Chapter Fourteen.Describes some of Osman Digna’s Eccentricities and Other Matters.One day Miles and his friend Armstrong went to have a ramble in the town of Suakim, and were proceeding through the bazaar when they encountered Simkin hurrying towards them with a much too serious expression on his face!“Have you heard the n–news?” he asked, on coming up.“No; what’s up?”“The old shep–shepherd’s bin killed; all the c–cattle c–captured, an’ the Egyptian c–cavalry’s bin sent out after them.”“Nonsense! You’re dreaming, or you’ve bin drinking,” said Miles.“Neither dreamin’ nor drinkin’,” returned Simkin, with indignation, as he suddenly delivered a blow at our hero’s face. Miles stopped it, however, gave him a playful punch in the chest, and passed on.At first Simkin seemed inclined to resent this, but, while he swayed about in frowning indecision, his comrades left him; shaking his head, therefore, with intense gravity, he walked away muttering, “Not a bad fellow Miles, after all, if he w–wasn’t so fond o’ the b–bottle!”Miles was at the same moment making the same remark to his friend in reference to Simkin, and with greater truth.“But I don’t wonder that the men who drink go in for it harder than ever here,” continued Miles. “There is such hard work, and constant exposure, and so little recreation of any sort. Yet it is a pity that men should give way to it, for too many of our comrades are on the sick-list because of it, and some under the sod.”“It is far more than a pity,” returned Armstrong, with unwonted energy. “Drink with its attendant evils is one of the great curses of the army. I have been told, and I can well believe it, that drink causes more loss to an army than war, the dangers of foreign service, and unhealthy climates, all put together.”“That’s a strong statement, Willie, and would need to be founded on good authority. Who told you?”“Our new parson told me, and he is in my opinion a good authority, because he is a Christian, if ever a man was; and he is an elderly man, besides being uncommonly clever and well informed. He told us a great many strong facts at the temperance meeting we held last night. I wish you had been there, Miles. It would have warmed your heart, I think.”“Have you joined them, Willie?”“Yes, I have; and, God helping me, I mean to stick by them!”“I would have gone to the meeting myself,” said Miles thoughtfully, “if I had been asked.”“Strange,” returned Armstrong, “that Sergeant Hardy said to me he thought of asking you to accompany us, but had an idea that you wouldn’t care to go. Now, just look at that lot there beside the grog-shop door. What a commentary on the evils of drink!”The lot to which he referred consisted of a group of miserable loungers in filthy garments and fez-caps, who, in monkey-like excitement, or solemn stupidity, stood squabbling in front of one of the many Greek drinking-shops with which the town was cursed.Passing by at the moment, with the stately contempt engendered by a splendid physique and a red coat, strode a trooper—one of the defenders of the town. His gait was steady enough, but there was that unmistakable something in the expression of his face which told that he was in the grip of the same fiend that had captured the men round the grog-shop door. He was well-known to both Armstrong and Miles.“Hallo! Johnson,” cried the latter. “Is there any truth in the—”He stopped, and looked steadily in the trooper’s eyes without speaking.“Oh yes, I know what you mean,” said Johnson, with a reckless air. “I know that I’m drunk.”“I wouldn’t say exactly that of you,” returned Miles; “but—”“Well, well, I say it of myself,” continued the trooper. “It’s no use humbuggin’ about it. I’m swimmin’ wi’ the current. Goin’ to the dogs like a runaway locomotive. Of course I see well enough that men like Sergeant Hardy, an’ Stevenson of the Marines, who have been temperance men all their lives, enjoy good health—would to God I was like ’em! And I know that drinkers are dyin’ off like sheep, but that makes it all the worse for me, for, to tell you the honest truth, boys—an’ I don’t care who knows it—Ican’tleave off drinkin’. It’s killin’ me by inches. I know, likewise, that all the old hard drinkers here are soon sent home ruined for life—such of ’em at least as don’t leave their miserable bones in the sand, and I know that I’m on the road to destruction, but I can’t—Iwon’tgive it up!”“Ha! Johnson,” said Armstrong, “these are the very words quoted by the new parson at the temperance meetin’ last night—an’ he’s a splendid fellow with his tongue. ‘Hard drinker,’ says he, ‘you are humbuggin’ yourself. You say youcan’tgive up the drink. The real truth is, my man, that youwon’tgive it up. If only I could persuade you, in God’s strength, to say “Iwill,” you’d soon come all right.’ Now, Johnson, if you’ll come with me to the next meetin’—”“What!mego to a temperance meetin’?” cried the trooper with something of scorn in his laugh. “You might as well ask the devil to go to church! No, no, Armstrong, I’m past prayin’ for—thank you all the same for invitin’ me. But what was you askin’ about news bein’ true? What news?”“Why, that the old shepherd has been killed, and all our cattle are captured, and the Egyptian cavalry sent after them.”“You don’t say so!” cried the trooper, with the air of a man who suddenly shakes off a heavy burden. “If that’s so, they’ll be wantin’ us also, no doubt.”Without another word he turned and strode away as fast as his long legs could carry him.Although there might possibly be a call for infantry to follow, Miles and his friend did not see that it was needful to make for their fort at more than their ordinary pace.It was a curious and crowded scene they had to traverse. Besides the grog-shops already mentioned there were numerous coffee-houses, where, from diminutive cups, natives of temperate habits slaked their thirst and discussed the news—of which, by the way, there was no lack at the time; for, besides the activity of Osman Digna and his hordes, there were frequent arrivals of mails, and sometimes of reinforcements, from Lower Egypt. In the side-streets were many smithies, where lance-heads and knives were being forged by men who had not the most distant belief that such weapons would ever be turned into pruning-hooks. There were also workers in leather, who sewed up passages of the Koran in leathern cases and sold them as amulets to be worn on necks and arms. Elsewhere, hairdressers were busy greasing and powdering with the dust of red-wood the bushy locks of Hadendoa dandies. In short, all the activities of Eastern city life were being carried on as energetically as if the place were in perfect security, though the only bulwark that preserved it, hour by hour, from being swept by the innumerable hordes of Soudan savagery, consisted of a few hundreds of British and Egyptian soldiers!Arrived at the Sphinx Fort, the friends found that the news was only too true.The stolen cattle belonged to the people of Suakim. Every morning at six o’clock it was the custom of the shepherds to go out with their herds and flocks to graze, there being no forage in or near the town. All had to be back by sunset, when the gates were locked, and no one was allowed out or in till six the next morning. The women, who carried all the water used in the waterless town, had of course to conform to the same rule. Like most men who are constantly exposed to danger, the shepherds became careless or foolhardy, and wandered rather far with their herds. Osman was too astute to neglect his opportunities. On this occasion an old shepherd, who was well-known at Sphinx Redoubt, had strayed too far. The Soudanese swept down, cut off his retreat, killed him, and, as we have said, carried off his cattle.It was to retrieve, if possible, or avenge this disaster that the Egyptian cavalry sallied forth. They were seen galloping after the foe when Miles reached the roof of the redoubt, where some of his comrades were on duty, while Captain Lacey and several officers were looking on with field-glasses.“They are too late, I fear, to do much good,” remarked one of the officers.“Don’t I wish I was goin’ wid them!” whispered Corporal Flynn to a comrade.“Ye wad be a queer objec’ on the ootside o’ a horse,” remarked Macleod cynically.“Why, Mac, ye wouldn’t have me goinsideof a horse, would ye?”“It wad be much the same which way ye went,” returned the Scot.“Ah, thin, the horse wouldn’t think so, unless he was a donkey!”“Well done!” exclaimed Captain Lacey at that moment, as the cavalry cut off and succeeded in recapturing a few of the cattle, and gave the enemy several volleys, which caused them to beat a hasty retreat. This, however, turned out to be aruseon the part of Osman, who had his men concealed in strong force there. He tried to draw the cavalry away from Suakim, and was very nearly successful. In the ardour of pursuit the Egyptians failed to observe that the Soudanese were creeping round their rear to cut off retreat. On discovering their mistake, and finding that their small force of two hundred men was being surrounded by thousands of Arab warriors, it was almost too late. Turning at once, they galloped back, and could be seen, through the field-glasses, turning now and then gallantly to engage the pursuing foe.No help could be rendered them at first, as they were beyond the range of all the forts; nevertheless, they got in safely, with little injury to man or beast, and driving before them the animals that had been recovered.Next day the body of the poor old shepherd was brought in and buried, without a coffin, by his relations.Miles, being off duty at the time, went to see the funeral, and found that Eastern and Western ideas on this point, as on many others, are wide as the poles asunder. No doubt the grief of the near relations was as real as it was demonstrative, but it required more credulity than he possessed to enable him to believe that the howling, shouting, and singing of many mourners was indicative of genuine feeling. The creation of noise, indeed, seemed to be their chief method of paying respect to the dead.As deaths in Suakim were very numerous at this time, owing to much sickness among natives as well as troops, the sounds of mourning, whether by volley or voice, became so frequent that orders were at last given to cease firing over the soldiers’ graves when they were buried.Just ahead of the shepherd’s body came some poor women, who were weeping, falling down at intervals, and kissing the ground. On reaching the wall round the land side of the town these women stopped, formed a circle, and kneeled on the sand while the body was passing them, then they leaned forward and kissed the ground, continuing in that position till all the procession had passed. There the women remained, not being allowed to go to the grave, and the singing and shouting were continued by boys, who kept running round the bier as it was borne along. On reaching the grave the body was put in with the face toward the east, and covered up with stones and mortar. Then the grave was filled up with sand, a brief prayer was offered—the mourners kneeling—after which the people went home.Sad thoughts filled the mind of our young soldier as he returned to the fort, but the sadness was soon turned to indignation when he got there.For some time past a Soudanese youth of about seventeen or eighteen years of age had been coming about the Sphinx Redoubt and ingratiating himself with the men, who took a great fancy to him, because he was amiable in disposition, somewhat humorous as well as lively, and handsome, though black! They used to give him something to eat every time he came, and made quite a pet of him. One day while he was out in the open country, Osman’s men captured this youth and took him at once before their leader, who, probably regarding him as a deserter, ordered both his hands to be cut off close to the wrists. The cruel deed was done, and the poor lad was sent back to Suakim. It was this that roused the wrath of Miles as well as that of his comrades. When they saw the raw stumps and the haggard look of the poor fellow, who had suffered much from loss of blood, they got into a state of mind that would have made them ready to sally forth, if so required, and assault the entire Soudan in arms!“Och! av I only had ’im here,” said Flynn, clenching his teeth and fists at the same time. “It’s—it’s—it’s—”“Mince-meat you’d make of him,” said Moses.“No—it’scat’smate—the baste!”The others were equally angry, though not quite so emphatic, but they did not waste their time in useless regrets. They hurried the young Soudanese to the doctor, who carefully dressed his wounds, and every care was thereafter taken of him by the men, until completely restored to health.It may interest the reader to know that this poor fellow was afterwards well looked after. Some sort of employment in the garrison was obtained for him, and he was found to be a useful and willing servant, despite the absence of his hands.That night a furious sand-storm burst upon the town, accompanied by oppressive heat.“It always seems to me,” said Miles to Gaspard Redgrave, who lay next him, “that mosquitoes and sand-flies, cats and dogs, and in fact the whole brute creation, becomes more lively when the weather is unusually hot. Just listen to these cats!”“Like a colony of small children being murdered,” said Gaspard.“It’s awfu’,” observed Saunders, in a kind of solemn astonishment as a frightful caterwaul burst upon their ears. “I wadna like to hear teegers in the same state o’ mind.”“Or elephants,” murmured Moses Pyne, who was more than half asleep.The cats were indeed a great nuisance, for, not satisfied with getting on the flat roofs of the houses at nights, and keeping up a species of war-dance there, they invaded the soldiers’ quarters, upsetting things in the dark—thus demonstrating the absurdity of the proverb that cats see best in the dark—stealing whatever they could lay hold of, and inducing half-slumbering men to fling boots and shoes, or whatever came most handy, at them.Rats also were innumerable, and, to the great surprise—not to say indignation—of the men, neither dogs nor cats paid the least attention to the rats!After a time the storm, both of animate and inanimate nature, began to abate, and the weary overworked soldiers were dropping off to sleep when a tremendous explosion effectually roused them.“There goes another mine!” cried Armstrong, starting up.“It don’t require a prophet to tell us that,” growled Gaspard, as he yawned and slowly picked up his rifle.Explosions were of quite common occurrence at that time, but had to be attended to nevertheless.That Osman had taken advantage of the very dark night to make an earlier attack than usual was evident, for shots were fired immediately after the explosion occurred, as usual. These were replied to, but the effect of the explosion, it was supposed, must have been unusually severe, for the enemy withdrew after exchanging only a few shots.This surmise was afterwards proved to be correct. On going to the spot the following morning, they found that at least a dozen of their foes must have been blown up, for legs and arms and other human remains were picked up in all directions. These the soldiers gathered, with the aid of the friendly natives, and burned.No attack was made for four days after that, but then the untiring enemy became as troublesome as ever.Spies afterwards said that when Osman heard of this incident, and of the number of men killed, he said, “it served them right. They had no business to go touching things that did not belong to them!”
