A Horrible Situation.
All that night our fugitives walked steadily in the direction of their
guiding-star, until the dawn of day began to absorb its light. Then
they selected a couple of prominent bushes on the horizon, and, by
keeping these always in their relative positions, were enabled to shape
their course in what they believed to be the right direction. By
repeating the process continuously they were enabled to advance in a
fairly straight line.
Molloy, as we have said, carried the provision bag, and, although it was
a very heavy one, he refused to let his comrades relieve him of it until
breakfast-time. Then it was discovered that inside of the large bag
there were rolled tight up four smaller bags with shoulder-straps to
them.
"A knowin' feller that Mohammed is," said Jack Molloy, as he handed a
bag to each; "he understands how to manage things. Let's see what sort
o' grub he has. Corn-cakes, I do believe, an' dates, or some sort o'
dried fruit, an'--water-bottles! well, that is a comfort. Now then,
boys, go ahead. We can't afford to waste time over our meals."
The others so thoroughly agreed with their friend on this point that
they began to eat forthwith, almost in silence. Then, the provisions
having been distributed, they resumed their march, which was almost a
forced one, so anxious were they to get as far away as possible from the
Arab army.
Coming to a large mimosa bush in the course of the morning they halted
and sat down to rest a little, and hold what the sailor called a
"palaver."
"You see, boys," he said, "it'll be of no manner of use our scuddin'
away before the wind under a press o' canvas like this, without some
settled plan--"
"Ain't our plan to git away from the Arabs as fast as we can?" said
Moses Pyne, who sat on a stone at the sailor's feet.
"Yes, Moses, but that's only part of it," returned Molloy. "We must
keep away as well as get away--an' that won't be quite so easy, for the
country is swarmin' wi' the dark-skinned rascals, as the many tracks we
have already passed shows us. If we was to fall in wi' a band of 'em--
even a small one--we would be took again for sartin', for we've got
nothin' to fight wi' but our fists."
"These would offer but poor resistance to bullet and steel," said
Armstrong, "and that lance you're so fond of, Miles, wouldn't be worth
much."
"Not much," admitted Miles, surveying the badge of his late office, "but
better than nothing."
"What if the Arabs should change their course and fall in with us
again?" asked Moses.
"No fear o' that, seein' that Mohammed himself gave us our sailin'
orders, an' laid our course for us; but it would never do to fall in wi'
other bands, so I proposes that we cast anchor where we are, for there's
pretty good holdin' ground among them bushes, keep quiet all day, an'
travel only at night. I've got the krect bearin's just now, so w'en the
stars come out we'll be able to fix on one layin' in the right
direction, and clap on all sail, slow and aloft--stu'n s'ls,
sky-scrapers, an' all the rest on it."
"A good plan, Jack," said Armstrong, "but what if it should come cloudy
and blot out the stars?"
"Besides," added Miles, "you forget that men of the desert are skilled
in observing signs and in following tracks. Should any of them pass
near this little clump of bushes, and observe our footsteps going
towards it, they will at once come to see if we are still here."
Molloy put his head on one side and looked perplexed for a moment.
"Never mind. Let 'em come," he said, with a sudden look of sagacity,
"we'll circumwent 'em. There's nothin' like circumwention w'en you've
got into a fix. See here. We'll dig a hole in a sandbank big enough to
hold us all, an' we'll cut a big bush an' stick it in front of the hole
so as they'll never see it. We can keep a bright look-out, you know,
an' if anything heaves in sight on the horizon, down we go into the
hole, stick up the bush, an there you are--all safe under hatches till
the enemy clears off."
"But they will trace our footsteps up to the hole or the bush," said
Miles, "and wonder why they can trace them no further. What then?"
Again the seaman fell into perplexed meditation, out of which he emerged
with a beaming smile.
"Why, then, my lad, we'll bamboozle 'em. There's nothin' like
bamboozlement w'en circumwention fails. Putt the two together an'
they're like a hurricane in the tropics, carries all before it! We'll
bamboozle 'em by runnin' for an hour or two all over the place, so as no
mortal man seein' our footprints will be able to tell where we comed
from, or what we've bin a-doin' of."
"You don't know the men of the desert, Jack," rejoined Miles, with a
laugh. "They'd just walk in a circle round the place where you propose
to run about and bamboozle them, till they found where our tracks
_entered_ this bit of bush. Then, as they'd see no tracks _leaving_ it,
of course they'd know that we were still there. D'you see?"
