"I will make the attempt," I added.
"But you must carry the plan as well as the letter, and start before
daybreak," said the colonel.
"I am ready," I replied. I set but little value upon my life, for,
truth to tell, I was utterly reckless now Valerie was false to me.
In the grey hour before the dawn I left the camp. I had exchanged my
scarlet trousers and gilt-braided tunic for a shapeless white burnouse,
and about my head wore a haick, around which was twisted many yards of
brown camel's hair; my face had been effectually dyed a deep brown, I
had assumed a flowing black beard, and my bare feet were thrust into
rough slippers. Any one who had met the inoffensive Arab trader from El
Biodh, would scarcely have suspected him to be an officer of the
Chasseurs d'Afrique, and a well-known figure in drawing-rooms of the
Avenue de Champs Elysees.
Mounted on a camel, with well-filled bags across my saddle, I rode
slowly along, over the rough stony desert, eastward, guided only by the
streak of yellow light that heralded the dawn.
Far away upon the horizon was a low range of hills, at the foot of which
the Kel-Ahamellen were encamped.
I knew it was useless to evade passing through their lines by taking a
circuitous route, and had decided that it would be safer to act boldly,
and endeavour to pass through their headquarters.
For hours I rode wearily onward. The pitiless rays of the blazing sun
beat down upon the loose, parched earth, and their reflection almost
blinded me. Not a breath of wind cooled the atmosphere, but, on the
contrary, the blasts which ever and anon blew over the Great Sahara,
whirling up dense clouds of sand, were like whiffs of hot air from a
furnace.
The sun travelled its course, and sank behind me with a blood-red, angry
glare that bathed the desert and mountains with brilliant tints. By
shading my eyes with my hands, I could now distinguish that I was
approaching the settlement of the hostile tribe, and could make out
their scattered tents.
As I looked, I saw four figures approaching. They grew nearer rapidly.
Then I saw they were mounted Arabs, galloping with all speed towards me.
They were standing in the stirrups in the manner peculiar to the
Bedouins of the Great Desert, and, with their long rifles carried high
above their heads and their white burnouses flowing behind, were bearing
down upon me.
Drawing a long breath, I collected all the courage I possessed.
A few minutes later, with wild yells, the brown-visaged quartette rode
up to me, addressing rapidly-uttered questions in Arabic, which I
answered coolly.
I told them that I had no sympathy with war, that I was a trader from El
Biodh, and that my destination was In Salah, where I constantly had
commercial transactions.
"But how camest thou here?" asked the great black-bearded fellow who had
first addressed me, as he fixed his keen eyes upon mine.
"I rode," I replied in Arabic, a language in which I was fortunately
proficient. "Allah hath protected me."
"Didst thou not see the red-legged French dogs?"
"Yes, I passed them yesterday. There are thousands of them."
This statement seemed to cause them considerable dismay. They held a
hurried conversation in an undertone, and then informed me that I should
have to go before the Sheikh.
An hour later, I was taken before the chief of the tribe, who was seated
cross-legged on a mat outside his tent. He was a grey-bearded,
wizen-faced old man, whose eyes had lost none of the dark brilliance of
youth, and whose teeth shone white in contrast with his red lips and
sun-tanned yellow face. As I was led up to him, and the manner in which
I had been discovered explained, he slowly removed his long pipe from
his mouth, and regarded me critically.
"Thou sayest the French, the accursed offspring of Eblis, are numerous?
Where didst thou see them?"
"In an oasis near Tighehert."
"Ah! thine accent! Thou speakest French, then?"
"Yes, father," I replied; "I learned it in Algiers."
He grunted dubiously, and, turning to a great brawny giant who stood
among the followers who crowded around him leaning upon their guns,
uttered a few guttural words.
"Did not the sons of offal stop thee?" he inquired. "Relate unto me all
thou knowest about them."
"I know nothing," I replied, bowing submissively. "I merely passed,
having satisfied them that I was not a spy. I had no object in
interesting myself in the movements of infidels."
The old Sheikh replaced his chibouk between his lips and continued
smoking in thoughtful silence, having fixed his gaze intently upon me.
"Hum!" he grunted.