One day Miles and his friend Armstrong went to have a ramble in the town of Suakim, and were proceeding through the bazaar when they encountered Simkin hurrying towards them with a much too serious expression on his face!
“Have you heard the n–news?” he asked, on coming up.
“No; what’s up?”
“The old shep–shepherd’s bin killed; all the c–cattle c–captured, an’ the Egyptian c–cavalry’s bin sent out after them.”
“Nonsense! You’re dreaming, or you’ve bin drinking,” said Miles.
“Neither dreamin’ nor drinkin’,” returned Simkin, with indignation, as he suddenly delivered a blow at our hero’s face. Miles stopped it, however, gave him a playful punch in the chest, and passed on.
At first Simkin seemed inclined to resent this, but, while he swayed about in frowning indecision, his comrades left him; shaking his head, therefore, with intense gravity, he walked away muttering, “Not a bad fellow Miles, after all, if he w–wasn’t so fond o’ the b–bottle!”
Miles was at the same moment making the same remark to his friend in reference to Simkin, and with greater truth.
“But I don’t wonder that the men who drink go in for it harder than ever here,” continued Miles. “There is such hard work, and constant exposure, and so little recreation of any sort. Yet it is a pity that men should give way to it, for too many of our comrades are on the sick-list because of it, and some under the sod.”
“It is far more than a pity,” returned Armstrong, with unwonted energy. “Drink with its attendant evils is one of the great curses of the army. I have been told, and I can well believe it, that drink causes more loss to an army than war, the dangers of foreign service, and unhealthy climates, all put together.”
“That’s a strong statement, Willie, and would need to be founded on good authority. Who told you?”
“Our new parson told me, and he is in my opinion a good authority, because he is a Christian, if ever a man was; and he is an elderly man, besides being uncommonly clever and well informed. He told us a great many strong facts at the temperance meeting we held last night. I wish you had been there, Miles. It would have warmed your heart, I think.”
“Have you joined them, Willie?”
“Yes, I have; and, God helping me, I mean to stick by them!”
“I would have gone to the meeting myself,” said Miles thoughtfully, “if I had been asked.”
“Strange,” returned Armstrong, “that Sergeant Hardy said to me he thought of asking you to accompany us, but had an idea that you wouldn’t care to go. Now, just look at that lot there beside the grog-shop door. What a commentary on the evils of drink!”
The lot to which he referred consisted of a group of miserable loungers in filthy garments and fez-caps, who, in monkey-like excitement, or solemn stupidity, stood squabbling in front of one of the many Greek drinking-shops with which the town was cursed.
Passing by at the moment, with the stately contempt engendered by a splendid physique and a red coat, strode a trooper—one of the defenders of the town. His gait was steady enough, but there was that unmistakable something in the expression of his face which told that he was in the grip of the same fiend that had captured the men round the grog-shop door. He was well-known to both Armstrong and Miles.
“Hallo! Johnson,” cried the latter. “Is there any truth in the—”
He stopped, and looked steadily in the trooper’s eyes without speaking.
“Oh yes, I know what you mean,” said Johnson, with a reckless air. “I know that I’m drunk.”
“I wouldn’t say exactly that of you,” returned Miles; “but—”
“Well, well, I say it of myself,” continued the trooper. “It’s no use humbuggin’ about it. I’m swimmin’ wi’ the current. Goin’ to the dogs like a runaway locomotive. Of course I see well enough that men like Sergeant Hardy, an’ Stevenson of the Marines, who have been temperance men all their lives, enjoy good health—would to God I was like ’em! And I know that drinkers are dyin’ off like sheep, but that makes it all the worse for me, for, to tell you the honest truth, boys—an’ I don’t care who knows it—Ican’tleave off drinkin’. It’s killin’ me by inches. I know, likewise, that all the old hard drinkers here are soon sent home ruined for life—such of ’em at least as don’t leave their miserable bones in the sand, and I know that I’m on the road to destruction, but I can’t—Iwon’tgive it up!”
“Ha! Johnson,” said Armstrong, “these are the very words quoted by the new parson at the temperance meetin’ last night—an’ he’s a splendid fellow with his tongue. ‘Hard drinker,’ says he, ‘you are humbuggin’ yourself. You say youcan’tgive up the drink. The real truth is, my man, that youwon’tgive it up. If only I could persuade you, in God’s strength, to say “Iwill,” you’d soon come all right.’ Now, Johnson, if you’ll come with me to the next meetin’—”
“What!mego to a temperance meetin’?” cried the trooper with something of scorn in his laugh. “You might as well ask the devil to go to church! No, no, Armstrong, I’m past prayin’ for—thank you all the same for invitin’ me. But what was you askin’ about news bein’ true? What news?”
“Why, that the old shepherd has been killed, and all our cattle are captured, and the Egyptian cavalry sent after them.”
“You don’t say so!” cried the trooper, with the air of a man who suddenly shakes off a heavy burden. “If that’s so, they’ll be wantin’ us also, no doubt.”
Without another word he turned and strode away as fast as his long legs could carry him.
Although there might possibly be a call for infantry to follow, Miles and his friend did not see that it was needful to make for their fort at more than their ordinary pace.
It was a curious and crowded scene they had to traverse. Besides the grog-shops already mentioned there were numerous coffee-houses, where, from diminutive cups, natives of temperate habits slaked their thirst and discussed the news—of which, by the way, there was no lack at the time; for, besides the activity of Osman Digna and his hordes, there were frequent arrivals of mails, and sometimes of reinforcements, from Lower Egypt. In the side-streets were many smithies, where lance-heads and knives were being forged by men who had not the most distant belief that such weapons would ever be turned into pruning-hooks. There were also workers in leather, who sewed up passages of the Koran in leathern cases and sold them as amulets to be worn on necks and arms. Elsewhere, hairdressers were busy greasing and powdering with the dust of red-wood the bushy locks of Hadendoa dandies. In short, all the activities of Eastern city life were being carried on as energetically as if the place were in perfect security, though the only bulwark that preserved it, hour by hour, from being swept by the innumerable hordes of Soudan savagery, consisted of a few hundreds of British and Egyptian soldiers!
Arrived at the Sphinx Fort, the friends found that the news was only too true.
The stolen cattle belonged to the people of Suakim. Every morning at six o’clock it was the custom of the shepherds to go out with their herds and flocks to graze, there being no forage in or near the town. All had to be back by sunset, when the gates were locked, and no one was allowed out or in till six the next morning. The women, who carried all the water used in the waterless town, had of course to conform to the same rule. Like most men who are constantly exposed to danger, the shepherds became careless or foolhardy, and wandered rather far with their herds. Osman was too astute to neglect his opportunities. On this occasion an old shepherd, who was well-known at Sphinx Redoubt, had strayed too far. The Soudanese swept down, cut off his retreat, killed him, and, as we have said, carried off his cattle.
It was to retrieve, if possible, or avenge this disaster that the Egyptian cavalry sallied forth. They were seen galloping after the foe when Miles reached the roof of the redoubt, where some of his comrades were on duty, while Captain Lacey and several officers were looking on with field-glasses.
“They are too late, I fear, to do much good,” remarked one of the officers.
“Don’t I wish I was goin’ wid them!” whispered Corporal Flynn to a comrade.
“Ye wad be a queer objec’ on the ootside o’ a horse,” remarked Macleod cynically.
“Why, Mac, ye wouldn’t have me goinsideof a horse, would ye?”
“It wad be much the same which way ye went,” returned the Scot.
“Ah, thin, the horse wouldn’t think so, unless he was a donkey!”
“Well done!” exclaimed Captain Lacey at that moment, as the cavalry cut off and succeeded in recapturing a few of the cattle, and gave the enemy several volleys, which caused them to beat a hasty retreat. This, however, turned out to be aruseon the part of Osman, who had his men concealed in strong force there. He tried to draw the cavalry away from Suakim, and was very nearly successful. In the ardour of pursuit the Egyptians failed to observe that the Soudanese were creeping round their rear to cut off retreat. On discovering their mistake, and finding that their small force of two hundred men was being surrounded by thousands of Arab warriors, it was almost too late. Turning at once, they galloped back, and could be seen, through the field-glasses, turning now and then gallantly to engage the pursuing foe.
No help could be rendered them at first, as they were beyond the range of all the forts; nevertheless, they got in safely, with little injury to man or beast, and driving before them the animals that had been recovered.
Next day the body of the poor old shepherd was brought in and buried, without a coffin, by his relations.
Miles, being off duty at the time, went to see the funeral, and found that Eastern and Western ideas on this point, as on many others, are wide as the poles asunder. No doubt the grief of the near relations was as real as it was demonstrative, but it required more credulity than he possessed to enable him to believe that the howling, shouting, and singing of many mourners was indicative of genuine feeling. The creation of noise, indeed, seemed to be their chief method of paying respect to the dead.
As deaths in Suakim were very numerous at this time, owing to much sickness among natives as well as troops, the sounds of mourning, whether by volley or voice, became so frequent that orders were at last given to cease firing over the soldiers’ graves when they were buried.
Just ahead of the shepherd’s body came some poor women, who were weeping, falling down at intervals, and kissing the ground. On reaching the wall round the land side of the town these women stopped, formed a circle, and kneeled on the sand while the body was passing them, then they leaned forward and kissed the ground, continuing in that position till all the procession had passed. There the women remained, not being allowed to go to the grave, and the singing and shouting were continued by boys, who kept running round the bier as it was borne along. On reaching the grave the body was put in with the face toward the east, and covered up with stones and mortar. Then the grave was filled up with sand, a brief prayer was offered—the mourners kneeling—after which the people went home.
Sad thoughts filled the mind of our young soldier as he returned to the fort, but the sadness was soon turned to indignation when he got there.
For some time past a Soudanese youth of about seventeen or eighteen years of age had been coming about the Sphinx Redoubt and ingratiating himself with the men, who took a great fancy to him, because he was amiable in disposition, somewhat humorous as well as lively, and handsome, though black! They used to give him something to eat every time he came, and made quite a pet of him. One day while he was out in the open country, Osman’s men captured this youth and took him at once before their leader, who, probably regarding him as a deserter, ordered both his hands to be cut off close to the wrists. The cruel deed was done, and the poor lad was sent back to Suakim. It was this that roused the wrath of Miles as well as that of his comrades. When they saw the raw stumps and the haggard look of the poor fellow, who had suffered much from loss of blood, they got into a state of mind that would have made them ready to sally forth, if so required, and assault the entire Soudan in arms!
