Chapter Nineteen.Dead Fingers.On the black silk the shrivelling, bloodless fingers lay half curved like talons. At first I could not bring myself to gaze upon the mutilated hand I had so recently grasped; but at length, fascinated by the gruesome mystery, I inspected it minutely. On the stiffened fingers diamonds glistened in the bar of sunlight that strayed into the room, and my own ring remained there, a silent witness of some terrible tragedy.Had Zoraida been murdered? Was she, after all, the wife of a jealous, fanatical Moslem, who had discovered our friendship, and who had wreaked an awful vengeance upon her? As I stood with the horrible contents of the box before my eyes, strange thoughts took possession of me. With startling vividness I pictured the woman I loved, and to whom I owed my life, lying stark and dead, with one hand hacked away and a great ugly wound in her white breast where the assassin’s cruel knife had entered. I seemed to see every detail of a hideous crime; on my ears there fell the soft lapping of the sea, and the splash as the body, divested of its silks and jewels, was hurled into the water as unceremoniously as offal by two brutal, stalwart negroes. Had not Zoraida been apprehensive of danger? Had she not told me frankly that her life was uncertain? Yet I had never dreamed of murder!Alas! death comes swiftly sometimes to inmates of the harem. To-day Zuleika or Zohra, Kheira or Khadidja, may be the favourite, exercising power over her lord, and holding sway through him over the world outside her luxurious prison, but to-morrow she may be a corpse floating out with the tide into the lonely sea.The sight of the dead hand was sickening. I could not bear it. Replacing the lid upon the box, I stood for a few moments in hesitation, then resolved to rid myself of the ghastly object that had been sent me by an unknown enemy. With the box under my arm, I went out into the glaring sunlight. Half-way across the broad Place, it occurred to me to find the mysterious house to which old Messoudia had conducted me, and with the severed member in my possession to seek an explanation. Did not our mutual pledges give me a right to demand knowledge of Zoraida’s welfare? If she had actually fallen a victim to the caprices of a monster, was it not my duty to investigate the affair, and bring to justice the perpetrator of the crime? With such thoughts I crossed the Jews’ quarter, and, ascending the long narrow Arab street, the Rue de la Kasbah, leading through the heart of the native quarter, was soon climbing with impatient steps the maze-like labyrinth of shady passages, with their low dark archways and great, gloomy, prison-like houses, among which I hoped to recognise the arched door again. I spent a weary, anxious afternoon. The air was sultry, the Arabs lay stretched on the benches in thekahouas, or, squatting lazily on the mats outside, were oblivious to their surroundings. Everything was sleepful. Shoemakers and embroiderers who had ceased work were dozing in their little dens, and as I trudged wearily onward, I passed only a solitary ass with heavily-laden panniers plodding on, followed leisurely by his master, who wore a jasmine flower behind his ear. The stillness was only broken by the far-off voices of some Arab urchins at their play, or ever and anon the thumping of thederboukaand the twanging of theguenibrifloating out of the small closely-barred windows of the harems fell upon my ears as I passed. Surely mine was an unique experience, wandering at will, and bearing with me the dead hand of the woman I loved!The bright blue sea was like glass, the sky cloudless, and the whole world seemed at peace; yet I was the least peaceful. Carrying the casket containing the horrible souvenir, I stumbled onward, toiling aimlessly and in vain up through the gloomy, crooked passages. Feelings I had never before experienced assailed me with a force that first perplexed and then astounded me. I was afraid; and what rather heightened than diminished the unwonted sensation, was the fact that I was not afraid of anything tangible either in the present or the future, but of something mysterious and peculiar. Every sound jarred upon my nerves, causing the faintest murmur to seem like the utterance of a great dread, as awful as it was inexplicable.Time after time, finding myself at the boundary of the Kasbah, I again turned and plunged into the narrow, crooked thoroughfares, hoping by wandering in this manner to discover the house to which I had been conducted. Alas! it was a forlorn hope. Messoudia had taken precautions in order that I should not be able to retrace my steps; besides, there were hundreds of houses with similar entrances, and though I strove to decide which was the mysterious residence I sought, I could detect absolutely nothing by which to identify it.Terror shackled my steps. During those hot, anxious hours I several times traversed the streets from the winding Rue Rovigo to the Boulevard Valée on the opposite side of the town, exploring each of the narrow, ancient lanes lying between the Rue Bab Azzoun and the grim old citadel. Every effort to discover the house where I had spent such eventful hours failed, and at last entering akahoua, and having given the lounging Arabs “peace,” I sank upon a bench, and, placing the box beside me, called for coffee.While the old Arab was brewing it on his tiled stove, a man in a ragged and rather soiled burnouse entered, and, after grunting a greeting, squatted near me, idly smoking his long haschish pipe. He was of rather forbidding countenance, with a thin black beard, and eyes that seemed to flame like torches.Noticing that I had uttered a salutation in Arabic, one of the customers, a very old man, who was half reclining on a bench opposite me, gravely observed—“It is not often that the Roumi speaketh our tongue.”“No,” I replied, smiling. “But I have lived for many moons among thy clansmen, and have wandered far and wide in this thy Land of the Sun.”My remark interested them, and was received with muttered satisfaction. As I wore European dress, I knew they viewed me with considerable suspicion.“Hast thou travelled in the Great Desert?” the old man asked.“Yes,” I answered. “With the caravans I have been over the Areg and the Sahara, and,” laughing, I added, “I have managed to escape from the clutches of Hadj Absalam—”“Cursed be his name! May Allah never show him mercy!” interrupted the dark-faced man, who was smoking quietly beside me. I turned, surprised at such a vehement denunciation.“I heard a rumour at Constantine the other day,” remarked my interrogator, “that his men have recently raided the caravan of Ali Ben Hafiz, and massacred the whole party.”“That is quite correct,” I replied. “I was with them, and because of my Faith my life was spared so that I might be tortured. But I escaped, and returned hence.”“Praise be unto the Prophet who hast preserved thee!” he said devoutly. “Indeed, Absalam’s people are a terror to all. Our brother Ali Ben Hafiz—may Allah show him mercy—was very well known here.”“Yes. Very well known,” echoed half a dozen guttural voices.“He often playeddammahere,” continued the old Arab, “and no man was more respected in the Kasbah than he.” Then, raising himself and pointing to the end of the low-roofed café, where on the walls hung grotesquely-executed texts from the Korân and gaudily-coloured pictures of the city of Mecca, he added, “See there! once while he was smoking in thiskahoua, a Roumi who chanced to come in drew that portrait. Dost thou recognise him?”Interested, I rose and walked to where the little pencil sketch was hanging. Notwithstanding the dim light, I could see that the features of my dead friend were lifelike, and I deciphered in the corner the signature of one of our greatest living English artists.“It is excellent. The expression on the features is exact,” I agreed, and, taking the coffee from the hand of thekahouaji, I sipped it, and gave him the ten centimes demanded.Returning to my bench, I suddenly noticed that while my back had been turned to inspect the portrait, the dark-faced man who had entered after me had risen and quietly departed.Next second I made a discovery.“My box!” I gasped. “See! it has gone!It has been stolen!”The Arabs, startled from their lethargy, exchanged black looks of disapproval, some of them muttering that True Believers would never pollute themselves by handling the treasure of Infidels.“My box has been taken by that man who has just left!” I cried, rushing headlong out into the street, and glancing quickly up and down. But he had vanished like a shadow! No human being was in sight. Frantically I rushed about, peering eagerly into dark corners and gloomy archways in the vicinity, but the man, who had apparently been watching for an opportunity to obtain possession of the box, had disappeared in that bewildering maze of streets and left no trace behind!At last re-entering thekahoua, the customers of which had now risen and were holding a very animated discussion over the dexterously accomplished robbery, I demanded if anyone present knew the man. Everyone, however, disclaimed acquaintance with him.“He is an utter stranger,” said the old man who had been conversing with me. “To judge from his face, he cometh from the Areg.”“Evidently he hath no friendship for Hadj Absalam,” observed one of the Arabs grimly, as in the midst of an exciting argument he stopped to light a cigarette, carefully extinguishing the match with his fingers.“But my loss is irreparable. That box contained”—I hesitated. Then I added, “It contained great treasure.”“May Allah consign the thief to Hâwiyat for ever!” exclaimed one of the men calmly.“May the Prophet send thee consolation!” added another. “Against Fate thou canst not arm thyself,” observed a third. “May the entrails of the thief be burned!”To such remarks I returned thanks, and, heedless of the questions they asked concerning the value of the contents of the stolen box, I stood deep in thought. Though the circumstances were somewhat suspicious that my attention should have been diverted in the manner it had, still there was no mistake that the portrait was actually that of my murdered friend; and, further, the thief had not, as far as I had noticed, spoken to any of those around him. Expert pilferers as the Arabs mostly are, I could not in this instance bring myself to believe that I had been the victim of a plot. Again, it was not a pleasant reflection that the thief might have stolen it thinking it contained valuables, and then, finding the hideous object inside, would in such a case most likely give information which would lead to my arrest for murder! My guilt would be assumed, and to prove my innocence I should experience considerable difficulty.On the other hand, however, the circumstances pointed strongly to the theory that the ragged ruffian had dogged my footsteps in order to obtain possession of the casket. But for what reason? The box had been wrapped in brown paper, there being nothing whatever in its exterior to excite undue curiosity. Was it possible that the thief might have been aware of its contents? Was the possession of this startling evidence of a gruesome tragedy of imperative necessity? If so, why?None of these questions could I answer. I felt that the robbery was not an ordinary one. It was an enigma that I could not solve. The hand, with its rings, had been stolen from me by one who was evidently an expert thief, and, recognising that any attempt to recover it was useless, I thanked the Arabs in thekahouafor their condolences, and left, turning my steps slowly towards the European quarter.I recollected that I had promised Zoraida to set out that night on my journey into the distant Desert. Again and again her earnest words in her own musical tongue rang in my ears: “Thou wilt go for my sake,” she had said. “Remember the instructions I have given thee; and, above all, promise to seek no explanation of what thou mayest hear or see regarding me until thou hast returned from Agadez. Thou wilt undertake this mission in order to save my life, to rescue me from a horrible fate that threateneth to overwhelm me!”Had she already succumbed to the fate she dreaded?Utterly powerless to obtain any information that might lead to the elucidation of the extraordinary mystery, I at length, after calmly reviewing the situation over a cigarette under the palms in the Place Bresson, resolved to keep my promise to her, and before midnight I left the City of the Corsairs on the first stage of my long, tedious journey southward towards the sun.The temptation to return to England and leave the mystery unsolved had indeed been great, yet I could not forget that I had pledged my word to a woman I loved better than life. She had declared that I alone could save her, and trusted me. These thoughts caused my decision to attempt the perilous journey. Is it not, indeed, true that sometimes beauty draws us with a single hair towards our doom?Why, I wondered, had she been so intensely anxious that I should refrain from seeking any explanation of these strange, ever-deepening and perplexing mysteries? Her words and actions were those of a woman apprehensive of some terrible tragedy that she was powerless to avert; and even though I started that night from Algiers fully determined to learn the secret of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders I carried, and its bearing upon her welfare, yet that shrill, despairing cry I had heard after leaving her presence still sounded distinctly in my ears, the dolorous, agonised wail of the hapless victim of a hidden crime.
On the black silk the shrivelling, bloodless fingers lay half curved like talons. At first I could not bring myself to gaze upon the mutilated hand I had so recently grasped; but at length, fascinated by the gruesome mystery, I inspected it minutely. On the stiffened fingers diamonds glistened in the bar of sunlight that strayed into the room, and my own ring remained there, a silent witness of some terrible tragedy.
