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"Let's get the crier to go about the town," suggested Bolton,laughing: "Lost—a Lammikin, a lively young Lammikin. Reward offeredfor her recovery—a shilling and a filagree silver brooch!"
At last, when passing the door of a handsome Romanist church, the sound—for the first time welcome—of a child's passionate roar from within broke on the searchers' ears. No one but Shelah could roar like that.
"Lammikin's inside, as sure as a gun!" cried Bolton.
The guardian, as fast as her weary limbs could carry her, hurried up the broad steps of the church, and through the open door, Miss Petty saw Shelah inside in the grasp of an angry tonsured priest, who held her as a raven might hold a mouse, whilst the child struggled and roared. Why did the priest thus capture her? What dire offence had been committed by the poor little Irish girl?
"Let her go! Please, Mr. Priest, let her go!" cried Miss Petty, not a little frightened, for a curious crowd was gathering round, and dreadful stories which she had read of the Inquisition flashed through the guardian's mind.
The priest released his grasp, and said something which Miss Petty could not understand, glancing indignantly at a receptacle for holy water near the entrance of the church.
"What have you done, you mischievous mouse?" asked Miss Petty of Shelah. "You are always at something naughty."
"Not naughty. I was only thirsty, and drank out of that thing." She pointed to the marble receptacle. "Wasn't it put there for people to drink?"
"You are always getting me into trouble," said the angry guardian. "The Papists will be wanting to burn you for this. Let's get back to the ship as fast as we can."
Shelah was too young a culprit not to be forgiven, and neither priest nor people interfered to prevent her departure. Heartily glad was Shelah, still more glad was her guardian, when they found themselves again with their fellow-passengers, on the deck of the "Alligator", steaming away from Malta.
PRINCESS AND SUITE.
ALEXANDRIA was soon reached. In those days there was no Suez Canal, so the passengers had to disembark, and bid farewell to the "Alligator" and its commander, ere pursuing their journey across the desert, to the port where another vessel awaited them.
Captain Gump stood on the deck of his ship, whilst heaps of luggage were disgorged from the hold, and piled up ready to be carried on shore. It was a scene of confusion and bustle, intermingled with good-byes and kindly words, interchanged between those who would now be separated, some passengers remaining in Egypt, some going on to India. The captain, of course, came in for his share of good-byes, which he received and returned in his own blunt way. But when Mrs. Evendale approached him, the captain walked a few steps aside from the throng, and said to the lady in a low tone, "I spoke of returning that book, but—if you don't mind—I'd rather keep it."
"Keep it as a remembrance from me," said the lady.
"I'm not likely to forget you, the only one for twenty years and more who cared for my soul; and when you're at your prayers, Mrs. Evendale, maybe you'll sometimes remember me." The captain held out his broad, sunburnt hand, which the missionary lady grasped kindly.
"May we meet—in heaven," she softly said.
"I'm hardly likely to find my way there," muttered Gump; "but if I do, 'twill be mainly owing to you. God bless you!" The captain abruptly turned away.
The two were never to see each other again upon earth, but often did the captain, as he studied his book, think of her who had given it to him. It had not been given in vain.
What delightful disclosures will there be in another world, of the results of good done in secret, seeds that have grown up unknown to the sower! If it be not presumption to add a verse to a lay of one of our sweetest Christian singers, one may supplement its delightful chain of contrasts between present sorrow and future bliss by such hopeful thoughts as the following:—
Joyful surprises,Flowers after frost,Greetings and welcomingsWhere prayer seemed lost.Those we have sorrowed o'erShining above,Swelling the harmony,Sharing the love!
We will not dwell on the land part of the journey, which was, at that season, almost unbearable from the heat. The passengers from England, and others from Alexandria, then embarked in the "Napoli," an Italian steamer, commanded by Captain Cenci, an Italian, and partly manned by Arab Lascars.
Before the vessel was unmoored, Miss Petty came up to Robin in a state of rapturous excitement.
"We shall have a delightful voyage down the Red Sea," she cried, "if only we can escape being fried alive on the way. Only imagine! We have a real princess on board; she and her suite had two whole omnibuses to themselves (which caused our terrible jamming in the third), and now they take up all the best cabins."
"Hardly the thing to make our voyage more delightful, Miss Petty," laughed Robin. "I confess that I was not delighted to find that Bolton was to share with Harold and myself a hole in which we have hardly room to turn round. And that in such grilling weather."
"Mrs. Evendale is squeezed into our cabin," said Miss Petty, fanning herself vigorously as she spoke; "but of course every one must make room for a real princess. Her name is—let me think—Principessa Lucrezia di—di—Pelipatti—or something like that, it is almost too long a name to remember. She's very charming—of course."
"How do you know? Have you already made her acquaintance?" asked Robin.
"Not yet—not yet; but of course during the voyage we shall meet often," said Miss Petty, who had already built a tall castle of cards or cobwebs on the strength of her coming intimacy with a real princess. "Oh! What splendid jewels she wears! How her diamonds flash in the sun! Principessa Lucrezia, has, I believe, more rings than fingers, and such a necklace—of course all pure gold! They say that the Princess is amazingly rich."
It was no small disappointment to Miss Petty to find, after they started on the voyage, that the Principessa di Peliperiti did not condescend to dine with the other passengers, but was served apart from the rest. The obsequious captain, proud of his freight, gave the best of everything to the grand lady and her companions, leaving the other passengers to fare very badly indeed. Some of the English travellers ventured to express a wish that the Princess had chosen any other ship than that in which they were sailing, or that they themselves had embarked in some other vessel.
"I don't think much of our sleek captain," observed Bolton to Harold in the evening; "he's rather like a fawning courtier than a seaman. I doubt whether he knows how to handle his ship or manage his ruffian-like crew."
"I felt more confidence in our bluff old Gump," remarked Harold.