“Och! av I only had ’im here,” said Flynn, clenching his teeth and fists at the same time. “It’s—it’s—it’s—”
“Mince-meat you’d make of him,” said Moses.
“No—it’scat’smate—the baste!”
The others were equally angry, though not quite so emphatic, but they did not waste their time in useless regrets. They hurried the young Soudanese to the doctor, who carefully dressed his wounds, and every care was thereafter taken of him by the men, until completely restored to health.
It may interest the reader to know that this poor fellow was afterwards well looked after. Some sort of employment in the garrison was obtained for him, and he was found to be a useful and willing servant, despite the absence of his hands.
That night a furious sand-storm burst upon the town, accompanied by oppressive heat.
“It always seems to me,” said Miles to Gaspard Redgrave, who lay next him, “that mosquitoes and sand-flies, cats and dogs, and in fact the whole brute creation, becomes more lively when the weather is unusually hot. Just listen to these cats!”
“Like a colony of small children being murdered,” said Gaspard.
“It’s awfu’,” observed Saunders, in a kind of solemn astonishment as a frightful caterwaul burst upon their ears. “I wadna like to hear teegers in the same state o’ mind.”
“Or elephants,” murmured Moses Pyne, who was more than half asleep.
The cats were indeed a great nuisance, for, not satisfied with getting on the flat roofs of the houses at nights, and keeping up a species of war-dance there, they invaded the soldiers’ quarters, upsetting things in the dark—thus demonstrating the absurdity of the proverb that cats see best in the dark—stealing whatever they could lay hold of, and inducing half-slumbering men to fling boots and shoes, or whatever came most handy, at them.
Rats also were innumerable, and, to the great surprise—not to say indignation—of the men, neither dogs nor cats paid the least attention to the rats!
After a time the storm, both of animate and inanimate nature, began to abate, and the weary overworked soldiers were dropping off to sleep when a tremendous explosion effectually roused them.
“There goes another mine!” cried Armstrong, starting up.
“It don’t require a prophet to tell us that,” growled Gaspard, as he yawned and slowly picked up his rifle.
Explosions were of quite common occurrence at that time, but had to be attended to nevertheless.
That Osman had taken advantage of the very dark night to make an earlier attack than usual was evident, for shots were fired immediately after the explosion occurred, as usual. These were replied to, but the effect of the explosion, it was supposed, must have been unusually severe, for the enemy withdrew after exchanging only a few shots.
This surmise was afterwards proved to be correct. On going to the spot the following morning, they found that at least a dozen of their foes must have been blown up, for legs and arms and other human remains were picked up in all directions. These the soldiers gathered, with the aid of the friendly natives, and burned.
No attack was made for four days after that, but then the untiring enemy became as troublesome as ever.
Spies afterwards said that when Osman heard of this incident, and of the number of men killed, he said, “it served them right. They had no business to go touching things that did not belong to them!”
Chapter Fifteen.Athletics—A New Acquaintance turns up—An Expedition undertaken, followed by a Race for Life.Energetic and exhilarating exercise has sometimes the effect of driving away sickness which doctors’ stuff and treatment fail to cope with successfully. In saying this we intend no slight either to doctors’ stuff or treatment!After the troops had been some time at Suakim the effect of the climate began to tell on them so severely that a very large proportion of Europeans were in hospital, and many who strove hard to brave it out were scarcely fit for duty.Great heat did not, however, interfere with Miles Milton’s health. He was one of those fortunates who seem to have been made of tougher clay than the average of humanity. But his friend Armstrong was laid up for a considerable time. Even Robert Macleod was knocked over for a brief period, and the lively Corporal Flynn succumbed at last. Moses Pyne, however, stood the test of hard work and bad climate well, and so, for a time, did Sergeant Hardy. It was found generally that the abstainers from strong drink suffered less from bad health and unwholesome surroundings than their fellows, and as there were a good many in the regiment, who were constantly endeavouring to convince their comrades of the advantages of total-abstinence, things were not so bad as they might have been.It was about this time that one of the generals who visited Suakim instituted athletic games, thereby vastly improving the health and spirits of the men. And now Miles Milton learned, for the first time, what an immense power there lies in “scientific training!”One evening, when out walking with Stevenson, he took it into his head to race with him, and, having been a crack runner at school, he beat him easily.“Why, Miles,” said his friend, when the short race was over, “I had no idea you could run so well. If you choose I will put you in training for the coming sports. You must know that I have run and walked and competed in the track many a time at home, and have trained and brought out runners who had no notion of what was in them till I proved it to them by training. Will you go in for it, and promise to do as I bid you?”“I have no objection,” replied Miles, with a light laugh.If he had known what his friend intended to do he might not have agreed so readily, for, from that hour till the day of the sports, Stevenson made him go through an amount of running—even after being made stiff by previous runs—that he would never have agreed to undertake unless forced to do so. We sayforced, because our hero regarded a promise once given as sacred. His was a curiously compound nature, so that while in some points of conduct he was lax—as we have seen—in others he was very strict. He was peculiarly so in regard to promises. His comrades soon came to know this, and ultimately came to consider him a very reliable man.Having, then, promised his friend to keep sternly to his work, he did so, with the result that his strength increased wonderfully. Another result was that he carried off the first prize in all the races.In order to make the most of time and avoid the evils of noonday heat, it was arranged that the races, etcetera, for the Egyptian soldiers and natives in Government employ should come off in the morning, and that the British troops should run in the later and cooler parts of the day. With the temperature at 120 degrees in the shade it would have been dangerous for Europeans to compete. The sports, including our familiar cricket, were greatly enjoyed, and the result was a decided improvement in the health of the whole force.Boat-races were also included in these sports. At the conclusion of one of these, Miles, to his great surprise, encountered his old acquaintance of theSailors’ Welcome, big Jack Molloy.“Why, Jack!” exclaimed Miles, as the hearty tar wrung his hand, “who’d have expected to seeyouhere?”“Ah, who indeed? an’ I may say ditto.”“I’mveryglad to see you, Molloy, for, to say truth, I thought I had seen the last of you when we parted in the troop-ship. I’ve often thought of you since, and of our first evening together in the—the—what was its name?”“TheSailors’ Welcome—man alive! I wonder you’ve forgot it. Blessin’s on it!Iain’t likely to forget it. Why, it was there, (did I ever tell you?) the wery night arter I met you, that a messmate took me to the big hall, back o’ the readin’-room. It’s no use me tryin’ fur to tell you all I heard in that there big hall, but when I come out—blow’d if I didn’t sign the pledge right away, an’ I ain’t took a drop o’ grog since!”“Glad to hear it, Jack, for, to say truth, I never saw the evil of grog so clearly as I have since coming out here and seeing strong stout men cast down by it in dozens,—many of them kind-hearted, right-thinking men, whom I would have thought safe from such a thing. Indeed I have more than half a mind to join the Good Templars myself.”“Young man,” said Molloy, sternly, “if it takes the death of dozens o’ stout kind-hearted men to force you to make up half your mind, how many d’ee want to die before you make up the whole of it?”“But I said that my mind wasmorethan half made up,” returned Miles, with a smile.“Now lookee here,” rejoined the sailor earnestly, “it’s all wery well for milksops an’ nincompoops and landlubbers to go in for half-an’-half work like that, but you’re not the man I takes you for if you ain’t game for more than that, so I ax you to promise me that you’ll sign the pledge right off, as I did, first time you gits the chance.”“But you forget I’m only a landlubber who, according to you, is fit for only half-an-half measures,” said Miles, who, not being addicted to much wine, felt disinclined to bind himself.“No matter,” returned the sailor, with deepening earnestness, “if you go in fur it you’llneverrepent it! Take my word for that. Now, I ax ye to promise.”“Well, Idopromise—the very first time I get the chance; and that will be to-morrow night, for our new parson has started temperance meetings, and he is a great teetotaller.”“An’ you promise to stick to it?” added Molloy.“When I give a promise Ialwaysstick to it!” returned Miles gravely.“Right you are, lad. Give us your flipper!”The foregoing conversation took place at the harbour, a little apart from the noisy group of soldiers and sailors who were discussing the circumstances of the recent boat-race.Immediately after it Molloy returned to his ship in the harbour, and our hero to his post in the line of defence.One of those who had been conspicuous that day in arranging and starting the races, acting as umpire at the cricket, and, generally, putting heart and spirit into everything by his quiet good-nature and self-denying activity, was the young officer of Engineers, who has been already mentioned as the manager of the mines that were laid around Suakim. Poor fellow! little did he imagine that that was to be his last day on earth!Every morning, as before mentioned, this young officer went out alone to perform the dangerous work of disconnecting the mines, so that the inhabitants of the town might go out and in and move about during the day-time in safety. Again, a little before sunset every evening, he went out and reconnected them, so that the enemy could not approach the place without the risk of being blown to pieces. At the same time the gates were closed, and no one was allowed to leave or enter the town.On this particular evening the lieutenant went out as usual on his dangerous mission just after six o’clock. He had not been long gone when a loud explosion was heard, and a cloud of smoke was seen where one of the mines had been laid down. A party at once sallied out, and found, as they had feared, that the brave young fellow had perished. He had been literally blown to pieces, his head being found in one place, while other portions of his body were scattered around.This melancholy incident cast a gloom over the whole place. The remains of the heroic young engineer were buried next day with military honours. The garrison was not, however, left long in peace to think over his sad fate, for the very next night a determined attack was made all along the line. The annoying persistency of these attacks seemed to have stirred the indignation of the general in command, for he ordered out a small force of cavalry to carry the war into the enemy’s country.Critics say that this act was ill advised, and that the cavalry should not have been despatched without the support of infantry. Critics are not always or necessarily right. Indeed, we may venture to say that they are often wrong! We do not pretend to judge, but, be this as it may, the cavalry was ordered to destroy the village of Handoub about fifteen miles inland on the caravan route to Berber, and to blow up the enemy’s magazine there.The force consisted of a troop of the 19th Hussars, and another of Egyptian cavalry—about fifty men all told—under command of Captain Apthorp. Our intemperate friend Johnson was one of the little band. He was sober then, however, as he sat bolt upright on his powerful steed, with a very stern and grave visage, for he had a strong impression that the duty before them was no child’s-play.A four hours’ ride brought them to the village. The few Arabs who dwelt in it fled at once on their approach, and in a very short time the place was effectually destroyed, along with a large quantity of ammunition.But no sooner had the soldiers finished the work, and begun to prepare for their return, than they discovered that a large force of the enemy was assembling to cut off their retreat.No time for thought after that! At least six thousand of the foe, having heard of the expedition, had crept down through the thick bush from the direction of Hasheen, thirsting for vengeance. Two miles on the Suakim side of Handoub they formed a line and opened fire on the leading cavalry scouts.Seeing that the Arabs were in such force, Captain Apthorp at once made for their flank, in the direction of the sea-coast. At full speed, with horses fatigued by a fifteen miles’ journey, they had to ride for life. It was neck or nothing now! The Egyptian cavalry, under Captain Gregorie, and accompanied by Captain Stopford of the Grenadier Guards and other officers, followed closely.As they went along at racing speed, with more than a dozen miles of wilderness to traverse, and death behind them, Private King of the Hussars fell from his horse wounded. Captain Gregorie came up with him, stopped, and took the wounded man up behind him. It was a generous but desperate act, for what could be expected of a double-weighted horse in such a region and with such a race before it?For about half a mile he carried the wounded trooper, who then swooned and fell off, dragging the captain along with him, the freed horse rejoining its troop, while the Arabs came yelling on not a hundred and fifty yards behind.There would have been but little chance for Captain Gregorie at that terrible crisis if self-denying courage equal to his own had not dwelt in the breast of Private Baker of the Hussars. Seeing what had occurred, this hero coolly rode back, took the captain up behind him, (see frontispiece,) and, regaining his troop, enabled the latter to capture and remount his own steed. Of course poor King—whether dead or alive they could not tell—had to be left to his fate.Heroism would seem to feed upon itself and multiply, for this same Private Baker, soon afterwards, saw two more troopers, and shouted to a comrade to turn back with him to their rescue. The comrade, however, did not see his way to do so. Perchance he did not hear! Anyhow he galloped on, but Captain Gregorie hearing the summons, at once answered it, turned, and galloped back with Baker.They were only just in time to take up and rescue the two men. At the same time Captain Stopford performed a similar gallant act in rescuing a dismounted trooper.It is deeds of self-sacrifice and heroism such as these—not the storming of a breach, or the fighting against overwhelming odds—that bring out the noblest qualities of our soldiers, and arouse the admiration of mankind!The race for life was so close run that when the force at last reached the sea-shore it was little more than sixty yards in advance of the foe, and so exhausted were the horses that eight of them fell, and their riders were captured—four being Englishmen and four Egyptians. It is right to add that one of the Egyptians also displayed conspicuous courage in rescuing a comrade.While these stirring incidents were taking place on the plain, Miles and some of his comrades were seated on the roof of the redoubt, looking out anxiously for the return of the cavalry. At last, in the afternoon, a cloud of dust was seen on the horizon, and the officers who had glasses could soon make out that the men appeared to be racing towards the town at full speed, while the enemy, on camels and horses, and on foot, were racing down to the sea to cut off their retreat. No sooner was this understood than our men rose with an uncontrollable burst, seized their rifles, flung on ammunition-belts, and rushed out to the rescue, regardless for the moment of the officers shouting to them to come back. The news spread like wildfire, and the men ran out just as they were—some in white jackets, some in red, others in blue; many in their shirts, with their sleeves rolled up; cavalry, artillery, marines, infantry—all going helter-skelter towards the enemy. Fortunately they saw from the ships what was going on, and quickly got their guns to bear, so that the moment our men had escaped clear of the enemy they opened fire. But for this more men would certainly have been lost, for the overtaxed horses were beginning to give in and lose ground. Had they been a few minutes later in reaching the sea, it is probable that not a man of that force would have returned to Suakim.As it was, the men came in pale and terribly fatigued. The horses could scarcely walk, and two of them died on the following day.Note.—Since the foregoing was written, we have learned, with profound regret, that the gallant Captain Gregorie was killed by his horse falling with him in 1886.
