Whereof I am commander;
With a burning spear and a horse of air,
To the wilderness1 I wander.
I summoned am to tourney—
Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end,
Methinks it is no journey.
—Tom a’ Bedlam’s Song.
“Good-bye, Bess; I promised you fifty. Here’s a hundred—all that I got for my furniture from Beeton. That will keep you in pretty frocks for some time. You’ve been a good little girl, all things considered, but you’ve given me and Torpenhow a fair amount of trouble.”
“Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, won’t you?”
“Of course I will, dear. Now take me up the gang-plank and into the cabin. Once aboard the lugger and the maid is—and I am free, I mean.”
“Who’ll look after you on this ship?”
“The head-steward4, if there’s any use in money. The doctor when we come to Port Said, if I know anything of P. and O. doctors. After that, the Lord will provide, as He used to do.”
Bess found Dick his cabin in the wild turmoil5 of a ship full of leavetakers and weeping relatives. Then he kissed her, and laid himself down in his bunk6 until the decks should be clear. He who had taken so long to move about his own darkened rooms well understood the geography of a ship, and the necessity of seeing to his own comforts was as wine to him.
Before the screw began to thrash the ship along the Docks he had been introduced to the head-steward, had royally tipped him, secured a good place at table, opened out his baggage, and settled himself down with joy in the cabin. It was scarcely necessary to feel his way as he moved about, for he knew everything so well. Then God was very kind: a deep sleep of weariness came upon him just as he would have thought of Maisie, and he slept till the steamer had cleared the mouth of the Thames and was lifting to the pulse of the Channel.
The rattle7 of the engines, the reek8 of oil and paint, and a very familiar sound in the next cabin roused him to his new inheritance.
“Oh, it’s good to be alive again!” He yawned, stretched himself vigorously, and went on deck to be told that they were almost abreast9 of the lights of Brighton. This is no more open water than Trafalgar Square is a common; the free levels begin at Ushant; but none the less Dick could feel the healing of the sea at work upon him already. A boisterous10 little cross-swell swung the steamer disrespectfully by the nose; and one wave breaking far aft spattered the quarterdeck and the pile of new deck-chairs. He heard the foam11 fall with the clash of broken glass, was stung in the face by a cupful, and sniffing12 luxuriously13, felt his way to the smoking-room by the wheel. There a strong b reeze found him, blew his cap off and left him bareheaded in the doorway14, and the smoking-room steward, understanding that he was a voyager of experience, said that the weather would be stiff in the chops off the Channel and more than half a gale15 in the Bay. These things fell as they were foretold16, and Dick enjoyed himself to the utmost. It is allowable and even necessary at sea to lay firm hold upon tables, stanchions, and ropes in moving from place to place. On land the man who feels with his hands is patently blind. At sea even a blind man who is not sea-sick can jest with the doctor over the weakness of his fellows. Dick told the doctor many tales—and these are coin of more value than silver if properly handled—smoked with him till unholy hours of the night, and so won his short-lived regard that he promised Dick a few hours of his time when they came to Port Said.
And the sea roared or was still as the winds blew, and the engines sang their song day and night, and the sun grew stronger day by day, and Tom the Lascar barber shaved Dick of a morning under the opened hatch-grating where the cool winds blew, and the awnings17 were spread and the passengers made merry, and at last they came to Port Said.
“Take me,” said Dick, to the doctor, “to Madame Binat’s—if you know where that is.”
“Whew!” said the doctor, “I do. There’s not much to choose between ’em; but I suppose you’re aware that that’s one of the worst houses in the place. They’ll rob you to begin with, and knife you later.”
“Not they. Take me there, and I can look after myself.”
So he was brought to Madame Binat’s and filled his nostrils18 with the well-remembered smell of the East, that runs without a change from the Canal head to Hong-Kong, and his mouth with the villainous Lingua Franca of the Levant. The heat smote19 him between the shoulder-blades with the buffet20 of an old friend, his feet slipped on the sand, and his coat-sleeve was warm as new-baked bread when he lifted it to his nose.
