sails of the boats which these people use, but as they are all pirates,
we were very glad to be safely upon shore. Once or twice, too, by the
water's edge we saw dwarfish creatures--one could scarcely say if they
were men or monkeys--who burrow for homes among the seaweed, drink the
pools of brackish water, and eat what they can catch. These are the
fish-eaters, the Ichthyophagi, of whom old Herodotus talks--surely the
lowest of all the human race. Our Arabs shrank from them with horror,
for it is well known that, should you die in the desert, these little
people will settle on you like carrion crows, and leave not a bone
unpicked. They gibbered and croaked and waved their skinny arms at us as
we passed, knowing well that they could swim far out to sea if we
attempted to pursue them; for it is said that even the sharks turn with
disgust from their foul bodies.
"We had travelled in this way for ten days, camping every evening at the
vile wells which offered a small quantity of abominable water. It was
our habit to rise very early and to travel very late, but to halt during
the intolerable heat of the afternoon, when, for want of trees, we would
crouch in the shadow of a sandhill, or, if that were wanting, behind our
own camels and merchandise, in order to escape from the insufferable
glare of the sun. On the seventh day we were near the point where one
leaves the coast in order to strike inland to Macoraba. We had concluded
our midday halt, and were just starting once more, the sun still being
so hot that we could hardly bear it, when, looking up, I saw a
remarkable sight. Standing on a hillock to our right there was a man
about forty feet high, holding in his hand a spear which was the size
of the mast of a large ship. You look surprised, my friends, and you can
therefore imagine my feelings when I saw such a sight. But my reason
soon told me that the object in front of me was really a wandering Arab,
whose form had been enormously magnified by the strange distorting
effects which the hot air of the desert is able to cause.
"However, the actual apparition caused more alarm to my companions than
the imagined one had to me, for with a howl of dismay they shrank
together into a frightened group, all pointing and gesticulating as they
gazed at the distant figure. I then observed that the man was not alone,
but that from all the sandhills a line of turbaned heads was gazing down
upon us. The chief of the escort came running to me, and informed me of
the cause of their terror, which was that they recognised, by some
peculiarity in their headgear, that these men belonged to the tribe of
the Dilwas, the most ferocious and unscrupulous of the Bedouin, who had
evidently laid an ambuscade for us at this point with the intention of
seizing our caravan. When I thought of all my efforts in Abyssinia, of
the length of my journey and of the dangers and fatigues which I had
endured, I could not bear to think of this total disaster coming upon me
at the last instant and robbing me not only of my profits, but also of
my original outlay. It was evident, however, that the robbers were too
numerous for us to attempt to defend ourselves, and that we should be
very fortunate if we escaped with our lives. Sitting upon a packet,
therefore, I commended my soul to our blessed Saint Helena, while I
watched with despairing eyes the stealthy and menacing approach of the
Arab robbers.
"It may have been our own good fortune, or it may have been the handsome
offering of beeswax candles--four to the pound--which I had mentally
vowed to the Blessed Helena, but at that instant I heard a great outcry
of joy from among my own followers. Standing up on the packet that I
might have a better view, I was overjoyed to see a long caravan--five
hundred camels at least--with a numerous armed guard, coming along the
route from Macoraba. It is, I need not tell you, the custom of all
caravans to combine their forces against the robbers of the desert, and
with the aid of these new-comers we had become the stronger party. The
marauders recognised it at once, for they vanished as if their native
sands had swallowed them. Running up to the summit of a sandhill, I was
just able to catch a glimpse of a dust-cloud whirling away across the
yellow plain, with the long necks of their camels, the flutter of their
loose garments, and the gleam of their spears breaking out from the
heart of it. So vanished the marauders.
"Presently I found, however, that I had only exchanged one danger for
another. At first I had hoped that this new caravan might belong to some
Roman citizen, or at least to some Syrian Christian, but I found that it
was entirely Arab. The trading Arabs who are settled in the numerous
towns of Arabia are, of course, very much more peaceable than the
Bedouin of the wilderness, those sons of Ishmael of whom we read in Holy
Writ. But the Arab blood is covetous and lawless, so that when I saw
several hundred of them formed in a semi-circle round our camels,
looking with greedy eyes at my boxes of precious metals and my packets
of ostrich feathers, I feared the worst.