Energetic and exhilarating exercise has sometimes the effect of driving away sickness which doctors’ stuff and treatment fail to cope with successfully. In saying this we intend no slight either to doctors’ stuff or treatment!
After the troops had been some time at Suakim the effect of the climate began to tell on them so severely that a very large proportion of Europeans were in hospital, and many who strove hard to brave it out were scarcely fit for duty.
Great heat did not, however, interfere with Miles Milton’s health. He was one of those fortunates who seem to have been made of tougher clay than the average of humanity. But his friend Armstrong was laid up for a considerable time. Even Robert Macleod was knocked over for a brief period, and the lively Corporal Flynn succumbed at last. Moses Pyne, however, stood the test of hard work and bad climate well, and so, for a time, did Sergeant Hardy. It was found generally that the abstainers from strong drink suffered less from bad health and unwholesome surroundings than their fellows, and as there were a good many in the regiment, who were constantly endeavouring to convince their comrades of the advantages of total-abstinence, things were not so bad as they might have been.
It was about this time that one of the generals who visited Suakim instituted athletic games, thereby vastly improving the health and spirits of the men. And now Miles Milton learned, for the first time, what an immense power there lies in “scientific training!”
One evening, when out walking with Stevenson, he took it into his head to race with him, and, having been a crack runner at school, he beat him easily.
“Why, Miles,” said his friend, when the short race was over, “I had no idea you could run so well. If you choose I will put you in training for the coming sports. You must know that I have run and walked and competed in the track many a time at home, and have trained and brought out runners who had no notion of what was in them till I proved it to them by training. Will you go in for it, and promise to do as I bid you?”
“I have no objection,” replied Miles, with a light laugh.
If he had known what his friend intended to do he might not have agreed so readily, for, from that hour till the day of the sports, Stevenson made him go through an amount of running—even after being made stiff by previous runs—that he would never have agreed to undertake unless forced to do so. We sayforced, because our hero regarded a promise once given as sacred. His was a curiously compound nature, so that while in some points of conduct he was lax—as we have seen—in others he was very strict. He was peculiarly so in regard to promises. His comrades soon came to know this, and ultimately came to consider him a very reliable man.
Having, then, promised his friend to keep sternly to his work, he did so, with the result that his strength increased wonderfully. Another result was that he carried off the first prize in all the races.
In order to make the most of time and avoid the evils of noonday heat, it was arranged that the races, etcetera, for the Egyptian soldiers and natives in Government employ should come off in the morning, and that the British troops should run in the later and cooler parts of the day. With the temperature at 120 degrees in the shade it would have been dangerous for Europeans to compete. The sports, including our familiar cricket, were greatly enjoyed, and the result was a decided improvement in the health of the whole force.
Boat-races were also included in these sports. At the conclusion of one of these, Miles, to his great surprise, encountered his old acquaintance of theSailors’ Welcome, big Jack Molloy.
“Why, Jack!” exclaimed Miles, as the hearty tar wrung his hand, “who’d have expected to seeyouhere?”
“Ah, who indeed? an’ I may say ditto.”
“I’mveryglad to see you, Molloy, for, to say truth, I thought I had seen the last of you when we parted in the troop-ship. I’ve often thought of you since, and of our first evening together in the—the—what was its name?”
“TheSailors’ Welcome—man alive! I wonder you’ve forgot it. Blessin’s on it!Iain’t likely to forget it. Why, it was there, (did I ever tell you?) the wery night arter I met you, that a messmate took me to the big hall, back o’ the readin’-room. It’s no use me tryin’ fur to tell you all I heard in that there big hall, but when I come out—blow’d if I didn’t sign the pledge right away, an’ I ain’t took a drop o’ grog since!”
“Glad to hear it, Jack, for, to say truth, I never saw the evil of grog so clearly as I have since coming out here and seeing strong stout men cast down by it in dozens,—many of them kind-hearted, right-thinking men, whom I would have thought safe from such a thing. Indeed I have more than half a mind to join the Good Templars myself.”
“Young man,” said Molloy, sternly, “if it takes the death of dozens o’ stout kind-hearted men to force you to make up half your mind, how many d’ee want to die before you make up the whole of it?”
“But I said that my mind wasmorethan half made up,” returned Miles, with a smile.
“Now lookee here,” rejoined the sailor earnestly, “it’s all wery well for milksops an’ nincompoops and landlubbers to go in for half-an’-half work like that, but you’re not the man I takes you for if you ain’t game for more than that, so I ax you to promise me that you’ll sign the pledge right off, as I did, first time you gits the chance.”
“But you forget I’m only a landlubber who, according to you, is fit for only half-an-half measures,” said Miles, who, not being addicted to much wine, felt disinclined to bind himself.
“No matter,” returned the sailor, with deepening earnestness, “if you go in fur it you’llneverrepent it! Take my word for that. Now, I ax ye to promise.”
“Well, Idopromise—the very first time I get the chance; and that will be to-morrow night, for our new parson has started temperance meetings, and he is a great teetotaller.”
“An’ you promise to stick to it?” added Molloy.
“When I give a promise Ialwaysstick to it!” returned Miles gravely.
“Right you are, lad. Give us your flipper!”
The foregoing conversation took place at the harbour, a little apart from the noisy group of soldiers and sailors who were discussing the circumstances of the recent boat-race.
Immediately after it Molloy returned to his ship in the harbour, and our hero to his post in the line of defence.
One of those who had been conspicuous that day in arranging and starting the races, acting as umpire at the cricket, and, generally, putting heart and spirit into everything by his quiet good-nature and self-denying activity, was the young officer of Engineers, who has been already mentioned as the manager of the mines that were laid around Suakim. Poor fellow! little did he imagine that that was to be his last day on earth!
Every morning, as before mentioned, this young officer went out alone to perform the dangerous work of disconnecting the mines, so that the inhabitants of the town might go out and in and move about during the day-time in safety. Again, a little before sunset every evening, he went out and reconnected them, so that the enemy could not approach the place without the risk of being blown to pieces. At the same time the gates were closed, and no one was allowed to leave or enter the town.
On this particular evening the lieutenant went out as usual on his dangerous mission just after six o’clock. He had not been long gone when a loud explosion was heard, and a cloud of smoke was seen where one of the mines had been laid down. A party at once sallied out, and found, as they had feared, that the brave young fellow had perished. He had been literally blown to pieces, his head being found in one place, while other portions of his body were scattered around.
This melancholy incident cast a gloom over the whole place. The remains of the heroic young engineer were buried next day with military honours. The garrison was not, however, left long in peace to think over his sad fate, for the very next night a determined attack was made all along the line. The annoying persistency of these attacks seemed to have stirred the indignation of the general in command, for he ordered out a small force of cavalry to carry the war into the enemy’s country.
Critics say that this act was ill advised, and that the cavalry should not have been despatched without the support of infantry. Critics are not always or necessarily right. Indeed, we may venture to say that they are often wrong! We do not pretend to judge, but, be this as it may, the cavalry was ordered to destroy the village of Handoub about fifteen miles inland on the caravan route to Berber, and to blow up the enemy’s magazine there.
The force consisted of a troop of the 19th Hussars, and another of Egyptian cavalry—about fifty men all told—under command of Captain Apthorp. Our intemperate friend Johnson was one of the little band. He was sober then, however, as he sat bolt upright on his powerful steed, with a very stern and grave visage, for he had a strong impression that the duty before them was no child’s-play.
A four hours’ ride brought them to the village. The few Arabs who dwelt in it fled at once on their approach, and in a very short time the place was effectually destroyed, along with a large quantity of ammunition.
But no sooner had the soldiers finished the work, and begun to prepare for their return, than they discovered that a large force of the enemy was assembling to cut off their retreat.
No time for thought after that! At least six thousand of the foe, having heard of the expedition, had crept down through the thick bush from the direction of Hasheen, thirsting for vengeance. Two miles on the Suakim side of Handoub they formed a line and opened fire on the leading cavalry scouts.
Seeing that the Arabs were in such force, Captain Apthorp at once made for their flank, in the direction of the sea-coast. At full speed, with horses fatigued by a fifteen miles’ journey, they had to ride for life. It was neck or nothing now! The Egyptian cavalry, under Captain Gregorie, and accompanied by Captain Stopford of the Grenadier Guards and other officers, followed closely.
As they went along at racing speed, with more than a dozen miles of wilderness to traverse, and death behind them, Private King of the Hussars fell from his horse wounded. Captain Gregorie came up with him, stopped, and took the wounded man up behind him. It was a generous but desperate act, for what could be expected of a double-weighted horse in such a region and with such a race before it?
For about half a mile he carried the wounded trooper, who then swooned and fell off, dragging the captain along with him, the freed horse rejoining its troop, while the Arabs came yelling on not a hundred and fifty yards behind.
There would have been but little chance for Captain Gregorie at that terrible crisis if self-denying courage equal to his own had not dwelt in the breast of Private Baker of the Hussars. Seeing what had occurred, this hero coolly rode back, took the captain up behind him, (see frontispiece,) and, regaining his troop, enabled the latter to capture and remount his own steed. Of course poor King—whether dead or alive they could not tell—had to be left to his fate.
