The Boy Slaves
by Mayne Reid · English · Gutenberg #24503 · 562,244 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Boy Slaves
Author: Mayne Reid
Release date: February 3, 2008 [eBook #24503]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24503
Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY SLAVES ***
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Boy Slaves, by Captain Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
This is an excellent book, telling of the adventures of three midshipmen
and a much older sailor from a British warship that goes aground off the
coast of Africa, well offshore, and sinks with all hands. However these
four find themselves afloat on a spar, which they paddle with their
hands for several days until they reach the shore of Africa. Shortly
after this they are taken prisoner by some Arabs, who intend to take
them north to a town where they can be sold as slaves.
The book deals with their adventures as they are driven north to be
sold. In those days Arab pirate ships, known as Barbary pirates, and
also Algerine pirates, used to capture European vessels and make their
white crews and passengers into slaves, demanding ransoms from their
families. Even if the ransom was received, the captors usually
pretended it hadn't been. The practice had been going on for centuries,
and was terminated in 1816 when Admiral Lord Exmouth attacked Algiers,
and obtained the release of 1300 white slaves. Following this the
French were charged with the responsibility of keeping the Arabs of
North Africa in order. The date of 1816 is wrongly given as 1856 on
page xi of Guy Pocock's introduction to the Everyman Edition of the
book.
The audiobook takes about ten hours to play.
________________________________________________________________________
THE BOY SLAVES, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE LAND OF THE SLAVE.
Land of Ethiope! whose burning centre seems unapproachable as the frozen
Pole!
Land of the unicorn and the lion, of the crouching panther and the
stately elephant, of the camel, the camel-leopard, and the camel-bird!
Land of the antelopes, of the wild gemsbok, and the gentle gazelle, land
of the gigantic crocodile and huge river-horse, land teeming with animal
life, and, last in the list of my apostrophic appellations--last, and
that which must grieve the heart to pronounce it, land of the slave!
Ah; little do men think, while thus hailing thee, how near may be the
dread doom to their own hearths and homes! Little dream they, while
expressing their sympathy--alas! too often, as of late shown in England,
a hypocritical utterance--little do they suspect, while glibly
commiserating the lot of thy sable-skinned children, that hundreds, ay
thousands, of their own colour and kindred are held within thy confines,
subject to a lot even lowlier than these--a fate far more fearful.
Alas! it is even so. While I write, the proud Caucasian, despite his
boasted superiority of intellect, despite the whiteness of his skin, may
be found by hundreds in the unknown interior, wretchedly toiling, the
slave not only of thy oppressors, but the slave of thy slaves!
Let us lift that curtain which shrouds thy great Saara, and look upon
some pictures that should teach the son of Shem, while despising his
brothers Ham and Japhet, that he is not master of the world.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dread is that shore between Susa and Senegal, on the western edge of
Africa--by mariners most dreaded of any other in the world. The very
thought of it causes the sailor to shiver with affright. And no wonder;
on that inhospitable seaboard thousands of his fellows have found a
watery grave; and thousands of others a doom far more deplorable than
death!
There are two great deserts: one of land, the other of water--the Saara
and the Atlantic--their contiguity extending through ten degrees of the
earth's latitude--an enormous distance. Nothing separates them, save a
line existing only in the imagination. The dreary and dangerous
wilderness of water kisses the wilderness of sand--not less dreary or
dangerous to those whose misfortune it may be to become castaways on
this dreaded shore.
Alas! it has been the misfortune of many--not hundreds, but thousands.
Hundreds of ships, rather than hundreds of men, have suffered wreck and
ruin between Susa and Senegal. Perhaps were we to include Roman,
Phoenician, and Carthaginian, we might say thousands of ships also.
More noted, however, have been the disasters of modern times, during
what may be termed the epoch of modern navigation. Within the period of
the last three centuries, sailors of almost every maritime nation--at
least all whose errand has led them along the eastern edge of the
Atlantic--have had reason to regret approximation to those shores, known
in ship parlance as the Barbary coast; but which, with a slight
alteration in the orthography, might be appropriately styled
"Barbarian."
A chapter might be written in explanation of this peculiarity of
expression--a chapter which would comprise many parts of two sciences,
both but little understood--ethnology and meteorology.
Of the former we may have a good deal to tell before the ending of this
narrative. Of the latter it must suffice to say: that the frequent
wrecks occurring on the Barbary coast, or, more properly on that of the
Saara south of it, are the result of an Atlantic current setting
eastwards against that shore.
The cause of this current is simple enough, though it requires
explanation: since it seems to contradict not only the theory of the
"trade" winds, but of the centrifugal inclination attributed to the
waters of the ocean.
I have room only for the theory in its simplest form. The heating of
the Saara under a tropical sun; the absence of those influences,
moisture and verdure, which repel the heat and retain its opposite; the
ascension of the heated air that hangs over this vast tract of desert;
the colder atmosphere rushing in from the Atlantic Ocean; the consequent
eastward tendency of the waters of the sea.
These facts will account for that current which has proved a deadly
maelstrom to hundreds, ay thousands, of ships, in all ages, whose
misfortune it has been to sail unsuspectingly along the western shores
of the Ethiopian continent.
Even at the present day the castaways upon this desert shore are by no
means rare; notwithstanding the warnings that at close intervals have
been proclaimed for a period of three hundred years.
While I am writing, some stranded brig, barque, or ship may be going to
pieces between Bojador and Blanco; her crew making shorewards in boats
to be swamped among the foaming breakers; or, riding three or four
together upon some severed spar, to be tossed upon a desert strand, that
each may wish, from the bottom of his soul, should prove uninhabited!
I can myself record a scene like this that occurred not ten years ago,
about midway between the two headlands above named--Bojador and Blanco.
The locality may be more particularly designated by saying: that, at
half distance between these noted capes, a narrow strip of sand extends
for several miles out into the Atlantic, parched white under the rays of
a tropical sun, like the tongue of some fiery serpent, well represented
by the Saara, far stretching to seaward; ever seeking to cool itself in
the crystal waters of the sea.
CHAPTER TWO.
TYPES OF THE TRIPLE KINGDOM.
Near the tip of this tongue, almost within "licking" distance, on an
evening in the month of June, 18--, a group of the kind last alluded
to--three or four castaways upon a spar--might have been seen by any eye
that chanced to be near.
Fortunately for them, there was none sufficiently approximate to make
out the character of that dark speck, slowly approaching the white
sandspit, like any other drift carried upon the landward current of the
sea.
It was just possible for a person standing upon the summit of one of the
sand "dunes" that, like white billows, rolled off into the interior of
the continent, it was just possible for a person thus placed to have
distinguished the aforesaid speck without the aid of a glass; though
with one it would have required a prolonged and careful observation to
have discovered its character.
The sandspit was full three miles in length. The hills stood back from
the shore another. Four miles was sufficient to screen the castaways
from the observation of any one who might be straying along the coast.
For the individuals themselves it appeared very improbable that there
could be any one observing them. As far as eye could reach--east,
north, and south, there was nothing save white sand. To the west,
nothing but the blue water. No eye could be upon them, save that of the
Creator. Of his creatures, tame or wild, savage or civilised, there
seemed not one within a circuit of miles: for within that circuit there
was nothing visible that could afford subsistence either to man or
animal, bird or beast. In the white substratum of sand, gently shelving
far under the sea, there was not a sufficiency of organic matter to have
afforded food for fish--even for the lower organisms of _mollusca_.
Undoubtedly were these castaways alone; as much so as if their locality
had been the centre of the Atlantic, instead of its coast!
We are privileged to approach them near enough to comprehend their
character, and learn the cause that has thus isolated them so far from
the regions of animated life.
There are four of them, astride a spar; which also carries a sail,
partially reefed around it, and partially permitted to drag loosely
through the water.
At a glance a sailor could have told that the spar on which they are
supported is a topsail-yard, which has been detached from its masts in
such a violent manner as to unloose some of the reefs that had held the
sail--partially releasing the canvas. But it needed not a sailor to
tell why this had been done. A ship has foundered somewhere near coast.
There has been a gale two days before. The spar in question, with
those supported upon it, is but a fragment of the wreck. There might
have been other fragments, other of the crew escaped, or escaping in
like manner, but there are no others in sight. The castaways slowly
drifting towards the sandspit are alone. They have no companions on the
ocean, no spectators on its shore.
As already stated, there are four of them. Three are strangely alike,
at least, in the particulars of size, shape, and costume. In age, too,
there is no great difference. All three are boys: the eldest not over
eighteen, the youngest certainly not a year his junior.
In the physiognomy of the three there is similitude enough to declare
them of one nation, though dissimilarity sufficient to prove a distinct
provinciality both in countenance and character. Their dresses of dark
blue cloth, cut pea-jacket shape, and besprinkled with buttons of
burnished yellow, their cloth caps of like colour, encircled by bands of
gold lace, their collars, embroidered with the crown and anchor, declare
them, all three, to be officers in the service of that great maritime
Government that has so long held undisputed possession of the sea--
midshipmen of the British navy. Rather should we say, had been. They
have lost this proud position, along with the frigate to which they had
been attached; and they now only share authority upon a dismasted spar,
over which they are exerting some control, since with their bodies bent
downwards, and their hands beating the water, they are propelling it in
the direction of the sandspit.
In the countenances of the three castaways thus introduced, I have
admitted a dissimilitude something more than casual; something more,
even, than what might be termed provincial. Each presented a type that
could have been referred to that wider distinction known as a
nationality.
The three "middies" astride of that topsail-yard were, of course,
castaways from the same ship, in the service of the same Government,
though each was of a different nationality from the other two. They
were the respective representatives of Jack, Paddy, and Sandy, or, to
speak more poetically of the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle, and had the
three kingdoms from which they came had been searched throughout their
whole extent, there could scarcely have been discovered purer
representative types of each, than the three reefers on that spar
drifting towards the sandspit between Bojador and Blanco.
Their names were Harry Blount, Terence O'Connor, and Colin Macpherson.
The fourth individual, who shared with them their frail embarkation,
differed from all three in almost every respect, but more especially in
years. The ages of all three united would not have numbered his; and
their wrinkles, if collected together, would scarce have made so many as
could have been counted in the crowsfeet indelibly imprinted in the
corners of his eyes.
It would have required a very learned ethnologist to have told to which
of his three companions he was compatriot; though there could be no
doubt about his being either English, Irish, or Scotch.
