As Ali had foreseen, the Bedouin declined to deprive himself of his steed.
"Then," said M. de Morin to the interpreter, "I order you to translate to him exactly what I am going to say, word for word, and at the same time with me."
"I will obey you."
The Frenchman, calm and self-possessed, but very determined, approached the Bedouin, who, resting on his lance, remained motionless.
"Your friends," said he, "have carried off one of my servants. It is my duty to go to his assistance and rescue him. You decline to sell me your horse, which is indispensable to me, and consequently I am going to take it. If we are not killed, I swear to restore it to you. But, if you stir a finger, or make any attempt whatever to hinder my departure, I swear I'll shoot you dead. Here is my weapon, and I am not joking."
He drew out of its case, slung from his shoulder-belt, a six-chambered revolver, of large bore, and ready loaded.
The Bedouin changed colour, but did not answer a word.
"Go and bring me the horse," said M. de Morin to the interpreter.
The order was given in so peremptory a tone that Ali had nothing to do but obey.
M. de Morin, revolver in hand, at a couple of paces from the Bedouin, held him in check.
Ali returned with the horse on which, without taking his eyes for an instant from the Arab, M. de Morin leaped at a single bound. There was nothing now, indeed, to be feared from the stranger, who understood from M. de Morin's words and looks that he was face to face with a man against whom it would be more than useless to struggle. He made a virtue, therefore, of necessity, and bowed before the superior force of his adversary, as all these semi-barbarians, harsh and cruel to the weak, but yielding and cowardly before the strong, know so well how to do.
In readiness, now, for a start, M. de Morin issued his final orders.
"You will go," said he to Ali, "to my friends in Djiddah, at once. You will tell them that I could not abandon to his fate a European who had left France with me. My protection is just as much due to him as his services are to me. My friends will understand me, for they would have done the same in my place. Ask them to consult amongst themselves without the loss of a moment, and to come to our rescue, in their turn, if they deem it necessary."
"Master," exclaimed Ali, "you are exposing yourself to certain death. What can you do, alone and unaided, against these Arabs, even if you overtake them?"
"In certain cases," replied M. de Morin, "argument is futile, and I have been arguing too long already. Do what I bid you, and do not lose sight of this man so long as I am within range of his gun. Good-bye!"
He took his horse by the head and set off at full gallop.
The Arab, still motionless, smiled a malicious smile, the meaning of which it was easy to divine. I shall not be long, he seemed to say, without my revenge upon this dog of an unbeliever.
As soon as M. de Morin had disappeared in a cloud of dust, Ali, in obedience to the orders he had received, took the road back to Djiddah. The Bedouin, after a moment's hesitation, took the same route. His material interests outweighed his prudence. He rendered himself liable, it is true, to be roughly handled by the Turkish authorities on his return to the town; for, if the European had powerful friends in Djiddah, they would make him responsible for the abduction carried out under his eyes by his companions. But, on the other hand, if he disappeared and concealed himself in the desert, how could the purloiner of his horse either restore the animal or pay him its value? And such a steed as his was worthy of considerable risk.
Having come to this conclusion, he thought it better to overtake Ali and enter into conversation with him, seeing that a little preliminary information on the score of M. de Morin might be useful.
The interpreter, with that shrewdness peculiar to the Arabs generally, and developed especially in the case of those who, like Ali, are in constant communication with strangers, was equally quick in recognizing that he was bound to magnify to the utmost his master's importance, and to employ all his tact and skill in an endeavour to secure the assistance and co-operation of the Bedouin. For, if the latter perceived that such a line of conduct would conduce to his own interests, he would certainly not hesitate to institute such a search after M. de Morin and Joseph as would be sure to result in success. A genuine Arab would invariably refuse to come to the assistance of any European, if his doing so involved his pursuing or fighting against his co-religionists and his friends. But the Bedouin is not an Arab, though very often one is confounded with the other. The Arab is sedentary; he has his family, his clan, his tribe, his domestic hearth, his cattle, and very frequently his land. For their protection, or for the advantages to be derived from it, he appreciates the benefits of a partial civilization, relative to his wants, and he seeks after it. The Bedouin, on the contrary, is a Nomad; his horizon is bounded by the desert or the mountain; his property is limited to his weapons, his horse, or his camel; he lives by pillage alone, and his ideas of religion and morality are of the vaguest possible description. A story is told of a Bedouin, convicted of murder and theft, having been asked by a Frenchman—"What would you say to God, if you were summoned to appear before Him?" The reply was—"I should not say anything. I should merely greet Him. If He were good-natured and gave me food and tobacco, I should stay with Him; if not, I should mount my horse and ride away." This answer proves conclusively that, to the majority of these people, God is only an earthly king, somewhat more powerful than the rest, and living in a remote desert. The Bedouins formerly were shepherds, who formed, as it were, numerous colonies around the sedentary population, but, little by little, their wandering life has deteriorated their character and brought them down in the social scale. They must not be confounded with the original type of the Arab race; they have the same genealogical tree, but they are only the decayed branches of a tree still green and flourishing.
Knowing all this, and having long been conversant with the Bedouin character, Ali, when questioned by the steedless cavalier, was most particular in informing him that M. de Morin and his friends were very great personages, under the protection of the Turkish Government, rich enough to repay with generosity any services rendered to them, and powerful enough to punish all attempts at desertion or treason.
Whilst thus endeavouring to enlist an ally, the interpreter reached the walls of Djiddah. He rapidly made his way down the street, which runs along the whole length of the town, gained the quay, got into a boat, and went on board the steamer, which already had its steam up, and only awaited M. de Morin and Joseph to weigh anchor.
In a very few words, Ali made Madame de Guéran, Miss Poles, and their two companions masters of the situation. Their dismay and anguish at first prevented their saying a word; but afterwards they had but one thought, but one resolve—to fly to the rescue of their friend, as he had to the succour of his servant. But how were they to set about it?
Were they, ignorant of the country, of its tracks and its customs, blindly to rush into a new venture? Would it not be wiser to reflect a little? Might they not, by over-precipitation, jeopardize the lives of those they wished to save? They were bound to act with circumspection and with a reasonable hope of success. With one common impulse they determined to betake themselves to the French Consul and demand his aid.
The Consul received them at once, and listened to what they had to say with the greatest kindness, but he, at the same time, regretfully declared that he could not officially lend them any practical assistance.