Heroism would seem to feed upon itself and multiply, for this same Private Baker, soon afterwards, saw two more troopers, and shouted to a comrade to turn back with him to their rescue. The comrade, however, did not see his way to do so. Perchance he did not hear! Anyhow he galloped on, but Captain Gregorie hearing the summons, at once answered it, turned, and galloped back with Baker.
They were only just in time to take up and rescue the two men. At the same time Captain Stopford performed a similar gallant act in rescuing a dismounted trooper.
It is deeds of self-sacrifice and heroism such as these—not the storming of a breach, or the fighting against overwhelming odds—that bring out the noblest qualities of our soldiers, and arouse the admiration of mankind!
The race for life was so close run that when the force at last reached the sea-shore it was little more than sixty yards in advance of the foe, and so exhausted were the horses that eight of them fell, and their riders were captured—four being Englishmen and four Egyptians. It is right to add that one of the Egyptians also displayed conspicuous courage in rescuing a comrade.
While these stirring incidents were taking place on the plain, Miles and some of his comrades were seated on the roof of the redoubt, looking out anxiously for the return of the cavalry. At last, in the afternoon, a cloud of dust was seen on the horizon, and the officers who had glasses could soon make out that the men appeared to be racing towards the town at full speed, while the enemy, on camels and horses, and on foot, were racing down to the sea to cut off their retreat. No sooner was this understood than our men rose with an uncontrollable burst, seized their rifles, flung on ammunition-belts, and rushed out to the rescue, regardless for the moment of the officers shouting to them to come back. The news spread like wildfire, and the men ran out just as they were—some in white jackets, some in red, others in blue; many in their shirts, with their sleeves rolled up; cavalry, artillery, marines, infantry—all going helter-skelter towards the enemy. Fortunately they saw from the ships what was going on, and quickly got their guns to bear, so that the moment our men had escaped clear of the enemy they opened fire. But for this more men would certainly have been lost, for the overtaxed horses were beginning to give in and lose ground. Had they been a few minutes later in reaching the sea, it is probable that not a man of that force would have returned to Suakim.
As it was, the men came in pale and terribly fatigued. The horses could scarcely walk, and two of them died on the following day.
Note.—Since the foregoing was written, we have learned, with profound regret, that the gallant Captain Gregorie was killed by his horse falling with him in 1886.
Chapter Sixteen.Letters from Home—Flynn is Exalted and brought Low—Rumours of War in the Air.Events in life sometimes ripple along like the waters of a little stream in summer. At other times they rush with the wild impetuosity of a hill-torrent in winter.For some time after the incidents just narrated the life of our hero rippled—but of course it must be clearly understood that a Suakim ripple bore some resemblance to a respectable freshet elsewhere! Osman Digna either waited for reinforcements before delivering a grand assault, or found sufficient entertainment to his mind, and satisfaction to his ambition, in acting the part of a mosquito, by almost nightly harassment of the garrison, which was thus kept continually on the alert.But there came a time at length when a change occurred in the soldier-life at Suakim. Events began to evolve themselves in rapid succession, as well as in magnified intensity, until, on one particular day, there came—metaphorically speaking—what is known among the Scottish hills as a spate.It began with the arrival of a mail from England. This was not indeed a matter of rare occurrence, but it was one of those incidents of the campaign which never lost its freshness, and always sent a thrill of pleasure to the hearts of the men—powerfully in the case of those who received letters and packets; sympathetically in those who got none.“At long last!” exclaimed Corporal Flynn, who was observed by his comrades, after the delivery of the mail, to be tenderly struggling with the complicated folds of a remarkable letter—remarkable for its crookedness, size, dirt, and hieroglyphic superscription.“What is it, Flynn?” asked Moses—one of the unfortunates who had received no letter by that mail.“A letter, sure. Haven’t ye got eyes, Moses?”“From your wife, corporal?”“Wife!” exclaimed Flynn, with scorn; “no! It’s mesilf wouldn’t take the gift of a wife gratis. The letter is from me owld grandmother, an’ she’s better to me than a dozen wives rowled into wan. It’s hard work the writin’ of it cost her too—poor owld sowl! But she’d tear her eyes out to plaze me, she would. ‘Corporal, darlint,’—that’s always the way she begins her letters now; she’s that proud o’ me since I got the stripes. I thowt me mother or brother would have writ me too, but they’re not half as proud of me as my—”“Shut up, Flynn!” cried one of the men, who was trying to decipher a letter, the penmanship of which was obviously the work of an unaccustomed hand.“Howld it upside down; sometimes they’re easier to read that way—more sinsible-like,” retorted the corporal.“Blessin’s on your sweet face!” exclaimed Armstrong, looking at a photograph which he had just extracted from his letter.“Hallo, Bill! that your sweetheart?” asked Sergeant Hardy, who was busy untying a parcel.“Ay, sweetheart an’ wife too,” answered the young soldier, with animation.“Let me see it, Willie,” said Miles, who was also one of the disconsolate non-receivers, disconsolate because he had fully expected a reply to the penitent letter which he had written to his mother.“First-rate, that’s Emmy to a tee. A splendid likeness!” exclaimed Miles, holding the photograph to the light.“Arrah! then, it’s dead he must be!”The extreme perplexity displayed in Flynn’s face as he said this and scratched his head produced a hearty laugh.“It’s no laughin’ matter, boys,” cried the corporal, looking up with an expression so solemn that his comrades almost believed it to be genuine. “There’s my owld uncle Macgrath gone to his long home, an’ he was the support o’ me grandmother. Och! what’ll she do now wid him gone an’ me away at the wars?”“Won’t some other relation look after her, Flynn?” suggested Moses.“Other relation!” exclaimed the corporal; “I’ve got no other relations, an’ them that I have are as poor as rats. No, uncle Macgrath was the only wan wid a kind heart an’ a big purse. You see, boys, he was rich—for an Irishman. He had a grand farm, an’ a beautiful bit o’ bog. Och! it’ll go hard wid—”“Read on, Flynn, and hold your tongue,” cried one of his comrades; “p–r–aps he’s left the old woman a legacy.”The corporal did read on, and during the perusal of the letter the change in his visage was marvellous, exhibiting as it did an almost magical transition from profound woe, through abrupt gradations of surprise, to intense joy.“Hooray!” he shouted, leaping up and bestowing a vigorous slap on his thigh. “He’s gone an’ left the whole farm an’ the beautiful bog tome!”“What hae ye got there, sergeant?” asked Saunders, refolding the letter he had been quietly perusing without paying any regard to the Irishman’s good news.“A parcel of booklets from the Institute,” answered Hardy, turning over the leaves of one of the pamphlets. “Ain’t it good of ’em?”“Right you are, Hardy! The ladies there never forget us,” said Moses Pyne. “Hand ’em round, sergeant. It does a fellow’s heart good to get a bit o’ readin’ in an out-o’-the-way place like this.”“Comes like light in a dark place, don’t it, comrade?” said Stevenson, the marine, who paid them a visit at that moment, bringing a letter which had been carried to the wrong quarter by mistake. It was for Miles Milton. “I know’d you expected it, an’ would be awfully disappointed at finding nothing, so I brought it over at once.”“Youcome like a gleam of sunshine in a dark place. Thanks, Stevenson, many thanks,” said Miles, springing up and opening the letter eagerly.The first words sent a chill to his heart, for it told of his father having been very ill, but words of comfort immediately followed—he was getting slowly but surely better, and his own letter had done the old man more good in a few days than all the doctor’s physic had done in many weeks. Forgiveness was freely granted, and unalterable love breathed in every line. With a relieved and thankful heart he went on reading, when he was arrested by a sudden summons of his company to fall in. Grasping his rifle he ran out with the rest.“What is it?” he whispered to a sergeant, as he took his place in the ranks. “Osman again?”“No, he’s too sly a fox to show face in the day-time. It’s a steamer coming with troops aboard. We’re goin’ down to receive them, I believe.”Soon after, the overworked garrison had the immense satisfaction and excitement of bidding welcome to reinforcements with a stirring British cheer.These formed only the advance-guard. For some time after that troops were landed at Suakim every day. Among them the 15th Sikhs, a splendid body of men, with grand physique and fierce aspect, like men who “meant business.” Then came the Coldstream Guards, the Scots and the Grenadier Guards, closely followed by the Engineers and Hospital and Transport Corps, the Shropshire Regiment, and many others. The desire of these fresh troops to meet the enemy was naturally strong, and the earnest hope of every one was that they would soon sally forth and “have a go,” as Corporal Flynn expressed it, “at Osman Digna on his own ground.”Poor Corporal Flynn! His days of soldiering were nearly over!Whether it was the excess of strong feeling raised in the poor fellow’s breast by the news of the grand and unexpected legacy, or the excitement caused by the arrival of so many splendid troops and the prospect of immediate action—or all put together—we cannot say, but certain it is that the corporal fell sick, and when the doctors examined the men with a view to decide who should march to the front, and who should remain to guard the town, he was pronounced unfit for active service. Worse than that, he was reported to have entered upon that journey from which no traveller returns.But poor Flynn would not admit it, though he grew weaker from day to day. At last it was reported that he was dying, and Sergeant Hardy got leave to go off to the hospital ship to see him, and convey to him many a kind message from his sorrowful comrades, who felt that the regiment could ill spare his lively, humorous spirit.The sergeant found him the picture of death, and almost too weak to speak.“My dear fellow,” said Hardy, sitting down by his cot and gently taking his hand, “I’m sorry to see you like this. I’m afraid you are goin’ to leave us.”The corporal made a slight motion with his head, as if of dissent, and his lips moved.Hardy bent his ear over them.“Niver a bit, owld man,” whispered Flynn.“Shall I read the Bible to you, lad?” inquired the sergeant.The corporal smiled faintly, and nodded.After reading a few verses Hardy began to talk kindly and earnestly to the dying man, who lay with his eyes closed.When he was about to leave, Flynn looked up, and, giving his comrade’s hand a gentle squeeze, said, in a stronger whisper than before—“Thankee, sergeant. It’s kind o’ ye to be so consarned about my sowl, and I agrees wid ivery word ye say; but I’m not goin’ away yit, av ye plaze.”He ceased to speak, and again closed his eyes. The doctor and the chaplain chanced to enter the hospital together as Hardy retired. The result of their visit was that they said the corporal was dead, and orders were given to make his coffin. A firing party was also told off to bury him the next morning with military honours. Early next morning, accordingly, the firing party started for the hospital ship with the coffin, but, before getting half-way to it, they were signalled to go back, for the man was not yet dead!In short, Corporal Flynn had begun to talk in a wild way about his estate in Ireland, and his owld grandmother; and either the influence of these thoughts, or Hardy’s visit, had given him such a fillip that from that day he began to revive. Nevertheless he had received a very severe shake, and, not very long after, was invalided home. Meanwhile, as we have said, busy preparations were being made by General Graham—who had arrived and taken command of the forces—to offer battle to Osman’s troops.In the midst of all the excitement and turmoil, however, the new chaplain, who turned out to be “a trump,” managed to hold a temperance meeting; and the men who desired to serve God as well as their Queen and country became more energetic than ever in trying to influence their fellows and save themselves from the curse of strong drink, which had already played such havoc among the troops at Suakim.Miles attended the meeting, and, according to promise, signed the total-abstinence pledge. Owing to the postponement of meetings and the press of duty he had not been able to do it sooner.Shortly after that he was passed by the doctors as fit for duty in the field. So were Armstrong, Moses Pyne, and most of those strong and healthy men whose fortunes we have followed thus far.Then came the bustle and excitement of preparation to go out and attack the enemy, and in the midst of it all the air was full of conflicting rumours—to the effect that Osman Digna was about to surrender unconditionally; that he would attack the town in force; that he was dead; or that he had been summoned to a conference by the Mahdi!“You may rest assured,” said Sergeant Hardy one day to his comrades, as they were smoking their pipes after dinner, “that nobody knows anything at all for certain about the rebel chief.”“I heard that a spy has just come in with the information that he has determined not to wait for our attack, if we go out, but to attack us in our zereba,” said Miles. “He is evidently resolved not to commit the same mistake he made last year of letting us attackhim.”“He has pluck for anything,” remarked Moses.Osman proved, that same evening, that he had at least pluck enough to send a pithy defiance to his foes, for an insulting letter was received by General Graham, in which Osman, recounting the victories he had gained over Hicks and Baker Pasha, boasted of his having destroyed their armies, and dared the general to come out and fight him. To this the British General replied, reminding Osman of our victories of El-Teb and Tamai, and advising him to surrender unless he wanted a worse beating than he had got before!Mutual defiance having been thus comfortably hurled, the troops were at once detailed for service in the field, and the very next day set forth. As our hero did not, however, accompany that expedition, and as it returned to Suakim without doing anything remarkable—except some energetic and even heroic fighting, which is by no means remarkable in British troops,—we will pass on to the expedition which was sent out immediately after it, and in which Miles Milton not only took an active part, but distinguished himself. With several of his comrades he also entered on a new and somewhat unusual phase of a soldier’s career.
