Throughout our breathless land of sun and silence there is a well-known
adage that the word of a Veiled Man is like water poured upon sand
which, when once dropped, is never to be recovered. I am, alas,
compelled to admit that there is much truth in this; nevertheless, to
every rule there is an exception, and in every tribe of the Touaregs,
from those of the Tidikelt to those of the Adrar, are to be found men
who are not thieves or evil-doers, even though they may be marauders.
Those acquainted with the progress of recent events in Algeria will
remember that when our brothers, the Kabyles, rose against our now
masters, the French, and committed the terrible massacres at Al-Setit,
news was promptly circulated over every one of the vast Saharan plains
that the forces of Al-Islam had, at last, risen against the infidels.
Eager for the fray, most of the desert tribes, among them the Touaregs
of the Benin Sissin, Haratin, and Kel-Owi, or "People of the Light,"
united against the Roumis. Hence, we of the Azjar pressed northward in
force in order to unite with the warlike Beni-Mzab in a formidable
attack upon the French posts at Gardaia and Wargla, south of the great
Atlas range. Assembling at the El Gettara oasis we left our women, old
men, and children encamped, crossed the high sunbaked lands of the
Tademayt, then, passing up the rocky waterless valley of the Miya,
traversed the region of bare red sand-hills known as the Erg, and
leaving Wargla fifty miles to the east, set our camels' heads towards
Metlili, halting one day's march off that town.
In ordinary circumstances we should never have dared to approach so near
the sphere of French influence, especially as this was the region of the
Beni-Mzabs, who zealously guarded any encroachment upon their territory.
But war had been declared against the infidel, and the Shorfa
(Faithful) were uniting beneath the green banner of Al-Islam. At high
noon we halted, and soon afterwards there appeared a French Colonel with
a large escort of his scarlet-burnoused Spahis. The officer, who had
ridden from Metlili to intercept us, was received courteously by Tamahu,
our Sheikh. He demanded the payment of taxes, but the proud old man
whom I have since succeeded answered, "Tell that lord of yours, that if
he wants our taxes he can come for them himself, and we will make sure
he gets them, in silver coins too, for we will roll each franc into a
bullet, and deliver it to him ourselves." The Colonel declared that the
taxes must be paid, but our Sheikh courteously requested the infidel and
his horsemen to return to the town.
"Then you intend fighting?" the Colonel asked, at last.
"We do," answered Tamahu. "Tell thy lord that The Breath of the Wind
decline to make submission to the French."
"You intend attacking Metlili?" the officer enquired, thoughtfully,
twirling his pointed moustache.
Our Sheikh nodded, his keen eyes watching the face of the infidel. The
latter's countenance grew grave, whereat we, standing around leaning on
our spears, laughed in derision.
"Thou art of the great army of the infidels," Tamahu said. "Yet thy
face palest when we speak of conflict!"
The officer started, and knit his grey brows.
"I fear not thine host of Veiled Men, fierce and relentless though ye
be. True, I am a soldier, but one thing alone I dread."
"Thou fearest to lose thy life," observed our Sheikh, knowing that the
garrison at that little desert town was but small and weak.
"For myself I care nothing," the Colonel answered. "It is the fate of
my daughter that I fear."
"Thy daughter! Why is she here, in the desert, so far from Algiers?"
"Not having seen me for four years she travelled from Paris a moon ago
to visit me. Both my captain and my lieutenant have died of fever, and
we two are now the only Europeans in Metlili. The rising of thy
tribesmen hath occurred so unexpectedly, or I would have sent her under
escort back to the coast."
"Is thy daughter a child?" asked Tamahu.
"She is nineteen," answered the officer, whose name he informed us was
Colonel Bonnemain. We at once knew him by repute as a distinguished
traveller and soldier.
"Thou knowest what is said of the word of a Touareg," the Sheikh said,
regarding him keenly.
The Colonel nodded.
"Canst thou trust these my tribesmen with the escort of thy daughter?"
Tamahu asked. "If thou wilt, no harm shall befall her. We have agreed
with the Mzabs to attack and pillage thy town, because thou, with thine
horsemen, hast established a post therein; therefore it must be done.
But the Azjars wage not war upon women, and ere we commence the attack
thy daughter shall find safe asylum within our camp."