"From a restraining point of view alone," said he, "we have a certain influence. If your friend perishes I will inform my Government of the circumstance. It will demand reparation, the punishment of the guilty persons, if they can be found, which is very doubtful, and an indemnity which, after much correspondence, the Turkish Government will exact from the town of Djiddah. But of what advantage will that be to you? You want to rescue M. de Morin safe and sound. And to gain that end, of what means can you make use, in a country where the Turkish authority is very frequently set at nought? The district of El-Hejaz, where we now are, has been infested for the last thirty years by bands of the Harbs tribe, who sack whole caravans, and the Turks have not yet succeeded in ridding themselves of these robbers and assassins. But if I am obliged to say 'no,' in my capacity as Consul, I am entirely at your disposal as a fellow-countryman and I make common cause with you. And now listen to the advice I am about to give you for the future."
Madame de Guéran, Miss Poles, M. Delange, and M. Périères drew nearer to the Consul, and fixed all their attention on him.
"First of all," commenced the representative of France at Djiddah, "start on this principle—do not rely upon any one but yourselves. You alone, gentlemen, can organize and direct the undertaking, for these ladies will have the goodness to take refuge in my house at the Consulate, under the safeguard of the French flag, and not mix themselves up in any active manner with this affair. You are no longer in Europe, where a woman can do as she pleases, but in the East, where herrôleis, at all events in appearance, a passive one."
Miss Poles made a very significant grimace, and the inaction thus imposed upon her was evidently distasteful. As for the Baroness, she appreciated the justice of the Consul's remarks too well to enter any protest against them.
"Those premises settled, you, gentlemen, will return to your steamer and select three resolute sailors. Amongst the ship's company, and especially amongst the engineers, you will easily find some Europeans. Do not trouble yourself to ascertain whether they are accustomed to horses; in this country everybody rides, more or less. In default of Europeans, take Egyptians; Egypt has no love for Turkey. Add to these three men your two interpreters, because, as they were recommended to you by myconfrèreat Cairo, you can count upon them. Besides, I know them by name; they have frequently accompanied travellers in these parts, and are to be trusted. You will, therefore, counting yourselves, muster seven. Have you arms for all?"
"Certainly," said M. Périères, "on that score there will be nothing wanting. In order to be able to arm our African escorts we provided ourselves with a complete collection of revolvers and carefully-selected rifles."
"So far, so good. The question now is—what route are you to choose? That is an essential point. However, do not exaggerate your difficulties. These Bedouins would not take the Medina road with their prize, as, relatively speaking, it is too much frequented to please them. They would run the risk of being surprised by some other Nomad band with whom they are always either in competition or at enmity, and who might carry off their prisoner. According to my idea, they have bent their steps towards the mountains where, in case of pursuit, they can find a secure retreat. You must overtake them before they arrive there. Do not lose any time. Hasten to your vessel, collect your men, arm them, arm yourselves, and come back here. I will undertake to provide you with horses. I have my own, my friends will lend me theirs, and you will soon know that the race of horses of El-Hejaz is one of the most valuable and renowned breeds in the world."
MM. Périères and Delange took leave of the Consul, followed out his instructions to the letter, and, an hour afterwards, they were on horseback with their escort, and had set out at full gallop.
The French flag was flying over the Consulate, for the representative of France at Djiddah wished the inhabitants to be informed of what had occurred, and wished, too, to let them know that the French manage their own affairs by themselves, without calling on any one for support or protection.
A solitary Bedouin joined the expedition which set out in search of the Europeans. This was Abou-Zamil, the man whose horse M. de Morin had so unceremoniously appropriated. Anxious to regain his steed; attracted, on the one hand, by the arguments and brilliant inducements held out by the interpreter, Ali; dismayed, on the other, by the threats of the Consul, who seemed disposed to hold him responsible for the abduction of Joseph, the Bedouin, after a period of hesitation, ended by offering his services to the expedition. They were provisionally accepted; but he was not armed, like the men composing the escort, with pistol, gun, and axe.
The troop of horsemen dashed through Djiddah at full gallop, and took the road along which, but a few hours previously, the young painter, his interpreter, and his servant had passed.
Ali rode at their head and showed them the way. When they reached the ruins of the mill, whence M. de Morin had started off in sole pursuit of his five Bedouins, they stopped to consult. But no deliberation was necessary, for along the sand they could easily discern the tracks left by the camels, and, parallel with them, the fainter hoof-marks of Abou-Zamil's horse.
This trail the whole troop followed for five or six leagues, but the sun, gradually taking leave of the plain over which they had been riding for the last two hours, was slowly sinking behind the mountains of El-Hejaz, which bounded the horizon.
A few moments more and the track would no longer be visible. They determined to profit to the utmost by the sun's last rays, and the horses, urged on by their riders, increased their pace, and soon placed another dozen miles behind them.
By this time the sun had just given place to the stars, whose light, brilliant as it was, did not suffice to light up the track. Another halt was therefore made, and a fresh consultation held.
Should they trust to fortune and ride on at hap-hazard? Or would it be better to trust themselves to Abou-Zamil, who undertook to act as guide and bring the travellers to the precise spot where he imagined his friends would have stopped?
This question gave rise to some consideration, for the Bedouin seemed to be an object of suspicion to everybody except Ali and Omar—the two interpreters—who maintained that, up to a certain point, he might be trusted.
Their opinion prevailed; but M. Périères thought it prudent to take Abou-Zamil aside and address the following little speech to him, which was simultaneously translated by one of the interpreters.
"We are about to entrust to you not only our own safety, but that of our friends, whom we are endeavouring to find, and we shall follow your lead throughout the night without any question or remonstrance whatever. If, by to-morrow morning, no accident shall have happened to us, and if we have regained our companions, I give you my word as a Frenchman, and it is worth all your oaths taken on the Koran, that on our return to Djiddah, I will give you the value of three magnificent camels, as well as a gun, which will make you king of the desert. But if you play us false and lead us out of our proper course, if our friends are killed, we will tie you to the nearest tree and shoot you, as they shoot traitors in our country. It is for you to choose."
The eyes of Abou-Zamil sparkled with joy when he heard mention of the camels and the gun, nor did he cower at the threat of being shot, for he looked upon that as a good sign. Nevertheless, he made one reservation—
"I promise," said he, "not to betray you, and I undertake to put you in the right road, but I cannot engage that you will find your companions alive. I know nothing of what has passed for some hours, or is passing, perhaps, at this moment. God alone knows that."
M. Périères was compelled to admit that there was a certain amount of logic in the argument.
"We are not unjust," he replied. "If it can be proved to us that you have done all in your power to prevent any hindrance or disaster, we shall be satisfied, and you shall have your promised reward."
"Good," said Abou-Zamil. "Trust to me."
This question settled, a halt was ordered, for the horses, called upon for a long journey, had need of rest.
Omar and Ali, like provident servants, had taken care, when they set out, to place a supply of provisions in the large saddle-bags which they carried, and now they proceeded to distribute to all a portion of the welcome viands. As for the horses, they were turned loose and had to make the most of such tufts of grass as they could find half buried in the sand.