"That's a puzzler for you, Jack," remarked Moses, as he watched the
perplexed expression looming up again like a cloud on the sailor's face.
"By no manner o' means," retorted Molloy, with sudden gravity. "I sees
my way quite clear out o' that. You remember the broad track, not half
a mile off from where we now sit?"
"Yes; made I suppose by a pretty big band o' some sort crossin' the
desert," said Moses.
"Well, lad, arter runnin' about in the bush to bamboozle of 'em, as
aforesaid, we'll march back to that track on the sou'-west'ard--as it
may be--an' then do the same on the nor'-west'ard--so to speak--an' so
lead 'em to suppose we was a small party as broke off, or was sent off,
from the main body to reconnoitre the bit o' bush, an' had rejoined the
main body further on. That's what I call circumwentin', d'ee see?"
While this palaver was going on, Stevenson and Bill Simkin were standing
a short way off taking observation of something in the far distance. In
a few minutes they ran towards their comrades with the information that
a band of men were visible on the horizon, moving, they thought, in an
opposite direction to their line of march.
"It may be so," said Miles, after a brief survey, "but we can't be sure.
We must put part of your plan in force anyhow, Jack Molloy. Away into
the scrub all of you, and stoop as you go."
In saying this, our hero, almost unintentionally, took command of the
little party, which at once tacitly accorded him the position. Leading
them--as every leader ought--he proceeded to the centre of the clump of
bushes, where, finding a natural hollow or hole in the sand, at the root
of a mimosa bush, three of them went down on hands and knees to scoop it
out deeper, while the others cut branches with Molloy's clasp-knife.
Using flat stones, chips of wood, and hands as shovels, they managed to
dig out a hole big enough to conceal them all, the opening to which was
easily covered by a mass of branches.
It is doubtful whether this ingenious contrivance would have availed
them, if "men of the desert" had passed that way, but fortune favoured
them. The band, whether friends or foes, passed far off to the
westward, leaving them to enjoy their place of fancied security.
To pass the first day there was not difficult. The novelty of the
position was great; the interest of the thing immense. Indefinite hopes
of the future were strong, and they had plenty to say and speculate
about during the passing hours. When night came, preparation was made
for departure. The provision bags were slung, a moderate sip of water
indulged in, and they set forth, after a very brief prayer by Stevenson,
that God would guide them safely on their way. There was no formality
in that prayer. The marine did not ask his comrades to kneel or to
agree with him. He offered it aloud, in a few seconds, in the name of
Jesus, leaving his hearers to join him or not as they pleased.
"See that you lay your course fair now, Molloy," said Miles, as they
sallied out upon the darkening plain.
"Trust me, lad, I've taken my bearin's."
It was very dark the first part of the night, as the moon did not rise
till late, but there was quite enough light to enable them to proceed
with caution, though not enough to prevent their taking an occasional
bush or stump for an advancing foe. All went well, however, until dawn
the following morning, when they began to look about for a suitable
clump of bushes, in which to conceal themselves. No such spot could
they find.
"Never mind, lads," said the inexhaustible Molloy, "we'll just go on
till we find a place. We're pretty tough just now, that's one comfort."
They were indeed so tough that they went the whole of that day, with
only one or two brief halts to feed. Towards evening, however, they
began to feel wearied, and, with one consent, determined to encamp on a
slight eminence a short way in advance, the sides of which were covered
with low scrub.
As they approached the spot an unpleasant odour reached them. It became
worse as they advanced. At last, on arriving, they found to their
surprise and horror that the spot had been a recent battle-field, and
was strewn with corpses and broken weapons. Some days must have elapsed
since the fight which strewed them there, for the bodies had been all
stripped, and many of them were partially buried, while others had been
hauled half out of their graves by those scavengers of the desert,
hyenas and vultures.
"Impossible to halt here," said Armstrong. "I never witness a sight
like this that it does not force on me the madness of warfare! What
territorial gain can make up for these lost lives--the flower of the
manhood of both parties?"
"But what are we to do?" objected Molloy. "Men must defend their
rights!"
"Not necessarily so," said Stevenson. "Men have to learn to bear and
forbear."
"I have learned to take advantage of what luck throws in my way," said
Rattling Bill, picking up a rifle which must have escaped the
observation of the plunderers who had followed the army.
The body of the poor fellow who had owned it was found concealed under a
bush not far off. He was an English soldier, and a very brief
inspection showed that the battle had been fought by a party of British
and Egyptian troops against the Soudanese.