"The leader of the new caravan was a man of dignified bearing and
remarkable appearance. His age I would judge to be about forty. He had
aquiline features, a noble black beard, and eyes so luminous, so
searching, and so intense that I cannot remember in all my wanderings to
have seen any which could be compared with them. To my thanks and
salutations he returned a formal bow, and stood stroking his beard and
looking in silence at the wealth which had suddenly fallen into his
power. A murmur from his followers showed the eagerness with which they
awaited the order to fall upon the plunder, and a young ruffian, who
seemed to be on intimate terms with the leader, came to his elbow and
put the desires of his companions into words.
"'Surely, oh Reverend One,' said he, 'these people and their treasure
have been delivered into our hands. When we return with it to the holy
place, who of all the Koraish will fail to see the finger of God which
has led us?'
"But the leader shook his head. 'Nay, Ali, it may not be,' he answered.
'This man is, as I judge, a citizen of Rome, and we may not treat him as
though he were an idolater.'
"'But he is an unbeliever,' cried the youth, fingering a great knife
which hung in his belt. 'Were I to be the judge, he would lose not only
his merchandise, but his life also, if he did not accept the faith.'
"The older man smiled and shook his head. 'Nay, Ali; you are too
hot-headed,' said he, 'seeing that there are not as yet three hundred
faithful in the world, our hands would indeed be full if we were to take
the lives and property of all who are not with us. Forget not, dear lad,
that charity and honesty are the very nose-ring and halter of the true
faith.'
"'Among the faithful,' said the ferocious youth.
"'Nay, towards every one. It is the law of Allah. And yet'--here his
countenance darkened, and his eyes shone with a most sinister
light--'the day may soon come when the hour of grace is past, and woe,
then, to those who have not hearkened! Then shall the sword of Allah be
drawn, and it shall not be sheathed until the harvest is reaped. First
it shall strike the idolaters on the day when my own people and kinsmen,
the unbelieving Koraish, shall be scattered, and the three hundred and
sixty idols of the Caaba thrust out upon the dung-heaps of the town.
Then shall the Caaba be the home and temple of one God only who brooks
no rival on earth or in heaven.'
"The man's followers had gathered round him, their spears in their
hands, their ardent eyes fixed upon his face, and their dark features
convulsed with such fanatic enthusiasm as showed the hold which he had
upon their love and respect.
"'We shall be patient,' said he; 'but some time next year, the year
after, the day may come when the great angel Gabriel shall bear me the
message that the time of words has gone by, and that the hour of the
sword has come. We are few and weak, but if it is His will, who can
stand against us? Are you of Jewish faith, stranger?' he asked.
"I answered that I was not.
"'The better for you,' he answered, with the same furious anger in his
swarthy face. 'First shall the idolaters fall, and then the Jews, in
that they have not known those very prophets whom they had themselves
foretold. Then last will come the turn of the Christians, who follow
indeed a true Prophet, greater than Moses or Abraham, but who have
sinned in that they have confounded a creature with the Creator. To each
in turn--idolater, Jew, and Christian--the day of reckoning will come.'
"The ragamuffins behind him all shook their spears as he spoke. There
was no doubt about their earnestness, but when I looked at their
tattered dresses and simple arms, I could not help smiling to think of
their ambitious threats, and to picture what their fate would be upon
the day of battle before the battle-axes of our Imperial Guards, or the
spears of the heavy cavalry of the Armenian Themes. However, I need not
say that I was discreet enough to keep my thoughts to myself, as I had
no desire to be the first martyr in this fresh attack upon our blessed
faith.
"It was now evening, and it was decided that the two caravans should
camp together--an arrangement which was the more welcome as we were by
no means sure that we had seen the last of the marauders. I had invited
the leader of the Arabs to have supper with me, and after a long
exercise of prayer with his followers, he came to join me, but my
attempt at hospitality was thrown away, for he would not touch the
excellent wine which I had unpacked for him, nor would he eat any of my
dainties, contenting himself with stale bread, dried dates, and water.