Madame Binat smiled with the smile that knows no astonishment21 when Dick entered the drinking-shop which was one source of her gains. But for a little accident of complete darkness he could hardly realise that he had ever quitted the old life that hummed in his ears. Somebody opened a bottle of peculiarly strong Schiedam. The smell reminded Dick of Monsieur Binat, who, by the way, had spoken of art and degradation23.
Binat was dead; Madame said as much when the doctor departed, scandalised, so far as a ship’s doctor can be, at the warmth of Dick’s reception. Dick was delighted at it. “They remember me here after a year. They have forgotten me across the water by this time. Madame, I want a long talk with you when you’re at liberty. It is good to be back again.”
In the evening she set an iron-topped café-table out on the sands, and Dick and she sat by it, while the house behind them filled with riot, merriment, oaths, and threats. The stars came out and the lights of the shipping24 in the harbour twinkled by the head of the Canal.
“Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; but what dost thou do here? We have not forgotten thee.”
“I was over there in England and I went blind.”
“But there was the glory first. We heard of it here, even here—I and Binat; and thou hast used the head of Yellow “Tina—she is still alive—so often and so well that “Tina laughed when the papers arrived by the mail-boats. It was always something that we here could recognise in the paintings. And then there was always the glory and the money for thee.”
“I am not poor—I shall pay you well.”
“Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything.” Under her breath, “Mon Dieu, to be blind and so young! What horror!”
Dick could not see her face with the pity on it, or his own with the discoloured hair at the temples. He did not feel the need of pity; he was too anxious to get to the front once more, and explained his desire.
“And where? The Canal is full of the English ships. Sometimes they fire as they used to do when the war was here—ten years ago. Beyond Cairo there is fighting, but how canst thou go there without a correspondent’s passport? And in the desert there is always fighting, but that is impossible also,” said she.
“I must go to Suakin.” He knew, thanks to Alf’s readings, that Torpenhow was at work with the column that was protecting the construction of the Suakin-Berber line. P. and O. steamers do not touch at that port, and, besides, Madame Binat knew everybody whose help or advice was worth anything. They were not respectable folk, but they could cause things to be accomplished25, which is much more important when there is work toward.
“But at Suakin they are always fighting. That desert breeds men always—and always more men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin?”
“My friend is there.
“Thy friend! Chtt! Thy friend is death, then.”
Madame Binat dropped a fat arm on the table-top, filled Dick’s glass anew, and looked at him closely under the stars. There was no need that he should bow his head in assent26 and say—“No. He is a man, but—if it should arrive... blamest thou?”
“I blame?” she laughed shrilly27. “Who am I that I should blame any one—except those who try to cheat me over their consommations. But it is very terrible.”
“I must go to Suakin. Think for me. A great deal has changed within the year, and the men I knew are not here. The Egyptian lighthouse steamer goes down the Canal to Suakin—and the post-boats—But even then——”
“Do not think any longer. I know, and it is for me to think. Thou shalt go—thou shalt go and see thy friend. Be wise. Sit here until the house is a little quiet—I must attend to my guests—and afterwards go to bed. Thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go.”
“To-morrow?”
“As soon as may be.” She was talking as though he were a child.
He sat at the table listening to the voices in the harbour and the streets, and wondering how soon the end would come, till Madame Binat carried him off to bed and ordered him to sleep. The house shouted and sang and danced and revelled28, Madame Binat moving through it with one eye on the liquor payments and the girls and the other on Dick’s interests. To this latter end she smiled upon scowling29 and furtive30 Turkish officers of fellaheen regiments31, was gracious to Cypriote commissariat underlings, and more than kind to camel agents of no nationality whatever.
In the early morning, being then appropriately dressed in a flaming red silk ball-dress, with a front of tarnished32 gold embroidery33 and a necklace of plate-glass diamonds, she made chocolate and carried it in to Dick.
“It is only I, and I am of discreet34 age, eh? Drink and eat the roll too. Thus in France mothers bring their sons, when those behave wisely, the morning chocolate.” She sat down on the side of the bed whispering:—“It is all arranged. Thou wilt35 go by the lighthouse boat. That is a bribe36 of ten pounds English. The captain is never paid by the Government. The boat comes to Suakin in four days. There will go with thee George, a Greek muleteer. Another bribe of ten pounds. I will pay; they must not know of thy money. George will go with thee as far as he goes with his mules37. Then he comes back to me, for his well-beloved is here, and if I do not receive a telegram from Suakin saying that thou art well, the girl answers for George.”