Strange to say, his tongue did not aid in the identification of his
nationality. It was not often heard; but even when it was, its
utterance would have defied the most linguistic ear; and neither from
that, nor other circumstance known to them, could any one of his three
companions lay claim to him as a countryman. When he spoke--a rare
occurrence already hinted--it was with a liberal misplacement of "h's"
that should have proclaimed him an Englishman of purest Cockney type.
At the same time his language was freely interspersed with Irish "ochs"
and "shures"; while the "wees" and "bonnys", oft recurring in his
speech, should have proved him a sworn Scotchman. From his countenance
you might have drawn your own inference and believed him any of the
three; but not from his tongue. Neither in its accent, nor the words
that fell from him, could you have told which of the three kingdoms had
the honour of giving him birth.
Whichever it was, it had supplied to the Service a true British tar: for
although you might mistake the man in other respects, his appearance
forbade all equivocation upon this point.
His costume was that of a common sailor, and, as a matter of course, his
name was "Bill". But as he had only been one among many "Bills" rated
on the man-o'-war's books (now gone to the bottom of the sea) he carried
a distinctive appellation, no doubt earned by his greater age. Aboard
the frigate he had been known as "Old Bill"; and the soubriquet still
attached to him upon the spar.
CHAPTER THREE.
THE SERPENT'S TONGUE.
The presence of a ship's topsail-yard thus bestridden plainly proclaimed
that a ship had been wrecked--although no other evidence of the wreck
was within sight. Not a speck was visible upon the sea to the utmost
verge of the horizon; and if a ship had foundered within that field of
view, her boats and every vestige of the wreck must either have gone to
the bottom, or in some other direction than that taken by the
topsail-yard, which supported the three midshipmen and the sailor Bill.
A ship had gone to the bottom--a British man-of-war,--a corvette on her
way to her cruising ground, on the Guinea coast. Beguiled by the
dangerous current that sets towards the seaboard of the Saara, in a dark
stormy night she had struck upon a sand-bank; got bilged; and sank
almost instantly among the breakers. Boats had been got out, and men
had been seen crowding hurriedly into them; others had taken to such
rafts, or spars, as could be detached from the sinking vessel; but
whether any of these, or the overladen boats, had succeeded in reaching
the shore, was a question which none of the four astride the
topsail-yard were able to answer.
They only knew that the corvette had gone to the bottom--they saw her go
down, shortly after drifting away from her side; but saw nothing more
until morning, when they perceived themselves alone upon the ocean.
They had been drifting throughout the remainder of that long, dark
night, often entirely under water, when the sea swelled over them--and
one and all of them many times on the point of being washed from their
frail embarkation.
By daybreak the storm had ceased, and was succeeded by a clear, calm
day; but it was not until a late hour that the swell had subsided
sufficiently to enable them to take any measures for propelling the
strange craft that carried them. Then, using their hands as oars, or
paddles, they commenced making some way through the water.
There was nothing in sight, neither land nor any other object, save the
sea, the sky, and the sun. It was the east which guided them as to
direction. But for it there could have been no object in making way
through the water; but, with the sun now sinking in the west, they could
tell the east; and they knew that in that point alone land might be
expected.
After the sun had gone down, the stars became their compass, and
throughout all the second night of the shipwreck they had continued to
paddle the spar in an easterly direction.
Day again dawned upon them; but without gratifying their eyes by the
sight of land, or any other object, to inspire them with a hope.
Famished with hunger, tortured with thirst, and wearied with their
continued exertions, they were about to surrender to despair when, as
the sun once more mounted up to the sky, and his bright beams pierced
the crystal water upon which they were floating, they saw beneath them
the sheen of white sand. It was the bottom of the sea, and at no great
depth, not more than a few fathoms below their feet.
Such shallow water could not be far from the shore. Reassured, and
encouraged by the thought, they once more renewed their exertions, and
continued to paddle the spar, taking only short intervals of rest
throughout the whole of the morning.
Long before noon they were compelled to desist. They were close to the
tropic of Cancer, almost under its line. It was the season of
midsummer; and of course at meridian hour the sun was right over their
heads. Even their bodies cast no shadow, except upon the white sand
directly underneath them, at the bottom of the sea. The sun could no
longer guide them; and, as they had no other index, they were compelled
to remain stationary, or drift in whatever direction the breeze or the
currents might carry them.
There was not much movement any way; and for several hours before and
after noon they lay almost becalmed upon the ocean. This period was
passed in silence and inaction. There was nothing for them to talk
about but their forlorn situation; and this topic had been exhausted.
There was nothing for them to do. Their only occupation was to watch
the sun until, by its sinking lower in the sky, they might discover its
westing.
Could they at that moment have elevated their eyes only three feet
higher, they would not have needed to wait for the declination of the
orb of day. They would have seen land, such land as it was, but sunk as
their shoulders were, almost to the level of the water, even the summits
of the sand-dunes were not visible to their eyes.
When the sun began to go down towards the horizon they once more plied
their palms against the liquid wave, and sculled the spar eastward. The
sun's lower limb was just touching the western horizon, when his red
rays, glancing over their shoulders, showed them some white spots that
appeared to rise out of the water.
Were they clouds? No! Their rounded tops, cutting the sky with a clear
line, forbade this belief. They should be hills, either of snow or of
sand. It was not the region for snow: they could only be sand-hills.
The cry of "land" pealed simultaneously from the lips of all--that
cheerful cry that has so oft given gladness to the despairing castaway,
and, redoubling their exertions, the spar was propelled through the
water more rapidly than ever.
Reinvigorated by the prospect of once more setting foot upon land, they
forgot for the moment thirst, hunger, and weariness; and only occupied
themselves in sculling their craft towards the shore.
Under the belief that they had still several miles to make before the
beach could be attained, they were one and all working with eyes turned
downward. At that moment old Bill, chancing to look up, gave utterance
to a shout of joy, which was instantly echoed by his youthful
companions: all had at the same time perceived the long sandspit
projecting far out into the water; and which looked like the hand of
some friend held out to bid them welcome.
They had scarce made this discovery before another of like pleasant
nature came under their attention. That was, that they were touching
bottom! Their legs, bestriding the spar, hung down on each side of it;
and, to the joy of all, they now felt their feet scraping along the
sand.
As if actuated by one impulse all four dismounted from the irksome seat
they had been so long compelled to keep; and, bidding adieu to the spar,
they plunged on through the shoal water, without stop or stay, until
they stood high and dry upon the extreme point of the peninsula.
By this time the sun had gone down; and the four dripping forms, dimly
outlined in the purple twilight, appeared like four strange creatures
who had just emerged from out the depths of the ocean.
"Where next?"
This was the mental interrogatory of all four; though by none of them
shaped into words.
"Nowhere to-night" was the answer suggested by the inclination of each.
Impelled by hunger, stimulated by thirst, one would have expected them
to proceed onward in search of food and water to alleviate this double
suffering. But there was an inclination stronger than either, too
strong to be resisted--sleep: since for fifty hours they had been
without any; since to have fallen asleep on the spar would have been to
subject themselves to the danger, almost the certainty, of dropping off,
and getting drowned; and, notwithstanding their need of sleep, increased
by fatigue, and the necessity of keeping constantly on the alert--up to
that moment not one of them had obtained any. The thrill of pleasure
that passed through their frames as they felt their feet upon _terra
firma_ for a moment aroused them. But the excitement could not be
sustained. The drowsy god would no longer be deprived of his rights;
and one after another, though without much interval between, sank down
upon the soft sand, and yielded to his balmy embrace.
CHAPTER FOUR.
'WARE THE TIDE!
Through that freak, or law, of nature by which peninsulas are shaped,
the point of the sandspit was elevated several feet above the level of
the sea; while its neck, nearer the land, scarce rose above the surface
of the water.
It was this highest point, where the sand was thrown up in a "wreath"
like snow in a storm, that the castaways had chosen for their couch.
But little pains had been taken in selecting the spot. It was the most
conspicuous, as well as the driest; and, on stepping out of the water,
they had tottered towards it, and half mechanically chosen it for their
place of repose.
Simple as was the couch, they were not allowed to occupy it for long.
They had been scarce two hours asleep, when one and all of them were
awakened by a sensation that chilled, and, at the same time, terrified
them. Their terror arose from a sense of suffocation: as if salt water
was being poured down their throats, which was causing it. In short,
they experienced the sensation of drowning; and fancied they were
struggling amid the waves from which they had so lately escaped.
All four sprang to their feet, if not simultaneously, at least in quick
succession, and all appeared equally the victims of astonishment,
closely approximating to terror. Instead of the couch of soft, dry
sand, on which they had stretched their tired frames, they now stood up
to their ankles in water, which was soughing and surging around them.
It was this change in their situation that caused their astonishment;
though the terror quick following sprang from quite another cause.
The former was short-lived: for it met with a ready explanation. In the
confusion of their ideas, added to their strong desire for sleep, they
had forgotten the tide. The sand, dust-dry under the heat of a burning
sun, had deceived them. They had lain down upon it, without a thought
of its ever being submerged under the sea; but now to their surprise
they perceived their mistake. Not only was their couch completely under
water; but, had they slept a few minutes longer, they would themselves
have been quite covered. Of course the waves had awakened them; and no
doubt would have done so half an hour earlier, but for the profound
slumber into which their long watching and weariness had thrown them.
The contact of the cold water was not likely to have much effect: since
they had been already exposed to it for more than forty hours. Indeed,
it was not that which had aroused them; but the briny fluid getting into
their mouths, and causing them that feeling of suffocation that very
much resembled drowning.
More then one of the party had sprung to an erect attitude, under the
belief that such was in reality the case; and it is not quite correct to
say that their first feeling was one of mere astonishment. It was
strongly commingled with terror.
On perceiving how matters stood, their fears subsided almost as rapidly
as they had arisen. It was only the inflow of the tide; and to escape
from it would be easy enough. They would have nothing more to do than
keep along the narrow strip of sand, which they had observed before
landing. This would conduct them to the true shore. They knew this to
be at some distance; but, once there, they could choose a more elevated
couch on which they could recline undisturbed till the morning.
Such was their belief, conceived the instant after they had got upon
their legs. It was soon followed by another--another consternation--
which, if not so sudden as the first, was, perhaps, ten times more
intense.