Had Zoraida been murdered? Was she, after all, the wife of a jealous, fanatical Moslem, who had discovered our friendship, and who had wreaked an awful vengeance upon her? As I stood with the horrible contents of the box before my eyes, strange thoughts took possession of me. With startling vividness I pictured the woman I loved, and to whom I owed my life, lying stark and dead, with one hand hacked away and a great ugly wound in her white breast where the assassin’s cruel knife had entered. I seemed to see every detail of a hideous crime; on my ears there fell the soft lapping of the sea, and the splash as the body, divested of its silks and jewels, was hurled into the water as unceremoniously as offal by two brutal, stalwart negroes. Had not Zoraida been apprehensive of danger? Had she not told me frankly that her life was uncertain? Yet I had never dreamed of murder!
Alas! death comes swiftly sometimes to inmates of the harem. To-day Zuleika or Zohra, Kheira or Khadidja, may be the favourite, exercising power over her lord, and holding sway through him over the world outside her luxurious prison, but to-morrow she may be a corpse floating out with the tide into the lonely sea.
The sight of the dead hand was sickening. I could not bear it. Replacing the lid upon the box, I stood for a few moments in hesitation, then resolved to rid myself of the ghastly object that had been sent me by an unknown enemy. With the box under my arm, I went out into the glaring sunlight. Half-way across the broad Place, it occurred to me to find the mysterious house to which old Messoudia had conducted me, and with the severed member in my possession to seek an explanation. Did not our mutual pledges give me a right to demand knowledge of Zoraida’s welfare? If she had actually fallen a victim to the caprices of a monster, was it not my duty to investigate the affair, and bring to justice the perpetrator of the crime? With such thoughts I crossed the Jews’ quarter, and, ascending the long narrow Arab street, the Rue de la Kasbah, leading through the heart of the native quarter, was soon climbing with impatient steps the maze-like labyrinth of shady passages, with their low dark archways and great, gloomy, prison-like houses, among which I hoped to recognise the arched door again. I spent a weary, anxious afternoon. The air was sultry, the Arabs lay stretched on the benches in thekahouas, or, squatting lazily on the mats outside, were oblivious to their surroundings. Everything was sleepful. Shoemakers and embroiderers who had ceased work were dozing in their little dens, and as I trudged wearily onward, I passed only a solitary ass with heavily-laden panniers plodding on, followed leisurely by his master, who wore a jasmine flower behind his ear. The stillness was only broken by the far-off voices of some Arab urchins at their play, or ever and anon the thumping of thederboukaand the twanging of theguenibrifloating out of the small closely-barred windows of the harems fell upon my ears as I passed. Surely mine was an unique experience, wandering at will, and bearing with me the dead hand of the woman I loved!
The bright blue sea was like glass, the sky cloudless, and the whole world seemed at peace; yet I was the least peaceful. Carrying the casket containing the horrible souvenir, I stumbled onward, toiling aimlessly and in vain up through the gloomy, crooked passages. Feelings I had never before experienced assailed me with a force that first perplexed and then astounded me. I was afraid; and what rather heightened than diminished the unwonted sensation, was the fact that I was not afraid of anything tangible either in the present or the future, but of something mysterious and peculiar. Every sound jarred upon my nerves, causing the faintest murmur to seem like the utterance of a great dread, as awful as it was inexplicable.
Time after time, finding myself at the boundary of the Kasbah, I again turned and plunged into the narrow, crooked thoroughfares, hoping by wandering in this manner to discover the house to which I had been conducted. Alas! it was a forlorn hope. Messoudia had taken precautions in order that I should not be able to retrace my steps; besides, there were hundreds of houses with similar entrances, and though I strove to decide which was the mysterious residence I sought, I could detect absolutely nothing by which to identify it.
Terror shackled my steps. During those hot, anxious hours I several times traversed the streets from the winding Rue Rovigo to the Boulevard Valée on the opposite side of the town, exploring each of the narrow, ancient lanes lying between the Rue Bab Azzoun and the grim old citadel. Every effort to discover the house where I had spent such eventful hours failed, and at last entering akahoua, and having given the lounging Arabs “peace,” I sank upon a bench, and, placing the box beside me, called for coffee.
While the old Arab was brewing it on his tiled stove, a man in a ragged and rather soiled burnouse entered, and, after grunting a greeting, squatted near me, idly smoking his long haschish pipe. He was of rather forbidding countenance, with a thin black beard, and eyes that seemed to flame like torches.
Noticing that I had uttered a salutation in Arabic, one of the customers, a very old man, who was half reclining on a bench opposite me, gravely observed—
“It is not often that the Roumi speaketh our tongue.”
“No,” I replied, smiling. “But I have lived for many moons among thy clansmen, and have wandered far and wide in this thy Land of the Sun.”
My remark interested them, and was received with muttered satisfaction. As I wore European dress, I knew they viewed me with considerable suspicion.
“Hast thou travelled in the Great Desert?” the old man asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “With the caravans I have been over the Areg and the Sahara, and,” laughing, I added, “I have managed to escape from the clutches of Hadj Absalam—”
“Cursed be his name! May Allah never show him mercy!” interrupted the dark-faced man, who was smoking quietly beside me. I turned, surprised at such a vehement denunciation.
“I heard a rumour at Constantine the other day,” remarked my interrogator, “that his men have recently raided the caravan of Ali Ben Hafiz, and massacred the whole party.”
“That is quite correct,” I replied. “I was with them, and because of my Faith my life was spared so that I might be tortured. But I escaped, and returned hence.”
“Praise be unto the Prophet who hast preserved thee!” he said devoutly. “Indeed, Absalam’s people are a terror to all. Our brother Ali Ben Hafiz—may Allah show him mercy—was very well known here.”
“Yes. Very well known,” echoed half a dozen guttural voices.
“He often playeddammahere,” continued the old Arab, “and no man was more respected in the Kasbah than he.” Then, raising himself and pointing to the end of the low-roofed café, where on the walls hung grotesquely-executed texts from the Korân and gaudily-coloured pictures of the city of Mecca, he added, “See there! once while he was smoking in thiskahoua, a Roumi who chanced to come in drew that portrait. Dost thou recognise him?”
Interested, I rose and walked to where the little pencil sketch was hanging. Notwithstanding the dim light, I could see that the features of my dead friend were lifelike, and I deciphered in the corner the signature of one of our greatest living English artists.
“It is excellent. The expression on the features is exact,” I agreed, and, taking the coffee from the hand of thekahouaji, I sipped it, and gave him the ten centimes demanded.
Returning to my bench, I suddenly noticed that while my back had been turned to inspect the portrait, the dark-faced man who had entered after me had risen and quietly departed.
Next second I made a discovery.
“My box!” I gasped. “See! it has gone!It has been stolen!”
The Arabs, startled from their lethargy, exchanged black looks of disapproval, some of them muttering that True Believers would never pollute themselves by handling the treasure of Infidels.
“My box has been taken by that man who has just left!” I cried, rushing headlong out into the street, and glancing quickly up and down. But he had vanished like a shadow! No human being was in sight. Frantically I rushed about, peering eagerly into dark corners and gloomy archways in the vicinity, but the man, who had apparently been watching for an opportunity to obtain possession of the box, had disappeared in that bewildering maze of streets and left no trace behind!
At last re-entering thekahoua, the customers of which had now risen and were holding a very animated discussion over the dexterously accomplished robbery, I demanded if anyone present knew the man. Everyone, however, disclaimed acquaintance with him.
“He is an utter stranger,” said the old man who had been conversing with me. “To judge from his face, he cometh from the Areg.”
“Evidently he hath no friendship for Hadj Absalam,” observed one of the Arabs grimly, as in the midst of an exciting argument he stopped to light a cigarette, carefully extinguishing the match with his fingers.
“But my loss is irreparable. That box contained”—I hesitated. Then I added, “It contained great treasure.”
“May Allah consign the thief to Hâwiyat for ever!” exclaimed one of the men calmly.
“May the Prophet send thee consolation!” added another. “Against Fate thou canst not arm thyself,” observed a third. “May the entrails of the thief be burned!”
To such remarks I returned thanks, and, heedless of the questions they asked concerning the value of the contents of the stolen box, I stood deep in thought. Though the circumstances were somewhat suspicious that my attention should have been diverted in the manner it had, still there was no mistake that the portrait was actually that of my murdered friend; and, further, the thief had not, as far as I had noticed, spoken to any of those around him. Expert pilferers as the Arabs mostly are, I could not in this instance bring myself to believe that I had been the victim of a plot. Again, it was not a pleasant reflection that the thief might have stolen it thinking it contained valuables, and then, finding the hideous object inside, would in such a case most likely give information which would lead to my arrest for murder! My guilt would be assumed, and to prove my innocence I should experience considerable difficulty.
On the other hand, however, the circumstances pointed strongly to the theory that the ragged ruffian had dogged my footsteps in order to obtain possession of the casket. But for what reason? The box had been wrapped in brown paper, there being nothing whatever in its exterior to excite undue curiosity. Was it possible that the thief might have been aware of its contents? Was the possession of this startling evidence of a gruesome tragedy of imperative necessity? If so, why?
None of these questions could I answer. I felt that the robbery was not an ordinary one. It was an enigma that I could not solve. The hand, with its rings, had been stolen from me by one who was evidently an expert thief, and, recognising that any attempt to recover it was useless, I thanked the Arabs in thekahouafor their condolences, and left, turning my steps slowly towards the European quarter.
I recollected that I had promised Zoraida to set out that night on my journey into the distant Desert. Again and again her earnest words in her own musical tongue rang in my ears: “Thou wilt go for my sake,” she had said. “Remember the instructions I have given thee; and, above all, promise to seek no explanation of what thou mayest hear or see regarding me until thou hast returned from Agadez. Thou wilt undertake this mission in order to save my life, to rescue me from a horrible fate that threateneth to overwhelm me!”
Had she already succumbed to the fate she dreaded?
Utterly powerless to obtain any information that might lead to the elucidation of the extraordinary mystery, I at length, after calmly reviewing the situation over a cigarette under the palms in the Place Bresson, resolved to keep my promise to her, and before midnight I left the City of the Corsairs on the first stage of my long, tedious journey southward towards the sun.
The temptation to return to England and leave the mystery unsolved had indeed been great, yet I could not forget that I had pledged my word to a woman I loved better than life. She had declared that I alone could save her, and trusted me. These thoughts caused my decision to attempt the perilous journey. Is it not, indeed, true that sometimes beauty draws us with a single hair towards our doom?
Why, I wondered, had she been so intensely anxious that I should refrain from seeking any explanation of these strange, ever-deepening and perplexing mysteries? Her words and actions were those of a woman apprehensive of some terrible tragedy that she was powerless to avert; and even though I started that night from Algiers fully determined to learn the secret of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders I carried, and its bearing upon her welfare, yet that shrill, despairing cry I had heard after leaving her presence still sounded distinctly in my ears, the dolorous, agonised wail of the hapless victim of a hidden crime.