For a moment the Colonel hesitated, looking intently into the dark,
bright eyes of our aged headman. But seeing honesty and truth mirrored
in his face the infidel held out his hand, and in silence more eloquent
than words gripped that of his enemy. At last his tongue's strings
became loosened.
"Henceforth, although I am an officer of the French, and compelled to
fight against thee, I am nevertheless thy friend, and some day will
prove my friendship. Gabrielle shall be within thy camp at dawn."
"The Azjars will give her the welcome of friends," answered our Sheikh.
With a brief expression of heartfelt thanks Colonel Bonnemain vaulted
lightly into his saddle, and wishing us "Peace," spurred away to where
his troop of expectant Spahis awaited him.
"May Allah guard thee and thine!" answered Tamahu in response to the
infidel's salutation, and a moment later our enemies were riding hard
away towards the far-off horizon.
The long breathless afternoon went slowly by. We had not encamped,
because we knew not when our allies, the Beni-Mzabs, might approach, and
rapidity of movement was of urgent necessity, inasmuch as a formidable
French column was on the march. Spent by long travel, the majority of
us stretched ourselves on the hot sands and slept, leaving half-a-dozen
to act as sentinels and prevent surprise; but at the _maghrib_ hour all
were awakened by the clear voice of our aged marabout reciting the
_fatihat_. Every man, without exception, knelt upon the sand, his back
turned upon the blaze of crimson in the west, and recited the _suras_,
praying to Allah to prosper our expedition.
When we arose, Tamahu, his right hand raised to heaven, and his left
grasping his gleaming spear, exhorted us to remain faithful, and to bear
arms bravely against the infidels.
"Ye are called forth against a mighty and a warlike nation," he
exclaimed. "Ye shall fight against them, or they shall profess Islam.
If ye obey, Allah will, of a verity, give you a glorious reward; but if
ye turn back he will chastise you with a grievous chastisement. Allah
has promised you many spoils, which ye should take; and he giveth these
by way of earnest; and he restraineth the hand of man from you; and the
same may be a sign unto the true believers; and he guideth you in the
right way. Allah knoweth that which ye know not; and he hath appointed
you, besides this, a speedy victory."
Long and earnestly the old Sheikh addressed us, quoting from our Book of
Everlasting Will to emphasise his declarations. Then he referred to the
compact he had that day made with the leader of our enemies.
"A woman of the Franks we shall receive into this our camp. Remember, O
my people, that she will partake of our salt, and that while this war
continueth she is our friend. Let not a single hair of her head be
injured. The word of thy Sheikh Tamahu hath already been given."
That evening we spent in sharpening our spears and shangermangors,
preparatory to the fight, singing snatches of war-songs and discussing
the prospects of the attack. Perhaps of all the tribes in the trackless
solitudes which constitute our home, we of the Azjar are among the most
active, vigorous, and enterprising, inured as we are to hardships, and
with our mental faculties sharpened almost to a preternatural degree by
the hard struggle for existence in our arid rocky fastnesses. The
rearing of oxen, horses, and goats is our chief occupation, but the
scarcity of water and our speedy exhaustion of the scanty pasturage of
the oases keep us perpetually on the march. Agriculture is scarcely
possible under a sky from which rain does not fall for six or eight
consecutive years; therefore it is, perhaps, not surprising that we have
developed into desert-pirates.
Those who have never set foot upon the Saharan plains can possess but a
vague idea of their appearance. In the whole of the Great Desert, a
track comprising over two million square miles, there is not a single
carriage-road, not a mile of navigable waters, not a wheeled vehicle,
canoe, or boat of any kind. There are scarcely even any beaten tracks,
for most of the routes, though followed for ages without divergence of
any kind, are temporarily effaced by every sandstorm, and recovered only
by means of the permanent landmarks--wells, prominent dunes, a solitary
eminence crowned with a solitary bush, the remains of travellers,
slaves, or camels that may have perished of thirst or exhaustion between
the stations.
Long and patiently we waited for the arrival of the woman to whom we had
promised protection; but although the night passed, the dawn rose, and
the hours crept on towards the noon, our vigilance remained unrewarded.
A second day passed in inactivity, then, wearied of waiting, we struck
camp and moved forward.