In the evening "boot and saddle" was once more the order. The sky was literally studded with stars, but the moon had not yet appeared.
Abou-Zamil took the lead. Suddenly he gave a shrill, prolonged whistle, familiar to the horses of El-Hejaz, and, at this signal, these splendid animals pricked up their ears, stretched out their necks, and bounded off at full speed. Several of the riders, unprepared for this sudden start, were within an ace of losing their seats, and they certainly would have lost them if they had been sitting on English saddles. But the Arab saddle is so high peaked, both before and behind, that the rider is almost, so to speak, partitioned in; his feet are placed in large stirrups, and a fall, if not impossible, is at all events difficult. Moreover, the paces of the Arab horses have nothing jerky about them, but are as smooth and regular as possible. Their gallop is more conducive to sleep than to excitement, and it is no uncommon sight to see an Arab tie his bridle to the pommel of his saddle, set his horse going, and, so long as he knows the road to be even, sleep as calmly as if he were under his tent.
At this sweeping stride, which, though so smooth, is also productive of dizziness, they continued on and on for some hours. Every now and then MM. Périères and Delange, found their breath failing them from bending down in their saddles and receiving the wind in their faces; but, at the same time, they frequently experienced a sort of exhilaration on meeting the air; their lungs dilated, and their brows, still heated from the effects of the hot sun during the day, felt refreshed and comforted. They were under the influence of the intoxication of the desert, that feeling of elation experienced by those who know what it is to ride on and on, no obstacle in their way, no road to follow, no defined goal to reach, with nothing to limit their far-reaching gaze, in absolute silence and boundless space, between heaven and earth.
But as this feeling of elation subsided, as their mind resumed its habitual tone, they began to wonder how it was that the speed of their horses did not slacken, how it was that these creatures did not fall down, worn out with fatigue. They had heard or read that certain breeds of Arab horses were capable of doing their fifty or sixty leagues without drawing rein, but they had not put much faith in such tales. They saw now that these thoroughbreds, whose pedigree has been handed down from century to century amongst the tribes, were capable of any exploit. They confessed, too, that the French Consul had not deceived them when he said that the horses of El-Hejaz were amongst the most perfect of Arabia.
The first faint glimmer of dawn appeared in the East, and still these steeds, prodigies in their way, held on their rapid course. At length Abou-Zamil showed signs of slackening the pace; he ceased to give the shrill, prolonged whistle with which he roused the horses to fresh exertions, the only sound that, from time to time, had broken the awful silence of the desert.
A few moments more, and, at a sign from the Bedouin, the whole troop came to a dead stop. With one bound he sprang off his horse, stooped down, and, by the faint light of dawn, examined the ground about where he stood with great care. After a short scrutiny he stood up, and, turning to Ali, who was nearest to him, said—
"Look here."
And he showed him in the sand the footprints of five camels and a horse.
M. Périères and M. Delange hurried to the spot, and in their delight expressed themselves in the warmest manner towards the Bedouin.
"And what are we to do now?" they asked.
"That is your affair," replied Abou-Zamil. "I have fulfilled my engagement, and, thanks to me, you have overtaken the persons whom you have been pursuing."
"They are, then, near here?" asked the interpreters.
"They are over there," replied the Bedouin, pointing to the spot, "and as soon as the sun appears you will see their encampment."
"Consequently," said M. Delange, gleefully, "we are on the point of regaining our friend."
"I know nothing about that," was the Arab's reply.
"Did you not show us the hoof-prints of his horse in the sand? At all events he must have come thus far."
"A loose horse in the desert," answered Abou-Zamil, gravely, "leaves the same traces as one with a rider on his back."
The joy which the two young men had at first experienced received a sudden check. Their brows were knit, and their eyes, following the direction pointed out by the guide, anxiously endeavoured to fathom the secrets of the Arab camp.
The first rays of the sun, as Abou had said, unfolded to view, at a distance of about fifteen hundred yards, the Bedouin encampment. It consisted of some thirty tents, pitched in a semi-circle in front of the spur of the mountain range of El-Hejaz. A small clump of palms, whose tops were just gilded by the beams of the rising sun, could be discerned on the right in the midst of a tolerably fresh patch of verdure, where strayed at liberty a score of horses and camels. Complete quiet appeared to reign throughout the encampment, which had not yet awoke to life and movement.
"To horse again!" exclaimed M. Périères, who was in a state of great excitement. "In five minutes we can reach these tents, we can take their occupants by surprise, and if our friends are there we will rescue them."
"Such an unexpected inroad as that," observed the interpreter Omar, "would be looked upon as an attack. The Bedouins would defend themselves, and a conflict, which we must endeavour to avoid, would inevitably result. Would it not be wiser to take an hour's rest? Both we and our horses need it sorely."
"It is all very well for you," said M. Delange, quickly, "but do you think that we could rest quietly in this state of suspense and anxiety about our friends? It is impossible. Our goal is too near at hand for us not to try, at all events, to reach it. Besides, an hour's rest, so far from being of service to us or our horses, would only make us feel our fatigue all the more. I agree with Périères; let us make for the tents, after giving notice of our presence, if you think that act of prudence indispensable."
Omar and Ali exchanged glances. They were by no means at their ease with regard to the words they had just heard, and still less so with the manner in which, they had been spoken. The two Europeans, over-excited by a sleepless night and their hurried ride, did not appear possessed of their usual coolness; they were acted upon by their nervous system instead of by their reason. The state of mind in which they were might easily be productive of disaster, for the Arabs, like all men of action, can only be intimidated by calmness and cool resolution.
But the interpreters, seeing that any further remonstrance or opposition would only serve to increase the irritation of MM. Périères and Delange, thought it better to give way.
"How," said Ali, "are we to announce our presence to these people?"
"By firing a shot or two in the air," said M. Delange. "That is the way you present yourselves in the desert, is it not?"
"Do not let us waste our powder on the empty air," observed the second interpreter. "We may want it."
"Very well, then; the Bedouin, who has brought us here, can go on a little way in advance, enter the encampment of his friends, and awake them with the news of our presence amongst them."
Abou-Zamil was summoned, and informed of what was expected from him.
"Not for ten camels," was his response, "would I do what you ask me. If they see me, my friends will accuse me at once of having disclosed to you their place of retreat, and they will revenge themselves by killing me. I have already told you that I have fulfilled my compact— count no more on me."
"To horse, then!" cried M. Périères. "We can on our way determine what to do."
The whole body started off at once in the direction of the camp, where some movement was now visible. Several men appeared at the doors of the tents, and some women were seen hastening towards the patch of grass where the animals were feeding.