After this meal we sat alone by the smouldering fire, the magnificent
arch of the heavens above us of that deep, rich blue with those
gleaming, clear-cut stars which can only be seen in that dry desert air.
Our camp lay before us, and no sound reached our ears save the dull
murmur of the voices of our companions and the occasional shrill cry of
a jackal among the sandhills around us. Face to face I sat with this
strange man, the glow of the fire beating upon his eager and imperious
features and reflecting from his passionate eyes. It was the strangest
vigil, and one which will never pass from my recollection. I have spoken
with many wise and famous men upon my travels, but never with one who
left the impression of this one.
"And yet much of his talk was unintelligible to me, though, as you are
aware, I speak Arabian like an Arab. It rose and fell in the strangest
way. Sometimes it was the babble of a child, sometimes the incoherent
raving of a fanatic, sometimes the lofty dreams of a prophet and
philosopher. There were times when his stories of demons, of miracles,
of dreams, and of omens, were such as an old woman might tell to please
the children of an evening. There were others when, as he talked with
shining face of his converse with angels, of the intentions of the
Creator, and the end of the universe, I felt as if I were in the company
of some one more than mortal, some one who was indeed the direct
messenger of the Most High.
"There were good reasons why he should treat me with such confidence. He
saw in me a messenger to Constantinople and to the Roman Empire. Even as
Saint Paul had brought Christianity to Europe, so he hoped that I might
carry his doctrines to my native city. Alas! be the doctrines what they
may, I fear that I am not the stuff of which Pauls are made. Yet he
strove with all his heart during that long Arabian night to bring me
over to his belief. He had with him a holy book, written, as he said,
from the dictation of an angel, which he carried in tablets of bone in
the nose-bag of a camel. Some chapters of this he read me; but, though
the precepts were usually good, the language seemed wild and fanciful.
There were times when I could scarce keep my countenance as I listened
to him. He planned out his future movements, and indeed, as he spoke, it
was hard to remember that he was only the wandering leader of an Arab
caravan, and not one of the great ones of the earth.
"'When God has given me sufficient power, which will be within a few
years,' said he, 'I will unite all Arabia under my banner. Then I will
spread my doctrine over Syria and Egypt. When this has been done, I will
turn to Persia, and give them the choice of the true faith or the sword.
Having taken Persia, it will be easy then to overrun Asia Minor, and so
to make our way to Constantinople.'
"I bit my lip to keep from laughing. 'And how long will it be before
your victorious troops have reached the Bosphorus?' I asked.
"'Such things are in the hands of God, whose servants we are,' said he.
'It may be that I shall myself have passed away before these things are
accomplished, but before the days of our children are completed, all
that I have now told you will come to pass. Look at that star,' he
added, pointing to a beautiful clear planet above our heads. 'That is
the symbol of Christ. See how serene and peaceful it shines, like His
own teaching and the memory of His life. Now,' he added, turning his
outstretched hand to a dusky red star upon the horizon--the very one on
which we are gazing now--'that is my star, which tells of wrath, of war,
of a scourge upon sinners. And yet both are indeed stars, and each does
as Allah may ordain.'
"Well, that was the experience which was called to my mind by the sight
of this star to-night. Red and angry, it still broods over the south,
even as I saw it that night in the desert. Somewhere down yonder that
man is working and striving. He may be stabbed by some brother fanatic
or slain in a tribal skirmish. If so, that is the end. But if he lives,
there was that in his eyes and in his presence which tells me that
Mahomet the son of Abdallah--for that was his name--will testify in some
noteworthy fashion to the faith that is in him."
X
THE SILVER MIRROR
_Jan. 3._--This affair of White and Wotherspoon's accounts proves to be
a gigantic task. There are twenty thick ledgers to be examined and
checked. Who would be a junior partner? However, it is the first big bit
of business which has been left entirely in my hands. I must justify it.
But it has to be finished so that the lawyers may have the result in
time for the trial. Johnson said this morning that I should have to get
the last figure out before the twentieth of the month. Good Lord! Well,
have at it, and if human brain and nerve can stand the strain, I'll win
out at the other side. It means office-work from ten to five, and then a
second sitting from about eight to one in the morning. There's drama in
an accountant's life. When I find myself in the still early hours, while
all the world sleeps, hunting through column after column for those
missing figures which will turn a respected alderman into a felon, I
understand that it is not such a prosaic profession after all.