It seemed as if the plunderers had on this occasion been scared from
their horrible work before completing it, for after a careful search
they found rifles with bayonets, and pouches full of ammunition, more
than sufficient to arm the whole party.
"There are uniforms enough, too, to fit us all out," said Simkin, as
they were about to leave the scene of slaughter.
"No dead men's clo'es for me," said Moses Pyne, with a shrug of disgust.
Jack Molloy declared that he had become so used to loose cotton drawers,
and an easy-fittin' sack, that for his part he had no desire to go back
to civilised costume! and as the rest were of much the same opinion, no
change was made in the habiliments of the party, except that each
appropriated a pair of boots, and Miles exchanged his green tippet for a
flannel shirt and a pith helmet. He also took a revolver, with some
difficulty, from the dead hand of a soldier, and stuck it in his belt.
Thus improved in circumstances, they gladly quitted the ghastly scene,
and made for a bushy hillock a few hundred yards in advance.
On the way they were arrested by the sound of distant firing.
"Mohammed must have met our countrymen!" exclaimed Molloy, with excited
looks, as they halted to listen.
"It may be so, but there are other bands about besides his," said Miles.
"What's that? a cheer?"
"Ay, a British cheer in the far distance, replied to by yells of
defiance." Molloy echoed the cheer in spite of his better judgment.
"Let's run an' jine 'em!" he exclaimed.
"Come along, then!" cried Miles, with the ardour of inexperienced youth.
"Stop! are ye mad?" cried Stevenson. "Don't it stand to reason that the
enemy must be between us an' Suakim? and that's the same as sayin'
they're between us an' our friends. Moreover, the cheerin' proves that
our side must be gettin' the best of it, an' are drivin' the enemy this
way, so all we've got to do is to hide on that hillock an' bide our
time."
"Right you are, comrade," cried Rattling Bill, examining his cartridges,
and asserting with an oath that nothing would afford him greater
pleasure than a good hand-to-hand fight with the black, (and something
worse), scoundrels.
"Don't swear at your enemies, Simkin," said the marine quietly; "but
when you get the chance fire low!"
Agreeing with Stevenson's advice to "bide their time," the little band
was soon on the top of the hillock, and took up the best position for
defending the place, also for observing the fight, which, they could now
see, was drawing gradually nearer to them.
They were not kept waiting long, for the natives were in full flight,
hotly pursued by the English and Indian cavalry. A slight breeze
blowing from the north carried not only the noise, but soon the smoke of
the combat towards them. As they drew nearer a large detachment of
native spearmen was seen to make for the hillock, evidently intending to
make a stand there.
"Now comes _our_ turn," said Armstrong, examining the lock of his rifle
to see that all was right.
"`England expec's every man,' etceterer," said Molloy, with a glance at
Miles. "Capting, you may as well let us know your plans, so as we may
work together."
Miles was not long in making up his mind.
"You'll fire at first by command," he said quickly, but decidedly; "then
down on your faces flat, and load. After that wait for orders. When it
comes to the push--as it's sure to do at last--we'll stand back to back
and do our best. God help us to do it well! Don't hurry, boys--
especially in square. Let every shot tell."
He had barely concluded this brief address when the yelling savages
reached the hillock. Miles could even see the gleaming of their teeth
and eyes, and the blood of the slightly wounded coursing down their
black skins as they rushed panting towards the place where he and his
little party were crouching. Then he gave the word: "Ready--present!"
The smoke, fire, and death to the leading men, which belched from the
bushes, did not check the rush for more than a moment. And even that
check was the result of surprise more than fear. A party of those Arabs
who were armed with rifles instantly replied, but the bullets passed
harmlessly over the prostrate men.
Again the voice of Miles was heard: "Ready--present!" and again the
leading men of the enemy fell, but the rushing host only divided, and
swept round the hillock, so as to take it on both sides at once.
"Now--form square! and pick each man," cried Miles, springing up and
standing back to back with Armstrong. Molloy stood shoulder to shoulder
with him and backed Bill Simkin, while Stevenson did the same for Moses
Pyne. The bushes did not rise much above their waists, and as the dusky
host suddenly beheld the knot of strange-looking men, whose bristling
bayonets glistened in the setting sunshine, and whose active rifles were
still dealing death among their ranks, they dashed at the hill-top with
a yell of mingled rage and surprise. Another moment and spearmen were
dancing round the little square like incarnate fiends, but the white men
made no sound. Each confined himself to two acts--namely, load and
fire--and at every shot a foremost savage fell, until the square became
encircled with dead men.