On turning their faces towards what they believed to be the land, there
was no land in sight, neither sand-hills nor shore, nor even the narrow
tongue upon whose tip they had been trusting themselves! There was
nothing visible but water; and even this was scarce discernible at the
distance of six paces from where they stood. They could only tell that
water was around them, by hearing it hoarsely swishing on every side,
and seeing through the dim obscurity the strings of white froth that
floated on its broken surface.
It was not altogether the darkness of the night that obscured their
view, though this was of itself profound; it was a thick mist or fog,
that had arisen over the surface of the ocean, and which enveloped their
bodies; so that, though standing almost close together, each appeared to
the others like some huge spectral form at a distance.
To remain where they were was to be swallowed up by the sea. There
could be no uncertainty about that; and therefore no one thought of
staying a moment longer on the point of the sandspit, now utterly
submerged.
But in what direction were they to go? That was the question that
required to be solved before starting; and in the solution of which,
perhaps, depended the safety of their lives.
We need scarce say, perhaps. Rather might we say, for certain. By
taking a wrong direction they would be walking into the sea, where they
would soon get beyond their depth, and be in danger of drowning. This
was all the more likely, that the wind had been increasing ever since
they had laid down to rest, and was now blowing with considerable
violence. Partly from this, and partly by the tidal influence, big
waves had commenced rolling around them; so that, even in the shoal
water, where they stood, each successive swell was rising higher and
higher against their bodies.
There was no time to be lost. They must find the true direction for the
shore and follow it quickly too, or perish amid the breakers.
CHAPTER FIVE.
A FALSE GUIDE.
Which way to the shore?
That was the question that arose to the lips of all.
You may fancy it could have been easily answered. The direction of the
wind and waves was landward. It was the sea-breeze, which at night, as
every navigator is aware, blows habitually towards the land--at least in
the region of the tropics, and more especially towards the hot Saara.
The tide itself might have told them the direction to take. It was the
in-coming tide, and therefore swelling towards the beach.
You may fancy they had nothing to do but follow the waves, keeping the
breeze upon their back.
So they fancied, at first starting for the shore; but they were not long
in discovering that this guide, apparently so trustworthy, was not to be
relied upon; and it was only then they became apprised of the real
danger of their situation. Both wind and waves were certainly
proceeding landward, and in a direct line; but it was just this direct
line the castaways dared not, in fact could not, follow; for they had
not gone a hundred fathoms from the point of the submerged peninsula
when they found the water rapidly deepening before them; and a few
fathoms farther on they stood up to their armpits!
It was evident that, in the direction in which they were proceeding, it
continued to grow deeper; and they turned to try another.
After floundering about for a while they found shoal water again,
reaching up only to their knees; but, wherever they attempted to follow
the course of the waves, they perceived that the shoal trended gradually
downward.
This at first caused them surprise, as well as alarm. The former
affected them only for an instant. The explanation was sought for, and
suggested to the satisfaction of all. The sandspit did not project
perpendicularly from the line of the coast, but in a diagonal direction.
It was, in fact, a sort of natural breakwater, forming one side of a
large cone, or embayment, lying between it and the true beach. This
feature had been observed on their first setting foot upon it, though at
the time they were so much engrossed with the joyous thought of having
escaped from the sea, that it had made no impression upon their memory.
They now remembered the circumstance, though not to their satisfaction,
for they saw at once that the guide in which they had been trusting
could no longer avail them.
The waves were rolling on over that bay, whose depth they had tried,
only to find it unfordable.
This was a new dilemma. To escape from it there appeared but one way.
They must keep their course along the combing of the peninsula, if they
could. But their ability to do so had now become a question, each
instant growing more difficult to answer.
They were no longer certain that they were on the spit; but, whether or
not, they could find no shallower water by trying on either side. Each
way they went it seemed to deepen; and even if they stood still but for
a few moments, as they were compelled to do while hesitating as to their
course, the water rose perceptibly upon their limbs.
They were now well aware that they had two enemies to contend with, time
and direction. The loss of either one or the other might end in their
destruction. A wrong direction would lead them into deep water; a waste
of time would bring deep water around them. The old adage about time
and tide, which none of them could help having heard, might have been
ringing in their ears at that moment. It was appropriate to the
occasion.
They thought of it; and the thought filled them with apprehension. From
the observations they had made before sunset, they knew that the shore
could not be near, not nearer than three miles, perhaps four.
Even with free footing, the true direction, and a clear view of the
path, it might have been a question about time. They all knew enough of
the sea to be aware how rapidly the tide sets in, especially on some
foreign shores, and there was nothing to assure them that the seaboard
of the Saara was not beset by the most treacherous of tides. On the
contrary, it was just this, a tidal current, that had forced their
vessel among the breakers, causing them to become what they now were,
castaways!
They had reason to dread the tides of the Saara's shore; and dread them
they did, their fears at each moment becoming stronger as they felt the
dark waters rising higher and higher around them!
CHAPTER SIX.
WADE OR SWIM?
Foe a time they floundered on, the old sailor in the lead, the three
boys strung out in a line after him. Sometimes they departed from this
formation, one or another trying towards the flank for shallower water.
Already it clasped them by the thighs; and just in proportion as it rose
upon their bodies, did their spirits become depressed. They knew that
they were following the crest of the sandspit. They knew it by the
deepening of the sea on each side of them: but they had by this time
discovered another index to their direction. Old Bill had kept his
"weather-eye" upon the waves; until he had discovered the angle at which
they broke over the "bar", and could follow the "combing" of the spit,
as he called it, without much danger of departure from the true path.
It was not the direction that troubled their thoughts any longer; but
the time and the tide.
Up to their waists in water, their progress could not be otherwise than
slow. The time would not have signified could they have been sure of
the tide, that is, sure of its not rising higher.
Alas! they could not be in doubt about this. On the contrary, they were
too well assured that it was rising higher; and with a rapidity that
threatened soon to submerge them under its merciless swells. These came
slowly sweeping along, in the diagonal direction, one succeeding the
other, and each new one striking higher up upon the bodies of the now
exhausted waders.
On they floundered, despite their exhaustion; on along the subaqueous
ridge, which at every step appeared to sink deeper into the water, as if
the nearer to land the peninsula became all the more depressed. This,
however, was but a fancy. They had already passed the neck of the
sandspit where it was lowest. It was not that, but the fast flowing
tide that was deepening the water around them.
Deeper and deeper, deeper and deeper, till the salt sea clasped them
around the armpits, and the tidal waves began to break over their heads!
There seemed but one way open to their salvation, but one course by
which they could escape from the engulfment that threatened. This was,
to forego any further attempt at wading, to fling themselves boldly upon
the waves, and swim ashore.
Now that they were submerged to their necks, you may wonder at their not
at once adopting this plan. It is true they were ignorant of the
distance they would have to swim before reaching the shore. Still they
knew it could not be more than a couple of miles, for they had already
traversed quite that distance on the diagonal spit. But two miles need
scarce have made them despair, with both wind and tide in their favour.
Why, then, did they hesitate to trust themselves to the quick bold
stroke of the swimmer, instead of the slow, timid, tortoise-like tread
of the wader?
There are two answers to this question; for there were two reasons for
them not having recourse to the former alternative. The first was
selfish; or rather, should we call it self-preservative. There was a
doubt in the minds of all, as to their ability to reach the shore by
swimming. It was a broad bay that had been seen before sundown; and
once launched upon its bosom, it was a question whether any of them
would have strength to cross it. Once launched upon its bosom there
would be no getting back to the shoal water through which they were
wading: the tidal current would prevent return.
This consideration was backed by another, a lingering belief or hope
that the tide might already have reached its highest, and would soon be
on the "turn". This hope, though faint, exerted an influence on the
waders, as yet sufficient to restrain them from becoming swimmers. But
even after this could no longer have prevailed, even when the waves
began to surge over, threatening at each fresh "sea" to scatter the
shivering castaways and swallow them one by one, there was another
thought that kept them together.
It was a thought neither of self nor self-preservation, but a generous
instinct, that even in that perilous crisis was stirring within their
hearts.
Instinct! No. It was a thought, an impulse if you will; but something
higher than an instinct.
Shall I declare it? Undoubtedly, I shall. Noble emotions should not be
concealed; and the one which at that moment throbbed within the bosoms
of the castaways, was truly noble.
There were but three of them who felt it. The fourth could not: he
could not swim!
Surely the reader needs no further explanation?
CHAPTER SEVEN.
A COMPULSORY PARTING.
One of the four castaways could not swim. Which one? You will expect
to hear that it was one of the three midshipmen; and will be
conjecturing whether it was Harry Blount, Terence O'Connor, or Colin
Macpherson.
My English boy-readers would scarce believe me, were I to say that it
was Harry who was wanting in this useful accomplishment. Equally
incredulous would be my Irish and Scotch constituency, were I to deny
the possession of it to the representatives of their respective
countries, Terence and Colin.
Far be it from me to offend the natural _amour propre_ of my young
readers; and in the present case I have no fact to record that would
imply any national superiority or disadvantage. The castaway who could
not swim was that peculiar hybrid, or _tribrid_, already described; who,
for any characteristic he carried about him, might have been born either
upon the banks of the Clyde, the Thames, or the Shannon!
It was "Old Bill" who was deficient in natatory prowess--Old Bill, the
sailor.
It may be wondered that one who has spent nearly the whole of his life
on the sea should be wanting in an accomplishment, apparently, and
really, so essential to such a calling. Cases of the kind, however, are
by no means uncommon; and in a ship's crew there will often be found a
large number of men, sometimes the very best sailors, who cannot swim a
stroke.
Those who have neglected to cultivate this useful art, when boys, rarely
acquire it after they grow up to be men; or, if they do, it is only in
an indifferent manner. On the sea, though it may appear a paradox,
there are far fewer opportunities for practising the art of swimming
than upon its shores. Aboard a ship, on her course, the chances of
"bathing" are but few and far between; and, while in port, the sailor
has usually something else to do than spend his idle hours in disporting
himself upon the waves. The sailor, when ashore, seeks some sport more
attractive.
As Old Bill had been at sea ever since he was able to stand upon the
deck of a ship, he had neglected this useful art; and though in every
other respect an accomplished sailor, rated A.B., Number 1, he could not
swim six lengths of his own body.