On Monday I came on the first trace of defalcation. No heavy game hunter
ever got a finer thrill when first he caught sight of the trail of his
quarry. But I look at the twenty ledgers and think of the jungle through
which I have to follow him before I get my kill. Hard work--but rare
sport, too, in a way! I saw the fat fellow once at a City dinner, his
red face glowing above a white napkin. He looked at the little pale man
at the end of the table. He would have been pale too if he could have
seen the task that would be mine.
_Jan. 6._--What perfect nonsense it is for doctors to prescribe rest
when rest is out of the question! Asses! They might as well shout to a
man who has a pack of wolves at his heels that what he wants is absolute
quiet. My figures must be out by a certain date; unless they are so, I
shall lose the chance of my lifetime, so how on earth am I to rest? I'll
take a week or so after the trial.
Perhaps I was myself a fool to go to the doctor at all. But I get
nervous and highly-strung when I sit alone at my work at night. It's
not a pain--only a sort of fullness of the head with an occasional mist
over the eyes. I thought perhaps some bromide, or chloral, or something
of the kind might do me good. But stop work? It's absurd to ask such a
thing. It's like a long distance race. You feel queer at first and your
heart thumps and your lungs pant, but if you have only the pluck to keep
on, you get your second wind. I'll stick to my work and wait for my
second wind. If it never comes--all the same, I'll stick to my work. Two
ledgers are done, and I am well on in the third. The rascal has covered
his tracks well, but I pick them up for all that.
_Jan. 9._--I had not meant to go to the doctor again. And yet I have had
to. "Straining my nerves, risking a complete breakdown, even endangering
my sanity." That's a nice sentence to have fired off at one. Well, I'll
stand the strain and I'll take the risk, and so long as I can sit in my
chair and move a pen I'll follow the old sinner's slot.
By the way, I may as well set down here the queer experience which drove
me this second time to the doctor. I'll keep an exact record of my
symptoms and sensations, because they are interesting in themselves--"a
curious psycho-physiological study," says the doctor--and also because I
am perfectly certain that when I am through with them they will all seem
blurred and unreal, like some queer dream betwixt sleeping and waking.
So now, while they are fresh, I will just make a note of them, if only
as a change of thought after the endless figures.
There's an old silver-framed mirror in my room. It was given me by a
friend who had a taste for antiquities, and he, as I happen to know,
picked it up at a sale and had no notion where it came from. It's a
large thing--three feet across and two feet high--and it leans at the
back of a side-table on my left as I write. The frame is flat, about
three inches across, and very old; far too old for hall-marks or other
methods of determining its age. The glass part projects, with a bevelled
edge, and has the magnificent reflecting power which is only, as it
seems to me, to be found in very old mirrors. There's a feeling of
perspective when you look into it such as no modern glass can ever give.
The mirror is so situated that as I sit at the table I can usually see
nothing in it but the reflection of the red window curtains. But a queer
thing happened last night. I had been working for some hours, very much
against the grain, with continual bouts of that mistiness of which I had
complained. Again and again I had to stop and clear my eyes. Well, on
one of these occasions I chanced to look at the mirror. It had the
oddest appearance. The red curtains which should have been reflected in
it were no longer there, but the glass seemed to be clouded and steamy,
not on the surface, which glittered like steel, but deep down in the
very grain of it. This opacity, when I stared hard at it, appeared to
slowly rotate this way and that, until it was a thick white cloud
swirling in heavy wreaths. So real and solid was it, and so reasonable
was I, that I remember turning, with the idea that the curtains were on
fire. But everything was deadly still in the room--no sound save the
ticking of the clock, no movement save the slow gyration of that strange
woolly cloud deep in the heart of the old mirror.