When about a hundred yards from the nearest tent, the two interpreters, at an order from M. Delange, fired three shots in the air and went on in front, as their flowing bûrnus would cause less alarm to the Bedouins than the costumes of the Europeans—the tribe might even take them for friends. At the same time, at the parting suggestion of Araou-Zamil, one of the three sailors left his companions, rode rapidly round the encampment, and posted himself at the entrance of the narrow defile leading to the mountains. The Bedouin, who thus gave one more proof of his good faith, had explained to the interpreters that if M. de Morin and Joseph were still prisoners and alive, their captors might try to escape with them to the mountains on the first symptom of an attack. The horseman so detached and placed on guard was ordered to appeal for assistance by firing off his gun, in case any of the Bedouins should attempt to force a passage into the defile.
A score of the Nomads and twice as many women and children had surrounded the interpreters by the time that the rest of the band joined them.
"Where is your chief?" asked M. Périères, in a peremptory tone, making his horse prance so as to prevent the people from crowding in upon him.
A man of about thirty stepped forward, spare and undersized, with thin lips, piercing eyes, a short and spare beard, and a very swarthy complexion. Everything about him bespoke a dogged determination and unflinching audacity, coupled with cunning and duplicity.
"What do you want?" said he. "And, first of all, do you come as a friend or an enemy?"
"As you please," said M. Périères. "Take your choice."
This reply, literally translated, and the haughty look of M. Périères produced a certain impression upon the chief and the men of his following. To dare to speak thus proudly, and to hesitate to accept the friendship apparently offered to them, the Europeans must be conscious of their superiority. Several of the Bedouins scanned the horizon to see if a second troop was following the first.
"Again I ask, what do you want?" said the chief, in a calm voice.
"I desire," replied M. Périères, "that two of my fellow countrymen, detained as prisoners in your camp, may be at once released."
"No one of your fellow countrymen is in our midst. What makes you suppose that they are here?"
"At Djiddah yesterday, at the third hour of the day, men belonging to your tribe made prisoner one of my servants, and soon afterwards also a friend of mine, who followed in pursuit of them. Where is my friend, and where is my servant?"
"I know not. Why do you accuse the men of my tribe of this abduction?"
"Because since yesterday I have followed on the track of the spoilers, and it has led me here."
"You are mistaken. We are not yet in the open desert, and the tracks of more than one caravan can be seen in the sand, from the sea to the mountain."
"I am not mistaken, I tell you; the tracks are yet fresh. You can see them a few paces hence. They show that five camels and a horse have passed this way, and you will not persuade me that another caravan, of precisely the same description, has crossed this plain."
The chief made no reply, and all the men in the encampment, by this time armed, closed up to him, forming, a group of about thirty individuals, supported by a regular mob of women and children. So long as their chief was silent, these people gesticulated defiantly at the Europeans, and, what was more dangerous, came near enough to touch them.
M. Périères and M. Delange began to comprehend the danger they were incurring. The firmness of their attitude had, for an instant, intimidated the Bedouins, but, in the end, it exasperated them, and, as no other caravan appeared on the horizon to give them food for reflection, their anger increased every moment.
But, with the consciousness of danger, and still more with the knowledge of the responsibility which devolved upon them, M. Périères had recovered his wonted coolness. He was now, in reality, the man described one evening by Madame de Guéran in a few words—firm, courageous, intrepid as M. de Morin, without his imprudence. He was, so to speak, transformed in a second; his voice no longer had the same tone, his very look was changed. The two Arabs in his train saw this resolution at once. They felt that they were commanded by one of those leaders whom soldiers love to obey.
M. Périères, without turning his head or losing sight of his adversaries, issued his orders to the escort—
"When I raise my hand," he said, "cover these people with your rifles, but do not fire until I give the word."
The shouts and threats continued.
"Tell your women and children to withdraw," said M. Périères, addressing the chief.
The chief did not condescend to reply.
The European raised his hand.
M. Delange, his two interpreters, and his two sailors unslung their rifles from their saddles and brought them up to their shoulders.
The women and children at once fled, with cries of terror, in all directions. But, at the same time the Nomads cocked their carbines.
M. Périères once more addressed the chief.
"If your men," he said, "do not at once lower their pieces, I shall order mine to fire, and you may rest assured that though we are fewer in number, we are the stronger."
The chief appeared to reflect, and, addressing the Frenchman, said—
"For the last time, what do you want? I repeat that your friends are not here."
"What has become of them?"
"Well, then—they attacked my men, who killed them."
"Show me their dead bodies, if that be so."
"Go back along the way by which you came, and you will find them stretched on the sand."
"You lie!" exclaimed M. Périères. "You always try to conceal your crimes, and you would not have left your victims on the road."
"What do you want to do?" asked the chief.
"I want to visit all the tents in your encampment."
"Never! Unbelievers do not enter our dwelling-places."
"We will see about that!" exclaimed the Frenchman, and, turning to his followers, he cried out, "Forward!"
The struggle had commenced—the exasperation of the Bedouins was at its height, and the determination of the Europeans was unyielding.
Suddenly, in the distance, behind the tents and from the entrance of the defile, a shot was heard. It came from the solitary sentinel, who gave the preconcerted signal. Were M. de Morin and Joseph still alive, and were they being hurried off into the mountains?
It now became necessary to join the sentinel at all hazards, and ascertain what was going on in that direction. The six men, at an order from M. Périères, formed up in close order, ready to charge the Bedouins if any attempt were made to bar their passage. But the report which had so unexpectedly resounded from the entrance to the defile resulted in a modification of the bellicose ideas of the Nomads, and in delaying their attack. The sharp, ringing crack of the rifle did not seem to them at all like the sound produced by their accustomed arms. They concluded, therefore, that succour was at hand for the Europeans from the direction of the mountain, and instead of presenting a bold front and making any resistance, they precipitately opened out and let the band of horsemen through their midst. The latter were not slow to make use of their advantage, and a few moments saw them at the end of the mountain spur.
As soon as they reached the head of the defile the sentinel met them and made his report. He had not been on his post a quarter of an hour, when five Bedouins, on foot, and dragging along with them a prisoner whom he was not able to recognize, left the camp and advanced towards him. In obedience to his orders, he at once fired, and then took refuge behind a rock.
"Take your place in the ranks," said M. Périères, at the same time giving the word, "Forward!"
The defile, in which the little troop found themselves, was a narrow, tortuous, uneven pass of no great length. It did not form part of the mountain range, but was a gorge debouching abruptly on to a plain. As soon as they were fairly in it they saw the five Nomads running as hard as they could towards another spur of the mountain, and, without hesitation, they set off in pursuit and speedily came up with the Bedouins.
