We turn once more to the Nubian desert, where, it will be remembered, we
left several of our friends, cut off from McNeill's zereba at a critical
moment when they were all but overwhelmed by a host of foes.
The grand-looking Arab who had so opportunely appeared on the scene and
arrested the spears which were about to finish the career of Jack Molloy
was no other than the man who had been saved by Miles from the bullet of
his comrade Rattling Bill. A kind act had in this case received its
appropriate reward, for a brief though slight glance, and a gracious
inclination of the Arab's head, convinced our hero that the whole party
owed their lives to this man's gratitude.
They were not however exempt from indignity, for at the moment when Jack
Molloy fell they were overwhelmed by numbers, their arms were wrenched
from their grasp, and their hands were bound behind their backs. Thus
they were led, the reverse of gently, into the thick bush by a strong
party of natives, while the others, headed by the black-bearded chief,
continued their attack on the zereba.
It soon became evident that the men who had charge of the prisoners did
not share, or sympathise with, the feelings of the chief who had spared
their lives, for they not only forced them to hurry forward as fast as
they could go, but gave them occasional pricks with their spear-points
when any of them chanced to trip or stumble. One of the warriors in
particular--a fiery man--sometimes struck them with the shaft of his
spear and otherwise maltreated them. It may be easily understood that
men with unbroken spirits and high courage did not submit to this
treatment with a good grace!
Miles was the first to be tested in this way. On reaching a piece of
broken ground his foot caught in something and he stumbled forward. His
hands being bound behind him he could not protect his head, and the
result was that he plunged into a prickly shrub, out of which he arose
with flushed and bleeding countenance. This was bad enough, but when
the fiery Arab brought a lance down heavily on his shoulders his temper
gave way, and he rushed at the man in a towering rage, striving at the
same time, with intense violence, to burst his bonds. Of course he
failed, and was rewarded by a blow on the head, which for a moment or
two stunned him.
Seeing this, Armstrong's power of restraint gave way, and he sprang to
the rescue of his friend, but only to meet the same fate at the hands of
the fiery Arab.
Stunned and bleeding, though not subdued, they were compelled to move on
again at the head of the party--spurred on now and then by a touch from
the point of the fiery man's lance. Indeed it seemed as if this man's
passionate nature would induce him ere long to risk his chief's wrath by
disobeying orders and stabbing the prisoners!
Stevenson, the marine, was the next to suffer, for his foot slipped on a
stone, and he fell with such violence as to be unable to rise for a few
minutes. Impatient of the delay, the fiery man struck him so savagely
with the spear-shaft that even his own comrades remonstrated.
"If I could only burst this cord!" growled Simkin between his teeth,
"I'd--"
He stopped, for he felt that it was unmanly, as well as idle, to boast
in the circumstances.
"We must have patience, comrade," said Stevenson, as he rose pale and
bloodstained from the ground. "Our Great Captain sometimes gives us the
order to submit and suffer and--"
A prick in the fleshy part of his thigh caused him to stop abruptly.
At this point the endurance of Jack Molloy failed him, and he also "went
in" for violent action! But Jack was a genius as well as a sailor, and
profited by the failures of his comrades. Instead of making futile
efforts to break his bonds like them, he lowered his hairy head, and,
with a howl and a tremendous rush, like a fish-torpedo, launched
himself, or, as it were, took "a header," into the fiery man!
"No fellow," as Jack himself afterwards remarked, "could receive fifteen
stone ten into his bread-basket and go on smiling!" On the contrary, he
went down like a nine-pin, and remained where he fell, for his
comrades--who evidently did not love him--merely laughed and went on
their way, leaving him to revive at his leisure.
The prisoners advanced somewhat more cheerfully after this event, for,
besides being freed from pricks of the spear-point, there was that
feeling of elation which usually arises in every well-balanced mind from
the sight of demerit meeting with its appropriate reward.
The region over which they were thus led, or driven, was rather more
varied than the level country behind them, and towards evening it
changed still further, becoming more decidedly hill-country. At night
the party found themselves in the neighbourhood of one of the
all-important wells of the land, beside which they encamped under a
small tree.