The afterglow had deepened into evening dusk when at length we came
within sight of Metlili. Looming high up on a pinnacle of rock, white
against the clear sky, its appearance astonished us, for it looked
impregnable. Its flat-roofed houses rose tier upon tier around an
exceedingly steep eminence crowned by a great mosque with high square
minaret, while at the foot of the hill were some scattered date-groves.
We had passed over the summit of a sand ridge, and were making a dash
straight upon the French stronghold, when we noticed that our presence
had already been detected. Upon the walls a few Spahis in scarlet and
some white-burnoused Arabs were moving hurriedly. Suddenly there was a
flash from the Kasbah, followed by a report, loud, sharp, echoless. Our
enemies had opened fire upon us.
Tamahu instantly gave the word to spur forward on the wings of haste.
With one accord we rode in a huge compact body so swiftly as to justify
our popular appellation "The Breath of the Wind," and, regardless of a
rapid rifle-fire that was poured out from the white walls, pressed
forward to the foot of the rock. Here we dismounted, and with loud
yells of savage rage dashed up the rough narrow way that gave entrance
to the town. Many of my companions fell dead or wounded ere they
reached the hastily-barred gate, but by dint of fierce and dogged
determination, we pushed forward in force so great that we managed to at
last batter down the huge wooden doors. Next second we poured into the
place in overwhelming numbers. Up its steep streets, so narrow that two
asses could not pass abreast, we engaged Spahis and Zouaves
hand-to-hand. So strong was our force that soon we overwhelmed them,
and commenced loud cries of triumph as we dashed up towards the Kasbah.
Suddenly, however, as we approached it we saw that its walls literally
swarmed with French soldiers who, at word of command, fired a withering
volley from their rifles which caused us to hold back dismayed.
Colonel Bonnemain had evidently received reinforcements. With their
firearms they were more than a match for us.
"Courage, brothers!" I heard Tamahu cry as he brandished his spear.
"Let us show these dogs of infidels that the Touaregs are no cowards.
Of a verity the Roumis shall never be our masters."
With set teeth we sprang forward towards the high sun-blanched walls of
the citadel, determined to take it by assault, but alas! its battlements
were full of well-armed Spahis and Turcos, and from every point showers
of lead swept down upon us. Still we kept on undaunted. Once I caught
a momentary glimpse of Colonel Bonnemain. He was standing upon the wall
bareheaded, shouting and waving his sword. But only for an instant. He
disappeared, and was seen no more.
Almost at the same instant a loud incessant spitting of guns deafened
us; bullets swept through our ranks in deadly hail, killing us by dozens
and maiming hundreds. Then, dismayed, I saw mounted on the wall a
strange-looking weapon, which once charged shed rifle-balls in hundreds.
Death seemed inevitable. My companions, appalled by the sight of that
terrible engine of destruction, wavered for an instant, then, with a cry
that Eblis was assisting the infidels, turned and fled.
Above the din of battle Tamahu shouted himself hoarse. But darkness
having now fallen, none could discern him amid the dense smoke and
constant flashing of the guns. Thus the defenders drove us back,
sweeping us away with their deadly machine-gun, and, making a sortie
from the fortress, bayonetted the more valiant ones.
Our cause seemed lost. As soon, however, as we had drawn the Spahis
outside their fort, we turned, and re-engaging them hand-to-hand,
quickly hacked our way back to the very gates of the Kasbah, the streets
in the vicinity being heaped with dead and dying. Suddenly, however, at
the moment when we were relinquishing our hope as a forlorn one, loud
shouts, followed by the beating of tam-tams, gave us renewed courage.
From mouth to mouth the glad tidings were repeated. The Beni-Mzabs, one
of the most powerful tribes on the desert border, had come up, and being
our allies, were rendering us assistance.
Of the exciting moments which immediately succeeded, I have but vague
remembrance. Suffice it to say that the warlike race of the Atlas to
the number of two thousand poured into Metlili, and with our forces
combined we succeeded in dislodging and totally annihilating the French
garrison. Everywhere throughout the town fighting quickly became
general, but in such numbers had we now assembled that those holding the
Kasbah were compelled to sue for peace. The Beni-Mzabs declined,
however, to give quarter, consequently the scenes of bloodshed were
terrible to behold. Before dawn the sack of the town had commenced, and
everywhere the firebrand was applied. The loot obtainable was, we
found, of very little value, nevertheless both the Beni-Mzabs and our
own tribesmen were in high glee at their first success against the
infidel forces. It was regarded as precursory of a great victory.
