters. We must prepare for the worst.”</p>
<p>But in spite of his words, they stood stock-still, in a huddled group,
staring out over the plain. Their nerves were numbed by the sudden
shock, and to all of them it was like a scene in a dream, vague,
impersonal, and un-real. The men upon the camels had streamed out from
a gorge which lay a mile or so distant on the side of the path along
which they had travelled. Their retreat, therefore, was entirely cut
off. It appeared, from the dust and the length of the line, to be quite
an army which was emerging from the hills, for seventy men upon camels
cover a considerable stretch of ground. Having reached the sandy plain,
they very deliberately formed to the front, and then at the harsh call
of a bugle they trotted forward in line, the parti-coloured figures all
swaying and the sand smoking in a rolling yellow cloud at the heels of
their camels. At the same moment the six black soldiers doubled in from
the front with their Martinis at the trail, and snuggled down like
well-trained skirmishers behind the rocks upon the haunch of the hill.
Their breech blocks all snapped together as their corporal gave them the
order to load.</p>
<p>And now suddenly the first stupor of the excursionists passed away, and
was succeeded by a frantic and impotent energy. They all ran about upon
the plateau of rock in an aimless, foolish flurry, like frightened fowls
in a yard. They could not bring themselves to acknowledge that there
was no possible escape for them. Again and again they rushed to the
edge of the great cliff which rose from the river, but the youngest and
most daring of them could never have descended it. The two women clung
one on each side of the trembling Mansoor, with a feeling that he was
officially responsible for their safety. When he ran up and down in his
desperation, his skirts and theirs all fluttered together. Stephens,
the lawyer, kept close to Sadie Adams, muttering mechanically, “Don’t be
alarmed, Miss Sadie; don’t be at all alarmed!” though his own limbs were
twitching with agitation. Monsieur Fardet stamped about with a guttural
rolling of r’s, glancing angrily at his companions as if they had in
some way betrayed him; while the fat clergyman stood with his umbrella
up, staring stolidly with big, frightened eyes at the camel-men.
Cecil Brown curled his small, prim moustache, and looked white, but
contemptuous. The Colonel, Belmont, and the young Harvard graduate were
the three most cool-headed and resourceful members of the party.</p>
<p>“Better stick together,” said the Colonel. “There’s no escape for us,
so we may as well remain united.”</p>
<p>“They’ve halted,” said Belmont.</p>
<p>“They are reconnoitring us. They know very well that there is no escape
from them, and they are taking their time. I don’t see what we can do.”</p>
<p>“Suppose we hide the women,” Headingly suggested. “They can’t know how
many of us are here. When they have taken us, the women can come out of
their hiding-place and make their way back to the boat.”</p>
<p>“Admirable!” cried Colonel Cochrane. “Admirable! This way, please, Miss
Adams. Bring the ladies here, Mansoor. There is not an instant to be
lost.”</p>
<p>There was a part of the plateau which was invisible from the plain, and
here in feverish haste they built a little cairn. Many flaky slabs of
stone were lying about, and it did not take long to prop the largest of
these against a rock, so as to make a lean-to, and then to put two
side-pieces to complete it. The slabs were of the same colour as the
rock, so that to a casual glance the hiding-place was not very visible.
The two ladies were squeezed into this, and they crouched together,
Sadie’s arms thrown round her aunt. When they had walled them up, the
men turned with lighter hearts to see what was going on. As they did so
there rang out the sharp, peremptory crack of a rifle-shot from the
escort, followed by another and another, but these isolated shots were
drowned in the long, spattering roll of an irregular volley from the
plain, and the air was full of the phit-phit-phit of the bullets.