Events in life sometimes ripple along like the waters of a little stream in summer. At other times they rush with the wild impetuosity of a hill-torrent in winter.
For some time after the incidents just narrated the life of our hero rippled—but of course it must be clearly understood that a Suakim ripple bore some resemblance to a respectable freshet elsewhere! Osman Digna either waited for reinforcements before delivering a grand assault, or found sufficient entertainment to his mind, and satisfaction to his ambition, in acting the part of a mosquito, by almost nightly harassment of the garrison, which was thus kept continually on the alert.
But there came a time at length when a change occurred in the soldier-life at Suakim. Events began to evolve themselves in rapid succession, as well as in magnified intensity, until, on one particular day, there came—metaphorically speaking—what is known among the Scottish hills as a spate.
It began with the arrival of a mail from England. This was not indeed a matter of rare occurrence, but it was one of those incidents of the campaign which never lost its freshness, and always sent a thrill of pleasure to the hearts of the men—powerfully in the case of those who received letters and packets; sympathetically in those who got none.
“At long last!” exclaimed Corporal Flynn, who was observed by his comrades, after the delivery of the mail, to be tenderly struggling with the complicated folds of a remarkable letter—remarkable for its crookedness, size, dirt, and hieroglyphic superscription.
“What is it, Flynn?” asked Moses—one of the unfortunates who had received no letter by that mail.
“A letter, sure. Haven’t ye got eyes, Moses?”
“From your wife, corporal?”
“Wife!” exclaimed Flynn, with scorn; “no! It’s mesilf wouldn’t take the gift of a wife gratis. The letter is from me owld grandmother, an’ she’s better to me than a dozen wives rowled into wan. It’s hard work the writin’ of it cost her too—poor owld sowl! But she’d tear her eyes out to plaze me, she would. ‘Corporal, darlint,’—that’s always the way she begins her letters now; she’s that proud o’ me since I got the stripes. I thowt me mother or brother would have writ me too, but they’re not half as proud of me as my—”
“Shut up, Flynn!” cried one of the men, who was trying to decipher a letter, the penmanship of which was obviously the work of an unaccustomed hand.
“Howld it upside down; sometimes they’re easier to read that way—more sinsible-like,” retorted the corporal.
“Blessin’s on your sweet face!” exclaimed Armstrong, looking at a photograph which he had just extracted from his letter.
“Hallo, Bill! that your sweetheart?” asked Sergeant Hardy, who was busy untying a parcel.
“Ay, sweetheart an’ wife too,” answered the young soldier, with animation.
“Let me see it, Willie,” said Miles, who was also one of the disconsolate non-receivers, disconsolate because he had fully expected a reply to the penitent letter which he had written to his mother.
“First-rate, that’s Emmy to a tee. A splendid likeness!” exclaimed Miles, holding the photograph to the light.
“Arrah! then, it’s dead he must be!”
The extreme perplexity displayed in Flynn’s face as he said this and scratched his head produced a hearty laugh.
“It’s no laughin’ matter, boys,” cried the corporal, looking up with an expression so solemn that his comrades almost believed it to be genuine. “There’s my owld uncle Macgrath gone to his long home, an’ he was the support o’ me grandmother. Och! what’ll she do now wid him gone an’ me away at the wars?”
“Won’t some other relation look after her, Flynn?” suggested Moses.
“Other relation!” exclaimed the corporal; “I’ve got no other relations, an’ them that I have are as poor as rats. No, uncle Macgrath was the only wan wid a kind heart an’ a big purse. You see, boys, he was rich—for an Irishman. He had a grand farm, an’ a beautiful bit o’ bog. Och! it’ll go hard wid—”
“Read on, Flynn, and hold your tongue,” cried one of his comrades; “p–r–aps he’s left the old woman a legacy.”
The corporal did read on, and during the perusal of the letter the change in his visage was marvellous, exhibiting as it did an almost magical transition from profound woe, through abrupt gradations of surprise, to intense joy.
“Hooray!” he shouted, leaping up and bestowing a vigorous slap on his thigh. “He’s gone an’ left the whole farm an’ the beautiful bog tome!”
“What hae ye got there, sergeant?” asked Saunders, refolding the letter he had been quietly perusing without paying any regard to the Irishman’s good news.
“A parcel of booklets from the Institute,” answered Hardy, turning over the leaves of one of the pamphlets. “Ain’t it good of ’em?”
“Right you are, Hardy! The ladies there never forget us,” said Moses Pyne. “Hand ’em round, sergeant. It does a fellow’s heart good to get a bit o’ readin’ in an out-o’-the-way place like this.”
“Comes like light in a dark place, don’t it, comrade?” said Stevenson, the marine, who paid them a visit at that moment, bringing a letter which had been carried to the wrong quarter by mistake. It was for Miles Milton. “I know’d you expected it, an’ would be awfully disappointed at finding nothing, so I brought it over at once.”
“Youcome like a gleam of sunshine in a dark place. Thanks, Stevenson, many thanks,” said Miles, springing up and opening the letter eagerly.
The first words sent a chill to his heart, for it told of his father having been very ill, but words of comfort immediately followed—he was getting slowly but surely better, and his own letter had done the old man more good in a few days than all the doctor’s physic had done in many weeks. Forgiveness was freely granted, and unalterable love breathed in every line. With a relieved and thankful heart he went on reading, when he was arrested by a sudden summons of his company to fall in. Grasping his rifle he ran out with the rest.
“What is it?” he whispered to a sergeant, as he took his place in the ranks. “Osman again?”
“No, he’s too sly a fox to show face in the day-time. It’s a steamer coming with troops aboard. We’re goin’ down to receive them, I believe.”
Soon after, the overworked garrison had the immense satisfaction and excitement of bidding welcome to reinforcements with a stirring British cheer.
These formed only the advance-guard. For some time after that troops were landed at Suakim every day. Among them the 15th Sikhs, a splendid body of men, with grand physique and fierce aspect, like men who “meant business.” Then came the Coldstream Guards, the Scots and the Grenadier Guards, closely followed by the Engineers and Hospital and Transport Corps, the Shropshire Regiment, and many others. The desire of these fresh troops to meet the enemy was naturally strong, and the earnest hope of every one was that they would soon sally forth and “have a go,” as Corporal Flynn expressed it, “at Osman Digna on his own ground.”
Poor Corporal Flynn! His days of soldiering were nearly over!
Whether it was the excess of strong feeling raised in the poor fellow’s breast by the news of the grand and unexpected legacy, or the excitement caused by the arrival of so many splendid troops and the prospect of immediate action—or all put together—we cannot say, but certain it is that the corporal fell sick, and when the doctors examined the men with a view to decide who should march to the front, and who should remain to guard the town, he was pronounced unfit for active service. Worse than that, he was reported to have entered upon that journey from which no traveller returns.
But poor Flynn would not admit it, though he grew weaker from day to day. At last it was reported that he was dying, and Sergeant Hardy got leave to go off to the hospital ship to see him, and convey to him many a kind message from his sorrowful comrades, who felt that the regiment could ill spare his lively, humorous spirit.
The sergeant found him the picture of death, and almost too weak to speak.
“My dear fellow,” said Hardy, sitting down by his cot and gently taking his hand, “I’m sorry to see you like this. I’m afraid you are goin’ to leave us.”
The corporal made a slight motion with his head, as if of dissent, and his lips moved.
Hardy bent his ear over them.
“Niver a bit, owld man,” whispered Flynn.
“Shall I read the Bible to you, lad?” inquired the sergeant.
The corporal smiled faintly, and nodded.
After reading a few verses Hardy began to talk kindly and earnestly to the dying man, who lay with his eyes closed.
When he was about to leave, Flynn looked up, and, giving his comrade’s hand a gentle squeeze, said, in a stronger whisper than before—
“Thankee, sergeant. It’s kind o’ ye to be so consarned about my sowl, and I agrees wid ivery word ye say; but I’m not goin’ away yit, av ye plaze.”
He ceased to speak, and again closed his eyes. The doctor and the chaplain chanced to enter the hospital together as Hardy retired. The result of their visit was that they said the corporal was dead, and orders were given to make his coffin. A firing party was also told off to bury him the next morning with military honours. Early next morning, accordingly, the firing party started for the hospital ship with the coffin, but, before getting half-way to it, they were signalled to go back, for the man was not yet dead!
In short, Corporal Flynn had begun to talk in a wild way about his estate in Ireland, and his owld grandmother; and either the influence of these thoughts, or Hardy’s visit, had given him such a fillip that from that day he began to revive. Nevertheless he had received a very severe shake, and, not very long after, was invalided home. Meanwhile, as we have said, busy preparations were being made by General Graham—who had arrived and taken command of the forces—to offer battle to Osman’s troops.
In the midst of all the excitement and turmoil, however, the new chaplain, who turned out to be “a trump,” managed to hold a temperance meeting; and the men who desired to serve God as well as their Queen and country became more energetic than ever in trying to influence their fellows and save themselves from the curse of strong drink, which had already played such havoc among the troops at Suakim.
Miles attended the meeting, and, according to promise, signed the total-abstinence pledge. Owing to the postponement of meetings and the press of duty he had not been able to do it sooner.
Shortly after that he was passed by the doctors as fit for duty in the field. So were Armstrong, Moses Pyne, and most of those strong and healthy men whose fortunes we have followed thus far.
Then came the bustle and excitement of preparation to go out and attack the enemy, and in the midst of it all the air was full of conflicting rumours—to the effect that Osman Digna was about to surrender unconditionally; that he would attack the town in force; that he was dead; or that he had been summoned to a conference by the Mahdi!
“You may rest assured,” said Sergeant Hardy one day to his comrades, as they were smoking their pipes after dinner, “that nobody knows anything at all for certain about the rebel chief.”
“I heard that a spy has just come in with the information that he has determined not to wait for our attack, if we go out, but to attack us in our zereba,” said Miles. “He is evidently resolved not to commit the same mistake he made last year of letting us attackhim.”
“He has pluck for anything,” remarked Moses.
Osman proved, that same evening, that he had at least pluck enough to send a pithy defiance to his foes, for an insulting letter was received by General Graham, in which Osman, recounting the victories he had gained over Hicks and Baker Pasha, boasted of his having destroyed their armies, and dared the general to come out and fight him. To this the British General replied, reminding Osman of our victories of El-Teb and Tamai, and advising him to surrender unless he wanted a worse beating than he had got before!
Mutual defiance having been thus comfortably hurled, the troops were at once detailed for service in the field, and the very next day set forth. As our hero did not, however, accompany that expedition, and as it returned to Suakim without doing anything remarkable—except some energetic and even heroic fighting, which is by no means remarkable in British troops,—we will pass on to the expedition which was sent out immediately after it, and in which Miles Milton not only took an active part, but distinguished himself. With several of his comrades he also entered on a new and somewhat unusual phase of a soldier’s career.