Chapter Twenty.After the Fâtiha.Again I found myself alone in the vast, sun-baked wilderness, where all is silent, and the pulse of life stands still.Twenty-eight hours over one of the most execrable railways in the world had taken me back to Biskra, where I remained a day, writing letters home to England, and otherwise making preparations for a lengthened absence from civilisation. Then, mounted on Zoraida’s fleet horse, I set forth for Tuggurt.Though the sun’s rays were scarcely as powerful as when I had travelled over the same ground three months before, yet the inconveniences and perils of the Desert were legion. In order that the Arabs I met should not deem me worth robbing, I cultivated a ragged appearance; my gandoura was of the coarsest quality worn by the Kabyles, my haick was soiled and torn, and my burnouse old and darned. I had purchased the clothing second-hand in the market-place at Biskra, and now wore a most woe-begone aspect, my only possession of value perceptible being a new magazine-rifle of British pattern. Yet stored away in my saddle-bags I had food, a fair sum of money, a more presentable burnouse, and, what was more precious than all, there reposed in its rotting, worm-eaten leather case that mysterious object, the Crescent of Glorious Wonders. Zoraida’s letter to theimam, however, I carried in my wallet in the pocket on the breast of my gandoura.Terribly wearying and monotonous that journey proved. Only those who have experienced the appalling silence and gigantic immensity of the Great Sahara can have any idea of the utter loneliness experienced by a man journeying without companions. In that dreary waste one is completely isolated from the world amid the most desolate and inhospitable surroundings, with the whitening bones of man and beast lying here and there, ever reminding him with gruesome vividness of the uncertainty of his own existence. Knowing, however, that I should be unlikely to fall in with a caravan travelling south until I reached El Biodh, I pushed onward, and after five days reached Tuggurt, where I was the welcome guest of Captain Carmier, the only European there, his Parisian lieutenant having gone into the Sidi Rachid Oasis in charge of some native recruits.As the captain and I sat together smoking and sipping our absinthe under the cool arcade with its horse-shoe arches that runs across the now deserted harem-garden of the Kasbah, I retailed to him the latest news I had picked up in Algiers.“We know nothing here in this uncivilised oven,” the officer said, laughing, and at the same time flicking some dust from off his braided coat-sleeve. “The Paris papers are always a fortnight to three weeks old, and, there being no postal service, I have to send to Biskra for them.”“But you have very comfortable quarters here,” I said.“Comfortable! Oh yes,” he replied; “but the life is abominably monotonous. I would rather be in command of an advanced post down in the south. There one leads a wild, free life and has plenty of enjoyment. Take Deschanel’s squadron of Spahis as an instance. You have already had some experience with them, so I need not describe the rollicking life they lead, scouring the plains in search of that daring old pirate, Hadj Absalam.”“Have you heard anything of the old chieftain lately?” I asked eagerly.“No. Since the sharp brush with Deschanel’s detachment he seems to have mysteriously disappeared. After the defeat of his band we did our best to capture him, feeling that with his power broken he would fall an easy prey. I at once organised detachments of Spahis, Chasseurs, and Turcos, who for nearly a month patrolled the Desert, made inquiries of all the neighbouring tribes, and did their utmost to discover the direction in which the fugitive had gone. But, as usual, all was in vain.”“Then he has again escaped you?”Carmier nodded, blowing a cloud of smoke upward from his lips. “He seems to move from one place to another imperceptibly, for when he flies he leaves not a clue by which he can be traced. Only last week the Sheikh of the Ourlana, who had just returned from Algiers, told me positively that he saw him, dressed as a Jew merchant, enjoying himself at one of the cafés on the Boulevard de la République. That, of course, isun conte en l’air. The old rascal may be daring, but he would never risk arrest by going to Algiers.”I remained silent. Was it not most likely that while Zoraida sojourned beside the sea, the Pirate of the Desert would be there also? I did not, however, tell him of my enchantress, but agreed with him that such an assertion was incredible. When presently my friend had invited me to remain with him a couple of days, and I had accepted, he suddenly asked me—“Where are you going when you leave here?”“To Agadez.”“To Agadez?” he echoed in concern. “You are not going alone? It is not safe. Surely the mere love of adventure has not induced you to set out on such a perilous ride?”“I am fulfilling an urgent mission,” I answered vaguely.“Bien! and one fraught with more dangers than you imagine. What possible object can you have in risking your life in journeying to the City of the Sorcerers, which, if all reports are true, is extremely unsafe for Christians on account of the fanatical character of the inhabitants?”“The object of my journey is a secret,” I said. “I have promised to attempt it, and must accomplish it at all hazards.”“And the person you have promised is a woman—eh?” he hazarded, laughing.“Who told you?” I asked, starting in surprise.“Oh, I merely guessed,” he answered. “But, speaking candidly, I would urge you most strongly to abandon the idea.”“I cannot,” I said. “All my happiness—my whole future depends upon whether I accomplish the journey successfully. Besides, I have not hesitated before to cross the Desert, why should I now?”“Because many of the regions through which you must pass to get to Assiou to join the route to Agadez are peopled by tribes intensely hostile. Their prejudice against Europeans is even greater than in Morocco, therefore it will require considerable courage to face such insurmountable barriers.”“It is not a question of courage,” I said; “it’s a matter of duty.”Scarcely had these words fallen from my lips when the quick clatter of horse’s hoofs sounded in the outer courtyard, and a few minutes later a Spahi orderly came towards us, saluting his officer, saying—“An Arab has arrived in haste from Es-Safla bearing important news.”“Bring him in,” Cannier replied.In a few moments a tall, thin, aquiline-featured Bedouin, dirty, stained by long travel, and wearing a very ragged burnouse, stalked in, and, wishing us peace, handed the captain a letter, which he tore open and immediately read.“Dieu!” he gasped, starting up. “A reverse! The Ennitra, with the Arabs of the Ouled Ba’ Hammou, have risen, and, attacking the Spahis and Chasseurs near Aïn Souf, massacred the whole of them! As far as is known, not a single man has survived, Paul Deschanel himself succumbing to his wounds a few hours after writing this report, which has been forwarded to me by the Sheikh of the Kel-Ahamellen, our friends. The slaughter must have been awful, for, according to the Sheikh’s letter, the enemy treated the wounded and prisoners with the most fiendish barbarity.”“Horrible!” I said. “Poor Deschanel! He was an excellent friend to me.”“He was good to everybody; one of the best soldiers serving under the Tricolour, poor fellow.” Then, turning to the Arab, who was unconcernedly rolling a cigarette, he thanked him for delivering his Sheikh’s message, and told the orderly to look after him. Again and again Carmier eagerly perused the report, penned in a shaky, uncertain hand by the dead officer, and, much affected, he read me extracts from the black record of treachery and brutal butchery, a record which spoke in the highest terms of the fearlessness of his men and the cool bravery they displayed, even though in face of the overwhelming hordes death was a foregone conclusion from the outset of the fight. The massacre had taken place at the well of Dhaya, where the Spahis had halted on their way to In Salah, and as they had been surrounded at night and cut up, it was evident that my friend Octave Uzanne, the man who had so nobly sacrificed everything in order that the woman he loved should live happily with her husband, had, alas! fallen.Indeed, I was filled with a grief no less poignant than that experienced by Carmier, when I remembered that those valiant comrades with whom I had fought side by side when we defeated Hadj Absalam’s piratical cut-throats in the Meskam had now been treacherously attacked and ruthlessly butchered. The captain, however, gave himself little time for reflection over the sad incident. Calling for writing materials, he sat down and penned an explanatory note to the General of Division, who happened to be at Biskra making his inspection. He recommended that a punitive expedition should be immediately dispatched into the hostile district, and stated, that if the War Department in Paris sanctioned it, he himself could furnish half the men.In an hour, a smart Spahi, with his rifle slung at his back over his scarlet burnouse, mounted his horse under the great arched gate of the Kasbah, and into his hands the captain gave the dispatch, ordering him to ride with all speed to Biskra, where, by travelling incessantly and changing his horse at five Arab villages he named, he could arrive within three days.The man, placing the letter in his capacious breast pocket, saluted, and, setting spurs in his horse, sped rapidly away; after which Carmier, pleading that he had some further dispatches to attend to, left me to wander at will through the great courts of the ancient fortress. Presently I came across the Arab who had brought the sad news from his Sheikh, and who, after his meal was now squatting under a shady arcade lazily smoking. Leaning against one of the twisted columns, I questioned him further upon the reverse, but he apparently knew very few of the actual facts. He told me that he intended to return to In Salah on the following day, and it at once occurred to me that we might be travelling companions as far as El Biodh. Knowing that this man, whose name I learnt was Gajére, was trustworthy, otherwise he would not have been sent by the friendly Sheikh, I suggested that we should perform the journey together, an arrangement which met with his heartiest approval.When themueddincalled from the tall minaret of the great white mosque at sundown, I watched the man of the Kel-Ahamellen wash his feet and hands in the courtyard and enter to recite his Fâtiha, and to ask Allah to give us peace upon our journey over the great barren plain where death is ever-present.Strangely enough, however, I chanced to be lounging with the captain near the gate of the Kasbah, when, an hour later, the devout Moslems came trooping out, and as I looked across to the narrow doorway, I saw Gajére emerge, accompanied by an unkempt-looking Arab whose face struck me as strangely familiar. The pair stood for a few moments hand in hand, engaged in excited conversation, until suddenly they detected my presence. Then, exchanging quick, significant looks and utteringslaamas, Gajére and his friend parted, the latter striding quickly away in an opposite direction, and, turning a corner, was soon lost to view. Notwithstanding the dim twilight, however, I had made an astounding discovery, for I recognised the man who had fled so quickly as the Arab who had sat next to me in the littlekahouain Algiers—the man who had stolen the cut-off hand!Had he followed me? If so, with what purpose? I felt convinced that his presence and his friendship with the man from the Desert boded evil, and throughout that night grimly-apprehensive thoughts caused me the most intense anxiety.By no mere coincidence was it that we should thus meet. The unkempt, fierce-looking ruffian had some sinister design in dogging my footsteps, and the nature of this object I was determined at all costs to ascertain. Therefore, I did not hesitate to adhere to previous arrangements, and, regardless of the consequences, I set out with Gajére.
Again I found myself alone in the vast, sun-baked wilderness, where all is silent, and the pulse of life stands still.
Twenty-eight hours over one of the most execrable railways in the world had taken me back to Biskra, where I remained a day, writing letters home to England, and otherwise making preparations for a lengthened absence from civilisation. Then, mounted on Zoraida’s fleet horse, I set forth for Tuggurt.
Though the sun’s rays were scarcely as powerful as when I had travelled over the same ground three months before, yet the inconveniences and perils of the Desert were legion. In order that the Arabs I met should not deem me worth robbing, I cultivated a ragged appearance; my gandoura was of the coarsest quality worn by the Kabyles, my haick was soiled and torn, and my burnouse old and darned. I had purchased the clothing second-hand in the market-place at Biskra, and now wore a most woe-begone aspect, my only possession of value perceptible being a new magazine-rifle of British pattern. Yet stored away in my saddle-bags I had food, a fair sum of money, a more presentable burnouse, and, what was more precious than all, there reposed in its rotting, worm-eaten leather case that mysterious object, the Crescent of Glorious Wonders. Zoraida’s letter to theimam, however, I carried in my wallet in the pocket on the breast of my gandoura.
Terribly wearying and monotonous that journey proved. Only those who have experienced the appalling silence and gigantic immensity of the Great Sahara can have any idea of the utter loneliness experienced by a man journeying without companions. In that dreary waste one is completely isolated from the world amid the most desolate and inhospitable surroundings, with the whitening bones of man and beast lying here and there, ever reminding him with gruesome vividness of the uncertainty of his own existence. Knowing, however, that I should be unlikely to fall in with a caravan travelling south until I reached El Biodh, I pushed onward, and after five days reached Tuggurt, where I was the welcome guest of Captain Carmier, the only European there, his Parisian lieutenant having gone into the Sidi Rachid Oasis in charge of some native recruits.
As the captain and I sat together smoking and sipping our absinthe under the cool arcade with its horse-shoe arches that runs across the now deserted harem-garden of the Kasbah, I retailed to him the latest news I had picked up in Algiers.
