Chapter IX
They told me afterward that I lay unconscious, hovering twixt life and death, for four days. On the fifth my temperature rose and I was seized by a delirium in which I babbled of early days, my boyhood in Derby, travels, dangers, women ... I know not all I said. But paramount in my thoughts was Lady Sarah whose name I called at intervals. Prior to coming up with Azad’s men I had not slept for seventy-two hours. I had ridden scores of miles, been wounded a dozen times and suffered from the keenest anxiety. The final blow on the head, added for good measure, had been the death of one less virile. But my will-to-live won out.
On the fifth day I slowly opened my eyes and gazed, mystified at the vision above me. It was Lady Sarah’s face but through my filmy pupils it loomed vague and indefinite like the harvest moon in a fog. Then my vision cleared.
“You?” I questioned.
She smiled and placed a finger on her lips with the familiar nurse’s gesture.
“Sh ... you must not talk.” She wore the conventional nursing costume in which all women look well. As she turned to busy herself professionally with a tray of medicine bottles a mounting tide of color suffused her cheeks spreading to the ears and neck until they were a rich mahogany. Blessed creature! She too had suffered during her vigil. At the thought I had an absurd vision of one of Giorgione’s red angels bending over me. A weak laugh faltered on my lips. She was at my side in an instant, bottle in hand.
“Time for meddy ... then go bye-bye.”
She poured out a moderate portion of something potent and pre-war. I sank back with a sigh of satisfaction. How good she was to me! and how gentle!... “Meddy” “Bye-bye” “Good-night, Nurse.” I was asleep.
How delightful are convalescent days. The mind is so keen and every stage of improvement brings such a thrill of adventure from the first bit of solid food to sitting up, being read to, talkingand the bliss of the first cigarette. Then later came visits from friends, dainties sent in and the gradual putting-together of the past. Flowers, too—a vase of purple bugloss-blossoms from Effendi-Bazam. He too had been struck down and barely rescued just as two Bassikuni were about to carry out their threat oflaghouat blida. I wept like a child at his tenderness.
Lord Wimpole’s tent had been turned into a sick room while he occupied mine. I do not think he liked the arrangement but Lady Sarah had taken these matters into her own hands. Little by little the story was told me, of how my men had turned the tide of battle and annihilated all but a handful of Azad’s forces who had fled into the desert. Seeing my grievous state a messenger was sent to Ab-Domen which resulted in the consolidation of the two caravans.
“How fortunate you arrived just when you did!” exclaimed Lady Sarah one evening, clasping her knees in her long bony hands. “Another second would have been too late!”
“Nonsense,” blustered Lord Wimpole pulling his stubby moustache, “we should ’ave stood ’em off. You can’t break a British Square y’know.”
“My eye,” said his wife coldly, flicking a cigaretteash in his direction. “They were all over us and you know it.”
Wimpole mooned out of the tent while I was telling his lady of my fortunate application of the “pons asinorum.”
“What is that?” she queried. “My French is atrocious.”
“An old geometric theorem; the bridge of asses over which every school donkey must pass.”
“And you did!” she enthused. “How clearly it brings home the advantage of a college education.”
Thus we passed long hours in tender confidence during which I told her many things, she listening for the most part, as I recounted my life from its infancy, with a nursery anecdote here and there, some droll saying or madcap prank which I played on Miss Stafford, my first teacher. No detail seemed too slight to interest this wonderful creature to whom I vowed to bare my whole existence. Step by step I worked my way through infancy to adolescence, boyish sports, my skill at mumblety-peg, my first affair with Norah Flaherty who worked in the melodeon factory....
It was at the close of this tender incident that she bent over me late one evening to tuck me in, her rose-rimmed eyes glowing into mine. Involuntarilymy arm encircled her gaunt framework drawing her down, close ... close. Thus she knelt by my cot for a long moment before she rose with an effort at self mastery.
“I think you can get up tomorrow,” she murmured, and the curtains swished softly on the night air.
“What happened to Azad?” I asked one day.
Whinney, who was visiting me, flicked an ash from his cigarette.
“Your men claimed him after he came to. They buried him, Moplah style, you know?”
“Rather!”