The latter took to flight at once on seeing that they were pursued, firing a few random and harmless shots as they went, and, lest their movements should be retarded, they abandoned their prisoner. The unfortunate captive, with his hands tied behind his back, was lying flat on his face, with his head half buried in the sand. His rescuers hastened to raise him on his feet, and recognized Mohammed-Abd-el-Gazal, pale as death, his features convulsed with fear, his eyes haggard, his hair, beard, and eyebrows smothered in sand, his bûrnus gone, in his shirt-sleeves, and altogether in the most pitiable plight.
They cut his bonds, made him sit down, wiped the sand from off his face, poured down his throat a few drops of brandy, slapped his hands, murmured comforting words in his ears, and, in a word, did all they could to revive his spirits and reassure him as to his fate.
In spite of all their attentions, it was fully five minutes before he had recovered sufficiently to be able to see and speak to his fellow-countrymen, and even then he was so bewildered that he could only stammer out that he knew nothing of M. de Morin, about whose fate every one was anxiously enquiring.
"But surely," asked M. Périères, "you have seen him. He overtook you, did he not?"
"Oh, yes," stuttered Joseph, "he overtook me—perhaps it would have been better for me if he had not, but he did."
"What did he do? What happened?" asked everybody in the same breath.
"What happened? I know nothing more."
"Come, collect your thoughts," said M. Périères. "You are no longer a prisoner, we have rescued you."
"You have rescued me," repeated Joseph, still in a state of complete bewilderment, "but they will recapture me. The monsters! the monsters! What a terrible time I have had with them! And I told them that they might keep my portmanteau. I did not want it any more. Keep all my baggage if you like, I said. I will give you a receipt— anything to please you. They did not listen to me, and the camel kept on always—kept on—kept on—I fell to the right—I fell to the left—I fell at full length—I fell—good heavens, what a night! Sometimes I thought I was on board the steamer again, and that I was sick—so sick! I had been told that a camel sometimes gives one that sensation—but I would not believe it—and I did so admire the beasts— but, I hate them—yes, I hate them!"
M. Périères thought it was high time to interrupt him, so, putting his hand on his shoulder, he said—
"If you do not stop thosejeremiadsat once, if you do not stand on your feet like a man, and if you do not answer my questions, and nothing but my questions, I will bring up one of those camels you are so fond of, and will have you strapped on its back."
This threat had the desired effect. Joseph-Mohammed recovered himself, and awaited his cross-examination.
"At what hour," said M. Delange, "did you see M. de Morin?"
"I do not know what o'clock it was," answered Joseph, "but it had been dark for a long time, and my camel would go on—on—on—"
"To the devil with your camel! We have told you to stop that nonsense. What happened when your master arrived?"
"We went faster than ever. The Bedouins heard somebody behind them, and hoped to escape being overtaken. But I distinctly heard the tread of a horse, and I heard M. de Morin call out—'halt, or I fire.' But they did not halt. Then a shot was fired—and then there was some shouting, and more shots—and then the voice of my master again could be heard above the din—and, at last, all was quiet. But my camel would go on—on—on, and I fancied I was alone on his back. The wretched Bedouin had got off. The rest of the caravan were not following us. I got hold of the bridle with both my hands, and tried to stop the camel. I did not think of anything but that. At last, I succeeded, and encouraged by my success, I was about to try to undo the cord round my waist, which tied me to my baggage, when I heard fresh shouts—and that brute of an Arab overtook me—"
Joseph was going on with his tale, but M. Périères stopped him once more.
"We have allowed you to ramble on in your own way, because we hoped to learn, amongst all this verbiage, something about our friend. What has become of him? Has he been killed by these men? Answer."
"I know nothing—I know nothing at all. My Bedouin got up behind me once more, muttering something that I did not then understand, but I soon understood that he intended to beat me; beating—"
"Enough," said M. Delange.
"Oh, yes, quite enough!" repeated Joseph, naïvely.
"What happened afterwards? Did the other Bedouins rejoin you?"
"No, we went on alone."
"Nobody followed you?"
"Nobody; the others remained behind."
"And where were you taken?"
"To a sort of camp, where everybody ran out to look at me. The women were especially inquisitive. Some of them passed their hands over my hair, and my whiskers—they thought the whiskers very funny. But my Bedouin drove them away, and made me get off the camel. I had no objection to do that, I assure you. Then he ordered me to walk on before him, and he pushed me into a tent, after having robbed me of my bûrnus. Bruised and sore, I fell asleep. In about an hour they seized on me again, and dragged me, on foot this time, which, at all events, was an improvement. Then I heard shouts and a shot or two. I was hit over the back with the butt-end of a gun, and fell down where you found me."
"And you cannot tell us anything about M. de Morin?"
"Absolutely nothing."
"Then, my men," exclaimed M. Périères, turning to his escort, "we must go back to the camp and renew our search."
"You are never going to leave me here?" cried Mohammed the miserable.
"No, walk in the middle. We shall be obliged to go at a walk, for the horses cannot gallop down this defile."
The little band went cautiously along the narrow gorge, for they feared they might be attacked there. Nothing, in fact, would have been easier than for the Bedouins to have concealed themselves behind the rocks and hillocks of sand, and to have picked off, one by one, each individual horseman. But the Nomads were ignorant of the number of the enemy, and cautiously awaited their approach. As soon, however, as they saw that only two additions, the sentinel and the rescued captive, had been made to the troop, they resumed the defensive at once.
During the hour that had passed they had had time to collect their horses and camels, to saddle them, to gather together all their armed men, and so to form a compact body, which, if not very numerous, was still sufficiently formidable.
After a short deliberation the Europeans, calm and resolute, advanced towards the camp, and as they did so the interpreter, Ali, who was riding by the side of MM. Périères and Delange, said to them—
"Do you notice that the number of our adversaries appears to have decreased? I counted them an hour ago, and then they mustered thirty, besides the five who were escaping with their prisoner and whom we overtook. Now there are only twenty-two, and that at a time when they need all their strength. What has become of the others?"
"They are going to take us in rear," replied M. Delange. "Be cautious."
"I have no fear on that score," said the interpreter. "The Bedouins despise that class of tactics; they know nothing about advanced parties or rearguards. I have an altogether different idea."
"And that is?" asked the two Frenchmen, simultaneously.
"The men whose absence I have just noticed may very well be employed, at this moment, in keeping guard over their second prisoner, your friend."
"Do you think so? Then if we are victorious they will kill him."
"They will be far more certain to kill him if we are defeated."
"That is true. We must trust in God!" said M. Delange.
"Allah defend us!" exclaimed the interpreter.