“We know nothing here in this uncivilised oven,” the officer said, laughing, and at the same time flicking some dust from off his braided coat-sleeve. “The Paris papers are always a fortnight to three weeks old, and, there being no postal service, I have to send to Biskra for them.”
“But you have very comfortable quarters here,” I said.
“Comfortable! Oh yes,” he replied; “but the life is abominably monotonous. I would rather be in command of an advanced post down in the south. There one leads a wild, free life and has plenty of enjoyment. Take Deschanel’s squadron of Spahis as an instance. You have already had some experience with them, so I need not describe the rollicking life they lead, scouring the plains in search of that daring old pirate, Hadj Absalam.”
“Have you heard anything of the old chieftain lately?” I asked eagerly.
“No. Since the sharp brush with Deschanel’s detachment he seems to have mysteriously disappeared. After the defeat of his band we did our best to capture him, feeling that with his power broken he would fall an easy prey. I at once organised detachments of Spahis, Chasseurs, and Turcos, who for nearly a month patrolled the Desert, made inquiries of all the neighbouring tribes, and did their utmost to discover the direction in which the fugitive had gone. But, as usual, all was in vain.”
“Then he has again escaped you?”
Carmier nodded, blowing a cloud of smoke upward from his lips. “He seems to move from one place to another imperceptibly, for when he flies he leaves not a clue by which he can be traced. Only last week the Sheikh of the Ourlana, who had just returned from Algiers, told me positively that he saw him, dressed as a Jew merchant, enjoying himself at one of the cafés on the Boulevard de la République. That, of course, isun conte en l’air. The old rascal may be daring, but he would never risk arrest by going to Algiers.”
I remained silent. Was it not most likely that while Zoraida sojourned beside the sea, the Pirate of the Desert would be there also? I did not, however, tell him of my enchantress, but agreed with him that such an assertion was incredible. When presently my friend had invited me to remain with him a couple of days, and I had accepted, he suddenly asked me—
“Where are you going when you leave here?”
“To Agadez.”
“To Agadez?” he echoed in concern. “You are not going alone? It is not safe. Surely the mere love of adventure has not induced you to set out on such a perilous ride?”
“I am fulfilling an urgent mission,” I answered vaguely.
“Bien! and one fraught with more dangers than you imagine. What possible object can you have in risking your life in journeying to the City of the Sorcerers, which, if all reports are true, is extremely unsafe for Christians on account of the fanatical character of the inhabitants?”
“The object of my journey is a secret,” I said. “I have promised to attempt it, and must accomplish it at all hazards.”
“And the person you have promised is a woman—eh?” he hazarded, laughing.
“Who told you?” I asked, starting in surprise.
“Oh, I merely guessed,” he answered. “But, speaking candidly, I would urge you most strongly to abandon the idea.”
“I cannot,” I said. “All my happiness—my whole future depends upon whether I accomplish the journey successfully. Besides, I have not hesitated before to cross the Desert, why should I now?”
“Because many of the regions through which you must pass to get to Assiou to join the route to Agadez are peopled by tribes intensely hostile. Their prejudice against Europeans is even greater than in Morocco, therefore it will require considerable courage to face such insurmountable barriers.”
“It is not a question of courage,” I said; “it’s a matter of duty.”
Scarcely had these words fallen from my lips when the quick clatter of horse’s hoofs sounded in the outer courtyard, and a few minutes later a Spahi orderly came towards us, saluting his officer, saying—
“An Arab has arrived in haste from Es-Safla bearing important news.”
“Bring him in,” Cannier replied.
In a few moments a tall, thin, aquiline-featured Bedouin, dirty, stained by long travel, and wearing a very ragged burnouse, stalked in, and, wishing us peace, handed the captain a letter, which he tore open and immediately read.
“Dieu!” he gasped, starting up. “A reverse! The Ennitra, with the Arabs of the Ouled Ba’ Hammou, have risen, and, attacking the Spahis and Chasseurs near Aïn Souf, massacred the whole of them! As far as is known, not a single man has survived, Paul Deschanel himself succumbing to his wounds a few hours after writing this report, which has been forwarded to me by the Sheikh of the Kel-Ahamellen, our friends. The slaughter must have been awful, for, according to the Sheikh’s letter, the enemy treated the wounded and prisoners with the most fiendish barbarity.”
“Horrible!” I said. “Poor Deschanel! He was an excellent friend to me.”
“He was good to everybody; one of the best soldiers serving under the Tricolour, poor fellow.” Then, turning to the Arab, who was unconcernedly rolling a cigarette, he thanked him for delivering his Sheikh’s message, and told the orderly to look after him. Again and again Carmier eagerly perused the report, penned in a shaky, uncertain hand by the dead officer, and, much affected, he read me extracts from the black record of treachery and brutal butchery, a record which spoke in the highest terms of the fearlessness of his men and the cool bravery they displayed, even though in face of the overwhelming hordes death was a foregone conclusion from the outset of the fight. The massacre had taken place at the well of Dhaya, where the Spahis had halted on their way to In Salah, and as they had been surrounded at night and cut up, it was evident that my friend Octave Uzanne, the man who had so nobly sacrificed everything in order that the woman he loved should live happily with her husband, had, alas! fallen.
Indeed, I was filled with a grief no less poignant than that experienced by Carmier, when I remembered that those valiant comrades with whom I had fought side by side when we defeated Hadj Absalam’s piratical cut-throats in the Meskam had now been treacherously attacked and ruthlessly butchered. The captain, however, gave himself little time for reflection over the sad incident. Calling for writing materials, he sat down and penned an explanatory note to the General of Division, who happened to be at Biskra making his inspection. He recommended that a punitive expedition should be immediately dispatched into the hostile district, and stated, that if the War Department in Paris sanctioned it, he himself could furnish half the men.
In an hour, a smart Spahi, with his rifle slung at his back over his scarlet burnouse, mounted his horse under the great arched gate of the Kasbah, and into his hands the captain gave the dispatch, ordering him to ride with all speed to Biskra, where, by travelling incessantly and changing his horse at five Arab villages he named, he could arrive within three days.
The man, placing the letter in his capacious breast pocket, saluted, and, setting spurs in his horse, sped rapidly away; after which Carmier, pleading that he had some further dispatches to attend to, left me to wander at will through the great courts of the ancient fortress. Presently I came across the Arab who had brought the sad news from his Sheikh, and who, after his meal was now squatting under a shady arcade lazily smoking. Leaning against one of the twisted columns, I questioned him further upon the reverse, but he apparently knew very few of the actual facts. He told me that he intended to return to In Salah on the following day, and it at once occurred to me that we might be travelling companions as far as El Biodh. Knowing that this man, whose name I learnt was Gajére, was trustworthy, otherwise he would not have been sent by the friendly Sheikh, I suggested that we should perform the journey together, an arrangement which met with his heartiest approval.
When themueddincalled from the tall minaret of the great white mosque at sundown, I watched the man of the Kel-Ahamellen wash his feet and hands in the courtyard and enter to recite his Fâtiha, and to ask Allah to give us peace upon our journey over the great barren plain where death is ever-present.
Strangely enough, however, I chanced to be lounging with the captain near the gate of the Kasbah, when, an hour later, the devout Moslems came trooping out, and as I looked across to the narrow doorway, I saw Gajére emerge, accompanied by an unkempt-looking Arab whose face struck me as strangely familiar. The pair stood for a few moments hand in hand, engaged in excited conversation, until suddenly they detected my presence. Then, exchanging quick, significant looks and utteringslaamas, Gajére and his friend parted, the latter striding quickly away in an opposite direction, and, turning a corner, was soon lost to view. Notwithstanding the dim twilight, however, I had made an astounding discovery, for I recognised the man who had fled so quickly as the Arab who had sat next to me in the littlekahouain Algiers—the man who had stolen the cut-off hand!
Had he followed me? If so, with what purpose? I felt convinced that his presence and his friendship with the man from the Desert boded evil, and throughout that night grimly-apprehensive thoughts caused me the most intense anxiety.
By no mere coincidence was it that we should thus meet. The unkempt, fierce-looking ruffian had some sinister design in dogging my footsteps, and the nature of this object I was determined at all costs to ascertain. Therefore, I did not hesitate to adhere to previous arrangements, and, regardless of the consequences, I set out with Gajére.