I could see the wretched creature hands and feet bound, planted up to his neck in hard-packed sand. The eyes invariably went first, toothsome morsels for the vultures,—then came the ants and flies.
“We kept him alive as long as we could,” said my friend, “occasionally that Circassian girl used to go out and sprinkle salt and sand on his sore spots.”
“That will be all for today,” I remarked, for I was still weak.
It was a matter of ten days before I began to feel my full strength and resilience returning, days of short walks and long rests in a shadedchaise-longue. Whinney and Swank had laid out an excellentnine-hole golf course where I was soon able to join them. Golf in the desert is a simple affair, the course being entirely of sand one needs but two clubs, a driver and a niblick. It is like playing in a gigantic bunker and my game soon came back to me. Then there were afternoons of gazelle and gecko hunting with sloughi-hounds, the only dogs which can stand the peculiar conditions of the desert for which nature has equipped them with bushy, protective eye-brows, short beards and curiously splay-toed feet which give them great speed over soft sand. Another pastime of our leisure hours was the Arab’s favorite pursuit of hawking.
No standard Sheik travels without his hawk or hawks, hung in gay cages from their pack camels and the women folk are constantly busy knitting hoods for the poor creatures who spend so much of their time blindfolded. The reason for this constant blindfolding I had never fully understood until Ab-Domen explained it. The theory is that a hawk’s eye is only capable of just so much looking and it would therefore be supremely unwise to let him wear his eyes out in the contemplation of useless objects such as people and camels. Now, however, was the hawks’ holiday and the air was specked with the graceful creatures careering atdizzy heights like motes in a sunbeam. They are recalled by a whistle which they obey with the marvellous intelligence of a day laborer at the noon hour, dropping whatever work they may be engaged in to settle quietly on their masters’ wrists.
An exception to this statement must be made in the case of a hawk in pursuit of anopapa, a desert fowl closely akin to the Australian carpenter-bird which it resembles in its hammer-head, saw-bill and long, nail-like claws. Many a morning in the Cowba district (East of Sydney) I have been awakened by the building operations of these creatures whose nests are solidly framed of gum-wood which is later stuccoed with a mixture of bird-lime and feathers. But I digress....
Theopapaof which I started to speak is for some reason unknown to ornithology the deadly enemy of the hawk and once sighted is the object of a relentless attack. Seated one day in the encampment I witnessed a grewsome battle between two of these implacable rivals of the air. The recall had been sounded, but the hawk paid no attention to it. His one thought was the complete annihilation of his antagonist which he accomplished by repeated attacks, closing-in, ripping-off tender strips of flesh and actually devouring the entire carcass savethe saw-bill, bony hammer-head and nails; in other words, the hawk, in mid-air ate the artisan and dropped only the tools, after which he returned peaceably to his master.
But our position in the camp was becoming increasingly difficult. Our water supply had been thrice replenished from the Tabala station which was at an inconvenient distance. Moreover the guardian of the wells began to protest against our frequent calls. “Caravans come and caravans depart, but you are repeaters,” he said in effect. My strength now was completely restored; under my folding burnous I could feel the steel contours of hardening biceps, triceps and forceps. Will-power, ambition, the old love of adventure were again in the ascendant.
Now arose a difficulty which was destined to result in vital consequences. I refer to the division of responsibility between Lord Wimpole and myself. Here were two caravans each with an acknowledged leader. During my illness the supreme command had fallen in the Englishman’s hands. Incompetent though he was he could not bring himself to relinquish it. Temporary power had gone to the little lace-maker’s head and the inevitable battle of wills began. The first open breakoccurred during a discussion as to future plans. Wimpole was all for a continuation of the life of ease and luxury which so well suited him. His absurd suggestion was an immediate removal to Tabala with an indefinite stay there. My decision was to push on to the beckoning East according to my original plans. In vain we argued. “Very well, we split,” said his lordship, his brow like thunder, his lower lip protruding like a camel’s.
The thought of leaving Lady Sarah was unbearable. Nevertheless with a heavy heart I resolved on the sacrifice, ordering Ab-Domen to make preparations for our departure. But an incident occurred which modified this laudable design.