Chapter Seventeen.The Expedition—Enemy reported—Miles in a Dilemma.Every one has heard of the expedition, sent out under Sir John McNeill, in which that gallant general and his brave troops fought with indomitable heroism, not only against courageous foes, but against errors which, as a civilian, we will not presume to criticise, and against local difficulties which were said to be absolutely insurmountable.Blame was due somewhere in connection with that expedition. Wherever it lay, we have a strong conviction—founded on the opinion of one who was present—that it did not rest with the commander of the force. It is not, however, our part to comment, but to describe those events which bore upon the fortunes of our hero and his immediate friends and comrades.It was about four o’clock on an uncommonly hot morning that the bugle sounded in Suakim, and soon the place was alive with men of all arms, devouring a hasty breakfast and mustering eagerly, for they were elated at the near prospect of having “another slap at Osman!”Strange, the unaccountably exultant joy which so many men experience at the prospect of killing each other! No doubt the Briton maintains that it is all in defence of Queen and country, hearth and home. An excellent reason, of course! But may not the Soudanese claim that the defence of chief and country, tent and home, is an equally good reason—especially when he rises to defend himself from the exactions and cruelty of those superlative tyrants, the Turks, or rather, the Turkish Pashas?—for we verily believe that the rank and file of all civilised nations would gladly live at peace if their rulers would deal in arbitration instead of war! We almost feel that an apology is due for introducing such a remark in a book about soldiers, for their duty is clear as well as hard, and bravely is it done too. Moreover, they are in no way responsible for the deeds of those:“Fine old English gentlemenWho sit at home at ease,And send them forth to fight and dieBeyond the stormy seas!”The troops composing this expedition consisted of one squadron of the 5th Lancers, one battalion Berkshire Regiment, one battalion of Marines, one Field Company Royal Engineers, a detachment of the Royal Navy in charge of four Gardner guns, a regiment of Sikhs, Bengal Native Infantry, Bombay Native Infantry, and a body of Madras Sappers. Along with these was sent an immense convoy of 1500 camels, besides a large number of mules with carts bearing iron water-tanks.The orders for the expedition were that they should proceed eight miles into the bush, and there make three zerebas, or defensive enclosures of bushes, capable of sheltering the entire force.The march was begun by McNeill moving off with his European troops in square formation. The Indian contingent, under General Hudson, followed, also in square, and in charge of the transport.“A goodly force!” remarked Armstrong, in a low tone to Miles, as they stepped off, shoulder to shoulder, for, being both about the same size, and unusually tall, they marched together on the right flank of their company.“Don’t speak in the ranks, Willie,” returned Miles, with a slight smile, for he could not shut his eyes to the fact that this strict regard for orders was due more to Marion Drew’s remarks about a soldier’sdutythan to principle.“H’m!” grunted Robert Macleod, who marched next to them, and had no conscientious scruples about talking, “we may mairch oot smert eneugh, but some o’ us’ll no’ come back sae hearty.”“Some of us will never come back at all,” replied Armstrong, gravely.By six o’clock the rear-guard had left Suakim, and the whole of the force moved across the plain, in parts of which the men and carts sank deep in the soft sand, while in other parts the formations were partly broken by thick bush, in which the force became somewhat entangled. The cavalry went in advance as scouts. The guns, water-carts, and ammunition-wagons were in the centre, and the Indian Brigade came last, surrounding the unwieldy mass of baggage-animals. Last of all came the telegraph detachment, unrolling as they went the wire that kept open communication with head-quarters.That a mistake had been made somewhere was obvious; but as the soul of military discipline is obedience without question, the gallant leader pressed forward, silently and steadily, whatever he may have thought.Soon the force became so hopelessly entangled in the difficulties of the way, that the rate of advance dwindled down to little more than one mile an hour.Not long after starting a trooper was seen galloping back, and Miles, who marched at the right corner of his square, observed that it was his friend Johnson, looking very stern indeed. Their eyes met.“Not half enough of cavalry,” he growled, as he flew past to report, “The enemy in sight—retiring in small parties in the direction of Tamai.”In returning, Johnson again rode close past the same corner of the square, and, bending low in his saddle for a moment, said to Miles, “I have signed the pledge, my boy.”A slight laugh from several of those who heard him greeted the information, but he probably did not hear it, for next moment his charger cleared a low bush in a magnificent stride, and in a few seconds man and horse were lost to sight in the bush.“More need to sign his will,” remarked Simkin, in a somewhat cynical tone.“He has done that too,” said Armstrong. “I heard him say so before we started.”The troops were halted to enable the two generals to consult at this point.While the men stood at ease, enjoying the brief rest from severe toil under such a burning sun, our hero heard a low voice at his elbow say—“Haveyousigned your will, John Miles?” It was a startling, as well as a sudden, question!Miles turned quickly and found that it was Captain Lacey who had put it.The feeling of dislike with which our young soldier had regarded the captain ever since his interruption of the conversation between himself and Marion, on board ship, had abated, but had not by any means disappeared. He had too much sense, however, to allow the state of his feelings to influence his looks or bearing.“Yes, sir,” he replied; “I made it out last night, as you advised me, in the service form. It was witnessed by our colonel and Captain Smart and the doctor. To say truth, I thought it absurd for a man who has nothing to leave to make his will, but as you said, sir, I should like my dear mother to get my kit and any arrears of pay that may be due to me after I’m gone.”“I did not mean you to take such a gloomy view of your prospects,” said Captain Lacey, with a laugh. “But you know in our profession we always carry our lives in our hands, and it would be foolish not to take ordinary precautions—”The order to resume the march here cut short the conversation, and the force continued its slow and all but impossible advance. Indeed it was soon seen that to reach the distance of eight miles out, in the circumstances, was quite beyond the power of the troops, willing, anxious, and vigorous though they were, for the bush became closer and higher as they advanced, so that a mounted man could not see over it, and so dense that the squares, though only a short distance apart, could not see each other. This state of things rendered the management of the baggage-animals extremely difficult, for mules are proverbially intractable, and camels—so meek in pictures!—are perhaps the most snarling, biting, kicking, ill-tempered animals in the world.The day was advancing and the heat increasing, while the dust raised by the passage of such a host caused so much distress to man and beast that the general began to fear that, if an attack should be made by the enemy at that time, the greater part of the transport would have to be sacrificed. The force was therefore halted a second time, and the generals again met to consult.They were very unwilling to give in. Another effort to advance was made, but things grew worse and worse. The day, as Moses remarked, was boiling red-hot! The carts with the heavy water-tanks sank deep in the soft sand; many of the camels’ loads fell off, and these had to be replaced. Replacing a camel’s load implies prevailing on a hideously tall and horribly stubborn creature to kneel, and this in the centre of a square which was already blocked up with carts and animals, as well as shouting, angry, and exhausted drivers!At last it became evident that further progress that day was out of the question. The rear face of Hudson’s square was obliterated by the straggling and struggling multitude; camels and loads were down in all directions, and despair of maintaining their formation was settling down on all ranks.In these circumstances it became absolutely necessary to halt and form their zerebas where they stood—and that without delay. The best place they could find was selected. The European square formed a guard, while the rest threw off jackets, and, with axes and choppers, went to work with a will. Some cut down bushes, some filled sandbags to form a breastwork for guns and ammunition, and others erected the bushy walls of their woodland fortification. The Lancers covered about three miles of country as scouts. Hudson—who had to return to Suakim that night before dark—was ordered, with three regiments in line and advanced files, to cover McNeill and the working-party, while the commander himself went about encouraging the tired men, and urging them to increased exertion.While the soldiers of all arms were thus busily engaged, a body of sailors was ordered to run one of their Gardner guns up to the corner of the square where Miles and Armstrong stood. They halted close to them, and then Miles became aware that one of the nautical gunners was no other than Jack Molloy.“Hallo, Jack! Why, you’ve got a knack of turning up unexpectedly everywhere!” he exclaimed, when his friend was at leisure.“That’s wery much your own case,” retorted the seaman heartily. “What broughtyouhere?”Miles slapped one of his legs by way of indicating the mode of conveyance.“Ay, lad, and they’d need to be stout timbers too, to make headway through such a sea of sand,” returned Molloy, feeling his own limbs with tenderness. “D’ee think we’re in for a brush to-night, lad?”Before the latter could reply, an aide-de-camp ran up and spoke a few hurried words to Captain Lacey, who turned to his company and called them to attention.“Fours, right—quick march!” he said, and away they went, past the flank of Hudson’s men, to guard a hollow which left that part of the square somewhat exposed. When halted and drawn up in line several files were thrown out in advance. Miles and Sutherland formed the flanking file on the right, the latter being rear-rank man to the former.“It’s a grand hiding-hole,” observed Sutherland, as he peered cautiously over the edge of a low bank into a hollow where rocks and undergrowth were thickly intermingled.“Keep a sharp look-out on your left, Sutherland,” said Miles, “I will guard the right—”He stopped abruptly and threw forward his rifle, for at that moment he observed a swarthy, black-bearded Arab, of large proportions and muscular frame, creeping forward a short distance below him. Evidently he had not heard or seen the approach of the two soldiers, for he was gazing in a different direction from them.Miles raised his rifle and took aim at the man, but he felt an unconquerable repugnance to shoot. He had never yet met the enemy hand-to-hand. His experience heretofore had been confined to long-range firing at men who were firing at himself and his comrades, and in which, of course, he could not be sure that his bullets took effect. But now he was within fifty yards of a splendid-looking man who did not see him, who was, at the moment, innocent of any intention of injuring him, and whose expressive side-face he could clearly distinguish as he crept along with great caution towards a rock which hid the zereba of the Europeans from his view.Miles was a good rifle-shot. A touch of the trigger he knew would be certain death to the Arab.“Icannotdo it!” he muttered, as he lowered his weapon and looked back over his shoulder at his comrade. The Scot, who was something of a naturalist, was engrossed at the moment in the contemplation of a little bird which was twittering on a twig in quite an opposite direction.Miles glanced again at the Arab in a flutter of agitation as to what was his duty. The manmightbe one of the friendly natives! He could not tell.At that moment another man appeared on the scene. He was a thin but powerful native, and armed with a short spear, such as is used when fighting at close quarters. He obviously was not troubled with scruples about committing murder, and Miles soon became aware that the thin man was “stalking” the big Arab—with what intent, of course, our soldier could only guess, but the malignant expression of the savage’s countenance left little doubt on that point.Here was a complication! Our hero was on the point of calling Sutherland from the contemplation of his little bird when he saw the thin native pounce on the Arab, who was still creeping on hands and knees. He turned just in time to divert the first spear-thrust, but not in time to draw his own long knife from its sheath as he fell. The thin savage holding him down, and having him at terrible disadvantage on his back, raised his spear, and was about to repeat the deadly thrust when Miles fired and shot him in the head.The Arab rose, shook himself clear of the dying man, and, with astounding coolness, walked calmly towards a large rock, though Miles was reloading in haste, and Sutherland was taking steady aim at him. He looked at the soldiers and held up his hand with something like a smile of remonstrance, as Sutherland pulled the trigger. At the same moment Miles struck up the muzzle, and the ball whizzed over the Arab’s head as he passed behind the rock and disappeared.“What for did ye that?” demanded the Scot fiercely.“Would you kill a man that was smiling at you?” retorted Miles.The two men ran back to report to their company what they had seen. At the same moment, the company, being recalled, doubled back to its position in the square.Here they found the defence work so far advanced that the generals were beginning to feel some confidence in their being able to repel any attack. At the same time the men were working with tremendous energy, for news had just come in that the enemy was advancing in strong force.