"As for the elderly Princess, she's cracked, simply cracked," said Bolton. "She's an exaggerated Miss Petty,—Princess Pettier let us call her, for I can never remember her name. I hear that she is as full of fancies as a sieve is of holes. She has had a training establishment for cats and a hospital for dogs; I'm not sure whether rats had not their turn,—for nothing pleases Her Highness for long. The Princess's present fancy is to be a great traveller. She has been to London, Paris, Vienna, Cairo, and I know not how many cities besides. They say that she wished to go to Mecca, but there were difficulties in the way, such as the probability of having her throat cut. The Princess is about to 'do' India, and be lionised in Bombay, Madras, and Calcutta; then, if the travelling mania be not superseded by one for educating elephants or taming snakes, she will probably pass on to China or Japan."
"Time and money wasted in a chase after shadows," thought Harold, but he did not utter the remark aloud, and turned the conversation.
"We shall have a breezy night," he observed, clapping his hand to his broad-brimmed hat to prevent its being carried away by the wind.
"More breezy than pleasant," remarked Bolton, "except that anything is better than the horrible heat. What fierce gusts are coming in from the west!"
"One has an impression, right or wrong, that the steamer has no ballast, or nothing heavier than bladder-balls," said Robin, who had just joined the two. "The vessel seems to dance along whither it will, as lively as Lammikin herself, and as little obedient to orders as she is to her guardian's."
"Of course, we shall all sleep on deck," said Harold.
"Certainly the men will," replied his brother. "Better to be buffeted by the wind than be baked alive below and then eaten up by cockroaches."
Almost all the male passengers kept the deck; but the Princess, her companions, Miss Petty, and her charge stayed below. Once poor Lammikin, making her escape from semi-suffocation, rushed up on deck, bareheaded and barefooted, to get a breath of air; but finding a good deal more air than she liked, and being afraid of being blown over into the sea, she dived down again into the cabin. There was not much sleep on board the "Napoli" that night.
The morning dawned, and daylight disclosed the startling fact that the vessel, instead of steaming down the Red Sea, had been driven by the west wind right across it. A wide, desolate-looking expanse of sandy shore was ahead, dotted here and there with a few stunted palms.
"Where are we?" asked Harold of the captain.
The poor Italian was as ignorant as his questioner. He only knew—every one knew—that the ship must be nearing the western coast of Arabia.
"What is to be done?" demanded Harold.
The captain shrugged his shoulders, and hurried off to question the pilot whom he had taken on board.
The pilot, when questioned, showed that he did not know anything of the eastern shore, though he might have safely guided the vessel down the Red Sea had she not been driven so far out of her course by the gale.
"Should we not sound the depth?" suggested Harold. "We may run on some unseen shoal."
The suggestion was adopted; the line was thrown out to measure the depth of the water. The result was unsatisfactory; the vessel was getting into a shallow part of the sea. The captain muttered a prayer to the Virgin and saints to get him out of his trouble, and then gave orders to let off steam.
"Perhaps we could get a pilot from Arabia," said Bolton. "There seems to be a little creek into which a boat could go, and, luckily, the wind has lulled."
The fiery globe of the sun had now risen above the sandy waste, bathing it in golden light. Some Arabs were seen on the beach, evidently watching the movements of the vessel, which was about to be anchored only a few hundred yards from the shore. Cenci gave command to some of his sailors to man a boat, and bring, if possible, a pilot who knew the coast. Accordingly, three Lascars, who spoke Arabic, got into the boat which was quickly lowered from the vessel. The boat soon accomplished its little voyage, and was drawn up on the beach. For some time every eye on the deck of the "Napoli" watched with eager interest what appeared like a conference between the Lascars and their countrymen on shore. The meeting seemed to be friendly, but apparently no pilot was at hand; and it was necessary to seek one inland. In Oriental lands, patience is a necessary virtue, and gradually those who were in the "Napoli" made up their minds to wait quietly at anchor until the pilot should come at last.
The day was Sunday, and Harold held a service on deck for the English passengers under an awning. Two Italians attended, perhaps from curiosity, perhaps from some higher motive. During the singing of the concluding hymn, the attention of Miss Petty was entirely distracted by the approach of the Principessa di Peliperiti herself; but, as soon as the music ended, the great lady walked away. There was some appropriateness in Bolton's description of her as Princess Pettier, for there was certainly similarity in height, restless manner, and gaudy dressing (as there was also in weakness of character), between the Italian and the English traveller.
Mrs. Evendale found no opportunity of conversing with the Princess herself during that long, wearisome day, but had some talk with two of her suite. After dinner, Mrs. Evendale went up to Harold with the question, "Do you happen to have any of your Italian gospels left?"
"One—only one; the rest were disposed of at Malta," was the reply.
"There is an Italian lady here who is seeking for light," said the widow. "I should be so thankful if you would enable me to place in her hands the lamp of truth."
"That lady never loses an opportunity of serving the Master," thought Harold, as he went to bring the book. "What a golden harvest she will one day reap in joy after her night of weeping!"
It appeared to be very difficult to find a pilot, for hour after hour passed, and the boat, with but one man to watch her, lay idle still, drawn up on the shore. A little before sunset the Princess summoned the captain to her presence, and said in Italian:
"I am tired of this monotonous rocking up and down; there is nothing so wearisome as waiting. You have another and a larger boat hanging up there. I've a fancy to land, if but for an hour. I want to be able to say that I have been in Arabia."
There seemed to be no particular objection to gratifying the wish; and, even had there been one, to Captain Cenci the will of the Principessa di Peliperiti was law. The little expedition was safely accomplished, and the high-born traveller entered into her note-book the fact that she had visited Arabia, with a description of its scenery, and the appearance of the dwellers in the land.
The night passed, and still there came no pilot. The captain declared that should a favourable wind blow from the east, he would start without a pilot, and signal to the three Lascars on shore to return at once. But there was now an absolute calm.
Miss Petty was extremely anxious to do what the Princess had done, and the Hartley brothers and Bolton greatly desired to land in Arabia. The captain gave a courteous consent, and Mrs. Evendale was persuaded to make one of the party.
"They must return quickly," said the Princess; "for if an east wind spring up, or a pilot arrive, we must be off without a minute's delay. We have lingered too long already off this wretchedly barren coast."
Captain Cenci bent over the bulwarks, and, addressing himself to Harold, the leader of the party, said, "If I hoist a white signal from the yard, you must all instantly return."