“Thank you.” He reached out sleepily for the cup. “You are much too kind, Madame.”
“If there were anything that I might do I would say, stay here and be wise; but I do not think that would be best for thee.” She looked at her liquor-stained dress with a sad smile. “Nay, thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go. It is best so. My boy, it is best so.”
She stooped and kissed Dick between the eyes. “That is for good-morning,” she said, going away. “When thou art dressed we will speak to George and make everything ready. But first we must open the little trunk. Give me the keys.”
“The amount of kissing lately has been simply scandalous. I shall expect Torp to kiss me next. He is more likely to swear at me for getting in his way, though. Well, it won’t last long.—Ohe, Madame, help me to my toilette of the guillotine! There will be no chance of dressing38 properly out yonder.”
He was rummaging39 among his new campaign-kit40, and rowelling his hands with the spurs. There are two ways of wearing well-oiled ankle-jacks, spotless blue bands, khaki coat and breeches, and a perfectly41 pipeclayed helmet. The right way is the way of the untired man, master of himself, setting out upon an expedition, well pleased.
“Everything must be very correct,” Dick explained. “It will become dirty afterwards, but now it is good to feel well dressed. Is everything as it should be?”
He patted the revolver neatly42 hidden under the fulness of the blouse on the right hip3 and fingered his collar.
“I can do no more,” Madame said, between laughing and crying. “Look at thyself—but I forgot.”
“I am very content.” He stroked the creaseless spirals of his leggings.
“Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat.
Be quick, Madame.”
“But thou canst not be seen by the harbour walking with me in the daylight. Figure to yourself if some English ladies——”
“There are no English ladies; and if there are, I have forgotten them.
Take me there.”
In spite of this burning impatience43 it was nearly evening ere the lighthouse boat began to move. Madame had said a great deal both to George and the captain touching44 the arrangements that were to be made for Dick’s benefit. Very few men who had the honour of her acquaintance cared to disregard Madame’s advice. That sort of contempt might end in being knifed by a stranger in a gambling45 hell upon surprisingly short provocation46.
For six days—two of them were wasted in the crowded Canal—the little steamer worked her way to Suakin, where she was to pick up the superintendent47 of the lighthouse; and Dick made it his business to propitiate48 George, who was distracted with fears for the safety of his light-of-love and half inclined to make Dick responsible for his own discomfort49. When they arrived George took him under his wing, and together they entered the red-hot seaport50, encumbered51 with the material and wastage of the Suakin-Berger line, from locomotives in disconsolate52 fragments to mounds53 of chairs and pot-sleepers.
“If you keep with me,” said George, “nobody will ask for passports or what you do. They are all very busy.”
“Yes; but I should like to hear some of the Englishmen talk. They might remember me. I was known here a long time ago—when I was some one indeed.”
“A long time ago is a very long time ago here. The graveyards54 are full.
Now listen. This new railway runs out so far as Tanai-el-Hassan—that is seven miles. Then there is a camp. They say that beyond Tanai-el-Hassan the English troops go forward, and everything that they require will be brought to them by this line.”
“Ah! Base camp. I see. That’s a better business than fighting Fuzzies in the open.”
“For this reason even the mules to up in the iron-train.”
“Iron what?”
“It is all covered with iron, because it is still being shot at.”
“An armoured train. Better and better! Go on, faithful George.”
“And I go up with my mules to-night. Only those who particularly require to go to the camp go out with the train. They begin to shoot not far from the city.”
“The dears—they always used to!” Dick snuffed the smell of parched55 dust, heated iron, and flaking56 paint with delight. Certainly the old life was welcoming him back most generously.
“When I have got my mules together I go up to-night, but you must first send a telegram of Port Said, declaring that I have done you no harm.”
“Madame has you well in hand. Would you stick a knife into me if you had the chance?”
“I have no chance,” said the Greek. “She is there with that woman.”