The tourists all huddled behind the rocks, with the exception of the
Frenchman, who still stamped angrily about, striking his sun-hat with
his clenched hand. Belmont and Cochrane crawled down to where the
Soudanese soldiers were firing slowly and steadily, resting their rifles
upon the boulders in front of them.</p>
<p>The Arabs had halted about five hundred yards away, and it was evident
from their leisurely movements that they were perfectly aware that there
was no possible escape for the travellers. They had paused to ascertain
their number before closing in upon them. Most of them were firing from
the backs of their camels, but a few had dismounted and were kneeling
here and there—little shimmering white spots against the golden
back-ground. Their shots came sometimes singly in quick, sharp throbs,
and sometimes in a rolling volley, with a sound like a boy’s stick drawn
across iron railings. The hill buzzed like a bee-hive, and the bullets
made a sharp crackling as they struck against the rocks.</p>
<p>“You do no good by exposing yourself,” said Belmont, drawing Colonel
Cochrane behind a large jagged boulder, which already furnished a
shelter for three of the Soudanese. “A bullet is the best we have to
hope for,” said Cochrane grimly. “What an infernal fool I have been,
Belmont, not to protest more energetically against this ridiculous
expedition! I deserve whatever I get, but it <i>is</i> hard on these poor
souls who never knew the danger.”</p>
<p>“I suppose there’s no help for us?”</p>
<p>“Not the faintest.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you think this firing might bring the troops up from Halfa?”</p>
<p>“They’ll never hear it. It is a good six miles from here to the
steamer. From that to Halfa would be another five.”</p>
<p>“Well, when we don’t return, the steamer will give the alarm.”</p>
<p>“And where shall we be by that time?”</p>
<p>“My poor Norah! My poor little Norah!” muttered Belmont, in the depths
of his grizzled moustache.</p>
<p>“What do you suppose that they will do with us, Cochrane?” he asked
after a pause.</p>
<p>“They may cut our throats, or they may take us as slaves to Khartoum.
I don’t know that there is much to choose. There’s one of us out of his
troubles anyhow.”</p>
<p>The soldier next them had sat down abruptly, and leaned forward over his
knees. His movement and attitude were so natural that it was hard to
realise that he had been shot through the head. He neither stirred nor
groaned. His comrades bent over him for a moment, and then, shrugging
their shoulders, they turned their dark faces to the Arabs once more.
Belmont picked up the dead man’s Martini and his ammunition-pouch.</p>
<p>“Only three more rounds, Cochrane,” said he, with the little brass
cylinders upon the palm of his hand. “We’ve let them shoot too soon,
and too often. We should have waited for the rush.”</p>
<p>“You’re a famous shot, Belmont,” cried the Colonel. “I’ve heard of you
as one of the cracks. Don’t you think you could pick off their leader?”</p>
<p>“Which is he?”</p>
<p>“As far as I can make out, it is that one on the white camel on their
right front. I mean the fellow who is peering at us from under his two
hands.”</p>
<p>Belmont thrust in his cartridge and altered the sights. “It’s a
shocking bad light for judging distance,” said he. “This is where the
low point-blank trajectory of the Lee-Metford comes in useful. Well,
we’ll try him at five hundred.” He fired, but there was no change in
the white camel or the peering rider.</p>
<p>“Did you see any sand fly?”</p>
<p>“No, I saw nothing.”</p>
<p>“I fancy I took my sight a trifle too full.”</p>
<p>“Try him again.”</p>
<p>Man and rifle and rock were equally steady, but again the camel and
chief remained un-harmed. The third shot must have been nearer, for he
moved a few paces to the right, as if he were becoming restless.
Belmont threw the empty rifle down, with an exclamation of disgust.</p>
<p>“It’s this confounded light,” he cried, and his cheeks flushed with
annoyance. “Think of my wasting three cartridges in that fashion!
If I had him at Bisley I’d shoot the turban off him, but this vibrating
glare means refraction. What’s the matter with the Frenchman?”</p>
<p>Monsieur Fardet was stamping about the plateau with the gestures of a
man who has been stung by a wasp. “<i>S’cre nom! S’cre nom!</i>” he
shouted, showing his strong white teeth under his black waxed moustache.
He wrung his right hand violently, and as he did so he sent a little
spray of blood from his finger-tips. A bullet had chipped his wrist.