Wimpole, since his re-establishment in his own tent, had reverted to his old manner of brawling domesticity. Sounds of strife resounded nightly from their quarters, the grumbling of his heavy voice, rising to imprecation, the crash of china and an occasional cry of protest from his unfortunate wife. Nevertheless, as far as I knew, he had not resorted to open violence. Pained and apprehensive I continued my preparations. Daily thedoolahstrotted to and fro busily loading the camel-packs and striking all but the necessary tents. The eve of our separation arrived.
TWIN BEDOUINS OF THE EASTTraprock and Whinney constantly on guard against possible surprise.
Twin Bedouins of the East
The Wimpoles gave a dinner in their luxurious dining-tent. I sat on Lady Sarah’s right, her husband being at the other end of the table. It was a mournful feast. My heart was too full for food but I quaffed the succession of vintage wines with reckless abandon. Our last evening together! At the thought my hand stole neath the napery to be met by that of my loved-one which awaited me as a bird awaits its mate.
“Up Jenkins!” cried Swank gaily. I crushed him with a look. But my caution was useless. At his end of the table Lord Wimpole was already far gone in drink. He was playing a harmonica, his favorite pastime when thus afflicted. Back of his chair Effendi patiently awaited his final collapse. His mental attitude was particularly quarrelsome and as the libations gained their mastery he became more and more provocative until Lady Wimpole rose with a sigh and moved toward the tent entrance. There she turned and her lips silently framed the words “Follow me,” a command I was able to obey almost instantly as my host was engaged in an interminable story which he had told twice before.
Stepping beyond the circle of light I peered into the gloom. Lady Sarah’s figure was dimlyvisible, a patch of gray against the blackness. Joining her we strolled well beyond ear-shot. And yet we did not speak.
What was in our hearts lay too deep for words. It was the moment of supreme renunciation. She looked long and searchingly in my eyes and at last words came.
“My Sheik!” she murmured, resting her hands on my shoulders.
I drew her, trembling, to me.
“Lady Sarah,” I whispered, lifting her heavy fringe of bobbed hair that she might hear my low heart’s cry, “my Sarah of the Sahara, we have had our little hour, thee and I. Now, by the law of thy people we must part. But by the law of my adopted people, the Moplahs, thou art mine, my desert woman, my sweet sand lark.”
She drew back affrighted. Though I had spoken before in an exalted strain I had never so definitely approached the topic of love. Then she took my hand again.
“O, El-Dhub,—” she said, “what you say is sweet and true. Thy words are as the nightingale’s song. My heart and my love are indeed thine, but see how I am encompassed ... By all the laws ofmy people I am bound to my over-lord yonder.... I can not free myself....”
From the glowing tent burst a wild strain of harmonica music, fierce, exultant.
“God pity me!” I cried. “Farewell!”
Choking with emotion I staggered to the tent.
“Swank!—Whinney!—we start at once.”
They tumbled from their places.
“You are mad! At this hour? Man alive....”
“Very well.... Call Ab-Domen ... he and I will start ahead with four camels. I must ride tonight.”
As they obeyed my order Lady Sarah slipped by me into the tent, her eyes dark with pain. Ab-Domen sleepily led out a small group of camels and the necessaries for our advance party.
“Due East,” I said to Whinney, “leave out Tabala and proceed to the next station at Hammababa. We will await you there.”
“Right-o—Goodbye ... and good luck. We ought to get there in three days.”
My friends turned in for they needed sleep badly. A few moments later Ab-Domen and I were ready for departure. Suddenly a piercing scream rang from the Wimpoles’ tents and Lady Sarah rushed into the night.
“El-Dhub!”
“Here,” I answered.
“O, take me with you. Look ... he has done it again.”
She held up her arm and I saw the deep teeth-marks of her dog of a husband.
“Damn him.... I will kill him ’ere we go.”
“No, no,” she cried. “I think I have done that.... I struck him ... with a chafing dish.”
“Up, then ... mount.”
She took her place on one of the camels. There was no thought of hesitation. Forth we fared on the swiftest of my bactrians forth into the velvet night. Our camels travelled tactfully side by side. So matched were their gaits that Lady Sarah could rest her head on my shoulder as we rode. It was not until six hours later, in the dawn, that I discovered that sometime during the night Ab-Domen, the wily old devil, had given us the slip.