It was a noble instinct which prompted his three youthful companions to
remain by him in that critical moment, when, by flinging themselves upon
the waves, they might have gained the shore without difficulty.
Although the bay might be nearly two miles in width, there could not be
more than half that distance beyond their depth, judging by the shoal
appearance which the coast had exhibited as they were approaching it
before sundown.
All three felt certain of being able to save themselves; but what would
become of their companion the sailor?
"We cannot leave you, Bill!" cried Harry; "we will not!"
"No, that we can't: we won't!" said Terence.
"We can't and won't," asseverated Colin, with like emphasis.
These generous declarations were in answer to an equally generous
proposal in which the sailor had urged them to make for the shore, and
leave him to his fate.
"Ye must, my lads!" he cried out, repeating his proposition. "Don't
mind about me; look to yersels! Och! shure I'm only a weather-washed,
worn-out old salt, 'ardly worth savin'. Go now, off wi' ye at onest.
The water'll be over ye, if ye stand 'eer tin minutes longer."
The three youths scrutinised each other's faces, as far as the darkness
would allow them. Each tried to read in the countenances of the other
two some sign that might determine him. The water was already washing
around their shoulders; it was with difficulty they could keep their
feet.
"Let loose, lads!" cried old Bill; "let loose, I say! and swim richt for
the shore. Don't think o' me; it bean't certain I shan't weather it
yet. I'm the whole av my head taller than the tallest av ye. The tide
mayn't full any higher; an' if it don't I'll get safe out after all.
Let loose, lads, let loose, I tell ye!"
This command of the old sailor for his young comrades to forsake him was
backed by a far more irresistible influence, one against which even
their noble instincts could no longer contend.
At that moment a wave, of greater elevation than any that had preceded
it, came rolling along; and the three midshipmen, lifted upon its swell,
were borne nearly half a cable's length from the spot where they had
been standing.
In vain did they endeavour to recover their feet. They had been carried
into deep water, where the tallest of them could not touch bottom.
For some seconds they struggled on the top of the swell, their faces
turned towards the spot from which they had been swept. They were close
together. All three seemed desirous of making back to that dark,
solitary speck, protruding above the surface, and which they knew to be
the head of Old Bill. Still did they hesitate to forsake him.
Once more his voice sounded in their ears.
"Och, boys!" cried he, "don't thry to come back. It's no use whatever.
Lave me to my fate, an' save yersels! The tide's 'ard against ye.
Turn, an' follow it, as I tell ye. It'll carry ye safe to the shore;
an' if I'm washed afther ye, bury me on the bache. Farewell, brave
boys, farewell!"
To the individuals thus apostrophised it was a sorrowful adieu; and,
could they have done anything to save the sailor, there was not one of
the three who would not have risked his life over and over again. But
all were impressed with the hopelessness of rendering any succour; and
under the still further discouragement caused by another huge wave, that
came swelling up under their chins, they turned simultaneously in the
water; and, taking the tidal current for their guide, swam with all
their strength towards the shore.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
SAFE ASHORE.
The swim proved shorter than any of them had anticipated. They had
scarce made half a mile across the bay, when Terence, who was the worst
swimmer of the three, and who had been allowing his legs to droop,
struck his toes against something more substantial than salt water.
"I' faith!" gasped he, with exhausted breath, "I think I've touched
bottom. Blessed be the Virgin, I have!" he continued, at the same time
standing erect, with head and shoulders above the surface of the water.
"All right!" cried Harry, imitating the upright attitude of the young
Hibernian. "Bottom it must be, and bottom it is. Thank God for it!"
Colin, with a similar grateful ejaculation, suspended his stroke, and
stood upon his feet.
All three instinctively faced seaward, as they did so, exclaiming:
"Poor Old Bill!"
"In troth, we might have brought him along with us!" suggested Terence,
as soon as he had recovered his wind; "might we not?"
"If we had but known it was so short a swim," said Harry, "it is
possible."
"How about our trying to swim back? Do you think we could do it?"
"Impossible!" asserted Colin.
"What, Colin, you are the best swimmer of us all! Do you say so?" asked
the others, eager to make an effort for saving the old salt, who had
been the favourite of every officer aboard the ship.
"I say impossible," replied the cautious Colin; "I would risk as much as
any of you, but there is not a reasonable chance of saving him, and
what's the use of trying impossibilities? We'd better make sure that
we're safe ourselves. There may be more deep water between us and the
shore. Let us keep on till we've set our feet on something more like
terra firma."
The advice of the young Scotchman was too prudent to be rejected; and
all three, once more turning their faces shoreward, continued to advance
in that direction.
They only knew that they were facing shoreward by the inflow of the
tide, but certain that this would prove a tolerably safe guide, they
kept boldly on, without fear of straying from the track.
For a while they waded; but, as their progress was both slower and more
toilsome, they once more betook themselves to swimming. Whenever they
felt fatigued, by either mode of progress, they changed to the other;
and partly by wading and partly by swimming, they passed through another
mile of the distance that separated them from the shore. The water then
became so shallow that swimming was no longer possible; and they waded
on, with eyes earnestly piercing the darkness, each moment expecting to
see something of the land.
They were soon to be gratified by having this expectation realised. The
curving lines that began to glimmer dimly through the obscurity, were
the outlines of rounded objects that could not be ocean waves. They
were too white for these. They could only be the sand-hills, which they
had seen before the going down of the sun. As they were now but
knee-deep in the water, and the night was still misty and dark, these
objects could be at no great distance and deep water need no longer be
dreaded.
The three castaways considered themselves as having reached the shore.
Harry and Terence were about to continue on to the beach, when Colin
called to them to come to a stop.
"Why?" inquired Harry.
"What for?" asked Terence.
"Before touching dry land," suggested the thoughtful Colin, "suppose we
decide what has been the fate of poor Old Bill."
"How can we tell that?" interrogated the other two.
"Stand still a while; we shall soon see whether his head is yet above
water."
Harry and Terence consented to the proposal of their comrade, but
without exactly comprehending its import.
"What do you mean, Colly?" asked the impatient Hibernian.
"To see if the tide's still rising," was the explanation given by the
Scotch youth.
"And what if it be?" demanded Terence.
"Only, that if it be, we will never more see the old sailor in the land
of the living. We may look for his lifeless corpse after it has been
washed ashore."
"Ah! I comprehend you," said Terence.
"You're right," added Harry. "If the tide be still rising, Old Bill is
under it by this time. I dare say his body will drift ashore before
morning."
They stood still, all three of them. They watched the water, as it
rippled up against their limbs, taking note of its ebbing and flowing.
They watched with eyes full of anxious solicitude. They continued this
curious vigil for full twenty minutes. They would have patiently
prolonged it still further had it been necessary. But it was not. No
further observation was required, to convince them that the tidal
current was still carried towards the shore; and that the water was yet
deepening around them.
The data thus obtained were sufficient to guide them to the solution of
the sad problem. During that interval, while they were swimming and
wading across the bay, the tide must have been continually on the
increase. It must have risen at least a yard. A foot would be
sufficient to have submerged the sailor, since he could not swim. There
was but one conclusion to which they could come. Their companion must
have been drowned.
With heavy hearts they turned their faces towards the shore, thinking
more of the sad fate of the sailor than their own future.
Scarce had they proceeded a dozen steps when a shout heard from behind
caused them to come to a sudden stop.
"Avast there!" cried a voice that seemed to rise from out of the depths
of the sea.
"It's Bill!" exclaimed all three in the same breath.
"'Old on, my hearties, if that's yerselves that I see!" continued the
voice. "Arrah, 'old on there. I'm so tired wadin', I want a short
spell to rest myself. Wait now, and I'll come to yez as soon as I can
take a reef out of my tops'ls."
The joy caused by this greeting, great as it was, was scarce equal to
the surprise it inspired. They who heard it were for some seconds
incredulous. The sound of the sailor's voice, well-known as it was,
with something like the figure of a human being dimly seen through the
uncertain mist that shadowed the surface of the water, was proof that he
still lived; while, but the moment before, there appeared substantial
proof that he must have gone to the bottom. Their incredulity even
continued till more positive evidence to the contrary came before them,
in the shape of the old man-o'-war's-man himself; who, rapidly splashing
through the more shallow water, in a few seconds stood face to face with
the three brave boys whom he had so lately urged to abandon him.
"Bill, is it you?" cried all three in a breath.
"Auch! and who else would yez expect it to be? Did yez take me for ould
Neptune risin' hout of the say? Or did yez think I was a mare-maid?
Gee mee a grip o' yer wee fists, ye bonny boys. Ole Bill warn't born to
be drowned!"
"But how did ye come, Bill? The tide's been rising ever since we left
you."
"Oh!" said Terence, "I see how it is; the bay isn't so deep after all:
you've waded all the way."
"Avast there, master Terry! not half the way, though I've waded part of
it. There's wather between here and where you left me deep enough to
drown Phil Macool. I didn't crass the bay by wading at all, at all."
"How then?"
"I was ferried on a nate little craft, as yez all knows of, the same
that carried us safe to the sandspit."
"The spar?"
"Hexactly as ye say. Just as I was about to gee my last gasp, something
struck me on the back o' the head, making me duck under the wather.
What was that but the tops'l yard. Hech! I wasna long in mountin' on
to it. I've left it out there afther I feeled my toes trailin' along
the bottom. Now, my bonny babies, that's how Old Bill's been able to
rejoin ye. Flippers all round once more; and then let's see what sort
o' a shore we've got to make port upon."
An enthusiastic shake of the hands passed between the old sailor and his
youthful companions; after which the faces of all were turned towards
the shore, still only dimly distinguishable, and uninviting as seen, but
more welcome to the sight than the wilderness of water stretching as if
to infinity behind them.
CHAPTER NINE.
UNCOMFORTABLE QUARTERS.
The waders had still some distance to go before reaching dry land; but,
after splashing for about twenty minutes longer, they at length stood
upon the shore. As the tide was still flowing in they continued up the
beach; so as to place themselves beyond the reach of the water, in the
event of its rising still higher.
They had to cross a wide stretch of wet sand before they could find a
spot sufficiently elevated to secure them against the further influx of
the tide. Having at length, discovered such a spot, they stopped to
deliberate on what was best to be done.
They would fain have had a fire to dry their dripping garments; for the
night had grown chilly under the influence of the fog.