Headingly ran out from the cover where he had been crouching, with the
intention of dragging the demented Frenchman into a place of safety, but
he had not taken three paces before he was himself hit in the loins, and
fell with a dreadful crash among the stones. He staggered to his feet,
and then fell again in the same place, floundering up and down like a
horse which has broken its back. “I’m done!” he whispered, as the
Colonel ran to his aid, and then he lay still, with his china-white
cheek against the black stones. When, but a year before, he had
wandered under the elms of Cambridge, surely the last fate upon this
earth which he could have predicted for himself would be that he should
be slain by the bullet of a fanatical Mohammedan in the wilds of the
Libyan Desert.</p>
<p>Meanwhile the fire of the escort had ceased, for they had shot away
their last cartridge. A second man had been killed, and a third—who
was the corporal in charge—had received a bullet in his thigh. He sat
upon a stone, tying up his injury with a grave, preoccupied look upon
his wrinkled black face, like an old woman piecing together a broken
plate. The three others fastened their bayonets with a determined
metallic rasp and snap, and the air of men who intended to sell their
lives dearly.</p>
<p>“They’re coming!” cried Belmont, looking over the plain.</p>
<p>“Let them come!” the Colonel answered, putting his hands into his
trouser-pockets. Suddenly he pulled one fist out, and shook it
furiously in the air. “Oh, the cads! the confounded cads!” he shouted,
and his eyes were congested with rage.</p>
<p>It was the fate of the poor donkey-boys which had carried the
self-contained soldier out of his usual calm. During the firing they
had remained huddled, a pitiable group, among the rocks at the base of
the hill. Now upon the conviction that the charge of the Dervishes must
come first upon them, they had sprung upon their animals with shrill,
inarticulate cries of fear, and had galloped off across the plain.
A small flanking-party of eight or ten camel-men had worked round while
the firing had been going on, and these dashed in among the flying
donkey-boys, hacking and hewing with a cold-blooded, deliberate
ferocity. One little boy, in a flapping Galabeeah, kept ahead of his
pursuers for a time, but the long stride of the camels ran him down, and
an Arab thrust his spear into the middle of his stooping back. The
small, white-clad corpses looked like a flock of sheep trailing over the
desert.</p>
<p>But the people upon the rock had no time to think of the cruel fate of
the donkey-boys. Even the Colonel, after that first indignant outburst,
had forgotten all about them. The advancing camel-men had trotted to
the bottom of the hill, had dismounted, and leaving their camels
kneeling, had rushed furiously onward. Fifty of them were clambering up
the path and over the rocks together, their red turbans appearing and
vanishing again as they scrambled over the boulders. Without a shot or
a pause they surged over the three black soldiers, killing one and
stamping the other two down under their hurrying feet. So they burst on
to the plateau at the top, where an unexpected resistance checked them
for an instant.</p>
<p>The travellers, nestling up against one another, had awaited, each after
his own fashion, the coming of the Arabs. The Colonel, with his hands
back in his trouser-pockets, tried to whistle out of his dry lips.
Belmont folded his arms and leaned against a rock, with a sulky frown
upon his lowering face. So strangely do our minds act that his three
successive misses, and the tarnish to his reputation as a marksman, was
troubling him more than his impending fate. Cecil Brown stood erect,
and plucked nervously at the up-turned points of his little prim
moustache. Monsieur Fardet groaned over his wounded wrist.
Mr. Stephens, in sombre impotence, shook his head slowly, the living
embodiment of prosaic law and order. Mr. Stuart stood, his umbrella
still over him, with no expression upon his heavy face, or in his
staring brown eyes. Headingly lay with that china-white cheek resting
motionless upon the stones. His sun-hat had fallen off, and he looked
quite boyish with his ruffled yellow hair and his un-lined, clean-cut
face. The dragoman sat upon a stone and played nervously with his
donkey-whip. So the Arabs found them when they reached the summit of
the hill.</p>
<p>And then, just as the foremost rushed to lay hands upon them, a most
unexpected incident arrested them. From the time of the first
appearance of the Dervishes the fat clergyman of Birmingham had looked
like a man in a cataleptic trance. He had neither moved nor spoken.
But now he suddenly woke at a bound into strenuous and heroic energy.
It may have been the mania of fear, or it may have been the blood of
some Berserk ancestor which stirred suddenly in his veins; but he broke
into a wild shout, and, catching up a stick, he struck right and left
among the Arabs with a fury which was more savage than their own.