"All right," was the reply. "We will take care not to wander far off."
"It is such fun to get on shore again!" said Shelah. And scrambling out of the boat before she could do so without wetting her feet, Lammikin had the satisfaction of leaving one of her shoes in the water. As it was more awkward to limp with one shoe on than to run without any, the little Irish girl soon flung its companion into the sea!
CAUGHT.
HAROLD wished to try his Arabic on one of the Lascars who was near the first boat, and find from him the cause of the tedious delay, but was as unsuccessful as Europeans usually are when trying to extract information from Orientals. Harold knew not whether the swarthy Arab understood him or not; the man's eyes, and evidently his thoughts, were wandering in the direction which the ladies were taking. The Lascar looked like one on the watch for something, and all that Harold could draw from him were the ejaculations common on Mahomedan lips, which seem pious when translated, but which often with them express nothing more than a shrug of the shoulders does with a European.
In the meantime, Robin, who had borrowed a gun from Captain Cenci, was on the sharp look-out for game with which to mend the passengers' scanty fare. But not a partridge rose, not a hare came in view. Shelah, who liked to keep pretty near Robin, and was quite as eager as himself to find some creature that might be turned into food, suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the sand, "Partridges been here—look, look!—Hadn't they big claws!"
Robin, gun in hand, went up to the spot. "Why, Lammikin," he cried, "you are as good as a pointer! But these marks are left by much larger birds than partridges; these are the prints of ostriches' feet in the sand!"
"Oh! I want to see ostriches!" exclaimed Shelah, clapping her hands.
"I too should like to get a sight of these noble birds running before the wind," said Robin, looking, but vainly, in every direction. "They say that a horseman can hardly overtake this swift bird of the desert."
"Oh! I do so want to find an ostrich's egg," cried Shelah, with sparkling eyes. "There was one in our house, brought from a long way off; it was as big as this—" She put her clenched fists together. "It would make a famous breakfast. I'll find two eggs, Robin; one for myself and one for you," and off ran the eager child on her quest.
"Don't wander far, Lammikin," shouted Robin after her; "we must look-out for the white signal on the ship."
But to tell Shelah to take any course appeared to be the sure way to make her wish to take another. Her ambition to find a big egg, and her desire to have a good breakfast, made Lammikin run off in the track marked by the ostriches' feet.
"Oh! That child, where is she running, and without her shoes!" exclaimed Miss Petty. "Shelah! Shelah O'More!" she shouted, but the little madcap, hearing her call, only ran the faster. Poor Miss Petty gave chase; and presently, at some little distance from the shore, there was heard the noise of roaring and scolding, and was seen an evident scuffle, showing that the runaway Lammikin had been overtaken by her guardian.
"There's the signal!" exclaimed Harold; "We must be off in the boat."
"Or the ship will be off without us!" cried Bolton. "The Principessa will not wait. There are two boats; I'll row away at once in the smaller; Hartley, you and your brother will look after the ladies, that sort of thing is just in your line; I cannot play squire to Miss Petty, nor nurse to Miss Shelah O'More."
Harold and Robin shouted loudly to the ladies, while busying themselves with the larger boat, of which two men had been left in charge. It had stuck in the sand, and was by no means easily to be again set afloat. The four at first vainly exerted all their strength to move the boat, and some time elapsed before they attained their object. In the midst of his energetic exertions Robin raised his head, and looked in the direction of Shelah and her guardian, who had just been joined by Mrs. Evendale, who went, as usual, to act a peacemaker's part.
"I say, Harold, what means that cloud of dust in the distance approaching as if towards us. It is coming fast!"
"I see camels—mounted camels; yes—a party of Arabs!" exclaimed Harold Hartley, and, with the sailors, he redoubled his efforts to float the boat, whilst Robin dashed off to quicken the return of the ladies.
Mrs. Evendale also had seen the signal, and was urging to speed Miss Petty, who was dragging Shelah towards the beach.
But at that moment Miss Petty made a discovery which seemed to take from her all power of attending to anything else. In the late struggle with Shelah, the pin of Miss Petty's filagree brooch had given way, and the ornament itself had fallen, she knew not where.
"Oh! My peacock! My beautiful peacock! I have lost it!" exclaimed Miss Petty, in sore distress, looking to right and left on the sand.
"We cannot stay—we must not stay;" urged Mrs. Evendale; "the vessel is getting up steam!"
"I must find my peacock!" cried Theresa passionately. "I would not lose it for worlds! It must have dropped where I caught up that child!" And she began hurriedly to retrace her steps inland, notwithstanding the expostulations of her companion and the repeated loud warning shouts from the shore.
"Oh, leave the brooch and let us hasten back to the boat; there may be danger!" exclaimed Mrs. Evendale, who now saw the ominous cloud of dust coming towards them.
Breathless and panting, Robin dashed up to the ladies. He had his gun in his hand.
"Mrs. Evendale, fly!" he gasped. "Take Shelah; I will look after Miss Petty. There is not a moment to lose; the Bedouins are upon us!"
But the precious time in which escape might have been made had already been lost! Harold had just succeeded in floating the second boat (the small one was on its way to the steamer) when he saw that the English party was surrounded. The report of Robin's gun, which accidentally went off from his arm being suddenly snatched at by Shelah, alarmed Harold for his brother's safety, and made Hartley hasten off to his aid, but only to share his fate.
There was no fighting, for the number of the Arabs made resistance utterly hopeless. The second boat was pushed off towards the ship, leaving the party of travellers in the hands of the sons of the desert.
A wild-looking band they were, Bedouins of the Shararat tribe, with swarthy features and narrow eyes, some of the most uncouth of the warlike descendants of Ishmael. Long shirts, which had apparently never been washed, were surmounted by tattered cloaks, striped white and brown. From leathern girdles hung formidable knives. The head-gear of most of the men consisted of a black kerchief, fastened on by a twist of camel's hair. One Arab, a petty chief, grasped a long-barrelled matchlock; others of the Bedouins were armed with sharp-pointed spears; the band looked like Eastern banditti intent on spoil.