Chapter Twenty One.A Startling Revelation.Day after day for a whole fortnight Gajére and I rode onward together, passing through Temacin, El Hadjira, and the arid Chambâas region. Now and then we halted at Arab villages in the oases, but the greater part of our time was spent in the dry, waterless wilderness. He was an intelligent fellow, full of anecdote andbonhomie, a splendid horseman, and in every sense a typical Bedouin. Yet, somehow, I could not get rid of a strange feeling of insecurity such as I had scarcely ever before experienced.These vague apprehensions of impending evil were increased by an incident which occurred one night while we were sleeping under the little lean-to awning which served as a tent. We had halted at a small fertile oasis after we had been on our journey eight days, and under the cool waving palms had stretched ourselves for the night. I suppose I must have been asleep nearly two hours, my head pillowed upon the saddle-bag containing the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, when suddenly I was awakened by my companion stirring. In a moment I became filled with suspicion, and with bated breath lay—determined not to betray my watchfulness. Gajére at first sat up listening intently; then, as he bent over and found my eyes closed and my breathing heavy and regular, became apparently reassured. The little awning did not admit of one standing upright, but my treacherous fellow-traveller, moving slowly and noiselessly in order not to disturb me, bent once again to make certain that I had no knowledge of things about me.Those were anxious, exciting moments. With closed eyes I lay prostrate and helpless, well knowing the futility of a struggle with that sinewy son of the Desert, in whose grasp I should quickly be as helpless as a child. I was unable to draw my revolver without attracting his attention, and knew myself to be in a position of extreme peril. Unaware of his designs, I breathed heavily, and waited. Seconds seemed hours, for the terrible thought occurred to me that he was in league with the sinister-looking thief, and his object was murder. I felt assured that I was to fall the victim of a foul conspiracy.At last he rose, and, with his eyes still fixed upon me, drew from his sash his long curved knife with its carved handle. I shuddered. The edge of the murderous weapon was keen as a razor. Muttering some guttural malediction in Arabic, the exact purport of which I could not catch, he placed the knife between his teeth and suddenly turned and crept silently out upon his hands and knees, halting in front of the tent, as if listening. Was he waiting the advent of his fellow-conspirator before assassinating me? I strained my ears to catch every sound. Among the dense tropical foliage there were many strange noises; the distant cry of a jackal broke upon my ear, but I could detect no sound of human voices. Again a noise sounded quite close to me, and, stretching forth my hand, I grasped my revolver. The noise was receding, and by slightly turning I could see in the dim half-light the indistinct figure of Gajére creeping slowly away in the shadow as stealthily as a beast of prey.What could be his object? I wondered. That he meant murder was apparent by the readiness in which he held his knife, and as I was the only person besides himself in that lonely region, I confess I viewed the situation with mingled alarm and dread.Fully a quarter of an hour elapsed. The suspense was awful, for Gajére had now crept away, and was lost in the wild undergrowth of hulfa and aloes. Perhaps he had gone to give the signal to the scoundrel who had followed me from Algiers! Feeling that my revolver was fully loaded, I grasped it firmly, and lay on the alert in readiness to spring up and defend myself.The loneliness was appalling. Dismal howls came from the small pond where wild animals were drinking, but in the gloom I could detect no moving object, and began at last to think that my companion had deserted me. At length, however, he returned as quietly as he had departed. I expected to see a second dark form, but breathed more freely when I reassured myself that he was still alone. His knife had been replaced in its sheath, and after halting a few seconds, and holding his quick ear towards the wind so as to catch every sound, he entered, and, throwing himself down again beside me, was quickly asleep.I scarcely closed my eyes during the remainder of that night, fearing treachery, yet nothing further transpired to confirm my suspicions of his intention to assassinate me, and his mysterious actions puzzled me considerably.One evening at sundown, when we had halted two days distant from El Biodh, and we were eating our kousskouss together, I succeeded in inducing him to become more communicative about himself.“I was born and bred in the Desert,” he said, in answer to my inquiries. “The sand of the Areg was my cradle, and I have been a wanderer through the Sahara ever since.”“Have you no fixed abode?” I asked.“None; only my tent. We of the Kel-Ahamellen are no town-dwellers; the Desert is our home, and in the oases we seek our rest. Sometimes our caravans travel to El Golea or Touat, and at rare intervals even into Morocco, but our men are always glad to leave the towns and return to us. I, too, shall not be sorry to return to my wife and children, who are encamped with our tribe at the well of Tadjemoult. Next moon—if Allah willeth it—we shall set out on our yearly pilgrimage to Mount Hikena, under the shadow of which is the holy tomb of Azaká n Akkar—to whom may the Merciful give peace.”“I recollect,” I said at length, determined if possible to learn something of the man who had robbed me,—“I recollect that on the night before we turned our faces from Tuggurt, whilst leaving the mosque, thou wert in close conversation with a man. Who was he?”“A stranger,” he replied abruptly, glancing quickly at me with suspicion.“Not a stranger to me,” I said meaningly. “I recognised his face.”“Thou knowest him?” he exclaimed, surprised. “Then thou art forewarned to take precaution for thine own safety.”“Why?” I asked in alarm. “Surely thou hast not hidden from me thy knowledge of some impending evil?”“Thou art a Roumi, while I am a servant of the Prophet,” he answered. “Infidels are our enemies, and it is forbidden that we should warn our foe of our plans for attack.”“Is there danger, then? Doth this man bear me malice for nought?”“Know, O Roumi,” he said solemnly, “thou art indeed in grave peril. I should not tell thee, only the man who addressed me in the courtyard of the House of Allah made an infamous proposition to me, and afterwards I discovered that he was called Labakan, of the tribe of the Ennitra, and one of the most renowned cut-throats of Hadj Absalam, the Terror of the Desert.”“The Ennitra?” I cried. “And he is following me?”The Arab slowly nodded, rolling his cigarette thoughtfully. “What villainous proposal did he make to thee?” I demanded quickly.“He offered me a bag of gold to assist in thy murder,” my companion replied hesitatingly.“And thou hast refused—eh?”“Though we of the Kel-Ahamellen may thieve and plunder, we do not stain our hands with blood,” he said proudly. “The men under the green banner of Hadj Absalam have times without number attacked, murdered, and robbed us, carrying off our women to their harems, and selling our children into slavery beyond Lake Tsâd. This man called Labakan, son of Omar, who invited me to help him in his foul plot against thee, is the same who has acted as leader on many of those murderous expeditions.”“But why should he be so desirous of killing me?” I asked. “He explained that thou hadst on one occasion escaped from them after being taken prisoner, and that, hidden in thy saddle-bag thou hast a treasure of enormous value.”“Treasure? I have no treasure,” I said. “A man doth not carry his wealth with him when passing through the land of his enemies.”“Labakan said the treasure was neither gold, silver, nor precious stones, but that thou hadst in thy possession something which belonged to their tribe, and which they had solemnly sworn to regain, even though the attempt might cost the lives of those who followed thee. In further speech he told me that Hadj Absalam—the despot who ruleth his people with a rod of iron, and whom may the Merciful doom to all the horrors of Hâwiyat—had ordered him to follow thee to the ends of the earth to regain the lost treasure. If he succeeds, he is to obtain as a reward the most beautiful houri of the Desert Pirate’s harem, but if he doth not accomplish his mission successfully within twelve moons, his head will fall under the sword of the executioner.”“Did he tell thee of what this valuable treasure consists?”“No. He only said that if lost to his people it could never be replaced.”“And dost thou really think that this villain actually meaneth to obtain by foul means the contents of my saddle-bags?” I asked, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at this startling revelation.“Alas! I do. Of this, the most unscrupulous caitiff of the Ennitra, thou must beware. Take heed of thine own safety when we part. Never relax thy vigilance while in the land of Al-Islâm, and may the Merciful One guard thee in thy perilous journey to Agadez.”“Is this man Labakan alone, or is there a conspiracy to murder me?” I asked.“I am afraid, from what he hath told me, there is a widespread plot to compass thy death,” he said. “Apparently thou hast incensed them exceedingly by learning some strange secret which they desired should never be divulged. As death closes the mouth, Hadj Absalam hath ordered that thou shalt be slain. Under such circumstances I hardly think it wise that thou shouldst venture alone through the Valley of Aïr.”“It is imperative,” I answered; “I must not halt until I enter the gates of Agadez. To me also the result of my mission is a matter of life—or death.”“May thy treasure be preserved unto thee, and may Allah—the One Merciful to whom be boundless praise—give thee strength to overcome all thine enemies. May they be vanquished and be swept from the earth to the burning land of Al Sâhira like grains of sand before the sirocco,” said he earnestly, hitching up his burnouse.“I tender thee thanks for thy warning, Gajére,” I said. “For thy action thou wilt indeed receive the reward of the One Worthy of Praise, and drink of the waters of Al Cawthar, which are sweeter than honey, whiter than milk, and cooler than the snow.”“And thou wilt, I hope, believe some day that Allah is the One Lord of the Three Worlds, and that Mohammed is his Prophet,” he murmured devoutly, looking at me with his deep-set eyes.But I did not answer. I had no intention of entering upon a controversy on religious subjects, but sat pondering deeply over the plot against me, which evidently had for its object the recovery of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders. His suspicions of approaching attack had caused him to arise in the night, and, armed with his keen blade, reconnoitre for the crafty assassin. He was, after all, my friend and protector. How, I wondered, could Hadj Absalam know that the mysterious object was in my possession? Surely Zoraida had not told him? Yet might he not in his rage, after learning of the catastrophe his tribe had sustained by the loss of the Wonderful Crescent, have taken up a scimitar and struck off her hand?The thought was horrible.However fearless I might have been of the terrors of the Desert, I could not close my eyes to the fact that this murderous ruffian Labakan was going about offering as payment for my murder a bag of gold, and I knew that ere long an attempt upon my life would most surely be made. Mine was decidedly a most unenviable position, and when at El Biodh two days later, I bade farewell to my faithful friend Gajére, the earnest blessings he invoked upon me aroused within me an additionally apprehensive feeling of insecurity.This journey I had undertaken because of the passionate love I entertained for Zoraida, but I could not forget the grave prophecy of old Ali Ben Hafiz, when the Omen of the Camel’s Hoof had been revealed. Had he not told me that it was always fatal to love, and in the majority of instances fatal to the lover?Yet thoughts of Zoraida trusting in me gave me renewed courage, and I resolved to push onward to the south with a stout heart, and endeavour to gain the mysterious knowledge that was necessary to bring to us both the peace, happiness, and riches of this world.
Day after day for a whole fortnight Gajére and I rode onward together, passing through Temacin, El Hadjira, and the arid Chambâas region. Now and then we halted at Arab villages in the oases, but the greater part of our time was spent in the dry, waterless wilderness. He was an intelligent fellow, full of anecdote andbonhomie, a splendid horseman, and in every sense a typical Bedouin. Yet, somehow, I could not get rid of a strange feeling of insecurity such as I had scarcely ever before experienced.
These vague apprehensions of impending evil were increased by an incident which occurred one night while we were sleeping under the little lean-to awning which served as a tent. We had halted at a small fertile oasis after we had been on our journey eight days, and under the cool waving palms had stretched ourselves for the night. I suppose I must have been asleep nearly two hours, my head pillowed upon the saddle-bag containing the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, when suddenly I was awakened by my companion stirring. In a moment I became filled with suspicion, and with bated breath lay—determined not to betray my watchfulness. Gajére at first sat up listening intently; then, as he bent over and found my eyes closed and my breathing heavy and regular, became apparently reassured. The little awning did not admit of one standing upright, but my treacherous fellow-traveller, moving slowly and noiselessly in order not to disturb me, bent once again to make certain that I had no knowledge of things about me.
Those were anxious, exciting moments. With closed eyes I lay prostrate and helpless, well knowing the futility of a struggle with that sinewy son of the Desert, in whose grasp I should quickly be as helpless as a child. I was unable to draw my revolver without attracting his attention, and knew myself to be in a position of extreme peril. Unaware of his designs, I breathed heavily, and waited. Seconds seemed hours, for the terrible thought occurred to me that he was in league with the sinister-looking thief, and his object was murder. I felt assured that I was to fall the victim of a foul conspiracy.
At last he rose, and, with his eyes still fixed upon me, drew from his sash his long curved knife with its carved handle. I shuddered. The edge of the murderous weapon was keen as a razor. Muttering some guttural malediction in Arabic, the exact purport of which I could not catch, he placed the knife between his teeth and suddenly turned and crept silently out upon his hands and knees, halting in front of the tent, as if listening. Was he waiting the advent of his fellow-conspirator before assassinating me? I strained my ears to catch every sound. Among the dense tropical foliage there were many strange noises; the distant cry of a jackal broke upon my ear, but I could detect no sound of human voices. Again a noise sounded quite close to me, and, stretching forth my hand, I grasped my revolver. The noise was receding, and by slightly turning I could see in the dim half-light the indistinct figure of Gajére creeping slowly away in the shadow as stealthily as a beast of prey.
What could be his object? I wondered. That he meant murder was apparent by the readiness in which he held his knife, and as I was the only person besides himself in that lonely region, I confess I viewed the situation with mingled alarm and dread.
Fully a quarter of an hour elapsed. The suspense was awful, for Gajére had now crept away, and was lost in the wild undergrowth of hulfa and aloes. Perhaps he had gone to give the signal to the scoundrel who had followed me from Algiers! Feeling that my revolver was fully loaded, I grasped it firmly, and lay on the alert in readiness to spring up and defend myself.
The loneliness was appalling. Dismal howls came from the small pond where wild animals were drinking, but in the gloom I could detect no moving object, and began at last to think that my companion had deserted me. At length, however, he returned as quietly as he had departed. I expected to see a second dark form, but breathed more freely when I reassured myself that he was still alone. His knife had been replaced in its sheath, and after halting a few seconds, and holding his quick ear towards the wind so as to catch every sound, he entered, and, throwing himself down again beside me, was quickly asleep.
I scarcely closed my eyes during the remainder of that night, fearing treachery, yet nothing further transpired to confirm my suspicions of his intention to assassinate me, and his mysterious actions puzzled me considerably.
One evening at sundown, when we had halted two days distant from El Biodh, and we were eating our kousskouss together, I succeeded in inducing him to become more communicative about himself.
“I was born and bred in the Desert,” he said, in answer to my inquiries. “The sand of the Areg was my cradle, and I have been a wanderer through the Sahara ever since.”
“Have you no fixed abode?” I asked.
“None; only my tent. We of the Kel-Ahamellen are no town-dwellers; the Desert is our home, and in the oases we seek our rest. Sometimes our caravans travel to El Golea or Touat, and at rare intervals even into Morocco, but our men are always glad to leave the towns and return to us. I, too, shall not be sorry to return to my wife and children, who are encamped with our tribe at the well of Tadjemoult. Next moon—if Allah willeth it—we shall set out on our yearly pilgrimage to Mount Hikena, under the shadow of which is the holy tomb of Azaká n Akkar—to whom may the Merciful give peace.”