Then, as I looked, the mist, or smoke, or cloud, or whatever one may
call it, seemed to coalesce and solidify at two points quite close
together, and I was aware, with a thrill of interest rather than of
fear, that these were two eyes looking out into the room. A vague
outline of a head I could see--a woman's by the hair, but this was very
shadowy. Only the eyes were quite distinct; such eyes--dark, luminous,
filled with some passionate emotion, fury or horror, I could not say
which. Never have I seen eyes which were so full of intense, vivid life.
They were not fixed upon me, but stared out into the room. Then as I sat
erect, passed my hand over my brow, and made a strong conscious effort
to pull myself together, the dim head faded in the general opacity, the
mirror slowly cleared, and there were the red curtains once again.
A sceptic would say, no doubt, that I had dropped asleep over my
figures, and that my experience was a dream. As a matter of fact, I was
never more vividly awake in my life. I was able to argue about it even
as I looked at it, and to tell myself that it was a subjective
impression--a chimera of the nerves--begotten by worry and insomnia. But
why this particular shape? And who is the woman, and what is the
dreadful emotion which I read in those wonderful brown eyes? They come
between me and my work. For the first time I have done less than the
daily tally which I had marked out. Perhaps that is why I have had no
abnormal sensations to-night. To-morrow I must wake up, come what may.
_Jan. 11._--All well, and good progress with my work. I wind the net,
coil after coil, round that bulky body. But the last smile may remain
with him if my own nerves break over it. The mirror would seem to be a
sort of barometer which marks my brain pressure. Each night I have
observed that it had clouded before I reached the end of my task.
Dr. Sinclair (who is, it seems, a bit of a psychologist) was so
interested in my account that he came round this evening to have a look
at the mirror. I had observed that something was scribbled in crabbed
old characters upon the metal work at the back. He examined this with a
lens, but could make nothing of it. "Sanc. X. Pal." was his final
reading of it, but that did not bring us any further. He advised me to
put it away into another room, but, after all, whatever I may see in it
is, by his own account, only a symptom. It is in the cause that the
danger lies. The twenty ledgers--not the silver mirror--should be packed
away if I could only do it. I'm at the eighth now, so I progress.
_Jan. 13._--Perhaps it would have been wiser after all if I had packed
away the mirror. I had an extraordinary experience with it last night.
And yet I find it so interesting, so fascinating, that even now I will
keep it in its place. What on earth is the meaning of it all?
I suppose it was about one in the morning, and I was closing my books
preparatory to staggering off to bed, when I saw her there in front of
me. The stage of mistiness and development must have passed unobserved,
and there she was in all her beauty and passion and distress, as
clear-cut as if she were really in the flesh before me. The figure was
small, but very distinct--so much so that every feature, and every
detail of dress, are stamped in my memory. She is seated on the extreme
left of the mirror. A sort of shadowy figure crouches down beside her--I
can dimly discern that it is a man--and then behind them is cloud, in
which I see figures--figures which move. It is not a mere picture upon
which I look. It is a scene in life, an actual episode. She crouches and
quivers. The man beside her cowers down. The vague figures make abrupt
movements and gestures. All my fears were swallowed up in my interest.
It was maddening to see so much and not to see more.
But I can at least describe the woman to the smallest point. She is very
beautiful and quite young--not more than five-and-twenty, I should
judge. Her hair is of a very rich brown, with a warm chestnut shade
fining into gold at the edges. A little flat-pointed cap comes to an
angle in front and is made of lace edged with pearls. The forehead is
high, too high perhaps for perfect beauty; but one would not have it
otherwise, as it gives a touch of power and strength to what would
otherwise be a softly feminine face. The brows are most delicately
curved over heavy eyelids, and then come those wonderful eyes--so large,
so dark, so full of overmastering emotion, of rage and horror,
contending with a pride of self-control which holds her from sheer
frenzy! The cheeks are pale, the lips white with agony, the chin and
throat most exquisitely rounded. The figure sits and leans forward in
the chair, straining and rigid, cataleptic with horror. The dress is
black velvet, a jewel gleams like a flame in the breast, and a golden
crucifix smoulders in the shadow of a fold. This is the lady whose image
still lives in the old silver mirror. What dire deed could it be which
has left its impress there, so that now, in another age, if the spirit
of a man be but worn down to it, he may be conscious of its presence?