Miss Petty evidently attracted more attention than any other of the captives; a dozen rough hands were laid upon her, and she screamed so loudly and shrilly as to be heard even in the ship. The Arabs eagerly searched her for jewels, and many an angry ejaculation was uttered when it was found that what she wore were of but trifling value.
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A wild-looking band they were, some of the most uncouthof the warlike descendants of Ishmael.
Indignantly the chief turned towards an Arab in whom the Hartleys recognised one of the Lascars who had been sent to find a pilot. The man, with rapid utterance, seemed to be making some explanations, pointing towards the vessel which was now steaming away.
Harold, partly by catching the meaning of some words, partly by guessing at that of the rest, made out the truth, which was that the Arabs, under the traitor's guidance, had come from some distance in hopes of making a prize of a wealthy princess loaded with jewels, for whom an immense ransom might be exacted, and had lighted instead on poor Miss Petty, whose misfortune it was, for once in her life, to be mistaken for a lady of rank.
Robin indignantly looked towards the Italian steamer, which was now making its way from the inhospitable shore of Arabia.
"Had she been manned by Englishmen, she would never have left us here in the hands of savages! Oh, the ruffians!" he added fiercely, as he saw an Arab tear the wedding-ring from Mrs. Evendale's unresisting hand.
THE DESERT RIDE.
THE Arabs, even the Bedouins, are not a merciless race. Beyond taking away every article of jewellery, three silver watches, a few coins, and the gun, which they thought the best part of the spoil, the Shararat robbers inflicted no injury on their captives. The sons of the desert were puzzled as to what to do with their prize.
The two Hartleys, indeed, could be made something of, for they were evidently strong, vigorous, and active; but the women, one old and the other fragile, seemed likely to be of no use at all. They could neither weave camel's hair nor help to pitch tents; it was doubtful whether they could even skin a sheep and cook it. Would it not be best to leave them behind? But to do so would be to abandon them to inevitable death by hunger and thirst. Though the chief, glancing at Grace Evendale, remarked that it would be easier to make a mashale (water-skin) out of muslin than anything useful out of her, he yet resolved to take her behind him on his camel, and he gave orders to his wild followers to dispose in the same way of the Feringhees (English), putting the mother and child together, such being to him the relationship between Miss Petty and Shelah.
The camels from which the Bedouins had dismounted were at hand, some kneeling to receive their burdens, some standing and throwing long shadows over the sand. An Arab, grasping Miss Petty's arm with one hand and Shelah's shoulder with the other, half dragged them towards his kneeling beast. In spite of tears and entreaties, the Bedouin forced the prisoners to mount, he himself taking his seat in front. Theresa and Shelah's knowledge of camels was small indeed, the only living specimens of the race which they had ever seen, except at Alexandria, having been in the Zoological Gardens in London. The horrible noise made by the huge creature when in the act of being loaded, the way in which he twisted his long neck to show his wide mouth and formidable teeth, filled both Miss Petty and Shelah with terror.
"Oh, I can't stop on this horrible beast; he is growling like a tiger! He will bite me! He will kill me!" expostulated Miss Petty, her entreaties changed to a scream as the camel suddenly rose and, by the tremendous jerk with which he did so, almost threw her off his back.
The motion of a camel has been likened to that which would be felt by one perched on a music-stool unscrewed to its utmost height, and drawn along in a cart without springs. Miss Petty implored the Arab to stop the beast, jerking out her words, as the jolting almost deprived her of power of speech. But she might as well have spoken to the camel itself. The Bedouin did not understand her words, nor would have cared for them had he understood. Little Shelah was sobbing, her spirit for a while subdued by fear and physical distress, for every mile of that terrible journey made the heat, and thirst, and fatigue, which she endured, more painful to the poor child.
And what of the other captives? What was the effect upon them of their sudden and startling adventure?
Harold met the misfortune as a brave man and a Christian should do. He saw hardship and danger before him, but the one was a thing to be calmly endured, the other fearlessly faced. He was a crusader, prepared for perilous service, a knight of the Cross, and it was not for him to choose his own post; if his Commander appointed that he should serve and suffer in Arabia instead of India, it was not for him to question that Leader's wisdom or goodness.
Harold, mounted on a tall camel, and journeying over what seemed to him to be a pathless desert, was calmly revolving in his mind how it might be possible to do mission work even amongst Bedouin Arabs, to whom, under ordinary circumstances, no herald of the Gospel might have access. True, Harold had not much knowledge of the Arabic language, but he would have opportunity for acquiring more; an open door was before him, it was not for a Knight of St. John to shrink from crossing the threshold, even should martyrdom lie beyond. Harold had been committing to memory a portion of St. John's First Epistle in Arabic; he had, by steady toil, reached the fourteenth verse of the second chapter, and the last clause in that verse was as a special message of encouragement to him: "I have written unto you, young men, because ye are strong, and the Word of God abideth in you, and ye have overcome the wicked one."
Harold Hartley was strong in faith: he had, indeed, fallen back in his school-boy days; the pride of life had then chilled his missionary zeal, and he had, in the excitement of an election, even made a personal attack on a political opponent who had provoked him, and so had got into serious trouble. But that fall had been a turning-point in the life of Harold.
During his college career, malice itself could not find a stain on the character of young Hartley. He had passed through temptations—and had overcome them; he had been looked upon by the religiously disposed fellows of his college as a leader in all that was good. Harold's faith was already as gold tried in the fire; he wore the white cross unstained.
Robin was a great deal younger than his brother, and, partly from his youth, partly from the joyous buoyancy of his spirits, the lad did not take nearly as serious a view of the situation of affairs as was taken by Harold. Had he not felt some anxiety regarding his widowed friend, Robin would have been inclined to regard the capture of the party as a very exciting and amusing adventure. It was something to be talked over and laughed over in future days; for Robin, full of hope as well as of daring, felt no doubt that the strange captivity, which had overtaken him and his companions, would be of but brief duration. Robin did not calculate, he simply hoped; for Robin was naturally full of hope as well as of daring.
What was misery to Theresa Petty was, at first, little more than a frolic to Robin Hartley. The jolting, which had the effect of making her scream, had but the effect of making him laugh. This was Robin's first camel ride, but he hoped to have many others. "I am practising for itinerating in India amongst the villages with my father and brother," thought Robin to himself. He shouted out words of encouragement to the weeping Lammikin, who was in front at no great distance, and bade Miss Petty keep a good heart.