Here the prisoners were allowed to sit down on the ground, with one man
to guard them, while the others kindled a fire and otherwise arranged
the encampment.
Supper--consisting of a small quantity of boiled corn and dried flesh--
was given to the prisoners, whose hands were set free, though their
elbows were loosely lashed together, and their feet tied to prevent
their escape. No such idea, however, entered into the heads of any of
them, for they were by that time in the heart of an unknown range of
hills, in a country which swarmed with foes, besides which, they would
not have known in what direction to fly had they been free to do so;
they possessed neither arms, ammunition, nor provisions, and were at the
time greatly exhausted by their forced march.
Perhaps Jack Molloy was the only man of the unfortunate party who at
that moment retained either the wish or the power to make a dash for
freedom. But then Jack was an eccentric and exceptional man in every
respect. Nothing could quell his spirit, and it was all but impossible
to subdue his body. He was what we may term a composite character. His
frame was a mixture of gutta-percha, leather, and brass. His brain was
a compound of vivid fancy and slow perception. His heart was a union of
highly inflammable oil and deeply impressible butter, with something
remarkably tough in the centre of it. Had he been a Red Indian he would
have been a chief. If born a nigger he would have been a king. In the
tenth century he might have been a Sea-king or something similar. Born
as he was in the nineteenth century, he was only a Jack-tar and a hero!
It is safe to conclude that if Molloy had been set free that evening
with a cutlass in his hand he would--after supper of course--have
attacked single-handed the united band of forty Arabs, killed at least
ten of them, and left the remaining thirty to mourn over their mangled
bodies and the loss of numerous thumbs and noses, to say nothing of
other wounds and bruises.
Luckily for his comrades he was _not_ free that night.
"Boys," said he, after finishing his scanty meal, and resting on an
elbow as he looked contemplatively up at the stars which were beginning
to twinkle in the darkening sky, "it do seem to me, now that I've had
time to think over it quietly, that our only chance o' gittin' out o'
this here scrape is to keep quiet, an' pretend that we're uncommon fond
of our _dear_ Arab friends, till we throws 'em off their guard, an'
then, some fine night, give 'em the slip an' make sail across the desert
for Suakim."
"No doubt you're right," answered Miles, with a sigh, for, being tired
and sleepy just then, he was not nearly as sanguine as the seaman, "but
I have not much hope of gaining their confidence--especially after your
acting the thunderbolt so effectively on one of them."
"Why, man alive! they won't mind that. It was all in the way of fair
fight," said Molloy; "an' the rascal was no favourite, I could see
that."
"It's a wonder to me you could see anything at all after such a ram!"
remarked Moses Pyne, with a yawn, as he lay back and rested his head on
a tuft of grass. "The shock seemed to me fit to sink an iron-clad."
"But why _pretend_ to be fond of the Arabs?" asked Stevenson. "Don't
you think it would be sufficient that we should obey orders quietly
without any humbug or pretence at all about it, till a chance to escape
shall come in our way?"
"Don't you think, Stevenson," said Miles, "that there's a certain amount
of humbug and pretence even in quiet obedience to orders, when such
obedience is not the result of submission, but of a desire to throw
people off their guard?"
"But my obedience _is_ the result of submission," returned the marine
stoutly. "I do really submit--first, because it is God's will, for I
cannot help it; second, because it is the only course that will enable
me to escape bad treatment; third, because I wish to gain the good-will
of the men who have me in their power whether I escape or not; and,
fourth--"
"Hallo! old man, how many heads are you goin' to give us in that there
sermon?" asked Moses.
"This is the last head, Moses, and you needn't be anxious, for I ain't
going to enlarge on any of 'em. My fourth reason is, that by doing as
common-sense bids me, our foes will be brought thereby to that state of
mind which will be favourable to everything--our escape included--and I
can't help that, you know. It ain't my fault if they become trustful,
is it?"