Then he proceeded to interrogate me regarding my ride from El Biodh. My
replies, however, did not apparently remove his suspicions, and he
smiled sarcastically now and then, at the same time watching
contemplatively the thin columns of blue smoke that rose from his pipe.
Suddenly he turned, and, addressing the men who had ridden out to meet
me, gave orders that I should be searched.
I stood silently by, watching the men turn out and examine closely the
contents of my saddlebags, and the food I was carrying. Then they
proceeded to search my pockets, compelling me to raise my arms above my
head.
_Peste_! Fate was again unpropitious!
As I raised my hands, my loose burnouse fell from my arms, leaving them
bare, and disclosing that they were white!
"Ah!" cried the Sheikh, his bright eyes flashing with anger. "So thou
art a spy! Thou, son of a dog, seekest the overthrow of Allah's
chosen!"
"My father," I cried, "I--I am not a spy. Behold! I have neither knife
nor gun. Is it not written that the One Worthy of Praise showeth mercy
only to the merciful?"
"Seize the dog! Take him away, and let him be shot at dawn, as soon as
there is sufficient light to distinguish a black thread from a white,"
the old rebel commanded with a wave of his sun-tanned hand.
Then, rising, he cast aside his pipe impatiently, and was about to enter
his tent, when his passage was barred by a veiled girl in rich silks and
gauzes, who stood for a moment gazing at me. Her _adjar_, although
concealing her face, left visible a fine pair of sparkling black eyes,
and a forehead that had been plentifully bedaubed with powder in the
manner of Eastern women. Rows of golden sequins hung upon her brow, and
upon her wrists and bare ankles were jingling bangles.
"Hold!" she cried in a commanding tone, raising her bare arm and
addressing the Sheikh. "Though innocent of any crime, thou hast
condemned him to die. Is it not written in the Book of Everlasting Will
that mercy should be shown unto the weak?"
"He is a Roumi, and his tribe will be consumed by the unquenchable fire
in Al-Hawiyat," answered the chief of the rebels.
"Of a verity thou speakest the truth," she said. "But is it not also
written that thou shalt not transgress by attacking the infidel first,
for Allah loveth not the transgressors."
"I have spoken!" roared the Sheikh in anger. "Seek not to argue, but
return unto thy divan. The son of a dog shall die!" and, pushing her
roughly aside, he strode into his tent amid the murmured approbation of
the crowd of dark-visaged horsemen who had assembled.
"Brothers," she cried in a voice that betrayed her agitation, "the Roumi
now before thee hath fallen into our hands, therefore we should show him
mercy. I, Halima Fathma, daughter of thy Sheikh,--upon whom may the One
Merciful pour abundant blessing--appeal unto thee on his behalf. Wilt
thou not release him, and lift from my heart the weight which oppresseth
it?"
In the silence that followed, she gazed appealingly around.
"No," they answered, when they had whispered among themselves. "Our
Sheikh hath condemned the spy. He seeketh to betray us, and must die."
"I am hungry," I cried, as, after further vain argument, the Sheikh's
daughter was turning away. "It is permissible, I suppose, to have a
last meal?"
Saying this, I stopped, and, picking up the small loaf which the Arabs
had taken from my saddle-bag, commenced to eat it with a coolness which
apparently astonished the group of freebooters of the plains.
Through that balmy moonlit night I remained where my captors had left
me, bound to a palm tree in the vicinity of the settlement. Hour after
hour I waited alone, watching the beauty of the Oriental sky, and
longing for the end. I knew I should receive no quarter--that ere the
sun rose I should be shot down, and my body left to the vultures. My
thoughts reverted to my boyhood, to my gay, reckless career in Paris,
and most of all to Valerie.
The moon was fast disappearing, and I was calmly watching for the
steely-grey light which in the desert is precursory of dawn, when
suddenly I heard a footstep. The person was concealed behind some huge
boulders, and I concluded that it was one of my captors who had mounted
guard over me.
Yet, as I listened, the steps sounded too stealthy, like those of a
light-footed thief. I stood breathless in wonderment, when suddenly a
slim, white-robed figure crept from behind the rocks, and advanced
towards me.
It was an Arab youth. He placed his finger upon his lips, indicative of
silence.
As he came up to me, I gazed at him in surprise, for his haick concealed
his face.
"Hush!" he whispered in Arabic; "make no noise, or we may be discovered.