Just as the sun was rising I was inside the ancient citadel so recently
the infidel stronghold, and was exploring its many courts with their old
blue-tiled fountains and cool, handsome colonnades, when suddenly as I
passed beneath an archway in the thickness of the wall a noise startled
me. My companions in arms were regaling themselves in an open square
before the great white mosque, therefore I was alone. Around me lay
many bodies of Touaregs, Spahis, and Beni-Mzabs, while some of the
wounded were still groaning, dying slowly, for there had been no attempt
to succour the disabled. To fall in a holy war is not a misfortune, but
the reverse. The noise, a loud knock, again sounded, and turning I saw
a bolted door, which I at once opened, and was confronted by a pretty
dark-haired French girl, who, glancing at me in terror for an instant,
screamed and fled down a flight of stone stairs into an impenetrable
darkness.
In a moment I dashed after her. Already the Kasbah had been set on
fire, and to save her life instant escape was necessary. Below, in the
small foul stone chamber, used long ago as a prison, I discovered her
crouching. She screamed loudly at my approach, fearing me, perhaps,
because of the mysterious black veil across my face, and knowing that
the Veiled Men were of evil repute.
"Thou art Mademoiselle Gabrielle, daughter of our friend Colonel
Bonnemain," I exclaimed in the best French I could articulate. "Fear
not, but fly at once with me, or we may both lose our lives."
"How knowest thou my name?" she gasped in amazement. By the glimmer of
light that came from the open court above I saw that her face was
beautiful but deathly pale. "True, I am daughter of Colonel Bonnemain,
but thou art a Touareg. Assuredly thou art our enemy, not our friend.
Why, it was thine hosts who attacked us!"
Briefly I explained the promise of our Sheikh, assuring her of our
friendship. At first she was inclined to doubt my sincerity, but at
length I prevailed upon her to accompany me in our race for life from
the burning ruins. Quickly we sought Tamahu, and as there were no women
with us she was at once placed under my protection. I was to be her
guardian and her champion during the remainder of hostilities. Long and
earnestly we both searched and enquired for her father, the Colonel, but
could discover no trace of him. Some of his Spahis who survived
declared that he had been struck down in the earlier hours of the
conflict, while others maintained that they had seen him fighting
uninjured up to the very last. From our enquiries it appeared evident
that, on receiving unexpected reinforcements from the north, he had
determined upon holding out against us, and overlooking our agreement
with the Beni-Mzabs, was ill-advised enough to decline our good offices.
Then, when he found an attack in force being made, he locked Gabrielle
in a place of safety until the fight should end.
Full of excitement were those days that followed. I must, however, here
confess that within twenty-four hours I found myself deeply attached to
this bright-eyed fragile girl whoso gallant father had disappeared so
mysteriously. We, of the Azjars, leaving the prosperous town of Metlili
a mere pile of smoking ruins, encamped for a few days in the vicinity
where there was an excellent well, then together with the fierce
horsemen of the Beni-Mzab set our heads towards Wargla, another French
outpost. At first Gabrielle felt the fatigue of travel terribly.
Fortunately she could ride well, and as her inseparable companion, I
endeavoured to render her journey as comfortable as possible. At my
suggestion she had exchanged her European clothes for the _serroual_ and
_haick_ of the Arab women, finding that mode of dress more comfortable
and less conspicuous than her own; and so light-hearted she grew that
not unfrequently she would join me in a cigarette. Her grace and manner
charmed us all. The fierce horsemen of the Azjar and the Beni-Mzab are
scarcely chivalrous where women are concerned, but ere we had been on
the march three days there was not a single tribesman who would not
execute her slightest wish.
Riding day by day over the breathless solitudes of sand, no single word
of complaint ever escaped her. Whenever we halted, before she ate she
would busy herself in attending to our wounded; sometimes bandaging an
arm or a leg, at others pouring out water and handing it to a thirsty
man with a pleasing smile that quickened his pulse. Then, after we had
eaten and turned our faces to the Holy Ca'aba, she would take an old
Spanish mandoline which one of my companions had picked up cheap long
ago in Oran, and play and sing to us in a sweet contralto songs from her
own far-off Paris. They were mostly gay _chansons_, such as one hears
in the _cafes_ in Algiers, and those with refrains were sung lustily in
chorus by the whole of the great assembly.