"No, nor it ain't no part o' your dooty to spoil their trustfulness by
failin' to take advantage of it," said Molloy, with a grin; "but it do
seem to me, Stevenson, as if there wor a strong smack o' the Jesuit, in
what you say."
"I hope not," replied the marine. "Anyhow, no one would expect me,
surely, to go an' say straight out to these fellows, `I'm goin' to obey
orders an' be as meek as a lamb, in order to throw you off your guard
an' bolt when I get the chance!'"
"Cer'nly not. 'Cause why? Firstly, you couldn't say it at all till
you'd learned Arabic," returned Molloy; "secondly--if I may be allowed
for to follow suit an' sermonise--'cause you shouldn't say it if you
could; an', thirdly, 'cause you'd be a most awful Jack-ass to say it if
you did. Now, it's my advice, boys, that we go to sleep, for we won't
have an easy day of it to-morrow, if I may judge from to-day."
Having delivered this piece of advice with much decision, the seaman
extended himself at full length on the ground, and went to sleep with a
pleased smile on his face, as if the desert sand had been his familiar
couch from infancy.
Some of the other members of the unfortunate party were not, however,
quite so ready for sleep. Miles and his friend Armstrong sat long
talking over their fate--which they mutually agreed was a very sad one;
but at last, overcome by exhaustion, if not anxiety, they sank into
much-needed repose, and the only sound that broke the stillness of the
night was the tread of the Arab sentinel as he paced slowly to and fro.
The country, as they advanced, became more and more rugged, until they
found themselves at last in the midst of a hill region, in the valleys
of which there grew a considerable amount of herbage and underwood. The
journey here became very severe to the captives, for, although they did
not suffer from thirst so much as on the plains, the difficulty of
ascending steep and rugged paths with their hands bound was very great.
It is true the position of the hands was changed, for after the second
day they had been bound in front of them, but this did not render their
toil easy, though it was thereby made a little less laborious.
By this time the captives had learned from experience that if they
wished to avoid the spear-points they must walk in advance of their
captors at a very smart pace. Fortunately, being all strong and healthy
men, they were well able to do so.
Rattling Bill, perhaps, suffered most, although, after Molloy, he was
physically one of the strongest of the party.
Observing that he lagged behind a little on one occasion while they were
traversing a somewhat level valley, Stevenson offered him his arm.
"Don't be ashamed to take it, old boy," said the marine kindly, as his
comrade hesitated. "You know, a fellow sometimes feels out o' sorts,
and not up to much, however stout he may be when well, so just you lay
hold, for somehow I happen to feel as strong as an elephant to-day."
"But I _ain't_ ill," returned Simkin, still declining, "and I don't see
why I shouldn't be as able as you are to carry my own weight."
"Of course you are better able to do it than I am, in a general way,"
returned his friend, "but I said that sometimes, you know, a fellow
gives in, he don't well know why or how, an' then, of course, his
comrades that are still strong are bound to help him. Here, hook on and
pocket your pride. You'll have to do the same thing for me to-morrow,
may-hap, when _I_ give in. And if it does come to that I'll lean heavy,
I promise you."
"You're a good fellow, Stevenson, even though you _are_ a Blue Light,"
said Simkin, taking the proffered arm.
"Perhaps it's _because_ I am a Blue Light," returned the marine, with a
laugh. "At all events, it is certain that whatever good there may be
about me at all is the result of that Light which is as free to you as
to me."
For some minutes the couple walked along in silence. At last Rattling
Bill spoke.
"I wonder," he said, "why it is that a young and healthy fellow like me
should break down sooner than you, Stevenson, for I'm both bigger and
stronger--and yet, look at us new. Ain't it strange! I wonder why it
is."
"It is strange, indeed," returned the marine quietly. "P'r'aps the
climate suits me better than you."
"I know what you're thinkin'," said Simkin, almost testily. "Why don't
you say that _drink_ is the cause of it--straight out, like a man?"
"Because I knew you were saying that to yourself, lad, so there was no
need for me to say it," returned his friend, with a side-glance and a
twinkle of the eyes.