Another moment and a party of Arab riflemen ran to the front and took
aim. Just then a tremendous cheer was heard. The defenders of the
hillock made a wild reply, which was drowned in a furious fusillade.
The entire savage host seemed to rush over the spot, sweeping all before
it, while smoke rolled after them as well as lead and fire. In the
midst of the hideous turmoil, Miles received a blow which shattered his
left wrist. Grasping his rifle with his right hand he laid about him as
best he could. Next moment a blow on the head from behind stretched him
senseless on the ground.
The return of our hero to consciousness revealed to him that he was
still lying on the battle-field, that it was night, and that an
intolerable weight oppressed his chest. This last was caused by a dead
native having fallen across him. On trying to get rid of the corpse he
made the further discovery that nearly all his strength was gone, and
that he could scarcely move his right arm, although it was free, and, as
far as he could make out, unwounded. Making a desperate effort, he
partially relieved himself, and, raising his head, tried to look round.
His ears had already told him that near to him wounded men were groaning
away the little of life that remained to them; he now saw that he was
surrounded by heaps of dead men. Excepting the groans referred to, the
night was silent, and the moon shone down on hundreds of up-turned
faces--the bloodless grey of the black men contrasting strangely with
the deadly pallor of the white, all quiet and passionless enough now--
here and there the head of a warrior resting peacefully on the bosom or
shoulder of the foe who had killed him!
A slight noise on his right caused Miles to turn his head in that
direction, where he saw a wounded comrade make feeble efforts to raise
himself, and then fall back with a deep groan. In other circumstances
our hero would have sprung to his assistance, but at that moment he felt
as if absolutely helpless; indeed, he was nearly so from loss of blood.
He made one or two efforts to rise, but the weight of the dead man held
him down, and after a few brief attempts he fainted.
Recovering again, he looked round, attracted by the sound of a struggle
on his right. One of those fiends in human form, the plunderers of a
battle-field, had, in his ghoulish progress, come across the wounded man
who lay close to Miles, and the man was resisting him. The other put a
quick end to the strife by drawing a knife across the throat of the poor
fellow. A horror of great darkness seemed to overwhelm Miles as he saw
the blood gush in a deluge from the gaping wound. He tried to shout,
but, as in a nightmare, he could neither speak nor move.
As the murderer went on rifling his victim, Miles partially recovered
from his trance of horror, and anxiety for his own life nerved him to
attempt action of some sort. He thought of the revolver for the first
time at that moment, and the remembrance seemed to infuse new life into
him. Putting his right hand to his belt, he found it there, but drew it
with difficulty. Doubting his power to discharge it by means of the
trigger alone, he made a desperate effort and cocked it.
The click made the murderer start. He raised himself and looked round.
Our hero shut his eyes and lay perfectly still. Supposing probably that
he must have been mistaken, the man resumed his work. Miles could have
easily shot him where he kneeled if he had retained power to lift his
arm and take an aim. As it was, he had strength only to retain the
weapon in his grasp.
After a short time, that seemed an age to the helpless watcher, the
murderer rose and turned his attention to another dead man, but passing
him, came towards Miles, whose spirit turned for one moment to God in an
agonising prayer for help. The help came in the form of revived
courage. Calm, cool, firm self-possession seemed to overbear all other
feelings. He half closed his eyes as the murderer approached, and
gently turned the muzzle of the revolver upwards. He even let the man
bend over him and look close into his face to see if he were dead, then
he pulled the trigger.
Miles had aimed, he thought, at the man's breast, but the bullet entered
under his chin and went crashing into his brain. A gush of warm blood
spouted over Miles's face as the wretch plunged over him, head first,
and fell close by his side. He did not die at once. The nature of the
ground prevented Miles from seeing him, but he could hear him gradually
gasp his life away.
A few minutes later and footsteps were heard ascending the hillock.
Miles grasped his revolver with a hand that now trembled from increasing
weakness, but he was by that time unable to put the weapon on full cock.
Despair had well-nigh seized him, when a familiar voice was heard.
"This way, lads. I'm sure it was hereabouts that I saw the flash."
"Macleod!" gasped Miles, as the big Scotsman was about to pass.
"Losh me! John Miles, is that you? Are ye leevin?"
"Scarcely!" was all that the poor youth could utter ere he became again
insensible.
A fatigue party tramped up with a stretcher at the moment. Macleod with
a handkerchief checked the ebbing tide of life, and they bore away from
the bloody field what seemed little more than the mortal remains of poor
Miles Milton.