The small band of horsemen was now only separated from the Bedouins by a very small extent of ground, and they marched on in silence, at a walk, as if they were at a review, each man having his revolver in his hand but concealing it behind the pommel of his saddle. The Nomads, on the contrary, were gesticulating, brandishing their arms, exciting their camels with their voices, and spurring their horses, but without moving from the position they had taken up.
There were no longer any women or children to be seen in the encampment; they had prudently betaken themselves to the tents, in readiness, when the battle should be over, to insult and torture the vanquished.
As he had done at the first interview, M. Périères, followed by an interpreter, rode straight up to the chief, who, mounted on a magnificent steed, was in advance of his force.
"I have found one of my companions. I now come to demand the other."
"I have already told you that he has been killed," answered the chief.
"And I continue to disbelieve you," said M. Périères. "Did you not tell me that both were dead? You knew to the contrary, just as well as you know now where to lay your hands on the one I seek."
"Seek away," said the chief, laughing. "I will open out a passage for you to our tents."
"To enclose us between that species of wall and your men? Not a bit of it! Lead on and we will follow you."
The chief, without moving, laughed aloud and honoured M. Périères with an insolent stare, whilst all his men commenced to brandish their spears and lay hold of their guns.
The young Frenchman, more and more self-possessed, but determined, in the perilous position in which he was placed, to strike some blow which should either kill or cure all, leaned towards Ali and gave him an order.
The interpreter was not sufficiently master of himself to hide his astonishment, so dangerous and difficult of execution did the order seem. But he made ready to obey.
The chief was still in front, some paces from his men.
Then M. Périères, half turning in his saddle towards the escort, said, the Bedouins of course not understanding a word—
"Put away your revolvers, and when you see me advance, take your guns and aim steadily at the men who are nearest to the chief. Ready!"
A few seconds passed away, and then, without it being possible for any one to foresee the movement, M. Périères and Ali made their horses clear at one bound the gap which separated them from the Bedouin chief, on whom they threw themselves on either side, to the right and left, and, holding their pistols to his head, they seized the bridle of his horse and dragged him back with them. At the same time, the other five Europeans, carrying out the order of M. Périères, aimed steadily at the nearest Bedouins, thus startling them to such an extent and paralyzing them so completely that they were unable, in the first moment of confusion, to rush to the assistance of their chief.
This novel plan of operations had, indeed, been so rapidly carried out that not only the Nomads but their adversaries themselves were bewildered. But the moment the former had recovered from their surprise, they in turn levelled their guns at the Europeans.
The two interpreters then advanced and declared that, if the Bedouins made one step forward, or fired a single shot, their chief would be put to death before their very eyes. He, at the same time, was disarmed, in spite of his resistance, and held fast in the front rank of the little troop by two sailors.
As for M. Périères, he calmly took out of his pocket a box of matches and a cigar, and as he lighted it, said to M. Delange—
"That was not a bad move of ours, was it? But how are we to get out of this fix? Those idiots are looking at us without budging an inch, and we are looking at them without stirring a yard. This dumb show may last for a considerable time, and still de Morin is not given back to us."
"And you may add," observed the young doctor, as he, in his turn, lighted a cigar, "that these savages have, doubtless, breakfasted well, whilst we are simply famishing and our provisions are exhausted. And, in addition to all that, there is this terrific heat, which they do not seem to mind in the least, whilst I am being roasted, joint by joint. Now, if we could only get into the shade, under those palm-trees yonder."
"Do not dream of any such thing. In our immobility lies our strength."
"That is possible; but it also possesses the power of making me very sleepy. Holloa! what is going on down there? It seems to me that there are some fresh bûrnus on the scene. Have these wretches received a reinforcement? There are enough of them already, goodness knows."
"Yes," said M. Périères, standing up in his stirrups, "those are the eight men we missed. Our interpreter was complaining just now of being out in his reckoning. He ought to be satisfied now."
As a matter of fact, several Bedouins emerged from the clump of palms on the right of the camp, and rejoined the main body.
"Your friend is in their midst!" exclaimed Ali, suddenly. "I thought as much."
M. Périères and M. Delange, too much moved to speak, pressed each other's hand in silence. The friend whom, though they never confessed as much, they believed to be dead, still lived and was close to them. They saw him, as he came towards them, insulted by one, hustled by another, struck by a third, half naked, covered with blood, but calm and almost smiling.
When he reached the main body of the Bedouins they opened out to let him pass and placed him in the front rank, face to face with their captive chief.
The first thought of M. de Morin, as soon as he saw that only about a dozen yards separated him from his friends, was to speak to them.
"You are indeed good to come to my rescue," said he, "for one moment later and they would have shot me. But when the report that you had seized upon their chief reached the ears of my gaolers, they postponed my execution so that I might play the part of hostage."
The Nomads, when first they heard their prisoner speaking, were silent, expecting to be able to understand what he said. When, however, they found that they could not even catch the sense of his words, one of them hit him a violent blow with the butt-end of his musket as a hint to be silent.
M. Périères at once told one of his men to hit the chief precisely as M. de Morin had been hit. The Bedouins, though horrified at this indignity, understood the lesson and took the hint.
"You are evidently at home with thelex talionis," exclaimed M. de Morin, imperturbable as ever, and apparently regardless of the blow he had just received, "accept my congratulations. The thanks I owe you we will postpone, as at this particular moment I am not exactly in a position to express myself as I should wish. Suffice it to say that ever since I have seen your dear, old, familiar figures over there I have been half wild to get to you."
He was interrupted once more. An Arab had conceived the idea of making a sort of gag with a piece of old cloth, and of inserting it in the prisoner's mouth.
"A gag for the chief!" cried M. Périères, turning towards his men.
His order was on the point of being obeyed, but the Bedouins reflected that it would be an advantage to them to hear what their leader might have to say, and so they abandoned the gag just as they had retired from the butt-end business.
The two prisoners could thus, on both sides, keep open their communications with their fellow-countrymen, only the game was not quite even. Thanks to the interpreters, the Europeans were kept fully informed of all that passed between the Bedouin chief and his men; but the latter had not the faintest idea of the conversation between the Frenchman and his friends.
"I congratulate you once more," exclaimed M. de Morin; "these rascals are checkmated for the nonce. Ah! if I had only been able to do ditto last night! Do you know how I fell into their clutches? They are accustomed to the gloom of the desert, and can see in the dark, the blackguards, whereas I had to grope my way. Moreover, they converted their camels into ramparts. They are double-barrelled animals are those camels, with feet wherewith to move, and a back and belly to serve as a fortification. It was in vain that I fired my revolver, seeing that I only hit the outer wall. When I had expended all but one round of my ammunition, they threw themselves upon me and made me a prisoner. And,áproposof that, have you any idea what has become of Joseph?"
"We have rescued him," said M. Périères. "He is here with us. Show yourself, Joseph."