One who helped to draw up this narrative has left it upon record that,
of all the pictures which have been burned into his brain, there is none
so clear as that of this man, his large face shining with perspiration,
and his great body dancing about with unwieldy agility, as he struck at
the shrinking, snarling savages. Then a spear-head flashed from behind
a rock with a quick, vicious, upward thrust, the clergyman fell upon his
hands and knees, and the horde poured over him to seize their
unresisting victims. Knives glimmered before their eyes, rude hands
clutched at their wrists and at their throats, and then, with brutal and
unreasoning violence, they were hauled and pushed down the steep winding
path to where the camels were waiting below. The Frenchman waved his
unwounded hand as he walked. “<i>Vive le Khalifa! Vive le Madhi!</i>” he
shouted, until a blow from behind with the butt-end of a Remington beat
him into silence.</p>
<p>And now they were herded in at the base of the Abousir rock, this little
group of modern types who had fallen into the rough clutch of the
seventh century—for in all save the rifles in their hands there was
nothing to distinguish these men from the desert warriors who first
carried the crescent flag out of Arabia. The East does not change, and
the Dervish raiders were not less brave, less cruel, or less fanatical
than their forebears. They stood in a circle, leaning upon their guns
and spears, and looking with exultant eyes at the dishevelled group of
captives. They were clad in some approach to a uniform, red turbans
gathered around the neck as well as the head, so that the fierce face
looked out of a scarlet frame; yellow, untanned shoes, and white tunics
with square brown patches let into them. All carried rifles, and one
had a small discoloured bugle slung over his shoulder. Half of them
were negroes—fine, muscular men, with the limbs of a jet Hercules; and
the other half were Baggara Arabs—small, brown, and wiry, with little,
vicious eyes, and thin, cruel lips. The chief was also a Baggara, but
he was a taller man than the others, with a black beard which came down
over his chest, and a pair of hard, cold eyes, which gleamed like glass
from under his thick, black brows. They were fixed now upon his
captives, and his features were grave with thought. Mr. Stuart had been
brought down, his hat gone, his face still flushed with anger, and his
trousers sticking in one part to his leg. The two surviving Soudanese
soldiers, their black faces and blue coats blotched with crimson, stood
silently at attention upon one side of this forlorn group of castaways.</p>
<p>The chief stood for some minutes, stroking his black beard, while his
fierce eyes glanced from one pale face to another along the miserable
line of his captives. In a harsh, imperious voice he said something
which brought Mansoor, the dragoman, to the front, with bent back and
outstretched supplicating palms. To his employers there had always
seemed to be something comic in that flapping skirt and short cover-coat
above it; but now, under the glare of the mid-day sun, with those faces
gathered round them, it appeared rather to add a grotesque horror to the
scene. The dragoman salaamed and salaamed like some ungainly automatic
doll, and then, as the chief rasped out a curt word or two, he fell
suddenly upon his face, rubbing his forehead into the sand, and flapping
upon it with his hands.</p>
<p>“What’s that, Cochrane?” asked Belmont. “Why is he making an exhibition
of himself?”</p>
<p>“As far as I can understand, it is all up with us,” the Colonel
answered.</p>
<p>“But this is absurd,” cried the Frenchman excitedly; “why should these
people wish any harm to me? I have never injured them. On the other
hand, I have always been their friend. If I could but speak to them, I
would make them comprehend. Hola, dragoman, Mansoor!”</p>
<p>The excited gestures of Monsieur Fardet drew the sinister eyes of the
Baggara chief upon him. Again he asked a curt question, and Mansoor,
kneeling in front of him, answered it.</p>
<p>“Tell him that I am a Frenchman, dragoman. Tell him that I am a friend
of the Khalifa. Tell him that my countrymen have never had any quarrel
with him, but that his enemies are also ours.”</p>
<p>“The chief asks what religion you call your own,” said Mansoor. “The
Khalifa, he says, has no necessity for any friendship from those who are
infidels and unbelievers.”</p>
<p>“Tell him that in France we look upon all religions as good.”</p>
<p>“The chief says that none but a blaspheming dog and the son of a dog
would say that all religions are one as good as the other. He says that
if you are indeed the friend of the Khalifa, you will accept the Koran
and become a true believer upon the spot. If you will do so he will
promise on his side to send you alive to Khartoum.”</p>
<p>“And if not?”</p>
<p>“You will fare in the same way as the others.”</p>
<p>“Then you may make my compliments to monsieur the chief, and tell him
that it is not the custom for Frenchmen to change their religion under
compulsion.”</p>
<p>The chief said a few words, and then turned to consult with a short,
sturdy Arab at his elbow.</p>
<p>“He says, Monsieur Fardet,” said the dragoman, “that if you speak again
he will make a trough out of you for the dogs to feed from. Say nothing
to anger him, sir, for he is now talking what is to be done with us.”</p>
<p>“Who is he?” asked the Colonel.</p>
<p>“It is Ali Wad Ibrahim, the same who raided last year, and killed all of
the Nubian village.”</p>
<p>“I’ve heard of him,” said the Colonel. “He has the name of being one of
the boldest and the most fanatical of all the Khalifa’s leaders. Thank
God that the women are out of his clutches.”</p>
<p>The two Arabs had been talking in that stern, restrained fashion which
comes so strangely from a southern race. Now they both turned to the
dragoman, who was still kneeling upon the sand. They plied him with
questions, pointing first to one and then to another of their prisoners.