Grace Evendale's position was different from that of the rest of the party; she had less physical strength than the others, and the heat of the sun, constantly increasing as the day advanced, was deadly to the delicate lady; she was withering even as a flower withers under the fiery beams. The rough motion of the camel also greatly tried Mrs. Evendale's sensitive frame, and caused her acute suffering. Yet the meek Christian was not really unhappy, though she felt that the end of the painful journey would probably be the grave.
Mrs. Evendale thought, "Is this like the angel's smiting of Peter, to make him rise and gird himself, and go forth to freedom? Is the messenger at hand who calls to the banquet of heaven? If so—he is welcome, in whatever guise he come. The Lord has borne me through greater trials than I ever can go through again, and His love will surely support me through this."
Grace thought as calmly of the possibility of perishing by heat and thirst as she would have submitted to some painful operation which was to give her future ease. All her best treasures were in heaven already; it would be no affliction to rejoin them. Mrs. Evendale's experience was that which a poet has expressed in the exquisite lines—
"Peace, perfect peace,—with sorrow surging round,On Jesu's bosom only calm is found."Peace, perfect peace; the future all unknown,Jesus we know, and He is on the throne."
The storm may rage around, but how calmly and safely the true believer rests under the extended wing, the downy feathers of love!
On, on, proceeded the party at the tedious pace of about four miles an hour. They were crossing an utterly desolate waste, where, except a few withered-looking lizards, and once, at some distance, a jerboa, no animal life was to be seen. There was hardly any trace of vegetation. The shadows of the camels grew shorter and shorter, till they seemed to disappear altogether under an almost vertical sun. The mouths of all the travellers were parched with thirst; Miss Petty could only moan out, "Water! Water!" And even that cry was unheeded. Robin had ceased to have the slightest inclination to jest; the sufferings of all were only too real, for the water-skins hung loose and empty by the side of each camel.
After a weary time the huge animals broke into a rough trot, as if they scented water. The Arabs roused up from what appeared to be sleep or stupor.
"I see some trees!" cried Robin. "Low, stunted ones, hardly worthy of the name!"
These, on nearer approach, were seen to be a species of euphorbia, near which some colocynth herbs and a little almost dried-up grass showed that something like a spring must be near. The thirsty camels now increased their speed over what was now a stony and blackish plain. Water had been reached at last.
The Bedouins dismounted from their clumsy beasts, and the Hartley brothers sprang down also, and helped the almost fainting women and Shelah to descend from the backs of the camels. The huge animals were turned lose to graze; there was no danger of their wandering from the wretched oasis where they might glean the scantiest of meals from thorny bushes.
From shallow wells, half choked up with stones, the Bedouins commenced replenishing their mashales, after first satisfying their thirst, but the supply was scanty, and the water brackish. Eagerly, before even wetting his own lips, Robin carried some of the water to Mrs. Evendale, who was lying on the ground exhausted. Her parched lips opened to receive the life-giving fluid, and a faint "Thank God!" followed the scanty draught.
There was a halt at this place for some hours. Almost every one slept, but Grace Evendale was unable to do so, she was too feverish and ill. Her refreshment was silent prayer, and the heart's unvoiced hymn, which could be heard only by God. Then came the shivering chill of fever. The lady felt like a dying woman when the Bedouins, rising from their siesta, prepared themselves for a start.
The water-skins had been partially, very partially replenished. A few dried dates were brought out, and partaken of by all but the suffering widow. The groaning camels were then made to kneel, and were remounted. The terrible journey must not be delayed, for many and many a weary mile of desert had to be traversed before the weary party could meet with another well.
A JOURNEY ENDED.
"WILL this dreadful jolting go on for ever—for ever!" exclaimed poor Miss Petty in despair, as the red, fiery sun dipped behind an expanse of sand, almost level as the ocean, flooding it with lurid lights. "Every bone in my body seems dislocated, and my head is ready to burst. Will these horrible camels never stop!"
The hardy camel is able to travel twelve hours in the twenty-four, and to pause where there is not water might be fatal to travellers in the desert. The nearest well was yet more than two hours' journey in front. The camels had been unable to quench their thirst at the last station, the supply had been scanty even for their riders.
Night was just falling on earth—night oppressively hot—yet its darkness would be some relief after the glaring day. The camel on which Robin was seated with an Arab, had fallen a little behind the rest. The nearest to it was that of a Bedouin, to whom the chief had transferred the charge of Mrs. Evendale.
Robin could see through the darkening shade that this Arab ever and anon turned his head to look on what was behind him, and then laid his hand on what, in the dim gloom, looked like a roll of black drapery, with something white hanging lifelessly down.
"Has Mrs. Evendale fainted?" was Robin's thought, and it made him very uneasy, for he could not even question the Arab who had so precious a charge. Presently the dark object—almost noiselessly—fell from the height of the camel down on the ground below. Robin was near enough to be certain that the form of his friend lay extended upon the plain. The Arab must have thought her dying or dead, for, as soon as she had fallen, he urged on his weary beast to rejoin his companions in front.
Almost before he had time to think of what might be the consequence to himself of rashly following the impulse of his heart, Robin managed, he knew not how, to fling himself down from his height, very narrowly escaping a fall, and being trodden under the splay foot of the heavy beast on which he had been riding. He could not, were life itself at stake, go on and leave that dear form to the vultures. The Arab above loudly remonstrated; but Robin could not understand him, and did not choose to listen.
The Bedouin dare not lose sight of his comrades in front; he must press on or their track might be lost. Yet pity for the brave boy who was willing to share the fate of his mother (such the Bedouin supposed the lady to be), touched the heart of the wild son of the desert. The Arab stopped his camel for a brief minute, and, unfastening the limp, almost empty mashale which hung at its side, threw it down, and then rode away.