One night after she had given us several songs I persuaded her to dance.
To those unaccustomed to life in the desert the scene would have
appeared a strange one. The bright moonlight shining full upon her,
tipped also with silver the keen heads of a couple of thousand spears
upon which her audience leaned. She had fascinated them. Unanimously
it had been declared that she was an enchantress. Only one fact
remained to mar her happiness: her uncertainty regarding her father's
fate.
"I will dance on one condition, Ahamadou," she answered in French,
throwing back her pretty head and showing her white teeth as she
laughed.
"What is that?"
"I will dance if thou wilt take off that hideous black veil. Thou hast
been my friend all this time, yet, strangely enough, I have never beheld
thy face."
I hesitated. Such a demand was unusual, for a Touareg never removes his
veil.
My companions overhearing, and noticing my disinclination to acquiesce,
with one accord urged me to accede, and at last, amid much good humour,
I unwound my black _litham_.
Long and earnestly she looked into my eyes. Her gaze lingered upon me
strangely, I thought; then suddenly clapping her hands, she raised her
long white arms above her head, and to the thumping of four _derboukas_,
one of which I held, she commenced a slow graceful dance. Never tired
of exerting herself to comfort the wounded or amuse those who were her
father's bitterest foes, she danced on until she sank completely out of
breath. Then she reclined upon the soft rugs spread for her, and, with
Tamahu and myself, smoked a cigarette in silence. From her full red
lips she blew clouds of smoke, and watched it curl upward in the still
night air. I glanced at her furtively, and saw that she had grown
unusually thoughtful. Her brilliant eyes were fixed upon the stars.
At last, pillowing her handsome head upon a leopard's skin I rolled and
placed for her, she wished me "Peace," and presently closed her eyes in
sleep.
Silence, dead and complete, had fallen upon the camp. The stillness was
only broken by the uneasy groaning of a camel or the soft footfall of a
sentry whose spear gleamed afar in the white moonbeams. Gabrielle's
heart slowly heaved and fell as she slept. Through that calm night I
sat, hugging my knees and thinking deeply. Try how I would, I could not
get rid of the one thought that for days had possessed me, the thought
of her. That she had entranced me; that she held me in her toils
irrevocably, I could not deny. Never before had I looked upon any woman
with affection until now. But I loved with all my heart and soul this
delicate Roumi, whose fair face the sun had never kissed.
Was it not in order to behold my countenance she had that evening
requested me to remove my _litham_? Her every word, her every action,
now that I recalled them, showed plainly that she did not regard me with
disfavour. The moon waned, the stars paled, and dawn was nigh ere I
cast myself upon the warm sand near her, and snatched a brief hour's
repose, not, however, before I had carefully placed a rug about her,
fearing lest the morning dew, so deadly to Europeans, should chill her.
One bright balmy night we reached El Okaz, and halted. It was a large
oasis with running water, luxuriant vegetation, and many palms. When
the _maghrib_ had been said, the evening meal eaten, and the sun was
slowly sinking, I went forth among the trees to search for camel-grass,
and invited Gabrielle to accompany me. She walked by my side, and when
we were out of hearing I took her tiny hand in mine, and, raising it
reverently to my lips, declared my love.
Slowly, but resolutely, she drew her hand away. The last ray of
sunlight tipped her hair with molten gold as we stood together beneath a
great high palm. Her brilliant eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"Alas! no, Ahamadou," she answered huskily. "We must not love each
other, it would wreck both our lives."
"Why not?" I cried passionately, my arm around her waist, her slim
white hand raised again to my lips. "I adore you. To me thou art my
life, my love, my everything."
"Ah! yes," she sighed sadly. "To you I owe my life. You have all been
so good to me, although I am a woman of the Franks, that I can scarce
believe that you are actually the Azjars, the dreaded Breath of the
Wind, reports of whose exploits have times without number caused me to
shudder."