The old sailor had his flint, steel, and tinder, the latter still safe
in its water-tight tin box; but there was no fuel to be found near. The
spar, even if they could have broken it up, was still floating, or
stranded, in the shoal water, more than a mile to seaward.
In the absence of a fire they adopted the only other mode they could
think of to get a little of the water out of their clothes. They
stripped themselves to the skin, wrung out each article separately; and
then, giving each a good shake, put them on again, leaving it to the
natural warmth of their bodies to complete the process of drying.
By the time they had finished this operation, the mist had become
sensibly thinner; and the moon, suddenly emerging from under a cloud,
enabled them to obtain a better view of the shore upon which they had
set foot.
Landward, as far as they could see, there appeared to be nothing but
white sand, shining like silver under the light of the moon. Up and
down the coast the same landscape could be dimly distinguished.
It was not a level surface that was thus covered with sand; but a
conglomeration of hillocks and ridges, blending into each other and
forming a labyrinth, that seemed to stretch interminably on all sides,
except towards the sea itself.
It occurred to them to climb to the highest of the hillocks. From its
summit they would have a better view of the country beyond; and perhaps
discover a place suitable for an encampment; perhaps some timber might
then come into view, from which they would be able to obtain a few
sticks.
On attempting to scale the "dune", they found that their wading was not
yet at an end. Though no longer in the water, they sank to their knees
at every step, in soft yielding sand.
The ascent of the hillock, though scarce a hundred feet high, proved
exceedingly toilsome, much more so than wading knee-deep in water, but
they floundered on, and at length reached the summit.
To the right, to the left, in front of them, far as the eye could reach,
nothing but hills and ridges of sand, that appeared under the moonlight
of a whiteness approaching to that of snow. In fact, it would not have
been difficult to fancy that the country was covered with a heavy coat
of snow, as often seen in Sweden, or the northern parts of Scotland,
drifted into "wreaths", and spurred hillocks, of every imaginable form.
It was pretty, but soon became painful from its monotony; and the eyes
of that shipwrecked quartette were even glad to turn once more to the
scarce less monotonous blue of the ocean.
Inland, they could perceive other sand-hills, higher than that to which
they had climbed, and long crested "combings", with deep valleys
between; but not one object to gladden their sight, nothing that offered
promise of either food, drink, or shelter.
Had it not been for their fatigue, they might have gone farther. Since
the moon had consented to show herself, there was light enough to travel
by; and they might have proceeded on, either through the sand-dunes or
along the shore. But of the four there was not one, not even the tough
old tar himself, who was not regularly done up, both with weariness of
body and spirit. The short slumber upon the spit, from which they had
been so unexpectedly startled, had refreshed them but little; and, as
they stood upon the summit of the sand-hill, all four felt as if they
could drop down, and go to sleep on the instant.
It was a couch sufficiently inviting, and they would at once have
availed themselves of it, but for a circumstance that suggested to them
the idea of seeking a still better place for repose.
The land-wind was blowing in from the ocean, and, according to the
forecast of Old Bill, a great practical meteorologist, it promised ere
long to become a gale. It was already sufficiently violent, and chill
to boot, to make the situation on the summit of the dune anything but
comfortable. There was no reason why they should make their couch upon
that exposed prominence. Just on the landward side of the hillock
itself, below at its base, they perceived a more sheltered situation;
and why select that spot for their resting-place?
There was no reason why they should not. Old Bill proposed it; there
was no opposition offered by his young companions, and, without further
parley, the four went floundering down the sloping side of the
sand-hill, into the sheltered convexity at its base.
On arriving at the bottom, they found themselves in the narrowest of
ravines. The hillock from which they had descended was but the highest
summit of a long ridge, trending in the same direction as the coast.
Another ridge, of about equal height, ran parallel to this on the
landward side. The bases of the two approached so near that their
sloping sides formed an angle with each other. On account of the abrupt
acclivity of both, this angle was almost acute, and the ravine between
the two resembled a cavity out of which some great wedge had been cut,
like a section taken from the side of a gigantic melon.
It was in this re-entrant angle that the castaways found themselves,
after descending the side of the dune, and where they had proposed
spending the remainder of the night.
They were somewhat disappointed on reaching their sleeping-quarters, and
finding them so limited as to space. In the bottom of the ravine there
was not breadth enough for a bed, even for the shortest of the party,
supposing him desirous of sleeping in a horizontal position.
There were not six feet of surface, nor even three, that could strictly
be called horizontal. Even longitudinally, the bottom of the "gully"
had a sloping inclination; for the ravine itself tended upwards until it
became extinguished in the convergence of its inclosing ridges.
On discovering the unexpected "strait" into which they had launched
themselves, our adventurers were for a time nonplussed. They felt
inclined to proceed farther in search of a "better bed", but their
weariness outweighed this inclination; and, after some hesitation, they
resolved to remain in the "ditch" into which they had so unwillingly
descended. They proceeded therefore to encouch themselves.
Their first attempt was made by placing themselves in a half-standing
position, their backs supported upon the sloping sides of one of the
ridges, with their feet resting against the other. So long as they kept
awake, this position was both easy and pleasant; but the moment any one
of them closed his eyes in sleep, and this was an event almost
instantaneous, his muscles, relaxed by slumber, would no longer have the
strength to sustain him; and the consequence would be an uncomfortable
collapse to the bottom of the "gully", where anything like a position of
repose was out of the question.
This vexatious interruption of their slumbers happening repeatedly, at
length roused all four to take fresh counsel as to choosing a fresh
couch.
Terence had been especially annoyed by these repeated disturbances; and
proclaimed his determination not to submit to them any longer. He would
go in search of more "comfortable quarters."
He had arisen to his feet, and appeared in the act of starting off.
"We had better not separate," suggested Harry Blount. "If we do, we may
find it difficult to come together again."
"There's something in what you say, Hal," said the young Scotchman. "It
will not do for us to lose sight of one another. What does Bill say to
it?"
"I say stay here," put in the voice of the sailor. "It won't do to
stray the wan from the tother. No, it won't. Let us hold fast, thin,
where we're already belayed."
"But who the deuce can sleep here?" remonstrated the son of Erin. "A
hard-worked horse can sleep standing; and so can an elephant, they say;
but, for me, I'd prefer six feet of the horizontal, even if it were a
hard stone, to this slope of the softest sand."
"Stay, Terry!" cried Colin. "I've captured an idea."
"Ah! you Scotch are always capturing something, whether it be an idea, a
flea, or the itch. Let's hear what it is."
"After that insult to ma kintree," good-humouredly rejoined Colin; "I
dinna know whuther I wull."
"Come, Colin!" interrupted Harry Blount, "if you have any good counsel
to give us, pray don't withhold it. We can't get sleep, standing at an
angle of forty-five degrees. Why should we not try to change our
position by seeking another place?"
"Well, Harry, as you have made the request, I'll tell you what's just
come into my mind. I only feel astonished it didn't occur to any of us
sooner."
"Mother av Moses!" cried Terence, jocularly adopting his native brogue;
"and why don't you out with it at wanse? You Scatch are the thrue
_rid-tape_ of society."
"Never mind, Colly!" interposed Blount; "there's no time to listen to
Terry's badinage. We're all too sleepy for jesting: tell us what you've
got in your mind?"
"All of ye do as you see me, and I'll be your bail, ye'll sleep sound
till the dawn o' the day. Goodnight!"
As Colin pronounced the salutation he sank down to the bottom of the
ravine, where, stretched longitudinally, he might repose, without the
slightest danger of being awakened by slipping from his couch.
On seeing him thus disposed, the others only wondered they had not
thought of the thing before.
They were too sleepy to speculate long upon their own thoughtlessness;
and one after the other, imitating the example set them by the young
Scotchman, laid their bodies lengthwise along the bottom of the ravine,
and entered upon the enjoyment of a slumber from which all the
kettle-drums in creation would scarce have awaked them.
CHAPTER TEN.
'WARE THE SAND.
As the gully in which they had gone to rest was too narrow to permit of
them lying side by side, they were disposed in a sort of lengthened
chain, with their heads all turned in the same direction. The bottom of
the ravine, as already stated, had a slight inclination; and they had,
of course, placed themselves so that their heads should be higher than
their feet.
The old sailor was at the lower end of this singular series, with the
feet of Harry Blount just above the crown of his head. Above the head
of Harry were the heels of Terence O'Connor; and, at the top of all,
reclined Colin, in the place where he had first stretched himself.
On account of the slope of the ground, the four were thus disposed in a
sort of _echelon_ formation, of which Old Bill was the base. They had
dropped into their respective positions, one after the other, as they
lay.
The sailor had been the last to commit himself to this curious couch; he
was also the last to surrender to sleep. For some time after the others
had become unconscious of outward impressions, he lay listening to the
"sough" of the sea, and the sighing of the breeze, as it blew along the
smooth sides of the sand-hills.
He did not remain awake for any great length of time. He was wearied,
as well as his young comrades; and soon also yielded his spirit to the
embrace of the god Somnus.
Before doing so, however, he had made an observation, one of a character
not likely to escape the notice of an old mariner such as he. He had
become conscious that a storm was brewing in the sky. The sudden
shadowing of the heavens; the complete disappearance of the moon,
leaving even the white landscape in darkness, her red colour as she went
out of sight; the increased noise caused by the roaring of the breakers;
and the louder "swishing" of the wind itself, which began to blow in
quick, gusty puffs; all these sights and sounds admonished him that a
gale was coming on.
He instinctively noted these signs; and on board ship would have heeded
them, so far as to have alarmed the sleeping watch, and counselled
precaution.
But stretched upon terra firma, not so very firm had he but known it,
between two huge hills, where he and his companions were tolerably well
sheltered from the wind, it never occurred to the old salt that they
could be in any danger; and simply muttering to himself, "the storm be
blowed!" he laid his weather-beaten face upon the pillow of soft sand,
and delivered himself up to deep slumber.
The silent prediction of the sailor turned out a true forecast. Sure
enough there came a storm which, before the castaways had been half an
hour asleep, increased to a tempest. It was one of those sudden
uprisings of the elements common in all tropical countries, but
especially so in the desert tracts of Arabia and Africa, where the
atmosphere, rarefied by heat, and becoming highly volatile, suddenly
loses its equilibrium and rushes like a destroying angel over the
surface of the earth.