Every one has heard of the expedition, sent out under Sir John McNeill, in which that gallant general and his brave troops fought with indomitable heroism, not only against courageous foes, but against errors which, as a civilian, we will not presume to criticise, and against local difficulties which were said to be absolutely insurmountable.
Blame was due somewhere in connection with that expedition. Wherever it lay, we have a strong conviction—founded on the opinion of one who was present—that it did not rest with the commander of the force. It is not, however, our part to comment, but to describe those events which bore upon the fortunes of our hero and his immediate friends and comrades.
It was about four o’clock on an uncommonly hot morning that the bugle sounded in Suakim, and soon the place was alive with men of all arms, devouring a hasty breakfast and mustering eagerly, for they were elated at the near prospect of having “another slap at Osman!”
Strange, the unaccountably exultant joy which so many men experience at the prospect of killing each other! No doubt the Briton maintains that it is all in defence of Queen and country, hearth and home. An excellent reason, of course! But may not the Soudanese claim that the defence of chief and country, tent and home, is an equally good reason—especially when he rises to defend himself from the exactions and cruelty of those superlative tyrants, the Turks, or rather, the Turkish Pashas?—for we verily believe that the rank and file of all civilised nations would gladly live at peace if their rulers would deal in arbitration instead of war! We almost feel that an apology is due for introducing such a remark in a book about soldiers, for their duty is clear as well as hard, and bravely is it done too. Moreover, they are in no way responsible for the deeds of those:
“Fine old English gentlemenWho sit at home at ease,And send them forth to fight and dieBeyond the stormy seas!”
“Fine old English gentlemenWho sit at home at ease,And send them forth to fight and dieBeyond the stormy seas!”
The troops composing this expedition consisted of one squadron of the 5th Lancers, one battalion Berkshire Regiment, one battalion of Marines, one Field Company Royal Engineers, a detachment of the Royal Navy in charge of four Gardner guns, a regiment of Sikhs, Bengal Native Infantry, Bombay Native Infantry, and a body of Madras Sappers. Along with these was sent an immense convoy of 1500 camels, besides a large number of mules with carts bearing iron water-tanks.
The orders for the expedition were that they should proceed eight miles into the bush, and there make three zerebas, or defensive enclosures of bushes, capable of sheltering the entire force.
The march was begun by McNeill moving off with his European troops in square formation. The Indian contingent, under General Hudson, followed, also in square, and in charge of the transport.
“A goodly force!” remarked Armstrong, in a low tone to Miles, as they stepped off, shoulder to shoulder, for, being both about the same size, and unusually tall, they marched together on the right flank of their company.
“Don’t speak in the ranks, Willie,” returned Miles, with a slight smile, for he could not shut his eyes to the fact that this strict regard for orders was due more to Marion Drew’s remarks about a soldier’sdutythan to principle.
“H’m!” grunted Robert Macleod, who marched next to them, and had no conscientious scruples about talking, “we may mairch oot smert eneugh, but some o’ us’ll no’ come back sae hearty.”
“Some of us will never come back at all,” replied Armstrong, gravely.
By six o’clock the rear-guard had left Suakim, and the whole of the force moved across the plain, in parts of which the men and carts sank deep in the soft sand, while in other parts the formations were partly broken by thick bush, in which the force became somewhat entangled. The cavalry went in advance as scouts. The guns, water-carts, and ammunition-wagons were in the centre, and the Indian Brigade came last, surrounding the unwieldy mass of baggage-animals. Last of all came the telegraph detachment, unrolling as they went the wire that kept open communication with head-quarters.
That a mistake had been made somewhere was obvious; but as the soul of military discipline is obedience without question, the gallant leader pressed forward, silently and steadily, whatever he may have thought.
Soon the force became so hopelessly entangled in the difficulties of the way, that the rate of advance dwindled down to little more than one mile an hour.
Not long after starting a trooper was seen galloping back, and Miles, who marched at the right corner of his square, observed that it was his friend Johnson, looking very stern indeed. Their eyes met.
“Not half enough of cavalry,” he growled, as he flew past to report, “The enemy in sight—retiring in small parties in the direction of Tamai.”
In returning, Johnson again rode close past the same corner of the square, and, bending low in his saddle for a moment, said to Miles, “I have signed the pledge, my boy.”
A slight laugh from several of those who heard him greeted the information, but he probably did not hear it, for next moment his charger cleared a low bush in a magnificent stride, and in a few seconds man and horse were lost to sight in the bush.
“More need to sign his will,” remarked Simkin, in a somewhat cynical tone.
“He has done that too,” said Armstrong. “I heard him say so before we started.”
The troops were halted to enable the two generals to consult at this point.
While the men stood at ease, enjoying the brief rest from severe toil under such a burning sun, our hero heard a low voice at his elbow say—
“Haveyousigned your will, John Miles?” It was a startling, as well as a sudden, question!
Miles turned quickly and found that it was Captain Lacey who had put it.
The feeling of dislike with which our young soldier had regarded the captain ever since his interruption of the conversation between himself and Marion, on board ship, had abated, but had not by any means disappeared. He had too much sense, however, to allow the state of his feelings to influence his looks or bearing.
“Yes, sir,” he replied; “I made it out last night, as you advised me, in the service form. It was witnessed by our colonel and Captain Smart and the doctor. To say truth, I thought it absurd for a man who has nothing to leave to make his will, but as you said, sir, I should like my dear mother to get my kit and any arrears of pay that may be due to me after I’m gone.”
“I did not mean you to take such a gloomy view of your prospects,” said Captain Lacey, with a laugh. “But you know in our profession we always carry our lives in our hands, and it would be foolish not to take ordinary precautions—”
The order to resume the march here cut short the conversation, and the force continued its slow and all but impossible advance. Indeed it was soon seen that to reach the distance of eight miles out, in the circumstances, was quite beyond the power of the troops, willing, anxious, and vigorous though they were, for the bush became closer and higher as they advanced, so that a mounted man could not see over it, and so dense that the squares, though only a short distance apart, could not see each other. This state of things rendered the management of the baggage-animals extremely difficult, for mules are proverbially intractable, and camels—so meek in pictures!—are perhaps the most snarling, biting, kicking, ill-tempered animals in the world.
The day was advancing and the heat increasing, while the dust raised by the passage of such a host caused so much distress to man and beast that the general began to fear that, if an attack should be made by the enemy at that time, the greater part of the transport would have to be sacrificed. The force was therefore halted a second time, and the generals again met to consult.
They were very unwilling to give in. Another effort to advance was made, but things grew worse and worse. The day, as Moses remarked, was boiling red-hot! The carts with the heavy water-tanks sank deep in the soft sand; many of the camels’ loads fell off, and these had to be replaced. Replacing a camel’s load implies prevailing on a hideously tall and horribly stubborn creature to kneel, and this in the centre of a square which was already blocked up with carts and animals, as well as shouting, angry, and exhausted drivers!
At last it became evident that further progress that day was out of the question. The rear face of Hudson’s square was obliterated by the straggling and struggling multitude; camels and loads were down in all directions, and despair of maintaining their formation was settling down on all ranks.
In these circumstances it became absolutely necessary to halt and form their zerebas where they stood—and that without delay. The best place they could find was selected. The European square formed a guard, while the rest threw off jackets, and, with axes and choppers, went to work with a will. Some cut down bushes, some filled sandbags to form a breastwork for guns and ammunition, and others erected the bushy walls of their woodland fortification. The Lancers covered about three miles of country as scouts. Hudson—who had to return to Suakim that night before dark—was ordered, with three regiments in line and advanced files, to cover McNeill and the working-party, while the commander himself went about encouraging the tired men, and urging them to increased exertion.
While the soldiers of all arms were thus busily engaged, a body of sailors was ordered to run one of their Gardner guns up to the corner of the square where Miles and Armstrong stood. They halted close to them, and then Miles became aware that one of the nautical gunners was no other than Jack Molloy.
“Hallo, Jack! Why, you’ve got a knack of turning up unexpectedly everywhere!” he exclaimed, when his friend was at leisure.
“That’s wery much your own case,” retorted the seaman heartily. “What broughtyouhere?”
Miles slapped one of his legs by way of indicating the mode of conveyance.
“Ay, lad, and they’d need to be stout timbers too, to make headway through such a sea of sand,” returned Molloy, feeling his own limbs with tenderness. “D’ee think we’re in for a brush to-night, lad?”
Before the latter could reply, an aide-de-camp ran up and spoke a few hurried words to Captain Lacey, who turned to his company and called them to attention.
“Fours, right—quick march!” he said, and away they went, past the flank of Hudson’s men, to guard a hollow which left that part of the square somewhat exposed. When halted and drawn up in line several files were thrown out in advance. Miles and Sutherland formed the flanking file on the right, the latter being rear-rank man to the former.
“It’s a grand hiding-hole,” observed Sutherland, as he peered cautiously over the edge of a low bank into a hollow where rocks and undergrowth were thickly intermingled.
“Keep a sharp look-out on your left, Sutherland,” said Miles, “I will guard the right—”
He stopped abruptly and threw forward his rifle, for at that moment he observed a swarthy, black-bearded Arab, of large proportions and muscular frame, creeping forward a short distance below him. Evidently he had not heard or seen the approach of the two soldiers, for he was gazing in a different direction from them.
Miles raised his rifle and took aim at the man, but he felt an unconquerable repugnance to shoot. He had never yet met the enemy hand-to-hand. His experience heretofore had been confined to long-range firing at men who were firing at himself and his comrades, and in which, of course, he could not be sure that his bullets took effect. But now he was within fifty yards of a splendid-looking man who did not see him, who was, at the moment, innocent of any intention of injuring him, and whose expressive side-face he could clearly distinguish as he crept along with great caution towards a rock which hid the zereba of the Europeans from his view.
Miles was a good rifle-shot. A touch of the trigger he knew would be certain death to the Arab.
“Icannotdo it!” he muttered, as he lowered his weapon and looked back over his shoulder at his comrade. The Scot, who was something of a naturalist, was engrossed at the moment in the contemplation of a little bird which was twittering on a twig in quite an opposite direction.
Miles glanced again at the Arab in a flutter of agitation as to what was his duty. The manmightbe one of the friendly natives! He could not tell.
At that moment another man appeared on the scene. He was a thin but powerful native, and armed with a short spear, such as is used when fighting at close quarters. He obviously was not troubled with scruples about committing murder, and Miles soon became aware that the thin man was “stalking” the big Arab—with what intent, of course, our soldier could only guess, but the malignant expression of the savage’s countenance left little doubt on that point.
Here was a complication! Our hero was on the point of calling Sutherland from the contemplation of his little bird when he saw the thin native pounce on the Arab, who was still creeping on hands and knees. He turned just in time to divert the first spear-thrust, but not in time to draw his own long knife from its sheath as he fell. The thin savage holding him down, and having him at terrible disadvantage on his back, raised his spear, and was about to repeat the deadly thrust when Miles fired and shot him in the head.
The Arab rose, shook himself clear of the dying man, and, with astounding coolness, walked calmly towards a large rock, though Miles was reloading in haste, and Sutherland was taking steady aim at him. He looked at the soldiers and held up his hand with something like a smile of remonstrance, as Sutherland pulled the trigger. At the same moment Miles struck up the muzzle, and the ball whizzed over the Arab’s head as he passed behind the rock and disappeared.
“What for did ye that?” demanded the Scot fiercely.
“Would you kill a man that was smiling at you?” retorted Miles.
The two men ran back to report to their company what they had seen. At the same moment, the company, being recalled, doubled back to its position in the square.
Here they found the defence work so far advanced that the generals were beginning to feel some confidence in their being able to repel any attack. At the same time the men were working with tremendous energy, for news had just come in that the enemy was advancing in strong force.