"An Azjar never forgets a favour nor forgives a false friend," I
answered. "To our enemies we are brutal and relentless; yet those who
eat our salt need never fear. Already hast thou had experience of the
treatment the stranger receiveth within our tents."
"True," she answered, her hand closing tightly over mine. "I have had
experience of thine own tender care of me, Ahamadou, yet--"
"Yet thou hast already grown tired of our life?" I hazarded
reproachfully.
"Ah! no," she said quickly, fixing her brilliant eyes upon mine. "Thou
hast asked if I could ever love thee. I tell thee that I do love thee,
yet there is between us a barrier of blood, and such love can only bring
unhappiness unto us both."
"Thou lovest me!" I cried, delighted, and taking her soft cheeks
between my hard, sun-browned hands, our lips met for the first time in a
long passionate caress. Again, she put me from her, saying--"No, it can
never be. We are of different races, different creeds. What is right
in thine eyes is sin in mine; what is worship to thee is, to me,
idolatry. No, Ahamadou. It must not be. We must not love, for we can
never marry."
I was silent. Her argument seemed utterly unassailable. Never before
had I faced the situation until now. She had, indeed, spoken the truth.
"But we love each other!" I cried, dolefully.
"Yes," she sighed, shaking her head. "I confess that I love thee," and
her fingers again gripped my hand. "But it is the very fact that we
love one another that should cause us to part and forget."
"Why? Until the war is ended thou must, of necessity, remain in our
camp," I observed.
"And after?"
"Then we could return to Algiers, or to Oran, and marry."
She remained silent for a few moments, nervously toying with the single
ring of emeralds upon her finger.
"No," she answered at length. "This love between us is but a passing
fancy. When the war is at an end, thou wilt have become convinced of
the truth of my words."
"Never," I answered. "I love thee now; I shall love thee always."
"Alas!" she said, laying her hand softly upon my shoulder, and looking
earnestly into my face. "Now that we have both made confession we must
endeavour to forget. We love each other, but the wide difference in our
races renders happiness impossible. Thou wilt find for wife some good
woman of thine own people, and I--perhaps I shall find some man of mine
own nationality to become my husband. From to-night, Ahamadou, if thou
lovest me, thou wilt make no further sign."
I bit my lip to the blood. Although she had uttered these words, I saw
that she nevertheless loved me with a mad, passionate love, for soon
down her pink cheeks tears were coursing.
"Thou art all to me--everything, Gabrielle," I cried. "Allah knoweth
how deeply and honestly I adore thee, I--"
The sound of a rifle-shot startled us. With bated breath we both
strained our ears. The evening gloom had crept on unperceived, and it
was almost dark. In rapid succession other shots sounded, followed by
the fierce fiendish war-cry of the Beni-Mzabs. Instantly the truth
flashed upon me. We had been surprised by the French!
By the route we had come we sped back to the encampment, where we found
all confusion. A large body of Spahis had made a sudden and determined
attack, but it had been repulsed. My first thought was of Gabrielle's
safety. I found cover for her behind a huge boulder, and telling her to
seat herself, and not attempt to watch the progress of the fight,
returned, spear in hand, to bear my part against our enemies.
The cessation of the fighting was only for a few minutes. We heard the
sudden sound of a bugle, and from among the trees there dashed a
formidable troop of red-burnoused horsemen, led by a young European
officer, who sat his horse as if he were part of it. Even in that
moment of excitement I admired the way he rode. The charge was,
however, an ill-fated one. Not half those who dashed forward lived to
retreat. The Arabs of the Mechefer, who had recently joined us,
possessed guns, and the flashing of these, in combination with those of
our enemies, illumined the darkness, while the still air was full of
dense, stifling smoke. More desperate each moment the conflict grew.
Undismayed by loss or misfortune, we thrice returned their attack, each
time with increasing force, until our bullets and keen spears commenced
to work havoc among the infidel ranks. East and furious became the
fight, but gradually the attack upon us grew weaker, and at last,
determined upon reprisals, Tamahu ordered a dash forward. With one
accord we charged, and then before us the remnant of the ill-fated troop
fell back and fled to save their lives.