It is cruel that a brave officer like thyself should be murdered," he
added. "I have come to save thee."
"How didst thou know I was an officer?"
"Ask no questions," he replied. And drawing a keen knife from beneath
his burnouse, he severed the cords that bound me.
"Thou art free," he said. "Come, follow me."
Picking up the bread I had not eaten, I thrust it into my pocket, and
followed my unknown friend up a stony path that led into a narrow
mountain pass. When some distance from the settlement, we came to a
clump of trees, to one of which was tethered my camel.
"Quick! Mount and ride away," he urged. "Keep straight through the
pass, and when thou gainest the desert, turn at once towards the north.
A day's journey from here will bring thee unto the encampment of thy
comrades."
"Only a day's journey!" I cried. "To what do I owe the sudden interest
that the daughter of the Sheikh hath taken in my welfare?" I asked,
laughing.
"I know not. Women have such strange caprices sometimes. But get away
quickly," he urged. "Lose not a moment, or thou wilt be overtaken.
_Slama. Alah iselemeck_!"
Turning from me, he hurried away; not, however, before I had discerned
in the faint grey light that the face, half hidden by the spotless haick
surrounding it, was beardless, evidently that of a woman. Was it Halima
herself?
At first I was prompted to follow and ascertain; but next second I saw
the grave risks we both were running, and, mounting my swift _meheri_,
started off at a gallop over the rough stones and dunes of loose,
treacherous sand.
Suddenly the crack of a rifle startled me. Then, as I glanced back, I
saw, to my amazement and dismay, the slim, burnoused figure lying in a
heap upon the stones; while three yelling, gesticulating Arabs were
standing over it, cursing, brandishing their knives and shaking their
fists. Evidently they had shot my rescuer!
To linger, however, would mean death. Therefore, on emerging from the
pass, I took the route described by the mysterious person who had given
me my freedom; galloping over the trackless desert in a northerly
direction, with eyes eager to discern the encampment of Spahis and
Zouaves.
Before nightfall I was safe within the French lines, relating to General
Le Pelletier the events of my journey, and explaining the perilous
position of the 39th Regiment.
"But you mentioned something of dispatches, and a plan of the country?"
he said.
"Yes; I have them here," I replied.
Then, taking from my pocket the half-eaten roll of bread, I broke it,
and took therefrom two small pieces of paper.
One was a map in miniature, showing the route he was to travel, and the
other the dispatch.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"We are close upon them now," I remarked to an officer riding by my side
on the next night. "They'll fight like demons."
Hardly had the words passed my lips, before wild yells of rage rent the
air on every side; and ere we could realise it, we had surprised the
encampment of the Kel-Ahamellen, and rifles flashed on every side.
I need not describe the desperate hand-to-hand conflict in the darkness.
Suffice it to say, that we punished the tribe for their temerity in
sentencing me to death.
When in the early morning, after a severe engagement, we walked among
the ruins of the tents and heaps of dead, I searched diligently for
Halima, being aided by a dozen other officers and men. But we did not
discover her; and I became convinced that my worst fears were realised,
and that she had fallen a victim to the relentless vengeance of her
people.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nearly two years elapsed before I again trod the asphalte of my beloved
Paris.
A few weeks after my return to civilisation, I attended a ball at the
German Embassy. I had been dancing, and was taking my partner, a rather
skittish widow, into the supper-room, when I accidentally stepped upon
and rent the dress-train of a dark-haired girl, who, leaning upon the
arm of an elderly man, was walking before me.
She turned, and I bowed my apologies. The words died from my lips.
The woman, whose flower-trimmed dress I had torn, was Valerie! It was a
mutual recognition; but neither of us spoke.
Half an hour later, however, I was sitting alone with her. To my fierce
demands for an explanation of the sudden breaking off of her
communications, she replied boldly, and with such an air of veracity
that I hated myself for having spoken so harshly.
Judge my joy when she told me she was still unmarried, that the
paragraph in the _Figaro_ was unauthorised, and that it had been
inserted by some unknown enemy, during her absence from Paris.
"Then you are not Madame Delbet?" I cried, with ill-concealed delight.