The phenomenon that had broken over the arenaceous couch, upon which
slept the four castaways, was neither more nor less than a "sandstorm";
or, to give it its Arab title, a _simoom_.
The misty vapour that late hung suspended in the atmosphere had been
swept away by the first puff of the wind; and its place was now occupied
by a cloud equally dense, though perhaps not so constant, a cloud of
white sand lifted from the surface of the earth, and whirled high up
towards heaven, even far out over the waters of the ocean.
Had it been daylight, huge volumes, of what might have appeared dust,
might have been seen rolling over the ridges of sand, here swirling into
rounded pillar-like shapes, that could easily have been mistaken for
solid columns, standing for a time in one place, then stalking over the
summits of the hills, or suddenly breaking into confused and cumbering
masses; while the heavier particles, no longer kept in suspension by the
rotatory whirl, might be seen spilling back towards the earth, like a
sand shower projected downward through some gigantic "screen."
In the midst of this turbulent tempest of wind and sand, with not a
single drop of rain, the castaways continued to sleep.
One might suppose, as did the old man-o'-war's man before going to
sleep, that they were not in any danger; not even as much as if their
couch had been under the roof of a house, or strewn amid the leaves of
the forest. There were no trees to be blown down upon them, no bricks
nor large chimney-pots to come crashing through the ceiling, and crush
them as they lay upon their beds.
What danger could there be among the "dunes?"
Not much to a man awake, and with open eyes. In such a situation there
might be discomfort, but no danger.
Different, however, was it with the slumbering castaways. Over them a
peril was suspended, a real peril of which perhaps on that night not one
of them was dreaming, and in which perhaps not one of them would have
put belief but for the experience of it they were destined to be taught
before the morning.
Could an eye have looked upon them as they lay, it would have beheld a
picture sufficiently suggestive of danger. It would have seen four
human figures stretched along the bottom of a narrow ravine,
longitudinally aligned with one another, their heads all turned one way,
and in point of elevation slightly _en echelon_, it would have noted
that these forms were asleep, that they were already half buried in
sand, which, apparently descending from the clouds was still settling
around them; and that, unless one or other of them awoke, all four must
certainly become "smoored."
What does this mean? Merely a slight inconvenience arising from having
the mouth, ears, and nostrils obstructed by sand, which a little
choking, and sneezing, and coughing would soon remove.
Ask the Highland shepherd who has imprudently gone to sleep under the
"blowin' sna"; question the Scandinavian, whose calling compels him to
encamp on the open "fjeld"; interrogate Swede or Norwegian, Finn or
Lapp, and you may discover the danger of being "smoored."
That would be in the snow, the light, vascular, porous, permeable snow,
under which a human being may move, and through which he may breathe,
though tons of it may be superpoised above his body, the snow that,
while imprisoning its victim, also gives him warmth, and affords him
shelter, perilous as that shelter may be.
Ask the Arab what it is to be "smoored" by sand; question the wild
Bedouin of the Bled-el-Jereed, the Tuarick and Tiboo of the Eastern
Desert, they will tell you it is danger, often death!
Little dreamt the four sleepers as they lay unconscious under that swirl
of sand, little even would they have suspected, if awake, that there was
danger in the situation.
There was for all that a danger, great as it was imminent; the danger,
not only of their being "smoored", but stifled, suffocated, buried
fathoms deep under the sands of the Saara; for fathoms deep will often
be the drift of a single night.
The Arabs say that, once "submerged" beneath the arenaceous "flood", a
man loses the power to extricate himself. His energies are suspended,
his senses become numbed and torpid, in short, he feels as one who goes
to sleep in a snow-storm. It may be true; but, whether or no, it seemed
as if the four English castaways had been stricken with this
inexplicable paralysis. Despite the hoarse roaring of the breakers,
despite the shrieking and whistling of the wind, despite the dust
constantly being deposited on their bodies, and entering ears, mouth and
nostrils, despite the stifling sensation one would suppose they must
have felt, and which should have awakened them, despite all, they
continued to sleep. It seemed as if that sleep was to be eternal.
If they heard not the storm that raged savagely above them, if they felt
not the sand that pressed heavily upon them, what was there to warn,
what to arouse them from that ill-starred slumber?
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
A MYSTERIOUS NIGHTMARE.
The four castaways had been asleep for a couple of hours, that is, from
the time that, following the example of the young Scotchman, they had
stretched themselves along the bottom of the ravine. It was not quite
an hour, however, since the commencement of the sandstorm; and yet, in
this short time, the arenaceous dust had accumulated to the thickness of
several inches upon their bodies; and a person passing the spot, or even
stepping right over them, could not have told that four human beings
were buried beneath; that is, upon the supposition that they would have
lain still, and not got startled from their slumbers by the foot thus
treading upon them.
Perhaps it was a fortunate circumstance for them, that by such a
contingency they might be awakened; and that by such they were awakened.
Otherwise their sleep might have been protracted into that still deeper
sleep from which there is no awaking.
All four had begun to feel, if any sensation while asleep can be so
called, a sense of suffocation, accompanied by a heaviness of the limbs
and torpidity in the joints; as if some, immense weight was pressing
upon their bodies, that rendered it impossible for them to stir either
toe or finger. It was a sensation similar to that so well-known, and so
much dreaded, under the name of nightmare. It may have been the very
same; and was, perhaps, brought on as much by the extreme weariness they
all felt, as by the superincumbent weight of the sand.
Their heads, lying higher than their bodies, were not so deeply buried
under the drift; which, blown lightly over their faces, still permitted
the atmosphere to pass through it. Otherwise their breathing would have
been stopped altogether; and death must have been the necessary
consequence.
Whether it was a genuine nightmare or no, it was accompanied by all the
horrors of this phenomenon. As they afterwards declared, all four felt
its influence, each in his own way dreaming of some fearful fascination
from which he could make no effort to escape. Strange enough, their
dreams were different. Harry Blount thought he was falling over a
precipice; Colin that a gigantic ogre had got hold of and was going to
eat him up; while the young Hibernian fancied himself in the midst of a
conflagration, a dwelling-house on fire, from which he could not get
out!
Old Bill's delusion was more in keeping with their situation, or at
least with that out of which they had lately escaped. He simply
supposed that he was submerged in the sea, and as he knew he could not
swim, it was but natural for him to fancy that he was drowning.
Still, he could make no struggle; and, as he would have done this,
whether able to swim or not, his dream did not exactly resemble the real
thing.
The sailor was the first to escape from the uncomfortable incubus;
though there was but an instant between the awakening of all. They were
startled out of their sleep, one after another, in the order in which
they lay, and inversely to that in which they had lain down.
Their awakening was as mysterious as the nightmare itself, and scarce
relieved them from the horror which the latter had been occasioning.
All felt in turn, and in quick succession, a heavy crushing pressure,
either on the limbs or body; which had the effect, not only to startle
them from their sleep, but caused them considerable pain.
Twice was this pressure applied, almost exactly on the same spot; and
with scarce a second's interval between the applications. It could not
well have been repeated a third time with like exactness, even had such
been the design of whatever creature was causing it, for, after a second
squeeze, each had recovered sufficient consciousness to know he was in
danger of being crushed, and make a desperate effort to withdraw
himself.
The exclamations, proceeding from four sets of lips, told that all were
still in the land of the living; but the confused questioning that
followed did nothing towards elucidating the cause of that sudden and
almost simultaneous uprising.
There was too much sneezing and coughing to permit of anything like
clear or coherent speech. The _shumu_ was still blowing. There was
sand in the mouths and nostrils of all four, and dust in their eyes.
Their talk more resembled the jabbering of apes, who had unwisely
intruded into a snuff-shop, than the conversation of four rational
beings.
It was some time before anyone of them could shape his speech so as to
be understood by the others; and, after all had at length succeeded in
making themselves intelligible, it was found that each had the same
story to tell. Each had felt two pressures on some part of his person;
and had seen, though very indistinctly, some huge creature passing over
him, apparently a quadruped, though what sort of quadruped none of them
could tell. All they knew was that it was a gigantic, uncouth creature,
with a narrow body and neck, and very long legs; and that it had feet
there could be no doubt, since it was these that had pressed so heavily
upon them.
But for the swirl of the sandstorm, and the dust already in their eyes,
they might have been able to give a better description of the creature
that had so unceremoniously stepped upon them. These impediments,
however, had hindered them from obtaining a fair view of it; and some
animal, grotesquely shaped, with a long neck, body, and legs, was the
image which remained in the excited minds of the awakened sleepers.
Whatever it was, they were all sufficiently frightened to stand for some
time trembling. Just awakening from such dreams, it was but natural
they should surrender themselves to strange imaginings; and, instead of
endeavouring to identify the odd-looking animal, if animal it was, they
were rather inclined to set it down as some creature of a supernatural
kind.
The three midshipmen were but boys; not so long from the nursery as to
have altogether escaped from the weird influence which many a nursery
tale had wrapped around them; and as for Old Bill, fifty years spent in
"ploughing the ocean" had only confirmed him in the belief that the
"black art" is not so mythical as philosophers would have us think.
So frightened were all four that, after the first ebullition of their
surprise had subsided, they no longer gave utterance to speech but stood
listening, and trembling as they listened. Perhaps, had they known the
service which the intruder had done for them, they might have felt
gratitude towards it, instead of the suspicion and dread that for some
moments kept them, as if spell-bound, in their places. It did not occur
to any of the party that that strange summons from sleep, more effective
than the half-whispered invitation of a _valet-de-chambre_, or the
ringing of a breakfast-bell, had, in all probability, rescued them from
a silent but certain death.
They stood, as I have said, listening. There were several distinct
sounds that saluted their ears. There was the "sough" of the sea, as it
came swelling up the gorge; the "whish" of the wind, as it impinged upon
the crests of the ridges; and the "swish" of the sand as it settled
round them.
All these were voices of inanimate objects, phenomena of nature, easily
understood. But, rising above them, were heard sounds of a different
character; which, though they might be equally natural, were not equally
familiar to those who listened to them.
There was a sort of dull battering, as if some gigantic creature was
performing a Terpsichorean feat upon the sand-bank above them; but
sharper sounds were heard at intervals, screams commingled with short
snortings, both proclaiming something of the nature of a struggle.