The head of Mohammed Abd-el-Q-azal appeared timidly a few inches in front of the rest of the line.
"Holloa! there you are, my friend!" said M. de Morin. "I am right glad to see you again, though you have been a source of average misfortune to me and are an arrant coward into the bargain. But, since you are there, it is only right that you should wait on me once more. Ask M. Périères for a cigar and bring it to me."
When he heard this order Joseph trembled in every limb. However, if he were somewhat wanting in combatant qualifications, it is only just to say that as a servant he was beyond reproach. He had, also, such a lively sense of his duties that, to carry them out, he was capable, once in a way, of heroism. Consequently, in spite of his shaking limbs and trembling body, he was seen to cross the open space which separated him from M. de Morin, hand him a cigar, take a match from the box supplied by M. Périères, light it, and present it with all respect to his master.
The Bedouins, like all semi-savage races, are regular children. The veriest trifle serves to amuse them, and they have a variableness of mood which is truly surprising. Enraged as they had been but a moment ago, they became quite good-tempered when they saw Joseph. To menace succeeded gaiety, and hearty laughter to dire threats.
Mohammed, it must be confessed, was at this moment a sight to see. His staring eyes were almost starting out of his head from fear; the very hairs of his whiskers appeared to stand on end; his nose, empurpled by the sun, produced a most picturesque effect, full of vivid contrast, in the centre of a face blanched with fright; the fat shoulders of the lazy Parisian stuck out of his tattered shirt, and his inordinately prominent stomach protruded over the waistband of his trousers, whose fastenings, alas! had for the most part disappeared during the night. To complete the picture, in his anxiety to protect his bald head from all danger of sunstroke, he had knotted his handkerchief at the four corners, and had made a sort of Chinese skull-cap out of it.
"See," cried M. de Morin to his companions, "how all this amuses theBedouins. If we could only take advantage of it!"
"I was thinking of that," replied M. Périères. "What do you propose?"
"How did you manage to get hold of the chief?" asked the young painter.
"By rushing on him unexpectedly," said M. Delange.
"Very well, then! Put the same plan in operation with me. I shall give you less trouble than the chief, seeing that instead of resisting, as he was bound to do, I shall help you. Make your arrangements without delay, my dear Périères. I am going, as my share of the job, to cater for the amusement of these fools, and as soon as their mirth is at its height you must act."
Joseph, after having given M. de Morin time to light his cigar, thought only of getting back to his companions; but he had scarcely recrossed the open space at a run than he heard himself summoned once more by his master.
"Joseph," said the painter, "tell these gentlemen that I am thirsty, and ask them to oblige you with a little water."
M. Delange at once handed a leather bottle to the servant, who, faithful to his principles, but in a greater fright than ever, once more essayed to cross the open space. Alas! this double journey, this gymnastic encore, was too much for the few and weakened fastenings of Joseph's inexpressibles. The wretched man perceived that his last and only garment, for his shirt did not count, was on the point of deserting him. He made a supreme effort, and whilst with one hand he grasped the leathern water bottle, with the other he did his best to hold up the necessary article of his attire.
This truly picturesque attitude, his desperate struggles and his terrified air were too much for the Bedouins, who broke out into shouts of laughter until the tears ran down their faces, and they laid their guns on the pommels of their saddles, so that they might hold their shaking sides.
The moment was admirably chosen for the execution of M. de Morin's design. At a pre-concerted signal, whilst two of the strongest men held the chief in an iron grasp and prevented his making the slightest movement, the other horsemen, with remarkable precision, sprang across the space which intervened between them and M. de Morin, hurled back his guard, formed a circle round him, drew him backwards, and resumed their former position.
The Nomads laughed no longer, but they seemed utterly stupified. Their prisoner had, as it were, been conjured away—they could not understand it one bit, and, though they brandished their spears and poured out threats by the bushel, they half believed that the Europeans were either sorcerers or beings of another world.
"Now there is not a moment to lose," said the young painter, when he found himself in the midst of his own people. "There is too much anxiety in Djiddah about our fate to warrant our staying here for ever."
"We ask nothing better than to get away, my dear fellow," said M. Delange, "but if we turn our backs on these savages, or cease to have them under our rifles, they will fire upon us."
"You forget our safeguard, their chief," replied M. de Morin. "Where is Ali, the interpreter?"
"Here I am," said Ali, stepping to the front.
"Come along, then. I want to hold a parley with the chief, and you must repeat to him exactly what I say."
Whilst the Nomads were consulting amongst themselves, and, apparently, meditating an attack, M. de Morin thus addressed their leader—
"You have behaved scandalously to me! When I was dragged into your camp, I threw myself on your protection and I offered to pay you a large ransom if you would let me rejoin my friends. Not content with rejecting my offer, you allowed me to be insulted and ill-treated. You deserve a severe punishment, but I pardon you—on one condition— that we are allowed to depart, and that you go with us. At the gates of Djiddah, oblivious of your wrong-doing, I will restore to you your liberty—I swear it—if we have no farther cause of complaint against you or your men. Ten of them may follow us, and they will serve as an escort to bring you back. But if they utter a sound on the journey, if they indulge in a single threat, both they and you will perish. However you may decide, in five minutes we set out."
The Bedouin, after a moment's consideration and a careful scrutiny of the arms of the Europeans, spoke to his men, and an animated conversation took place between them. The interpreters alleged that the views of the chief were pacific, but that several amongst the younger members of the clan hesitated to fall in with them. At length these latter appeared to yield, and the captive chief, turning to M. de Morin, said—
"Let us start. I trust to your word, and you may trust to mine."
"Agreed," replied the young Frenchman. "But as I am on foot, as well as my servant, a circumstance which will retard our journey and yours, bring out two of your horses. We will return them to you, rest assured. We, at all events, are not thieves."
The chief gave the necessary orders, but they were only half obeyed. The horse borrowed by M. de Morin on the previous evening from Abou-Zamil was brought out for him, but a camel was offered to Joseph. At the sight of this beast, the unfortunate servant nearly fainted.
"No, no," cried he, "I had rather follow you on foot. No camel for me, no camel for me."
"If you follow us afoot," observed his master, "we shall not reachDjiddah in three days. It is out of the question."
Fortunately, the interpreter Omar, accustomed from his childhood to a camel, gave up his horse to Joseph and took the despised steed.
The little band of Europeans, composed of ten persons, including the chief, who was carefully guarded by two horsemen in the centre of the troop, took the road to Djiddah.
Ten Bedouins, as had been agreed upon, followed them at a short distance.