“I see. It’s a bad thing to be divided between love of woman and the chance of loot. I sympathise with you, George.”
They went to the telegraph-office unquestioned, for all the world was desperately57 busy and had scarcely time to turn its head, and Suakin was the last place under sky that would be chosen for holiday-ground. On their return the voice of an English subaltern asked Dick what he was doing. The blue goggles58 were over his eyes and he walked with his hand on George’s elbow as he replied—“Egyptian Government—mules. My orders are to give them over to the A. C. G. at Tanai-el-Hassan. Any occasion to show my papers?”
“Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I’d no right to ask, but not seeing your face before I——”
“I go out in the train to-night, I suppose,” said Dick, boldly. “There will be no difficulty in loading up the mules, will there?”
“You can see the horse-platforms from here. You must have them loaded up early.” The young man went away wondering what sort of broken-down waif this might be who talked like a gentleman and consorted59 with Greek muleteers. Dick felt unhappy. To outface an English officer is no small thing, but the bluff60 loses relish61 when one plays it from the utter dark, and stumbles up and down rough ways, thinking and eternally thinking of what might have been if things had fallen out otherwise, and all had been as it was not.
George shared his meal with Dick and went off to the mule-lines. His charge sat alone in a shed with his face in his hands. Before his tight-shut eyes danced the face of Maisie, laughing, with parted lips. There was a great bustle62 and clamour about him. He grew afraid and almost called for George.
“I say, have you got your mules ready?” It was the voice of the subaltern over his shoulder.
“My man’s looking after them. The—the fact is I’ve a touch of ophthalmia and can’t see very well.
“By Jove! that’s bad. You ought to lie up in hospital for a while. I’ve had a turn of it myself. It’s as bad as being blind.”
“So I find it. When does this armoured train go?”
“At six o’clock. It takes an hour to cover the seven miles.”
“Are the Fuzzies on the rampage—eh?”
“About three nights a week. Fact is I’m in acting63 command of the night-train. It generally runs back empty to Tanai for the night.”
“Big camp at Tanai, I suppose?”
“Pretty big. It has to feed our desert-column somehow.”
“Is that far off?”
“Between thirty and forty miles—in an infernal thirsty country.”
“Is the country quiet between Tanai and our men?”
“More or less. I shouldn’t care to cross it alone, or with a subaltern’s command for the matter of that, but the scouts64 get through it in some extraordinary fashion.”
“They always did.”
“Have you been here before, then?”
“I was through most of the trouble when it first broke out.”
“In the service and cashiered,” was the subaltern’s first thought, so he refrained from putting any questions.
“There’s your man coming up with the mules. It seems rather queer——”
“That I should be mule-leading?” said Dick.
“I didn’t mean to say so, but it is. Forgive me—it’s beastly impertinence I know, but you speak like a man who has been at a public school. There’s no mistaking the tone.”
“I am a public school man.”
“I thought so. I say, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you’re a little down on your luck, aren’t you? I saw you sitting with your head in your hands, and that’s why I spoke22.”
“Thanks. I am about as thoroughly65 and completely broke as a man need be.”
“Suppose—I mean I’m a public school man myself. Couldn’t I perhaps—take it as a loan y’know and——”
“You’re much too good, but on my honour I’ve as much money as I want.
... I tell you what you could do for me, though, and put me under an everlasting66 obligation. Let me come into the bogie truck of the train.
There is a fore-truck, isn’t there?”
“Yes. How d’you know?”
“I’ve been in an armoured train before. Only let me see—hear some of the fun I mean, and I’ll be grateful. I go at my own risk as a non-combatant.”
The young man thought for a minute. “All right,” he said. “We’re supposed to be an empty train, and there’s no one to blow me up at the other end.”
George and a horde67 of yelling amateur assistants had loaded up the mules, and the narrow-gauge armoured train, plated with three-eighths inch boiler-plate till it looked like one long coffin68, stood ready to start.
Two bogie trucks running before the locomotive were completely covered in with plating, except that the leading one was pierced in front for the muzzle69 of a machine-gun, and the second at either side for lateral70 fire.
The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber71 in which a score of artillerymen were rioting.