“I recollect,” I said at length, determined if possible to learn something of the man who had robbed me,—“I recollect that on the night before we turned our faces from Tuggurt, whilst leaving the mosque, thou wert in close conversation with a man. Who was he?”
“A stranger,” he replied abruptly, glancing quickly at me with suspicion.
“Not a stranger to me,” I said meaningly. “I recognised his face.”
“Thou knowest him?” he exclaimed, surprised. “Then thou art forewarned to take precaution for thine own safety.”
“Why?” I asked in alarm. “Surely thou hast not hidden from me thy knowledge of some impending evil?”
“Thou art a Roumi, while I am a servant of the Prophet,” he answered. “Infidels are our enemies, and it is forbidden that we should warn our foe of our plans for attack.”
“Is there danger, then? Doth this man bear me malice for nought?”
“Know, O Roumi,” he said solemnly, “thou art indeed in grave peril. I should not tell thee, only the man who addressed me in the courtyard of the House of Allah made an infamous proposition to me, and afterwards I discovered that he was called Labakan, of the tribe of the Ennitra, and one of the most renowned cut-throats of Hadj Absalam, the Terror of the Desert.”
“The Ennitra?” I cried. “And he is following me?”
The Arab slowly nodded, rolling his cigarette thoughtfully. “What villainous proposal did he make to thee?” I demanded quickly.
“He offered me a bag of gold to assist in thy murder,” my companion replied hesitatingly.
“And thou hast refused—eh?”
“Though we of the Kel-Ahamellen may thieve and plunder, we do not stain our hands with blood,” he said proudly. “The men under the green banner of Hadj Absalam have times without number attacked, murdered, and robbed us, carrying off our women to their harems, and selling our children into slavery beyond Lake Tsâd. This man called Labakan, son of Omar, who invited me to help him in his foul plot against thee, is the same who has acted as leader on many of those murderous expeditions.”
“But why should he be so desirous of killing me?” I asked. “He explained that thou hadst on one occasion escaped from them after being taken prisoner, and that, hidden in thy saddle-bag thou hast a treasure of enormous value.”
“Treasure? I have no treasure,” I said. “A man doth not carry his wealth with him when passing through the land of his enemies.”
“Labakan said the treasure was neither gold, silver, nor precious stones, but that thou hadst in thy possession something which belonged to their tribe, and which they had solemnly sworn to regain, even though the attempt might cost the lives of those who followed thee. In further speech he told me that Hadj Absalam—the despot who ruleth his people with a rod of iron, and whom may the Merciful doom to all the horrors of Hâwiyat—had ordered him to follow thee to the ends of the earth to regain the lost treasure. If he succeeds, he is to obtain as a reward the most beautiful houri of the Desert Pirate’s harem, but if he doth not accomplish his mission successfully within twelve moons, his head will fall under the sword of the executioner.”
“Did he tell thee of what this valuable treasure consists?”
“No. He only said that if lost to his people it could never be replaced.”
“And dost thou really think that this villain actually meaneth to obtain by foul means the contents of my saddle-bags?” I asked, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at this startling revelation.
“Alas! I do. Of this, the most unscrupulous caitiff of the Ennitra, thou must beware. Take heed of thine own safety when we part. Never relax thy vigilance while in the land of Al-Islâm, and may the Merciful One guard thee in thy perilous journey to Agadez.”
“Is this man Labakan alone, or is there a conspiracy to murder me?” I asked.
“I am afraid, from what he hath told me, there is a widespread plot to compass thy death,” he said. “Apparently thou hast incensed them exceedingly by learning some strange secret which they desired should never be divulged. As death closes the mouth, Hadj Absalam hath ordered that thou shalt be slain. Under such circumstances I hardly think it wise that thou shouldst venture alone through the Valley of Aïr.”
“It is imperative,” I answered; “I must not halt until I enter the gates of Agadez. To me also the result of my mission is a matter of life—or death.”
“May thy treasure be preserved unto thee, and may Allah—the One Merciful to whom be boundless praise—give thee strength to overcome all thine enemies. May they be vanquished and be swept from the earth to the burning land of Al Sâhira like grains of sand before the sirocco,” said he earnestly, hitching up his burnouse.
“I tender thee thanks for thy warning, Gajére,” I said. “For thy action thou wilt indeed receive the reward of the One Worthy of Praise, and drink of the waters of Al Cawthar, which are sweeter than honey, whiter than milk, and cooler than the snow.”
“And thou wilt, I hope, believe some day that Allah is the One Lord of the Three Worlds, and that Mohammed is his Prophet,” he murmured devoutly, looking at me with his deep-set eyes.
But I did not answer. I had no intention of entering upon a controversy on religious subjects, but sat pondering deeply over the plot against me, which evidently had for its object the recovery of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders. His suspicions of approaching attack had caused him to arise in the night, and, armed with his keen blade, reconnoitre for the crafty assassin. He was, after all, my friend and protector. How, I wondered, could Hadj Absalam know that the mysterious object was in my possession? Surely Zoraida had not told him? Yet might he not in his rage, after learning of the catastrophe his tribe had sustained by the loss of the Wonderful Crescent, have taken up a scimitar and struck off her hand?
The thought was horrible.
However fearless I might have been of the terrors of the Desert, I could not close my eyes to the fact that this murderous ruffian Labakan was going about offering as payment for my murder a bag of gold, and I knew that ere long an attempt upon my life would most surely be made. Mine was decidedly a most unenviable position, and when at El Biodh two days later, I bade farewell to my faithful friend Gajére, the earnest blessings he invoked upon me aroused within me an additionally apprehensive feeling of insecurity.
This journey I had undertaken because of the passionate love I entertained for Zoraida, but I could not forget the grave prophecy of old Ali Ben Hafiz, when the Omen of the Camel’s Hoof had been revealed. Had he not told me that it was always fatal to love, and in the majority of instances fatal to the lover?
Yet thoughts of Zoraida trusting in me gave me renewed courage, and I resolved to push onward to the south with a stout heart, and endeavour to gain the mysterious knowledge that was necessary to bring to us both the peace, happiness, and riches of this world.
Chapter Twenty Two.Mákita’s Enemies.Though I sought the advice of the cadi of the strange old Arab town of El Biodh, and also explained my desire to several of the Sheikhs whom I met, I could hear of no one going in my direction. To set out into the naked Desert alone would, I knew, be a most foolish proceeding, therefore I could do nothing but wait until, through the good offices of a man to whom Gajére introduced me before his departure, I obtained permission to accompany a caravan of the tribe Kel-Imanan, whose chief town is Djanet, about two hundred miles on my route, and one morning, after I had remained as the guest of the friendly Arab for a week, I once more found myself on the back of a camel, and from my elevated seat cast a last glance over the pleasant picture presented by the oasis.(The word “Kel” denotes the habitual residents of a Saharan district.)Our caravan, headed by the Sheikh Mákita, numbered about ninety souls, and included men, women, and children, who with fifty camels had been to In Salah with salt and dates, and were now returning with cotton and silk goods, which would eventually find their way into the country in the far south beyond Lake Tsâd. Mákita and I were soon very good friends, but from the moment we started I observed that he ruled his people in a most despotic manner. They were Children of the Sun, with whom theft is no crime, and revenge is virtue.The first hours of our journey were pleasant enough, for we passed through a beautiful palm-grove bordered by scattered gardens, where the people were busy in the cool of the morning irrigating the corn and vegetables. They came out to see us depart, but without expressing any feeling, hostile or otherwise. After a mile and a half the plantation ceased, and presently we entered a luxurious valley between three and four miles broad, rich in herbage and full of ethel trees, which crowned the tops of small mounds. Several other valleys, rich in sebót and adorned with talha trees, brought us to the well of Gara Beïda, where we encamped for the night at the foot of some cliffs of considerable height, which were to be ascended on the following day.Commencing our task at dawn, we found the precipitous path wound through loose blocks, and the ascent proved most difficult. The loads had in many instances to be taken off the camels, and we all had to climb on foot up the steep, narrow way over the rugged red sandstone. The ascent took over two hours, and at last we found ourselves on a great rocky level destitute of herbage, stretching away as far as the eye could reach. This region was the wildest, most barren, and most difficult to traverse that I had ever experienced, and it was then that I realised the wisdom of old Mákita, who had prevailed upon me to leave Zoraida’s horse behind and mount a camel.Very slow and tedious our journey proved for four days, the rough nature of the ground making it exceedingly difficult for the camels, until on the fifth day we began to descend by a narrow rocky ravine into a deeper region, amid scenery that was grander than I expected to find in that arid country. Here I saw plants and flowers, the most noticeable among the latter being one that grew about twenty feet high, bearing a white and violet flower which my Arab companions called “tursha.” There were also the jadariyeh, the shiá, and the damankádda and dum palms, all of which, however, are familiar to the traveller in the Great Sahara. There was a small torrent too, the bed of which was overgrown by wild melons, and beside the rippling water we halted for the night, prior to moving out into the wilderness again.Few, however, moved far from the camp that evening, for my dark-faced companions spoke with timorous exclamations of the numbers of lions which infested the valleys. While the camels browsed greedily upon the fresh allwot, the monotony of the evening was relieved by performances by Mákita’s musicians and the dancing of several Soudanese slave girls.On the following day we entered a much wilder country, and for a week we plodded on over the hot dry sand, during which time we only came across one well. The sun was blazing, its fiery rays beating down upon us more fiercely as we travelled further south. The choking clouds of sand raised by the camels, the inability to wash, and the continual consuming thirst, were some of the many discomforts we had to bear. Within sight of a great barren peak called Mount Telout, rising dark and rugged some three thousand feet above the level of the trackless, sandy waste, we passed, and entered the inhospitable country of the Izhaban. Not until a few days later, when we had halted at a well called Djerdeb for our noonday rest, did Mákita coolly inform me that the country through which we were passing was the territory of a slave-raiding tribe, the Kel-Fadê, who had on several occasions besieged their town Djanet, and had even gone so far as to threaten Rhât, the principal town of the Northern Touareg.“But dost thou apprehend attack?” I asked concernedly, as we squatted together under the shadow of a tree, a little apart from the others.“It is as Allah willeth it,” he replied gravely, stroking his grey beard and taking a deliberate pull at his long pipe. “One of the camel-drivers, however, hath declared that he detected a horseman of the Kel-Fadê in hiding in the valley through which we passed two days ago. It is possible that he is a scout; if so, we may find ourselves compelled to fight.”“Was it absolutely necessary to pass through this region? Could we not have avoided it?”“No. On the plain called Admar neither man nor beast can exist, for there are no wells, and the region remaineth unexplored. In a week we shall enter the gates of Djanet. Till then, we must be vigilant and watch warily, lest we are surprised. If we were, it would peradventure mean death or slavery for all of us.”This was not reassuring. Previous experience had taught me how deadly were the feuds between the various desert tribes possessed of souls of fire, and how fierce and sanguinary were the struggles when collisions occurred. I had not forgotten the swift, awful fate of the caravan of Ali Ben Hafiz, nor the bloody combat with the fierce freebooters of Hadj Absalam; and when I reflected that the packs of our camels contained very valuable merchandise, and that nearly a quarter of the number comprising our party were women and children, I confess I had some misgivings.As the succeeding days passed in perfect security, and as the Sheikh, to judge by his jubilant manner, considered that the danger of attack was over, the apprehensions passed entirely from my mind. Though the heat was intense and the journey monotonous, our long string of camels plodded onward at the same slow, measured pace day after day, regardless of the fiery sun. At night in the moonlight, when the wind blew in short refreshing gusts, the camel-drivers would sit and playdamma, the women would chatter and scold their children, and the musicians would twang weird Arab airs upon their queer-shaped instruments or thump on theirderboukas, while ebon-faced damsels danced on the mat spread for them. Indeed, under night’s blue arch life in a desert encampment has an indescribable charm that is irresistible to those of roving disposition, to whom the hum of cities is a torture and who have thrown off the conventional gyves of civilisation to wander south beyond the Atlas.In the dull crimson light of the dying day, that made the foliage of the palms and talha trees look black as funeral plumes above us, we halted at the well of Zarzäoua in a small oasis in the centre of a wild rocky district known to the Arabs as the Adrar. It was, the Sheikh informed me, only three days distant from Djanet, and the approaching termination of the journey, which had extended over four months, put everyone in a good humour. On the morrow we should cross the boundary, and my companions would enter their own country; then the remainder of the journey to their town would be devoid of danger.At the hour of prayer each of our men prostrated himself towards Mecca, and old Mákita, a very devout and bigoted Moslem with Time’s deep furrows on his brows, cried aloud the following words, which were repeated by his people, who at the end of every sentence kissed the ground.