Robin eagerly seized on the brown bag of sheepskin; what it contained might yet save life, if the spark were not already extinguished. Hastening to the spot where Mrs. Evendale lay, Robin, crouching down beside her, raised her head on his knee, and dashed water over her face. He then tried to make her drink from the almost empty mashale; at first in vain, and Robin feared that life was extinct. But after a while the lady eagerly drank, yes, unconsciously drank, the very last precious drop from the mashale; Robin could squeeze out no more. He made the sufferer's position as easy as he possibly could, and then, realising the terrible situation in which he and his friend were placed, exclaimed, "O God! Have mercy upon us!"
"That's my boy's voice, my Hal's!" said Mrs. Evendale, whose mind was wandering. And feebly, but joyfully, she took Robin's hand, kissed it, and fondly pressed it to her cheek. "Oh, my son, my darling, they said that you were killed by a train, that you would never come back, my Hal! But that was only a dream! I think that I've been ill; I've had such horrible dreams, but they're all over now. Here you are safe—safe, my Hal, and we'll never be parted more!"
Robin's tears were dropping fast; he perceived that he was mistaken by the widow for her son; she had once said to him that he reminded her of one very dear to her heart. The youth felt thankful for the delusion which made the sufferer happy, and the soft, tender touch of her hand made him think of her in whom he had found a mother's love.
"He was dead, and is alive; was lost, and is found," murmured the dying lady. "We will rejoice and give thanks. Will there not be a banquet to welcome him back?"
"Yes, a heavenly feast," said Robin.
"And your father will be there, and your brother—all the family united—we will be so happy!" came from the parched, fevered lips. "What is there written about a feast—I can't remember—my brain is empty, and I can see nothing, it is so dark! Why are the lamps not lighted?"
"All will be bright soon," said Robin, with difficulty commanding his voice.
"Very—yes, very bright! What is said in the Bible about it?" The Christian's well-stocked memory gave out its treasure to cheer the departing soul. "'And they need no candle—neither light of the sun, for the Lord God giveth them light.' Yes, yes," added Grace in a joyous tone, "the Lord Himself will be there."
"And 'we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is,'" exclaimed Robin, who had never so fully realised the blessedness of that hope, as when he saw it irradiating what would have been so fearfully dark without it. Young Hartley could not even wish his friend's life to be prolonged, and at such a moment he gave not a thought to his own. Robin had knelt before by a deathbed and seen a saint depart in perfect peace, with her senses clear to the last; but he had never seen such a joyous setting of the sun of life as on that dreary expanse of sand, where there was not so much as a pillow on which to lay a dying woman's head.
About half-an-hour passed in silence, the most solemn silence; there was not so much as the sound of an insect's wing. Then again the dying lips spoke.
"They have lighted the lamp," she said. "I think the feast is ready."
The silver moon, little past the full, was rising in calm beauty over the desert.
"Do you not hear the music?" said Mrs. Evendale, whose pale face in the silvery light looked as if she were eagerly listening to what none but herself could hear.
"The angels must be singing," observed Robin.
"No, no, not the angels, that is not the angels' song, 'Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins—'" the verse was unfinished, the spirit joyously fled in the utterance, leaving a smile of bliss on the lovely countenance of the dead.
Robin was left alone with the corpse, thanking God for giving His servant so blessed a departure, and for enabling him to minister to a saint to the last.
THE BIVOUAC.
WE will now return to the rest of the party, who, mounted on better camels than that which Robin had ridden, had passed on some distance in front.
Heartily glad was Harold when, in the moonlight, he could trace the outlines of a group of black tents. After the long, exhausting journey, the Bedouins came to a halt at last.
A noisy party of men and boys, some of the latter wearing a most scanty amount of clothing, ran out of the tents to greet the party of travellers. The appearance of the white captives excited a great deal of interest, and there was a loud jabber of questions, curiosity being a feature in the character of the Shararat Arabs.
The camels, at a short distance from the tents, were made to kneel, and were then unloaded. Harold dismounted, but he was so stiff and weary from his long ride that he was for the first minute scarcely able to stand.
"Help me down, Mr. Hartley. I won't have these savages touch me," cried out Miss Petty in accents of distress.
Harold hastened to her assistance, and first received poor Shelah into his arms. The child clung to him in a piteous manner.
"Nay, nay, you must let me put you down, Shelah, or how can I help Miss Petty?"
Theresa, terribly exhausted, had to be lifted down like a log.
"Now I must look-out for Mrs. Evendale and my brother," said Harold. Amidst the confusion, camels, sheep, men, boys, mixed up together, Harold looked in vain for a trace of his fellow-captives. The deep shadows cast by the moonlight made the confusion more perplexing, and the young man's brain seemed to be turning round from the effect of heat and fatigue.
"Brother—woman?" inquired Harold of one Arab after another, meeting with no intelligible answer till one of the band who had seized him, pointed to a tent at some little distance. The man had mistaken the meaning of the question, and thought that Harold was inquiring whether he himself had brother or wife in the place.
"I will seek them out," said Harold; and he was about to try to make his way amongst tent-pins and over tent-ropes, when he was caught in the grasp of Miss Petty. It was a desperate grasp.
"Oh, don't leave me, Harold; for pity's sake don't leave me," she cried. "I am almost dead; I cannot walk a single step; my poor head is splitting with pain. Robin is sure to look after Mrs. Evendale—he always does. It is enough for you to look after me, whom you have known since you were a child."
"Please, please don't go away," sobbed Shelah. "These people frighten me so! I think they are Robinson Crusoe's cannibals!"
Harold, smiling, tried to reassure the child. "I see," said he to himself, "that Robin and I must divide the charge of our poor, helpless companions. His share of the work is certainly the pleasanter and the more interesting; but all women and children in distress have a claim on the Knights of St. John."
Harold, having no reason to apprehend any special danger to the other travellers, allowed himself to be drawn by Miss Petty and Shelah into the nearest tent, which was that of the chief. The Arab would fain have sent off the lady and child to the charge of the women of the tribe, but Theresa and her Lammikin, throwing themselves down on the sandy floor, showed such determination not to be separated from their English protector, that the Bedouin did not insist on their going.
A semi-circle, chiefly of boys, squatted down in front of the captives, grinning, laughing, and cutting jibes, which were disagreeable even when not understood, and would have been more so had they been better comprehended.