“Whitechapel—last train! Ah, I see yer kissin’ in the first class there!” somebody shouted, just as Dick was clamouring into the forward truck.
“Lordy! ’Ere’s a real live passenger for the Kew, Tanai, Acton, and Ealin’ train. Echo, sir. Speshul edition! Star, sir.”—“Shall I get you a foot-warmer?” said another.
“Thanks. I’ll pay my footing,” said Dick, and relations of the most amiable73 were established ere silence came with the arrival of the subaltern, and the train jolted74 out over the rough track.
“This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy in the open,” said Dick, from his place in the corner.
“Oh, but he’s still unimpressed. There he goes!” said the subaltern, as a bullet struck the outside of the truck. “We always have at least one demonstration76 against the night-train. Generally they attack the rear-truck, where my junior commands. He gets all the fun of the fair.”
“Not to-night though! Listen!” said Dick. A flight of heavy-handed bullets was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert valued their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark.
“Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?” the subaltern asked of the engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant77 of Sappers.
“I should think so! This is my section of the line. They’ll be playing old Harry78 with my permanent way if we don’t stop ’em.”
“Right O!”
“Hrrmph!” said the machine gun through all its five noses as the subaltern drew the lever home. The empty cartridges79 clashed on the floor and the smoke blew back through the truck. There was indiscriminate firing at the rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness without and unlimited81 howling. Dick stretched himself on the floor, wild with delight at the sounds and the smells.
“God is very good—I never thought I’d hear this again. Give ’em hell, men. Oh, give ’em hell!” he cried.
The train stopped for some obstruction82 on the line ahead and a party went out to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades. The children of the desert had piled sand and gravel83 on the rails, and twenty minutes were lost in clearing it away. Then the slow progress recommenced, to be varied84 with more shots, more shoutings, the steady clack and kick of the machine guns, and a final difficulty with a half-lifted rail ere the train came under the protection of the roaring camp at Tanai-el-Hassan.
“Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her through,” said the subaltern, unshipping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun.
“It was a lark85, though. I only wish it had lasted twice as long. How superb it must have looked from outside!” said Dick, sighing regretfully.
“It palls86 after the first few nights. By the way, when you’ve settled about your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. I’m Bennil of the Gunners—in the artillery72 lines—and mind you don’t fall over my tent-ropes in the dark.”
But it was all dark to Dick. He could only smell the camels, the hay-bales, the cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the tents as he stood, where he had dropped from the train, shouting for George. There was a sound of light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of the rear trucks, with squealing87 and grunting89. George was unloading the mules.
The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick’s ear; a cold wind of the desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and dirty—so dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands. That was a hopeless job; he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to count over the many times that he had waited in strange or remote places for trains or camels, mules or horses, to carry him to his business. In those days he could see—few men more clearly—and the spectacle of an armed camp at dinner under the stars was an ever fresh pleasure to the eye. There was colour, light, and motion, without which no man has much pleasure in living. This night there remained for him only one more journey through the darkness that never lifts to tell a man how far he has travelled. Then he would grip Torpenhow’s hand again—Torpenhow, who was alive and strong, and lived in the midst of the action that had once made the reputation of a man called Dick Heldar: not in the least to be confused with the blind, bewildered vagabond who seemed to answer to the same name. Yes, he would find Torpenhow, and come as near to the old life as might be. Afterwards he would forget everything: Bessie, who had wrecked90 the Melancolia and so nearly wrecked his life; Beeton, who lived in a strange unreal city full of tin-tacks and gas-plugs and matters that no men needed; that irrational91 being who had offered him love and loyalty92 for nothing, but had not signed her name; and most of all Maisie, who, from her own point of view, was undeniably right in all she did, but oh, at this distance, so tantalisingly fair.
George’s hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation.
“And what now?” said George.
“Oh yes of course. What now? Take me to the camel-men. Take me to where the scouts sit when they come in from the desert. They sit by their camels, and the camels eat grain out of a black blanket held up at the corners, and the men eat by their side just like camels. Take me there!”