Then they conferred together once more, and finally said something to
Mansoor, with a contemptuous wave of the hand to indicate that he might
convey it to the others.</p>
<p>“Thank Heaven, gentlemen, I think that we are saved for the present
time,” said Mansoor, wiping away the sand which had stuck to his
perspiring forehead. “Ali Wad Ibrahim says that though an unbeliever
should have only the edge of the sword from one of the sons of the
Prophet, yet it might be of more profit to the beit-el-mal at Omdurman
if it had the gold which your people will pay for you. Until it comes
you can work as the slaves of the Khalifa, unless he should decide to
put you to death. You are to mount yourselves upon the spare camels and
to ride with the party.”</p>
<p>The chief had waited for the end of the explanation. “Now he gave a
brief order, and a negro stepped forward with a long, dull-coloured
sword in his hand. The dragoman squealed like a rabbit who sees a
ferret, and threw himself frantically down upon the sand once more.</p>
<p>“What is it, Cochrane?” asked Cecil Brown—for the Colonel had served in
the East, and was the only one of the travellers who had a smattering of
Arabic.</p>
<p>“As far as I can make out, he says there is no use keeping the dragoman,
as no one would trouble to pay a ransom for him, and he is too fat to
make a good slave.”</p>
<p>“Poor devil!” cried Brown. “Here, Cochrane, tell them to let him go.
We can’t let him be butchered like this in front of us. Say that we
will find the money amongst us. I will be answerable for any reasonable
sum.”</p>
<p>“I’ll stand in as far as my means will allow,” cried Belmont.</p>
<p>“We will sign a joint bond or indemnity,” said the lawyer. “If I had a
paper and pencil I could throw it into shape in an instant, and the
chief could rely upon its being perfectly correct and valid.”</p>
<p>But the Colonel’s Arabic was insufficient, and Mansoor himself was too
maddened by fear to understand the offer which was being made for him.
The negro looked a question at the chief, and then his long black arm
swung upwards and his sword hissed over his shoulder. But the dragoman
had screamed out something which arrested the blow, and which brought
the chief and the lieutenant to his side with a new interest upon their
swarthy faces. The others crowded in also, and formed a dense circle
around the grovelling, pleading man.</p>
<p>The Colonel had not understood this sudden change, nor had the others
fathomed the reason of it, but some instinct flashed it upon Stephens’s
horrified perceptions.</p>
<p>“Oh, you villain!” he cried furiously. “Hold your tongue, you miserable
creature! Be silent! Better die—a thousand times better die!”</p>
<p>But it was too late, and already they could all see the base design by
which the coward hoped to save his own life. He was about to betray the
women. They saw the chief, with a brave man’s contempt upon his stern
face, make a sign of haughty assent, and then Mansoor spoke rapidly and
earnestly, pointing up the hill. At a word from the Baggara, a dozen of
the raiders rushed up the path and were lost to view upon the top.
Then came a shrill cry, a horrible strenuous scream of surprise and
terror, and an instant later the party streamed into sight again,
dragging the women in their midst. Sadie, with her young, active limbs,
kept up with them, as they sprang down the slope, encouraging her aunt
all the while over her shoulder. The older lady, struggling amid the
rushing white figures, looked with her thin limbs and open mouth like a
chicken being dragged from a coop.</p>
<p>The chief’s dark eyes glanced indifferently at Miss Adams, but gazed
with a smouldering fire at the younger woman. Then he gave an abrupt
order, and the prisoners were hurried in a miserable, hopeless drove to
the cluster of kneeling camels. Their pockets had already been
ransacked, and the contents thrown into one of the camel-food bags, the
neck of which was tied up by Ali Wad Ibrahim’s own hands.</p>
<p>“I say, Cochrane,” whispered Belmont, looking with smouldering eyes at
the wretched Mansoor, “I’ve got a little hip revolver which they have
not discovered. Shall I shoot that cursed dragoman for giving away the
women?”</p>
<p>The Colonel shook his head.</p>
<p>“You had better keep it,” said he, with a sombre face. “The women may
find some other use for it before all is over.”</p>
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