Neither in the screams nor in the snortings was there anything that the
listeners could identify as sounds they had ever heard before. They
were alike perplexing to the ears of English, Irish, and Scotch. Even
Old Bill, who had heard, some time or other, nearly every sound known in
creation, could not classify them.
"Divil take him!" whispered he to his companions; "I dinna know what to
make av it. It be hawful to 'ear em!"
"Hark!" ejaculated Harry Blount.
"Hish!" ejaculated Terence.
"Wheesh!" muttered Colin. "It's coming nearer, whatever it may be.
Wheesh!"
There could be no doubt about the truth of this conjecture; for as the
caution passed from the lips of the young Scotchman, the dull hammering,
the snorts, and the unearthly screams were evidently drawing nearer;
though the creature that was causing them was unseen through the thick
sand-mist still surrounding the listeners. These however heard enough
to know that some heavy body was making a rapid descent down the sloping
gorge, and with an impetuosity that rendered it prudent for them to get
out of its way.
More by an instinct, than from any correct appreciation of the danger,
all four fell back from the narrow trench in which they had been
standing; each as he best could retreating up the declivity of the
sand-hill.
Scarce were they able to obtain footing in their new position, when the
sounds they had heard not only became louder and nearer, but the
creature that had been causing them passed close to their feet; so close
that most of them could have touched it with their toes.
For all that, not one of the party could tell what it was; and after it
had passed, on its way down the ravine, and was once more lost to their
view amid the swirling sand, they were not a bit further advanced in
their knowledge of the strange creature that had come so near crushing
out their existence with its ponderous weight!
All that they had been able to see was a conglomeration of dark objects,
resembling the head, neck, body and limbs of some uncouth animal; while
the sounds that proceeded from it were like utterances that might have
come from some other world; for certainly they had but slight
resemblance to anything the castaways had ever heard in this, either
upon sea or land!
CHAPTER TWELVE.
THE MAHERRY.
For some length of time they stood conjecturing, the boys with clasped
hands, Old Bill near, but apart.
During this time, at intervals, they continued to hear the sounds that
had so astonished them, the stamping, the snorts and the screaming,
though they no longer saw the creature that caused them.
The sand gully opened towards the sea in a diagonal direction. It could
not be many yards to the spot where it debouched upon the level of the
beach; and the creature that had caused them such a surprise, and was
still continuing to occupy their thoughts, must have reached this level
surface, though not to suspend its exertions. Every now and then could
be heard the same repetition of dull noises, as if some animal was
kicking itself to death, varied by trumpet-like snorts and agonising
screams which could be likened to the cry of no animal upon earth.
But that the castaways knew they were on the coast of Africa, that
continent renowned for strange existences, they might have been even
more disposed to a supernatural belief in what was near them; but as the
minutes passed, and their senses began to return to them, they became
more inclined to think what they had seen, heard, and felt, might be
only some animal, a heavy quadruped, that had trampled over them in
their sleep.
The chief difficulty in reconciling this belief with the actual
occurrence was the odd behaviour of the animal. Why had it gone up the
gorge, apparently _parenti passu_, to come tumbling down again in such a
confused fashion? Why was it still kicking and stumbling about at the
bottom of the ravine--for such did the sounds proclaim it to be doing?
No answer could be given to either of these questions; and none was
given, until day dawned over the sand-hills. This was soon after; and
along with the morning light had come the cessation of the simoom.
Then saw the castaways that creature that had so abruptly awakened them
from their slumbers, and, by so doing, perhaps, saved their lives. They
saw it recumbent at the bottom of the gorge, where they had so uneasily
passed the night.
It proved to be, what, from the slight glimpse they got of it, they were
inclined to believe, an animal, and a quadruped; and if it had presented
an uncouth appearance, as it stepped over them in the darkness, not less
so did it appear as they now beheld it under the light of day.
It was an animal of very large size, in height far exceeding a horse,
but of such a grotesque shape as to be easily recognisable by any one
who had ever glanced into a picture book of quadrupeds. The long
craning neck, with an almost earless head and gibbous profile; the great
straggling limbs, callous at the knees, and ending in broad,
wide-splitting hoofs; the slender hindquarters, and tiny tufted tail,
both ludicrously disproportioned, the tumid, misshapen trunk; but, above
all, the huge hunch rising above the shoulders, at once proclaimed the
creature to be a dromedary.
"Och! it's only a kaymal!" cried Old Bill, as soon as the daylight
enabled him to get a fair view of the animal. "What on hearth is it
doin' ere?"
"Sure enough," suggested Terence, "it was this beast that stepped over
us while we were asleep! It almost squeezed the breath out of me, for
it set its hoof right upon the pit of my stomach."
"The same with me," said Colin. "It sunk me down nearly a foot into the
sand. Oh, we have reason to be thankful there was that drift-sand over
our bodies at the time. If not, the great brute might have crushed us
to death."
There was some truth in Colin's observation; but for the covering of
sand, which acted as a cushion, and also from that which formed their
couch yielding underneath them, the foot of the great quadruped might
have caused them serious injury. As it was, none of them had received
any hurt, beyond the fright which the strange intruder had occasioned
them.
The singular incident was yet only half explained. They saw it was a
camel that had disturbed their slumbers; that the animal had been on its
way up the ravine, perhaps seeking shelter from the sandstorm, but what
had caused it to return so suddenly back down the slope? Above all, why
had it made the downward journey in such a singular manner? Obscure as
had been their view of it, they could see that it did not go on
all-fours, but apparently tumbling and struggling, its long limbs
kicking about in the air as if it was performing the descent by a series
of somersaults.
All this had been mysterious enough; but it was soon explained to the
satisfaction of the four castaways; who, as soon as they saw the camel
by the bottom of the gorge, had rushed down and surrounded it.
The animal was in a recumbent position, not as if it had been lain down
to rest, but in a constrained attitude, with its long neck drawn in
towards its fore-legs, and its head lying low and half buried in the
sand.
As it was motionless when they first perceived it, they fancied it was
dead; that something had wounded it above. This would have explained
the fantastic fashion in which it had returned down the slope, as the
somersaults observed might have been only a series of death struggles.
On getting around it, however, they perceived that it was not only still
alive, but in perfect health; and its late mysterious movements were
accounted for at a single glance. A strong hair halter, firmly noosed
around its head, had got caught in the bifurcation of one of its
fore-hoofs, where a knot upon the rope had hindered it from slipping
through the deep split. This had first caused it to trip up, and tumble
head over heels, inaugurating that series of struggles, which had ended
in transporting it back to the bottom of the ravine, where it now lay
with the trailing end of the long halter knotted inextricably around its
legs.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
A LIQUID BREAKFAST.
Melancholy as was the situation of the self-caught camel, it was a
joyful sight to those who beheld it. Hungry as they were, its flesh
would provide them with food; and thirsting as they were, they knew that
inside its stomach would be found a supply of water.
Such were their first thoughts as they came around it.
They soon perceived, however, that to satisfy the latter appetite it
would not be necessary for them to kill the camel. Upon the top of its
hump was a small flat pad or saddle--firmly held in its place by a
strong leathern band passing under the animal's belly. This proved to
be a "maherry," or riding camel--one of those swift creatures used by
the Arabs in their long rapid journeys across the deserts; and which are
common among the tribes inhabiting the Saara.
It was not this saddle that gratified the eyes of our adventurers, but a
bag, tightly strapped to it, and resting behind the hump of the maherry.
This bag was of goat's-skin; and upon examination was found to be
nearly half full of water. It was in fact the "Gerba", or waterskin,
belonging to whoever had been the owner of the animal--an article of
camel equipment more essential than the saddle itself.
The four castaways, suffering the torture of thirst, made no scruple
about appropriating the contents of the bag; and, in the shortest
possible time, it was stripped from the back of the maherry, its stopper
taken out, and the precious fluid extracted from it by all four, in
greedy succession, until its light weight, and collapsed side declared
it to be empty.
Their thirst being thus opportunely assuaged, a council was next held as
to what they should do to appease the other appetite.
Should they kill the camel?
It appeared to be their only chance; and the impetuous Terence had
already unsheathed his midshipman's dirk--with the design of burying it
in the body of the animal.
Colin, however, more prudent in council, cried to him to hold his hand;
at least until they should give the subject a more thorough
consideration.
On this suggestion they proceed to debate the point between them. They
were of different opinions, and equally divided. Two, Terence and Harry
Blunt, were for immediately killing the maherry and making their
breakfast upon its flesh; while the sailor joined Colin in voting that
it should be reprieved.
"Let us first make use of the animal to help carry us somewhere," argued
the young Scotchman. "We can go without food a day longer. Then, if we
find nothing, we can butcher this beast."
"But what's to be found in such a country as this?" inquired Harry
Blount. "Look around you! There's nothing green but the sea itself.
There isn't anything eatable within sight--not so much as would make a
dinner for a dormouse!"
"Perhaps," rejoined Colin, "when we've travelled a few miles, we may
come upon a different sort of country. We can keep along the coast.
Why shouldn't we find shell-fish enough to keep us alive. See; yonder's
a dark place down upon the beach. I shouldn't wonder if there's some
there?"
The glances of all were instantly directed towards the beach, excepting
those of Sailor Bill. His were fixed on a different object; and an
exclamation that escaped him, as well as a movement that accompanied it,
arrested the attention of his companions, causing them to turn their
eyes upon him.
"Shell-fish be blow'd!" cried Bill; "here's something far better for
breakfast than cowld oysters. Look!"
The sailor, as he spoke, pointed to an oval-shaped object, something
larger than a cocoa-nut, appearing between the hind legs of the maherry.
"It's a shemale!" added he, "and's had a calf not long ago. Look at the
`udder', and them tits. They're swelled wi' milk. There'll be enough
for the whole of us I warrant yez."
As if to make sure of what he said, the sailor dropped down upon his
knees by the hindquarters of the prostrate camel; and, taking one of the
teats in his mouth, commenced drawing forth the lacteal fluid which the
udder contained.
The animal made no resistance. It might have wondered at the curious
"calf" that had thus attached himself to his teats; but only at the
oddness of his colour and costume; for no doubt it had often before been
similarly served by its African owner.
"Fust rate!" cried Bill, desisting for a moment to take breath. "Ayqual
to the richest crame; if we'd only a bite av bred to go along wi' it, or
some av your Scotch porritch, Master Colin. But I forgets. My brave
youngsters," continued he, rising up and standing to one side. "Yez be
all hungrier than I am. Go it, wan after another; there'll be enough
for yez all."