"See how white she is! That's a kind of leprosy," laughed one, pointing at poor Miss Petty.
"And she wears those black things on her feet to hide it!" said another; a poor joke, which caused uproarious laughter, very unpleasant to its object, though she knew not its import, except that the Bedouins were jesting at her boots.
"Harold—Mr. Hartley, do order those creatures away. They are not fit to come within a mile of a lady," exclaimed Theresa. "The noise, the heat, the smell, make me feel quite sick."
Harold did what he could, but unsuccessfully, though at last a boy, pulling one of Shelah's red locks and making her cry out, brought on him a sharp box on the ear. This made the Bedouins laugh again.
"I want something to eat," cried Shelah, an exclamation which she repeated about every other minute, each time in a tone more doleful. Except a small handful of dried dates, the poor, tired child had been all the long day without food.
The Arabs began to smoke, some of them using a mere perforated piece of bone for a pipe. They could afford to wait patiently for their dinner, for they knew that a sheep was being killed and skinned in preparation for a grand feast. Presently Shelah exclaimed, "There's a dead sheep; look, they are cutting it up with their knives!"
By the light of a large fire kindled outside the tent, the captives could see all that the Arabs could exhibit of culinary art. They watched the Bedouins as they flung fragments of the recently slaughtered sheep into a large cauldron. The boiling seemed a tedious affair, especially to poor hungry Shelah. At last the hissing cauldron was removed from the fireplace, which was formed of nothing but stones. The steaming contents of the flesh-pot were emptied into one large dirty, wooden bowl, and there was a general rush towards it.
"No plates, no knives and forks,—what can we do!" cried Miss Petty.
"We must use nature's implements," said Harold, cheerfully, "and we must use them quickly too, or we shall find nothing but bones."
Hartley bore Shelah in his arms to the place, and managed to make room for the child, while a vigorous attack was carried on by the Bedouins upon the food. So many brown hands—of course very dirty—were plunged into the seething bowl, that Harold had no small difficulty in getting out two lumps of most untempting mutton for his two charges, and then something for his own hungry self. Half-famished Miss Petty and Shelah found it quite possible to feed without knives and forks. The child was closely picking a fragment of bone, when it was snatched away by a hungry dog.
Water, anything but pellucid, was handed round in a small pail, from which everyone drank. Miss Petty declared that she must have a cup to herself, but even the coarsest pottery was not to be found in the Bedouin camp.
In ten minutes the banquet was over.
"Now I can sleep," said Miss Petty; "can't I have a tent to myself?"
With a good deal of difficulty, Harold making the Bedouins understand the wants of their captives more by signs than by words, a small dirty tent was secured.
"Let us have a little prayer together before we go to rest," said the young missionary. "I have unfortunately no portion of the Scriptures with me to read, but I can repeat some verses by heart."
The suggestion was unwelcome to tired Miss Petty, but she merely asked that the prayer might be short. It was so, for Harold was almost too weary to speak. It was a real refreshment to him, however, to pour out his soul to his God, and ask the protection of Him who never slumbers or sleeps. Harold most earnestly commended to God Mrs. Evendale and his brother, little guessing that the one was beyond the reach of his prayer, and how sorely the other needed his supplications. Short as was the prayer, Shelah fell asleep before it was over, and Miss Petty was too drowsy to answer Harold's good-night. The young man then withdrew himself a few yards from the tent, and, with only his arm for a pillow, soon slept the sleep which exhausted nature required.
Harold's slumber was deep, and when at the first glimmer of dawn, he was roused by the wandering Bedouins preparing for another start, he could not at the first moment of awakening recall where he was and what had happened. His own aching limbs, the snarling of the camels, the shouts of the men, the sight of the Bedouins in their rude striped cloaks hurrying hither and thither, soon made Harold realise his strange situation. He rose, knelt down, and offered up his morning prayer, then was about to go in search of his brother, when Miss Petty, issuing from the little tent, in imploring tones, begged him to keep beside her.
"Are we going to be jolted on again? Oh, misery!" she cried, as she seated herself on a sack, while the Bedouins were filling mashales and loading camels. Shelah crept to Harold's side, looking so unlike her merry mischievous self that his pity was awakened. Harold sat down on the sand, and the child hid her face on his arm.
"I don't know why God deserts us so!" cried Miss Petty in the bitterness of her soul.
"My friend, let not such a word escape your lips, nor such a thought enter your heart," said the missionary, kindly but gravely. "The Lord never deserts His servants. The Word of Truth hath declared that God is love."
"I can't believe it!" cried Miss Petty, disregarding the pained look which her words called up on the face of Harold. "I've had nothing—nothing but trouble since my brother the doctor died; it was hard that he should be taken so suddenly, leaving me to misery and want. Didn't I do my best to get my living, and keep up a decent appearance! I did all in my power to humour and please a selfish, vulgar, ill-tempered woman who called me her humble companion. I studied her fancies, put up with her tempers, nursed her when she was dying, and of course expected something handsome after her death. The stingy, ungrateful creature had not so much as named me in her will!"
Miss Petty's pale face flushed with resentment as she recalled thus to mind what had been, perhaps, the keenest disappointment that she ever had known, though many had fallen to her lot.
"Miss Petty, there is little use in recurring to past trials, unless their remembrance help us to encounter new ones with courage and faith."
"Oh, it is easy for you to talk!" cried Miss Petty peevishly. "You've been cared for all your life; you've had nothing of the wear and waiting and worry that I have met with at every turn. And I've really done nothing to deserve it all; I've led a good, respectable life. I can't think why I'm chosen out for trouble when there are so many sinners in the world."
"Do you not count yourself amongst the sinners?" asked Harold.
"Yes—in a sort of way," replied Miss Petty, with a little hesitation, for she had never known what it is to have a wounded conscience; "but I am not a sinner like thousands and thousands who have not to bear a tenth part of what I have endured. I have done my duty as well as I could; I deserve something better than this."
Harold sighed. He had seen enough of poor Miss Petty to know that she had deliberately and constantly given herself to a world which is at enmity with God. So far from God being in all her thoughts, her Maker and Preserver had had hardly a place in any of her thoughts. In her heart Theresa had set up the three great idols denounced by the Evangelist John—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life.