"Certainly not; M'sieur Delbet is an old friend of our family, that is
all," she replied, laughing. "After you left Oran, I could not write,
as you were away in the desert. I read of your adventures and your
bravery in the newspapers, but did not know where a letter would find
you; therefore, I left all explanations of my enforced silence until
your return."
"And--you still love me?" I asked, with trepidation, placing my arm
tenderly around her slim waist, and drawing her towards me.
"Of course. But, _mon cher_, you have never doubted me, have you?"
"No," I replied, after an awkward pause, gazing fondly into her eyes.
"But now I have gained my promotion, will you become my wife?"
Her answer was affirmative, and we sealed our compact with a kiss.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Would that I could omit this last and terrible chapter of my biography.
But no! The hideous story must be related to its bitter end, to serve
as warning to others.
Through closed windows and drawn curtains was borne the solemn clang of
a bell in a church tower in the Avenue de Villiers, recording the death
of to-day and the birth of to-morrow. A simple canary in its gilded
cage, mistaking for morning sunshine the soft glow of electricity, as it
filtered through its shade of orange silk, chirped a matin song in
shrill staccato. A tiny slippered foot nervously patted the sleek fur
of the tiger rug beneath it, a strong arm girt a slender waist; and,
between the solemn strokes of the church bell, and the cheery passages
of the bird-song, quick, passionate kisses alone stirred the scented
air.
The man spoke. It was Rene Delbet!
"I must go now, darling," he said. "We have both braved too much
already. He may return at any moment."
"And if he did?" Valerie asked defiantly.
"He might at least--suspect."
"Suspect?" and she laughed a chorus to the canary. "He doesn't know
what suspicion means. He would trust me with Mephistopheles himself.
Should he find you here, he would only thank you for entertaining me.
He's the most easy-going fellow in the world."
The man smiled, released his companion from his embrace, and rose from
the settee, upon which the two had been seated.
"I'm afraid, my dear," he said, "that you presume too much upon his
confidence. There is no cord so elastic that it will not snap."
I waited for no more, but burst into the room, having, in my frenzy of
madness, drawn a revolver from my pocket.
"_Diable_! You?" cried Delbet, starting up in alarm.
"Ah, my husband!" gasped Valerie, covering her blanched face with her
hands.
"_Sacre_! You shall die!" I shouted.
The tolling bell throbbed once again, and then--a short, sharp, loud
report and a flash together. A little puff of blue-grey smoke floated
ceilingward, a man's frightened cry pierced the night, and upon the
harmonious colours of the flower-strewn carpet Valerie lay dead.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rushing to my wife's boudoir, I broke open her escritoire, bent upon
ascertaining the nature of any letters she might have concealed there.
There were many. Ah, _Dieu_! When I think of the passionate
love-missives penned by the man whom I had implicitly trusted, and
admitted to my home as a friend, my brain is lashed to frenzy.
One discovery I made was startling. Several of the letters bore the
stamp of twenty-five centimes, and their envelopes were addressed to
"Mademoiselle Halima Fathma, care of Hadj Hassan, Douera Algerie."
Searching further, I discovered a full-length cabinet photograph, taken
in Algiers. It was of Valerie dressed as the Sheikh's daughter, with
the exception that the _adjar_, which had hidden the Arab girl's face,
had been removed.
In my surprise I almost forgot the terrible tragedy.
Continuing the investigation of the odds and ends in her private drawer,
I found an Arab head ornament and several bracelets. The pattern of the
crescent-shaped sequins I recognised as the same as those worn by the
mysterious Halima.
These discoveries, combined with the contents of the letters which I
hastily scanned, left no doubt that Halima and Valerie were the same
person; and, further, that Hassan, the wealthy Sheikh of the Ahamellen,
who had a house at Douera, was really her father; and that Monsieur de
Noirville had brought her up, and educated her to the ways of civilised
society.
When I had left for Algeria, it had been her caprice to follow me, and
rejoin her people.
She had saved my life, yet I had killed her.
But though so fair, she was false--_false_!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bah! How infernally bitter this cognac is!
One more gulp, and my body and soul will have parted. I shall be at
rest.
Ah, well! Here's health to the cursed scoundrel who has wrecked my
life. The glass is drained. The sediment was like gall.
How it burns!
I--I go. I trouble no one longer. _Au revoir. Adieu_!