"He has come back to us! They have all come back to us! I am beside myself, and my heart is overflowing with joy! These men, I tell you, my dear Emily, are splendid! And so modest! If I ask M. de Morin, he refuses to tell me anything about himself. He declares that his adventures amongst the Nomads are not worth the trouble of recounting, and that it was neither more nor less than a trivial excursion, too insignificant even to be mentioned in our diaries of the trip. But, if I mention MM. Périères and Delange, it is quite another thing, and he exclaims at once that they are superb. Delange, he says, for a doctor, is a marvel; he is evidently concealing his past life from us, and he must have served in the Zouaves, or the Chasseurs d'Afrique, a seasoned warrior, with all the discipline of an old soldier and the dashing intrepidity of a young one. As for M. Périères, he says that he does not know which to admire the most in him, his boldness or his coolness in danger.
"Fortunately for us, the journalist and the doctor, in their turn, enlighten us about M. de Morin, who, they affirm, is a prodigy of recklessness, patience, dash, courage and energy. His good temper and spirits never deserted him, and it is to these qualities alone, so these two gentlemen say, that they owe their escape, safe and sound, from their terrible adventure.
"It appears that whilst on the road to Djiddah, our caravan encountered fresh dangers. The Bedouins who followed them were on the point of attacking them, but the good temper and self-possession of M. de Morin gained the day. Would you believe, dearest, that he actually succeeded in securing a meal for himself and his men, of which they stood in great need, I assure you? They halted about two in the afternoon at a sort of oasis which they came across on the road, and there they breakfasted, pistol in hand, be it remembered. Joseph waited upon both Europeans and Bedouins, and these latter individuals were in convulsions of laughter, which you would readily understand if I had given you all the details of this memorable expedition. I am, however, habitually discursive in my letters, and I invariably leave plenty of gaps. But, then, I always imagine that you are at my side as I write, and that you must have heard all that has reached my ears.
"This breakfast seems to have been a very curious affair. The Bedouin women had prepared on the previous evening a supply of couscoussou, the favourite dish of the Arabs, and, like good managers, they had, at the moment of departure, put in the saddle-bags a sufficiency for the needs of their own people. Our friends, having tasted it, found it excellent, and as aquid pro quo, they presented the Bedouins with some excellent tobacco and cigars, and so put them in a good humour. But the acme of their enjoyment was to come. Breakfast over, M. de Morin expressed his intention of having a snooze, very natural under the circumstances, when M. Delange said to him—
"'Pardon me, but before going to sleep, we must turn our attention to a game at cards. We have not had one to-day, and if we get on horseback it will be difficult. This, as I take it, is a very opportune moment.'
"'But I am dead sleepy,' said the young painter, trying to get out of it.
"'So am I,' replied M. Delange, 'but a quarter of an hour's rest will only make us melancholy. So long as we cannot sleep for twenty-four or thirty-six hours at a stretch, we had better not sleep at all. Come along, and whilst our camels are trying to find a blade or two of grass, we will have just one game at écarté, if you have no objection.'
"'Surely you did not think of bringing any cards with you?' said M. de Morin.
"'They are the only things, on the contrary, I remembered. I forgot water, biscuits, everything except cards.'
"'Very well,' replied the painter, resigned to his lot.
"They sat down, face to face, cross-legged on the sand, and the Bedouins, deeply interested in this novel proceeding, grouped themselves round the pair. When they saw the little red and black pips, the kings, queens, and knaves mixed, jumbled up together, and falling one on the top of another, they were seized afresh with a fit of laughter, not even inferior to that which Joseph had provoked.
"The game was no sooner over than they laid hands on the cards, anxious to fathom the secrets of the game, and M. Delange generously gave them up.
"Our poor companions were worn out with fatigue when they rejoined us at the Consulate. But our joy at seeing them once more re-animated them.
"'Ah! Miss Poles, in seeing you I lose all thought of sleep,' said M. Delange. The doctor is charming. I no longer grudge him his passion for gambling. I have come to the pass, I confess, of loving even his faults.
"The French Consul was delighted at the success achieved by his fellow-countrymen, but he advised us to quit Djiddah as soon as possible. He feared lest, jealous of our triumph, and ashamed of their own inertness and impotence, the Turkish authorities should try to excite some unpleasant feeling, or induce the populace to fix a quarrel upon us.
"'You must never forget,' he said, 'so long as you are in a Mussulman country, the well-known proverb, 'The body of an unbeliever is not worth the trouble taken by a jackal to eat it!'
"On the quay we met the Bedouin, Abou-Zamil, waiting to claim his reward, which M. Périères gave him at once. It is ill-placed generosity, but Europeans are bound to teach these barbarians that their word is as good as their bond.
"Our steamer started as soon as we got on board, and the French flag at the Consulate was dipped in our honour.
"We are now making direct for Souakim, and we have to cross the Red Sea at its greatest breadth, whilst bearing at the same time several degrees southwards."
"I asked Périères to narrate to you our adventure with the Arabs, and to depict for your benefit the dance of the bayaderes. He had to deal with stirring scenes and picturesque effects, and, being a literary man, could impart to them both interest and colouring. For the present, however, there is nothing to do but to send you a few sketches of the country through which we have been passing for the last few days, and that is a work which I can safely undertake without the risk of boring you. Do not expect anything from me but a sort of itinerary, some passing notes of our journey from my pen, or, rather, my pencil, jotted down at the road-side, with my knees for a table, and at the end of a long day's march.
"Only, my dear fellow, you may rely upon my being always matter-of-fact and veracious, for I am not up to either invention or exaggeration, even for the sake of pleasing or interesting you. And, besides, you may easily verify my accounts by consulting those of the travellers who have passed along the same route, from Souakim by Berber to Khartoum, Combes in 1834, Beurmann in 1860, Heuglin in 1864, Schweinfurth in 1866, and bear in mind that Berber is called El-Mecheref by the English, and El-Mecherif by the Germans.
"I omit altogether the other routes taken from Souakim to Khartoum, for some travellers have reached the Nile from the south, without touching at Berber. Werne in 1841, Baker in 1861, and Lejean in 1864, went down the Red Sea as far as Massouah, and reached Khartoum by Keren, Kassala and the Blue Nile.
"All these districts, you must know, are under Egyptian rule, and form part of Eastern or Egyptian Soudan. No very extraordinary adventures can, consequently, be expected just yet, but they will come later on, at least we will hope so. There is a time for all things, says the proverb. Have patience, and as soon as ever the unforeseen and the marvellous afford scope for soul-stirring description, I will yield the pen to Périères and you shall be happy.
"For the time being we have only to deal with a country already half-civilized, where Turkish and Egyptian customs prevail, where there is a talk of constructing a railway, and where, horrible to relate, the telegraph is in full swing. So you see, we are not yet amongst the savages, and you would not thank me for discounting the interesting things in store for you.