The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick stumbled many times over the stumps93 of scrub. The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick knew they would. The light of the dung-fires flickered94 on their bearded faces, and the camels bubbled and mumbled95 beside them at rest. It was no part of Dick’s policy to go into the desert with a convoy96 of supplies. That would lead to impertinent questions, and since a blind non-combatant is not needed at the front, he would probably be forced to return to Suakin.
He must go up alone, and go immediately.
“Now for one last bluff—the biggest of all,” he said. “Peace be with you, brethren!” The watchful97 George steered98 him to the circle of the nearest fire. The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, and the camels, scenting99 a European, looked sideways curiously100 like brooding hens, half ready to get to their feet.
“A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line to-night,” said Dick.
“A Mulaid?” said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that he knew.
“A Bisharin,” returned Dick, with perfect gravity. “A Bisharin without saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.”
Two or three minutes passed. Then—“We be knee-haltered for the night. There is no going out from the camp.”
“Not for money?”
“H’m! Ah! English money?”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my journey’s end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik here, to be paid when the driver returns.”
This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick’s behalf.
“For scarcely one night’s journey—fifty pounds. Land and wells and good trees and wives to make a man content for the rest of his days. Who speaks?” said Dick.
“I,” said a voice. “I will go—but there is no going from the camp.”
“Fool! I know that a camel can break his knee-halter, and the sentries102 do not fire if one goes in chase. Twenty-five pounds and another twenty-five pounds. But the beast must be a good Bisharin; I will take no baggage-camel.”
Then the bargaining began, and at the end of half an hour the first deposit was paid over to the sheik, who talked in low tones to the driver.
Dick heard the latter say: “A little way out only. Any baggage-beast will serve. Am I a fool to waste my cattle for a blind man?”
“And though I cannot see’—Dick lifted his voice a little—“yet I carry that which has six eyes, and the driver will sit before me. If we do not reach the English troops in the dawn he will be dead.”
“But where, in God’s name, are the troops?”
“Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know? Remember it will be life or death to thee.”
“Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel’s head a moment. I want to feel his cheek.” The hands wandered over the hide till they found the branded half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built riding-camel.
“That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing104 of God comes on those who try to cheat the blind.”
The men chuckled105 by the fires at the camel-driver’s discomfiture106. He had intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt.
“Stand back!” one shouted, lashing107 the Biharin under the belly108 with a quirt. Dick obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten109 in his hand,—and a cry went up, “Illaha! Aho! He is loose.”
With a roar and a grunt88 the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged110 forward toward the desert, his driver following with shouts and lamentation111.
George caught Dick’s arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a disgusted sentry112 who was used to stampeding camels.
“What’s the row now?” he cried.
“Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,” Dick answered, after the manner of a common soldier.
“Go on, and take care your throat’s not cut outside—you and your dromedary’s.”
The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, and his driver had called him back and made him kneel down.
“Mount first,” said Dick. Then climbing into the second seat and gently screwing the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion’s back, “Go on in God’s name, and swiftly. Good-bye, George. Remember me to Madame, and have a good time with your girl. Get forward, child of the Pit!”
A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly broken by the creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. Dick adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace, girthed his belt tighter, and felt the darkness slide past. For an hour he was conscious only of the sense of rapid progress.
“A good camel,” he said at last.
“He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,” the driver replied.
“Go on.”
His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor113 of his thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze114 it seemed that he was learning a punishment hymn115 at Mrs. Jennett’s. He had committed some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked him up in his bedroom. But he could never repeat more than the first two lines of the hymn—
When Israel of the Lord beloved
He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned in the saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and ending the ride. Dick roused, struck him over the head with the butt117, and stormed himself wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump118 of camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled119 up rising ground. A shot was fired, and the silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep. Dick could think no longer. He was too tired and stiff and cramped120 to do more than nod uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and punching the driver with the pistol.
“She is near her setting.”
“I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the desert talk.”
The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind. It rattled122 the dead leaves of a shrub123 some distance away and ceased. A handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench124 and crumbled125 softly to the bottom.
“Go on. The night is very cold.”
Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour before the light lengthens126 itself into many eternities. It seemed to Dick that he had never since the beginning of original darkness done anything at all save jolt75 through the air. Once in a thousand years he would finger the nailheads on the saddle-front and count them all carefully. Centuries later he would shift his revolver from his right hand to his left and allow the eased arm to drop down at his side. From the safe distance of London he was watching himself thus employed,—watching critically. Yet whenever he put out his hand to the canvas that he might paint the tawny127 yellow desert under the glare of the sinking moon, the black shadow of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that hand held a revolver and the arm was numbed128 from wrist to collar-bone. Moreover, he was in the dark, and could see no canvas of any kind whatever.
“I smell the dawn,” he whispered.
“It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well?”
The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind the pungent130 reek of camels in the square.
“Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on.”
“They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I cannot see what they do.”
“Am I in better case? Go forward.”
They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the bubbling of the beasts and the hoarse131 cries of the soldiers girthing up for the day.
Two or three shots were fired.
“Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English,” Dick spoke angrily.
“Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an hour ago.”
The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind multiplied. The children of the desert had arranged that most uncomfortable of surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops, and were getting their distance by snap-shots at the only moving object without the square.
“What luck! What stupendous and imperial luck!” said Dick. “It’s “just before the battle, mother.” Oh, God has been most good to me!
Only’—the agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an instant—“Maisie...”
“Allahu! We are in,” said the man, as he drove into the rearguard and the camel knelt.
“Who the deuce are you? Despatches or what? What’s the strength of the enemy behind that ridge80? How did you get through?” asked a dozen voices. For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt, and shouted from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice, “Torpenhow! Ohe, Torp! Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how.”
A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe moved very swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, began to fire at the puffs133 of smoke from the hillocks around. Gradually the scattered134 white cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked white that hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before they turned over wave-like and glided135 into the valleys. The soldiers in the square were coughing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed136 their view, and they edged forward to get beyond it. A wounded camel leaped to its feet and roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. Some one had cut its throat to prevent confusion. Then came the thick sob137 of a man receiving his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and redoubled firing.
There was no time to ask any questions.
“Get down, man! Get down behind the camel!”
“No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle.” Dick turned his face to Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but, miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Torpenhow saw that his hair was gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old man.
“Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off!”
And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways from the Bisharin’s saddle at Torpenhow’s feet. His luck had held to the last, even to the crowning mercy of a kindly138 bullet through his head.
Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick’s body in his arms.
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收听单词发音
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1
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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6
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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7
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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8
reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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14
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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15
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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16
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
awnings
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| 篷帐布 | |
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18
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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19
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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20
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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22
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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23
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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24
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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25
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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26
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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27
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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28
revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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29
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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30
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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31
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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32
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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33
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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34
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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35
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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36
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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37
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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38
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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39
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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40
kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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41
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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42
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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43
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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44
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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45
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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46
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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47
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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48
propitiate
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| v.慰解，劝解 | |
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49
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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50
seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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51
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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53
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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54
graveyards
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| 墓地( graveyard的名词复数 )； 垃圾场； 废物堆积处； 收容所 | |
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55
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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56
flaking
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| 刨成片，压成片； 盘网 | |
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57
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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58
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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59
consorted
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| v.结伴( consort的过去式和过去分词 )；交往；相称；调和 | |
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60
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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61
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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62
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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63
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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64
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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65
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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66
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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67
horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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68
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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69
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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70
lateral
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| adj.侧面的，旁边的 | |
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71
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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72
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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73
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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74
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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76
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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77
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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78
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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79
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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80
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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81
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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82
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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83
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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84
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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85
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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86
palls
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| n.柩衣( pall的名词复数 )；墓衣；棺罩；深色或厚重的覆盖物v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的第三人称单数 ) | |
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87
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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88
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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89
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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90
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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91
irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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92
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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93
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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94
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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97
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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98
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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99
scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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100
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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101
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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102
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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103
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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104
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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105
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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107
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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108
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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109
tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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110
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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111
lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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112
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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113
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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114
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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115
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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116
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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117
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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118
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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119
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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120
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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121
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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122
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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123
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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124
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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125
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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126
lengthens
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的第三人称单数 ) | |
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127
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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128
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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130
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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131
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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132
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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133
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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134
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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135
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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136
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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137
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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138
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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