“O Allah! bless and preserve and increase and perpetuate and benefit and be propitious to our Lord Mohammed and to his family and to his Companions, and be Thou their preserver. O Allah! these Thy people are delivered. One and all, may Thy Blessing rest upon us. O Allah! pardon our sins and veil our faults, and place not over us one who feareth not Thee, and who pitieth not us, and pardon us and the True Believers, men and women, the quick of them and the dead, for verily Thou, O Allah, art the hearer, the near to us, and the answerer of our supplications.”Then, after reciting the testification, and drawing their palms down their faces, they went through a two-bow prayer, and the devotions, throughout exceedingly impressive, ended.Immediately there was bustle and activity. Camels were lightened of their packs and allowed to browse at will upon the long oat grass, a tent was quickly pitched for the Sheikh, a fire was kindled, the kousskouss was cooked, and as the dim twilight darkened into night and the moon’s rays shone like silver through the feathery palms, sounds of singing and revelry awakened the echoes of the fertile grove. Mákita and I had given ourselves up to cigarettes and calm repose as we squatted on a mat and lazily watched the terpsichorean efforts of a thick-lipped young negress, whose movements were exceedingly graceful as compared with those who had on previous evenings essayed the same performance for our entertainment. The cool breeze fanning my sun-seared cheeks gave me a feeling of perfect peace and ease after the heat and burden of the long weary day, and lolling upon the cushions spread for me, the monotonous chant of the people assembled and the measured thumping of tom-toms almost lulled me to sleep.Suddenly the sound of a shot startled us.The music ceased, and the men, with ears alert, exchanged quick glances. Loud fiendish yells rent the air, and in a moment, almost before anyone could seize a gun, a hundred dark-visaged horsemen, with their white burnouses flowing behind, swept down upon us, firing their long rifles indiscriminately and shouting the most horrible maledictions.Within a few seconds a fierce fight had commenced. The shrieking women and children flew into the thick dark undergrowth, while the men, seizing their arms and obtaining cover where they could, kept up a sharp fusillade, which had its effect in temporarily checking our assailants. Fortunately my magazine-rifle was at hand, and it proved a most deadly weapon. Our men were mostly splendid shots, but the enemy, who proved to be the Kel-Fadê, had the advantage of vastly superior numbers.The fight was desperate. Dismounting, and leaving a dozen of their number lying dead, our enemy withdrew among the palms, whence they poured upon us a galling fire. Mákita and I, lying on the ground beside each other, discharged our rifles steadily whenever a white-robed figure showed itself among the trees. Without betraying any fear, the old Arab reloaded time after time and shot as coolly as if gazelle-hunting, an example that was followed by his men, some of whom, however, were falling under the quick volleys from the enemy.For fully a quarter of an hour the fight continued, when suddenly loud triumphant yells burst forth as a second party of horsemen rode down upon us. Then we knew defeat was inevitable. Against nearly two hundred Arabs armed to the teeth we could make no further stand, yet, as the reinforcements dashed among us, our men sprang up, and a second later a dozen horses were riderless. Again and again rifles rang out and men fell to earth mortally wounded, but the steady fire from the palms opposite was playing fearful havoc among us, and my companions were each moment falling back lifeless. Yet not a man was dismayed; each, struggling desperately for his life, bore his part in the hasty defence. Considering the suddenness and vigour of the attack, it was indeed surprising that we could offer such a stubborn resistance, for up to the present the losses of our assailants were much heavier than ours; nevertheless, by degrees, the firing of the Kel-Fadê grew more rapid, and was, alas! more effectual.Once the hostile Arabs made a rush in our direction, but we were prepared. Having my magazine fully loaded at that moment, my rifle proved an effective addition to those of my companions, but again and again the effort of the enemy was repeated, and though some men fell every time, they at last succeeded in rushing right in upon us.Standing in deadly peril, each moment was one of the most intense excitement, when in the dark shadow rifles flashed, and hoarse, fierce yells sounded above the firing as the tall Arabs dashed forward to secure us as prisoners. The struggle was desperate, literally hand to hand, when suddenly I heard a loud wail, and the Sheikh dropped his rifle, stumbled forward, and fell heavily to the ground. Then, for the first time, I remembered that the Crescent of Glorious Wonders—my treasure which if lost could never be replaced—was in my camel’s pack, lying with the others about two hundred yards from where I stood! Turning, I saw in dismay that a number of the Kel-Fadê had already cut open the packages of merchandise and were examining their booty. Covering one of the men with my rifle, I picked him off, but as he fell, I saw that at a little distance from the others a tall thin Arab had opened my pack and was rifling it.Meanwhile by the death of Mákita my companions had become demoralised. They saw that to attempt to drive off their assailants was an utterly forlorn hope, for though they never relaxed their fire for a moment, yet half of their number were lying dead or wounded, and most of the women and children were in the hands of their deadly enemy. A fight between these Sons of the Desert is always a stubbornly-contested butchery, and this was no exception. My friends made a gallant stand against an enemy treble their strength, but at last the brave fellows felt themselves overpowered, and suddenly acknowledged their enemy’s superiority, although they fought on hand-to-hand to the very last. In the awfulmêléeI found myself close to where the camels’ packs were piled.The tall thin-faced Arab who had been turning over my saddle-bag drew forth the old leather case, tore it open, and took out the Crescent. Holding it in his hands, he regarded it with evident curiosity, but in an instant I sprang upon him. The knowledge of its value as the means of securing to Zoraida and myself peace and happiness gave me courage and a strength almost demoniacal. Indeed, I was surprised at my own actions, for, falling upon him, I snatched the mysterious object from his grasp, and ere he could raise his flashing blade, I had drawn the knife from my sash and buried it in his breast.The moment was one of desperation. I had struck the blow unerringly, and with a loud cry he fell backward a corpse.Ere I could recover from the shock my deed caused me, I felt myself seized by three stalwart Arabs, whose fierce, determined faces told me I need expect no mercy, and though I struggled violently, cords were quickly slipped upon my wrists, and in a moment I found myself helpless as a babe.Though I clung to the Crescent of Glorious Wonders with all the strength I possessed, it was wrenched from my grasp from behind, and that so quickly in the confusion and horrible bloodshed that I failed to discover into whose possession it had passed!My heart sank within me and I became filled with dark, gloomy forebodings. The treasure that had been confided to my safe custody by Zoraida I had lost, and with it had vanished in an instant all hope of winning her! Had not she plainly told me that the successful accomplishment of my mission would save her life?—yet I had now lost the strangely-shaped steel, the mystic properties of which were known to only two persons in the world!Was this dire catastrophe prophetic of the end?In those few seconds the hope that for so many weeks had buoyed me and incited me to push determinedly onward to my goal; the anticipations that some day I should return to civilisation and claim as my wife the most lovely woman I had ever gazed upon, were shattered by this double disaster that had so suddenly befallen me.While the Crescent remained in my possession, and I was free to journey southward, there was still, I felt, a possibility of some day reaching Agadez. With my treasure filched from me the object of my journey had, however, gone. Though I had travelled so many weary miles towards the City of the Sorcerers, my efforts on Zoraida’s behalf were thus rendered entirely futile, and reflection only filled me with such black dismay and despair, that, had not my knife been wrested from me, I verily believe I should have dealt myself a fatal blow.My zealously-guarded treasure had in a second passed from my keeping into unknown hands that would most probably toss it away as worthless, yet how could I recover it now that I had been captured by these fierce, brutal slave-raiders, who were reputed to be among the most merciless of the wild freebooters of the Desert?The disaster overwhelmed me. Bound hand and foot, I stood powerless in the hands of my enemies. The morrow’s sun to me might never rise!
Though I sought the advice of the cadi of the strange old Arab town of El Biodh, and also explained my desire to several of the Sheikhs whom I met, I could hear of no one going in my direction. To set out into the naked Desert alone would, I knew, be a most foolish proceeding, therefore I could do nothing but wait until, through the good offices of a man to whom Gajére introduced me before his departure, I obtained permission to accompany a caravan of the tribe Kel-Imanan, whose chief town is Djanet, about two hundred miles on my route, and one morning, after I had remained as the guest of the friendly Arab for a week, I once more found myself on the back of a camel, and from my elevated seat cast a last glance over the pleasant picture presented by the oasis.
(The word “Kel” denotes the habitual residents of a Saharan district.)
Our caravan, headed by the Sheikh Mákita, numbered about ninety souls, and included men, women, and children, who with fifty camels had been to In Salah with salt and dates, and were now returning with cotton and silk goods, which would eventually find their way into the country in the far south beyond Lake Tsâd. Mákita and I were soon very good friends, but from the moment we started I observed that he ruled his people in a most despotic manner. They were Children of the Sun, with whom theft is no crime, and revenge is virtue.
The first hours of our journey were pleasant enough, for we passed through a beautiful palm-grove bordered by scattered gardens, where the people were busy in the cool of the morning irrigating the corn and vegetables. They came out to see us depart, but without expressing any feeling, hostile or otherwise. After a mile and a half the plantation ceased, and presently we entered a luxurious valley between three and four miles broad, rich in herbage and full of ethel trees, which crowned the tops of small mounds. Several other valleys, rich in sebót and adorned with talha trees, brought us to the well of Gara Beïda, where we encamped for the night at the foot of some cliffs of considerable height, which were to be ascended on the following day.
Commencing our task at dawn, we found the precipitous path wound through loose blocks, and the ascent proved most difficult. The loads had in many instances to be taken off the camels, and we all had to climb on foot up the steep, narrow way over the rugged red sandstone. The ascent took over two hours, and at last we found ourselves on a great rocky level destitute of herbage, stretching away as far as the eye could reach. This region was the wildest, most barren, and most difficult to traverse that I had ever experienced, and it was then that I realised the wisdom of old Mákita, who had prevailed upon me to leave Zoraida’s horse behind and mount a camel.
Very slow and tedious our journey proved for four days, the rough nature of the ground making it exceedingly difficult for the camels, until on the fifth day we began to descend by a narrow rocky ravine into a deeper region, amid scenery that was grander than I expected to find in that arid country. Here I saw plants and flowers, the most noticeable among the latter being one that grew about twenty feet high, bearing a white and violet flower which my Arab companions called “tursha.” There were also the jadariyeh, the shiá, and the damankádda and dum palms, all of which, however, are familiar to the traveller in the Great Sahara. There was a small torrent too, the bed of which was overgrown by wild melons, and beside the rippling water we halted for the night, prior to moving out into the wilderness again.