When I returned I found Gabrielle kneeling beside the officer whose
riding had been so conspicuous, tenderly bandaging an ugly spear-wound
he had received in the left shoulder. She had improvised a torch, and
beneath its fitful light was pursuing her task unconscious of my
approach. Upon the clammy brow of the unconscious man she placed her
cool, soft hand; then, having felt his pulse, she seemed satisfied, and
taking her flambeau went forward to one of my own tribesmen who had been
injured in the breast. From the deep shadow wherein I stood I watched
her, white-robed and fair like one of the good genii of whom the Koran
tells us, passing from one to another, alleviating their sufferings as
best she could, uttering cheering words, or giving water to the dying.
I did not approach her, for my heart seemed too full. It was best, I
thought, to leave her alone to her merciful work.
Before the sun rose many of those whom she had so carefully tended and
watched had drawn their last breath, but the young officer, whose name I
afterwards learned was Andre de Freyville, lieutenant of Spahis, had
recovered consciousness sufficiently to thank his nurse, and learn from
her lips the curious circumstances which had led her to accept the
hospitality of our tents. He proved a pleasant fellow, and during his
convalescence we all three had frequent chats together. Although he was
our prisoner-of-war, he soon became on excellent terms with Tamahu, and
his time passed happily enough. Colonel Bonnemain had, he told us,
escaped when Metlili fell, and had reached Algiers unharmed.
Soon, in order to join forces with another large body of horsemen moving
from the great Hammada, or stony tableland, in Tripoli, we advanced to
the oasis of Medagin, two days' march from El Aghouat, then held in such
force by the French that we dared not attack it.
Reaching Medagin at noon, we encamped. When the stars shone both
Gabrielle and De Freyville sang us some French _chansons_, the one
accompanying the other upon the mandoline. Before we scooped out our
hollows in the sand to form our couches I borrowed a gun from one of the
Arabs, intending to go out at dawn to shoot some desert-partridges in
which the oasis abounds. Ere day broke I rose, and leaving the whole
camp in slumber, strolled away to a rocky spot I had on the previous day
noted as a likely place to find the birds. It was on the edge of the
oasis, at some distance from the well where we had encamped. When I
arrived there the sun had not risen, and the birds were still roosting.
Therefore, with my rifle loaded with a bullet (for I had no small shot),
I sat down to wait.
For perhaps half-an-hour I had remained when my quick ear detected the
sounds of horses' hoofs. Believing the newcomer to be a French vedette
I drew back behind a large boulder, with the barrel of my rifle placed
upon the top of the rock in readiness to pick him off as he passed. On
came the horseman, until suddenly he emerged from among the mimosas and
euphorbias. An ejaculation of dismay involuntarily left my lips. There
was not one horse, but two. The riders were fugitives. They were our
prisoner-of-war, Lieutenant de Freyville, and Gabrielle Bonnemain, the
woman I loved.
Mounted upon horses they had secured, they spurred forward together at
headlong speed. Their way on to the desert lay down a narrow stony
ravine, to traverse which they would be compelled to pass close by the
spot where I was lying in ambush. On they came swiftly, without a word.
Inwardly I gloated over my revenge.
This man was stealing from me the woman I loved dearer than life. And
she--she had declared that she loved me! Yet her words were foul lies.
She should die!
I fingered the trigger, and held my gun to my shoulder in readiness as
the pair pressed forward, unconscious of their approaching doom. If
ever the spirit of murder entered my soul, it was at that moment.
When within a leopard's leap of the muzzle of my rifle she turned back
towards her companion, uttered some gay words to him, threw back her
head and laughed lightly, displaying her white teeth.
I raised my rifle and took deliberate aim at her panting breast. My
hands trembled. Next second a flood of bitter recollections surged
through my brain. I remembered those solemn words she had uttered: "We
are of different races; different creeds. What is right in thine eyes
is sin in mine; what is worship to thee is, to me, idolatry. It is the
very fact that we love one another that should cause us to part and
forget."
Yes, my enchantress had spoken the truth.
My hands were nerveless. I dropped my gun, the weapon with which I had
so nearly taken her young life, and through a mist of gathering tears
watched her ride rapidly away beside her newly-discovered lover, and
disappear over the dune towards El Aghouat.
When she had gone, my head sank upon my breast and my teeth were set,
for full well I knew that never again could I love any woman as truly as
I had loved her. My pole-star, the light of my life, had for ever been
extinguished.