The young missionary felt that this was no time for a sermon, but he could not help observing, "Miss Petty, it would fare ill with us all if we had only what we deserve."
The Bedouins were carrying with them provisions for the journey. They did not indeed commit the extravagance of killing a second sheep, but a supply of dried dates and a few other things were taken. A breakfast was also brought to the English captives, consisting of camel's milk, and something in a dirty bowl which looked like reddish paste, and which is called by the Arabs samh.
"Disgusting mess!" exclaimed Miss Petty, as she dipped into it her thin wrinkled fingers; but she ate the desert dainty readily enough, and hungry Shelah pronounced it "jolly." Samh is made of the small red farinaceous seeds of a plant which grows wild in Northern Arabia.
Harold wondered more and more at seeing nothing of Mrs. Evendale and Robin. Becoming uneasy, he went up to the chief and said anxiously in broken Arabic, "Brother—my brother—white woman, where?" He could not explain himself further, but he was at once understood.
"Dead!" said the Bedouin, pointing with an emphatic gesture towards the ground.
Harold, aghast, repeated the ominous word, almost hoping that he had mistaken its meaning, it was too terrible to be true. But the Bedouin made it only too clear by signs. It was evident that Robin and his friend had been left behind in the fearful desert, from which no one, without a guide, could ever hope to emerge.
Young Hartley's reason almost staggered under the sudden blow. His father excepted, there was no being on earth whom Harold loved as he did his brother; Robin's loyal affection had been his comfort in many an hour of trouble; Robin's joyous spirit had thrown its own brightness over his life. Harold's impulse was to retrace instantly the weary path so lately traversed, find his brother, save him or perish with him. But to pursue such a course would have been an act of madness. The Bedouin read the unuttered thought in his captive's face, and took instant measures for the prevention of any desperate act.
The chief gave a brief order to two of his men, and the next minute Harold found his two hands bound together by a rope, which was then fastened to the camel on which Miss Petty and Shelah were seated behind an Arab. Harold would thus be forced to keep up on foot with the party, or, should he fall, to be dragged along the ground. The camel rose with its usual violent jerk and Miss Petty's exclamation of terror, and then another long painful march was begun.
"Oh, Mr. Hartley!" cried Shelah, "Why have the cruel men tied you so?" And the child looked down from her height, with pity expressed in her face.
Harold could not reply; the agony of his soul at that moment made it impossible for him to utter a word.
"I hope they've not tied Robin," continued Shelah, who usually dropped any formal title when speaking of the youth. "Where is Robin, and where is the kind woman who made my hat? I haven't seen them for ever so long."
Still silence; but such an expression of anguish passed over Harold's face that Miss Petty's never dormant curiosity was awakened.
"Are they not with us?" she cried.
Harold bit his lip and shook his head.
"They've not been left behind in the desert surely; those wretches have not deserted them?" And reading assent in silence, Miss Petty exclaimed in alarm, "If they have been murdered thus, there is no hope for us!"
"Oh, I hope that they've not killed Robin—dear, dear Robin!" cried Shelah, tears streaming fast down her cheeks. Her childish grief touched the heart of Harold. "Robin was always so merry and so kind; he pulled me out of the water; he carried me on his shoulder, and sang such funny songs! Oh, Robin, Robin!" Shelah's wail brought the moisture to Harold's burning eyes; he could not raise his bound hands to dash it away.
"You may well cry," said Miss Petty bitterly to Shelah. "All this wretchedness to every one comes of your wilful running away. You'll be the death of us all!"
"You stopped to look for your brooch," retorted Shelah, "or we should have got in the boat before these horrid Arabs could catch us. Oh, I'm so sorry, so sorry-most of all for the kind woman and dear, dear Robin. Shall I never, never see them again?"
"Now, Mr. Hartley," said Theresa, "you will never tell me again that God is love?"
It was a taunt hard to be answered, human lips but uttering what the enemy had been whispering within. Harold's lips grew white with the struggle; faith was strained to the utmost, but it did not give way under the strain. "God is love!" gasped the sufferer from his rack of anguish. "I believe it now, and I shall know it hereafter."
WEARY AND THIRSTY.
THE same glimmer of dawn which had aroused the Bedouins from their bivouac while stars still shone in the dark blue sky, awoke Robin, as he lay stretched on his bed of sand, near the lifeless form of his friend. The sun would rise ere long, the fierce, cruel sun, the last that he was ever likely to see; but the young Knight of St. John had a duty to perform before he should perish of thirst. He must hollow out a grave after death for her whom in life he had been bound to protect. After a brief prayer, the lad—with no implement but his hands—set to his toilsome but hallowed task. Though his tongue was cleaving to the roof of his mouth with thirst, for the mashale was utterly dry, Robin scraped and scraped, with patient toil, for it was a labour of love.
"God give me strength to finish my work!" faintly murmured young Hartley. "And then I shall die content."
But the strength was failing before the grave was half completed; Robin was almost fainting, and scarcely conscious of anything save that he was to dig and die, when he was startled by a long shadow falling over the uncompleted grave, a shadow between him and the sun, which was rising behind his back, for young Hartley's face was turned to the west.
Robin raised his head, and saw with surprise that he was not alone; at a little distance was what might almost be called a caravan, consisting both of laden camels and mounted horsemen, well-dressed, and carrying spears. Close beside Robin was one whose tread had been unheard on the sand. The Persian Amir, for such was the stranger, had dismounted from his Arab steed; and, throwing the bridle to a gaily attired attendant, had approached on foot to see who, in that solitary desert, could be engaged in digging a grave.
Robin Hartley could never forget the impression made on his mind by the tall dignified Oriental who had so unexpectedly made his appearance in so very desolate a spot. Anywhere, and under any circumstances, Amir Ali was a man to attract notice. He was almost as fair as a European, with a high nose, rather hooked, and long lustrous dark eyes, fine, but with something gloomy and unpleasing in their expression. The well-marked but delicately pencilled eyebrows were a little drawn together as if in a slight, habitual frown; and the thin lips looked as if they could utter cynical things.