Few, however, moved far from the camp that evening, for my dark-faced companions spoke with timorous exclamations of the numbers of lions which infested the valleys. While the camels browsed greedily upon the fresh allwot, the monotony of the evening was relieved by performances by Mákita’s musicians and the dancing of several Soudanese slave girls.
On the following day we entered a much wilder country, and for a week we plodded on over the hot dry sand, during which time we only came across one well. The sun was blazing, its fiery rays beating down upon us more fiercely as we travelled further south. The choking clouds of sand raised by the camels, the inability to wash, and the continual consuming thirst, were some of the many discomforts we had to bear. Within sight of a great barren peak called Mount Telout, rising dark and rugged some three thousand feet above the level of the trackless, sandy waste, we passed, and entered the inhospitable country of the Izhaban. Not until a few days later, when we had halted at a well called Djerdeb for our noonday rest, did Mákita coolly inform me that the country through which we were passing was the territory of a slave-raiding tribe, the Kel-Fadê, who had on several occasions besieged their town Djanet, and had even gone so far as to threaten Rhât, the principal town of the Northern Touareg.
“But dost thou apprehend attack?” I asked concernedly, as we squatted together under the shadow of a tree, a little apart from the others.
“It is as Allah willeth it,” he replied gravely, stroking his grey beard and taking a deliberate pull at his long pipe. “One of the camel-drivers, however, hath declared that he detected a horseman of the Kel-Fadê in hiding in the valley through which we passed two days ago. It is possible that he is a scout; if so, we may find ourselves compelled to fight.”
“Was it absolutely necessary to pass through this region? Could we not have avoided it?”
“No. On the plain called Admar neither man nor beast can exist, for there are no wells, and the region remaineth unexplored. In a week we shall enter the gates of Djanet. Till then, we must be vigilant and watch warily, lest we are surprised. If we were, it would peradventure mean death or slavery for all of us.”
This was not reassuring. Previous experience had taught me how deadly were the feuds between the various desert tribes possessed of souls of fire, and how fierce and sanguinary were the struggles when collisions occurred. I had not forgotten the swift, awful fate of the caravan of Ali Ben Hafiz, nor the bloody combat with the fierce freebooters of Hadj Absalam; and when I reflected that the packs of our camels contained very valuable merchandise, and that nearly a quarter of the number comprising our party were women and children, I confess I had some misgivings.
As the succeeding days passed in perfect security, and as the Sheikh, to judge by his jubilant manner, considered that the danger of attack was over, the apprehensions passed entirely from my mind. Though the heat was intense and the journey monotonous, our long string of camels plodded onward at the same slow, measured pace day after day, regardless of the fiery sun. At night in the moonlight, when the wind blew in short refreshing gusts, the camel-drivers would sit and playdamma, the women would chatter and scold their children, and the musicians would twang weird Arab airs upon their queer-shaped instruments or thump on theirderboukas, while ebon-faced damsels danced on the mat spread for them. Indeed, under night’s blue arch life in a desert encampment has an indescribable charm that is irresistible to those of roving disposition, to whom the hum of cities is a torture and who have thrown off the conventional gyves of civilisation to wander south beyond the Atlas.
In the dull crimson light of the dying day, that made the foliage of the palms and talha trees look black as funeral plumes above us, we halted at the well of Zarzäoua in a small oasis in the centre of a wild rocky district known to the Arabs as the Adrar. It was, the Sheikh informed me, only three days distant from Djanet, and the approaching termination of the journey, which had extended over four months, put everyone in a good humour. On the morrow we should cross the boundary, and my companions would enter their own country; then the remainder of the journey to their town would be devoid of danger.
At the hour of prayer each of our men prostrated himself towards Mecca, and old Mákita, a very devout and bigoted Moslem with Time’s deep furrows on his brows, cried aloud the following words, which were repeated by his people, who at the end of every sentence kissed the ground.
“O Allah! bless and preserve and increase and perpetuate and benefit and be propitious to our Lord Mohammed and to his family and to his Companions, and be Thou their preserver. O Allah! these Thy people are delivered. One and all, may Thy Blessing rest upon us. O Allah! pardon our sins and veil our faults, and place not over us one who feareth not Thee, and who pitieth not us, and pardon us and the True Believers, men and women, the quick of them and the dead, for verily Thou, O Allah, art the hearer, the near to us, and the answerer of our supplications.”
Then, after reciting the testification, and drawing their palms down their faces, they went through a two-bow prayer, and the devotions, throughout exceedingly impressive, ended.
Immediately there was bustle and activity. Camels were lightened of their packs and allowed to browse at will upon the long oat grass, a tent was quickly pitched for the Sheikh, a fire was kindled, the kousskouss was cooked, and as the dim twilight darkened into night and the moon’s rays shone like silver through the feathery palms, sounds of singing and revelry awakened the echoes of the fertile grove. Mákita and I had given ourselves up to cigarettes and calm repose as we squatted on a mat and lazily watched the terpsichorean efforts of a thick-lipped young negress, whose movements were exceedingly graceful as compared with those who had on previous evenings essayed the same performance for our entertainment. The cool breeze fanning my sun-seared cheeks gave me a feeling of perfect peace and ease after the heat and burden of the long weary day, and lolling upon the cushions spread for me, the monotonous chant of the people assembled and the measured thumping of tom-toms almost lulled me to sleep.
Suddenly the sound of a shot startled us.
The music ceased, and the men, with ears alert, exchanged quick glances. Loud fiendish yells rent the air, and in a moment, almost before anyone could seize a gun, a hundred dark-visaged horsemen, with their white burnouses flowing behind, swept down upon us, firing their long rifles indiscriminately and shouting the most horrible maledictions.
Within a few seconds a fierce fight had commenced. The shrieking women and children flew into the thick dark undergrowth, while the men, seizing their arms and obtaining cover where they could, kept up a sharp fusillade, which had its effect in temporarily checking our assailants. Fortunately my magazine-rifle was at hand, and it proved a most deadly weapon. Our men were mostly splendid shots, but the enemy, who proved to be the Kel-Fadê, had the advantage of vastly superior numbers.
The fight was desperate. Dismounting, and leaving a dozen of their number lying dead, our enemy withdrew among the palms, whence they poured upon us a galling fire. Mákita and I, lying on the ground beside each other, discharged our rifles steadily whenever a white-robed figure showed itself among the trees. Without betraying any fear, the old Arab reloaded time after time and shot as coolly as if gazelle-hunting, an example that was followed by his men, some of whom, however, were falling under the quick volleys from the enemy.
For fully a quarter of an hour the fight continued, when suddenly loud triumphant yells burst forth as a second party of horsemen rode down upon us. Then we knew defeat was inevitable. Against nearly two hundred Arabs armed to the teeth we could make no further stand, yet, as the reinforcements dashed among us, our men sprang up, and a second later a dozen horses were riderless. Again and again rifles rang out and men fell to earth mortally wounded, but the steady fire from the palms opposite was playing fearful havoc among us, and my companions were each moment falling back lifeless. Yet not a man was dismayed; each, struggling desperately for his life, bore his part in the hasty defence. Considering the suddenness and vigour of the attack, it was indeed surprising that we could offer such a stubborn resistance, for up to the present the losses of our assailants were much heavier than ours; nevertheless, by degrees, the firing of the Kel-Fadê grew more rapid, and was, alas! more effectual.
Once the hostile Arabs made a rush in our direction, but we were prepared. Having my magazine fully loaded at that moment, my rifle proved an effective addition to those of my companions, but again and again the effort of the enemy was repeated, and though some men fell every time, they at last succeeded in rushing right in upon us.
Standing in deadly peril, each moment was one of the most intense excitement, when in the dark shadow rifles flashed, and hoarse, fierce yells sounded above the firing as the tall Arabs dashed forward to secure us as prisoners. The struggle was desperate, literally hand to hand, when suddenly I heard a loud wail, and the Sheikh dropped his rifle, stumbled forward, and fell heavily to the ground. Then, for the first time, I remembered that the Crescent of Glorious Wonders—my treasure which if lost could never be replaced—was in my camel’s pack, lying with the others about two hundred yards from where I stood! Turning, I saw in dismay that a number of the Kel-Fadê had already cut open the packages of merchandise and were examining their booty. Covering one of the men with my rifle, I picked him off, but as he fell, I saw that at a little distance from the others a tall thin Arab had opened my pack and was rifling it.
Meanwhile by the death of Mákita my companions had become demoralised. They saw that to attempt to drive off their assailants was an utterly forlorn hope, for though they never relaxed their fire for a moment, yet half of their number were lying dead or wounded, and most of the women and children were in the hands of their deadly enemy. A fight between these Sons of the Desert is always a stubbornly-contested butchery, and this was no exception. My friends made a gallant stand against an enemy treble their strength, but at last the brave fellows felt themselves overpowered, and suddenly acknowledged their enemy’s superiority, although they fought on hand-to-hand to the very last. In the awfulmêléeI found myself close to where the camels’ packs were piled.
The tall thin-faced Arab who had been turning over my saddle-bag drew forth the old leather case, tore it open, and took out the Crescent. Holding it in his hands, he regarded it with evident curiosity, but in an instant I sprang upon him. The knowledge of its value as the means of securing to Zoraida and myself peace and happiness gave me courage and a strength almost demoniacal. Indeed, I was surprised at my own actions, for, falling upon him, I snatched the mysterious object from his grasp, and ere he could raise his flashing blade, I had drawn the knife from my sash and buried it in his breast.
The moment was one of desperation. I had struck the blow unerringly, and with a loud cry he fell backward a corpse.
Ere I could recover from the shock my deed caused me, I felt myself seized by three stalwart Arabs, whose fierce, determined faces told me I need expect no mercy, and though I struggled violently, cords were quickly slipped upon my wrists, and in a moment I found myself helpless as a babe.
Though I clung to the Crescent of Glorious Wonders with all the strength I possessed, it was wrenched from my grasp from behind, and that so quickly in the confusion and horrible bloodshed that I failed to discover into whose possession it had passed!
My heart sank within me and I became filled with dark, gloomy forebodings. The treasure that had been confided to my safe custody by Zoraida I had lost, and with it had vanished in an instant all hope of winning her! Had not she plainly told me that the successful accomplishment of my mission would save her life?—yet I had now lost the strangely-shaped steel, the mystic properties of which were known to only two persons in the world!
Was this dire catastrophe prophetic of the end?
In those few seconds the hope that for so many weeks had buoyed me and incited me to push determinedly onward to my goal; the anticipations that some day I should return to civilisation and claim as my wife the most lovely woman I had ever gazed upon, were shattered by this double disaster that had so suddenly befallen me.
While the Crescent remained in my possession, and I was free to journey southward, there was still, I felt, a possibility of some day reaching Agadez. With my treasure filched from me the object of my journey had, however, gone. Though I had travelled so many weary miles towards the City of the Sorcerers, my efforts on Zoraida’s behalf were thus rendered entirely futile, and reflection only filled me with such black dismay and despair, that, had not my knife been wrested from me, I verily believe I should have dealt myself a fatal blow.
My zealously-guarded treasure had in a second passed from my keeping into unknown hands that would most probably toss it away as worthless, yet how could I recover it now that I had been captured by these fierce, brutal slave-raiders, who were reputed to be among the most merciless of the wild freebooters of the Desert?
The disaster overwhelmed me. Bound hand and foot, I stood powerless in the hands of my enemies. The morrow’s sun to me might never rise!