"Well, whoever says it, it's a fact," continued Simkin, almost sternly,
"an' I make no bones of admitting it. I have bin soakin' away, right
and left, since I came to this country, in spite o' warnin's from you
and other men like you, and now I feel as if all my boasted strength was
goin' out at my heels."
Stevenson was silent.
"Why don't you say `I told you so?'" asked Simkin, sharply.
"Because I _never_ say that! It only riles people; besides," continued
the marine, earnestly, "I was asking God at the moment to enable me to
answer you wisely. You see, I think it only fair to reveal some of my
private thoughts to _you_, since you are making a father-confessor of
_me_. But as you admit that drink has done you damage, my dear fellow,
there is no need for me to say anything more on that subject. What you
want now is encouragement as to the future and advice as to the present.
Shall I give you both just now, or shall I wait?"
"`Commence firing!'" replied Simkin, with a half-jesting smile.
"Well, then, as to encouragement," said Stevenson. "A point of vital
importance with men who have gone in for drink as much as you have, is
total-abstinence; and I regard it as an evidence of God's love to you
that He has brought you here--"
"God's love that brought me _here_!" exclaimed the soldier in surprise.
"Well, that _is_ a view o' the case that don't seem quite plain."
"Plain enough if you open your eyes wide enough. See here: If you was
in camp now, with your present notions, and was to determine to give up
drink, you'd have to face and fight two most tremendous devils. One
devil is called Craving, the other is called Temptation, and all the
Arabs in the Soudan rolled into one are not so terrible or so strong as
these two when a man is left to fight them by himself. Now, is it not a
sign of our Father's love that he has, by bringing you here, removed the
devil Temptation entirely out of your way, for you can't get strong
drink here for love or money. So, you see, you have only got Craving to
fight, and that's encouraging, ain't it?"
"D'ye know, I believe you are not far wrong," said Simkin, gravely; "and
it _is_ encouraging to know that Temptation's out o' the way, for I feel
that the other devil has got me by the throat even now, and that it's
him as has weakened me so much."
"That's it, friend. You've got the truth by the tail now, so hold on;
but, at the same time, don't be too hard on Craving. It's not _his_
fault that he's here. You have poured liquor down your throat to him
daily, and cultivated his acquaintance, and helped him to increase his
strength regularly, for many months--it may be for years. I don't want
to be hard on you, lad, but it's of no use shiftin' the burden on to the
wrong shoulders. It is not Craving but _you_ who are the sinner. Now,
as to advice: do you really want it?"
"Well," replied Simkin, with a "humph!" "it will be time enough for you
to shut up when I sound the `cease firing!'"
"My advice, then, is that you go down on your knees, plead _guilty_
straight off, and ask for grace to help you in your time of need."
"What! go down on my knees here before all them Arabs? If I did, they'd
not only laugh at me, but they'd soon rouse me up with their spears."
"I'm not so sure about that, Simkin. Arabs are accustomed to go on
their own knees a good deal in public. It is chiefly Christians who,
strange to say, are ashamed to be caught in that position at odd times.
But I speak not of ceremonies, but of realities. A man may go on his
knees, without bending a joint, any time and everywhere. Now, listen:
there is this difference between the courts of men and the court of
heaven, that in the former, when a man pleads guilty, his sentence is
only modified and softened, but in the latter, the man who pleads guilty
receives a free pardon and ultimate deliverance from _all_ sin for the
sake of Jesus Christ. Will you accept this deliverance, my friend?"
What the soldier replied in his heart we cannot tell, for his voice was
silent. Before the conversation could be resumed a halt was called, to
partake of the midday meal and rest.
That evening the party came upon a strange and animated scene. It was
one of the mountain camps of Osman Digna, where men were assembling from
all quarters, to swell the hordes with which their chief hoped to drive
the hated Europeans into the Red Sea. Camels and other beasts of burden
were bringing in supplies for the vast army, and to this spot had been
brought the poor fellows who had been wounded in recent battles.
Here the captives were thrust into a small dark hut and left to their
meditations, while a couple of Arab sentries guarded the door.