Thus invited, and impelled by their hungry cravings, the three, one
after another, knelt down as the sailor had done; and drank copiously
from that sweet "fountain of the desert."
Taking it in turns, they continued "sucking", until each had swallowed
about a pint and a half of the nutritious fluid; when, the udder of the
camel becoming dry, told that her supply of milk was, for the time,
exhausted.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
THE SAILOR AMONG THE SHELL-FISH.
It was no longer a question of slaying the camel. That would be killing
the goose that gave the golden eggs. Though they were still very hungry
the rich milk had to some extent taken the keen edge off their
appetites; and all declared they could now go several hours without
eating.
The next question was: where were they to go?
The reader may wonder that this was a question at all. Having been told
that the camel carried a saddle, and was otherwise caparisoned, it will
naturally be conjectured that the animal had got loose from some owner,
and was simply straying. This was the very hypothesis that passed
before the mind of our adventurers. How could they have conjectured
otherwise?
Indeed it was scarce a guess. The circumstances told them to a
certainty that the camel must have strayed from its owner. The only
question was, where that owner might be found.
By reading, or otherwise, they possessed enough knowledge of the coast
on which they had been cast away to know that the proprietor of the
"stray" would be some kind of an Arab; and that he would be found
living, not in a house or a town, but in a tent; in all likelihood
associated with a number of other Arabs in an "encampment."
It required not much reasoning to arrive at these conclusions, and our
adventurers had come to them almost on that instant when they first set
eyes on the caparisoned camel.
You may wonder that they did not instantly set forth in search of the
master of the maherry; or of the tent or encampment from which the
latter should have strayed. One might suppose that this would have been
their first movement.
On the contrary, it was likely to be their very last; and for sufficient
reasons which will be discovered in the conversation that ensued after
they had swallowed their liquid breakfasts.
Terence had proposed adopting this course, that is, to go in search of
the man from whom the maherry must have wandered. The young Irishman
had never been a great reader, at all events no account of the many
"lamentable shipwrecks on the Barbary coast" had ever fallen into his
hands, and he knew nothing of the terrible reputation of its people.
Neither had Bill obtained any knowledge of it from books; but, for all
that, thanks to many a forecastle yarn, the old sailor was well informed
both about the character of the coast on which they had suffered
shipwreck, and its inhabitants. Bill had the best of reasons for
dreading the denizens of the Saaran desert.
"Sure they're not cannibals?" urged Terence. "They won't eat us,
anyhow?"
"In troth I'm not so shure av that, Masther Terry," replied Bill. "Even
supposin' they won't ate us, they'd do worse."
"Worse!"
"Ay, worse, I tell you. They'd torture us, till death would be a
blissin'."
"How do you know they would?"
"Ach! Masther Terry!" sighed the old sailor, assuming an air of
solemnity, such as his young comrades had never before witnessed upon
his usually cheerful countenance; "I could tell yez something that 'ud
convince ye av the truth av what I've been sayin', an' that'll gie ye a
hidear av what we've got to expect if we fall into the 'ands av these
feerocious Ayrabs."
Bill had already hinted at the prospective peril of a encounter with the
people of the country.
"Tell us, Bill. What is it?"
"Well, young masthers, it beant much, only that my own brother was
wrecked some 'ere on this same coast. That was ten years agone. He
never returned to owld Hingland."
"Perhaps he was drowned?"
"Betther for 'im, poor boy, if he 'ad. No, he 'adn't that luck. The
crew--it was a tradin' vessel, and there was tin o' them--all got safe
ashore. They were taken prisoners as they landed, by a lot o' Ayrabs.
Only one av the tin got home to tell the tale; and he wouldn't a 'ad a
chance but for a Jew merchant at Mogador that found he 'ad rich
relations as 'ud pay well to ransom him. I see him a wee while after he
got back to Hingland; and he tell me what he had to go through, and my
hown brother as well; for Jim, that be my brother's name, was with the
tribe as took 'im up the counthry. None o' yez iver heerd o' cruelties
like they 'ad to put up with. Death in any way would be aisy compared
to what they 'ad to hendure. Poor Jim! I suppose he's dead long ago.
Tough as I be myself, I don't believe I could a stood it a week, let
alone tin years. Talk o' knockin' about like a Turk's head. They were
knocked about an' beat an' bullied an' kicked an' starved worse than the
laziest lubber as ever skulked about the decks o' a ship. No, Masther
Terry! we mustn't think av thryin' to find the owner av the beest; but
do everythink we can to keep out av the way av both him an' his."
"What would you advise us to do, Bill?"
"I don't know much 'bout where we be," replied the sailor; "but
wheresomever it is, our best plan are to hug by the coast, an' keep
within sight o' the water. If we go inard, we're sure to get lost one
way or t'other. By keepin' south'ard we may come to some thradin' port
av the Portagee."
"We'd better start at once, then," suggested the impatient Terence.
"No, Masther Terry," said the sailor; "not afore night. We mustn't
leave 'eer till it gets dark. We'll 'ave to thravel betwane two days."
"What!" simultaneously exclaimed the three midshipmen. "Stay here till
night! Impossible!"
"Ay, lads! an' we must hide, too. Shure as you are livin' there'll be
somebody afther this sthray kaymal, in a wee while, too, as ye'll see.
If we ventured out durin' the daylight they'd be shure to see us from
the 'ills. It's sayed, the thievin' schoundrels always keep watch when
there's been a wreck upon the coast; an' I'll be bound this beest
belongs to some av them same wreckers."
"But what shall we do for food?" asked one of the party; "we'll be
famished before nightfall! The camel, having nothing to eat or drink,
won't yield any more milk."
This interrogative conjecture was probably too near the truth. No one
made answer to it. Colin's eyes were again turned towards the beach.
Once more he directed the thoughts of his comrades to the shell-fish.
"Hold your hands, youngsters," said the sailor. "Lie close 'eer behind
the 'ill; an' I'll see if there's any shell-fish that we can make a meal
av. Now that the sun's up, it won't do to walk down there. I must make
a crawl av it."
So saying, the old salt, after skulking some distance farther down the
sand gully, threw himself flat upon his face, and advanced in this
attitude like some gigantic lizard crawling across the sand.
The tide was out, but the wet beach, lately covered by the sea,
commenced at a short distance from the base of the dunes.
After a ten minutes' struggle, Bill succeeded in reaching the
dark-looking spot, where Colin had conjectured there might be
shell-fish.
The old sailor was soon seen busily engaged about something; and from
his movements it was evident that his errand was not to prove fruitless.
His hands were extended in different directions; and then at short
intervals withdrawn, and plunged into the capacious pockets of his
pea-jacket.
After these gestures had been continued for about half an hour, he was
seen to "slew" himself round, and come crawling back towards the
sand-hills.
His return was effected more slowly than his departure; and it could be
seen that he was heavily weighted.
On getting back into the gorge, he was at once relieved of his load;
which proved to consist of about three hundred "cockles", as he called
the shell-fish he had collected, and which were found to be a species of
mussel.
They were not only edible, but delicious, at least they seemed so to
those who were called upon to swallow them.
This seasonable supply did a great deal towards allaying the appetites
of all; and even Terence now declared himself contented to remain
concealed until night should afford them an opportunity of escape from
the monotony of their situation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
KEEPING UNDER COVER.
From the spot, where the camel still lay couched in his "entetherment",
the sea was not visible to one lying along the ground. It was only by
standing erect and looking over a spur of the sand-ridge that the beach
could be seen, and the ocean beyond it.
There would be no danger, therefore, of their being discovered, by any
one coming along the strand, provided they kept in a crouching attitude
behind the ridge, which, sharply crested, like a snow-wreath, formed a
sort of parapet in front of them. They might have been easily seen from
the summit of any of the dunes to the rear; but there was not much
likelihood of any one approaching them in that direction. The country
inward appeared to be a labyrinth of sand-hills, with no opening that
would indicate a passage for either man or beast. The camel, in all
probability, had taken to the gorge, guided by its instincts, there to
seek shelter from the sandstorm. The fact of its carrying a saddle
showed that its owner must have been upon the march at the time it
escaped from him. Had our adventurers been better acquainted with
Saaran customs, they would have concluded that this had been the case;
for they would have known that, on the approach of a _shumu_, the
forecasts of which are well-known, the Bedouins at once and in all haste
break up their encampment and put themselves and their whole personal
property in motion. Otherwise, they would be in danger of getting
smoored under the settling sand-drift.
Following the counsels of the sailor, whose desert knowledge appeared as
extensive as if it, and not the sea, had been his habitual home, our
adventurers crouched down in such a way as not to be seen by any one
passing along the beach.
Scarcely had they placed themselves in this humble attitude when Old
Bill, who had been keeping watch all the while, with only the upper half
of his head elevated above the combing of the sand-wreath, announced, by
a low exclamation, that something was in sight.
Two dark forms were seen coming along the shore, from the southward; but
at so great a distance that it was impossible to tell what sort of
creatures they might turn out.
"Let me have a look," proposed Colin. "By good luck, I've got my glass.
It was in my pocket as we escaped from the ship; and I didn't think of
throwing it away."
As the young Scotchman spoke, he took from the breast of his dreadnought
jacket, a small telescope, which, when drawn out to its full extent,
exhibited a series of tubes, _en echelon_, about half a yard in length.
Directing it upon the dark objects, at the same time taking the
precaution to keep his own head as low as possible, he at once
proclaimed their character.
"They're two bonny bodies," said he, "dressed in all the colours of the
rainbow. I can see bright shawls, and red caps and striped cloaks. One
is mounted on a horse; the other bestrides a camel, just such a one as
this by our side. They're coming along slowly, and appear to be staring
about them."
"Ah, that be hit," said Old Bill. "It be the howners of this 'eer
brute. They be on the sarch for her. Lucky the drift-sand had covered
her tracks, else they'd come right on to us. Lie low, Masther Colin.
We mayn't show our heeds over the combin' o' the sand. They'd be sure
to see the size o' a saxpence. We maun keep awthegither oot o' sicht."
One of the old sailor's peculiarities--or, perhaps, it may have been an
eccentricity--was, that in addressing himself to his companions, he was
almost sure to assume the national _patois_ of the individual spoken to.
In anything like a continued conversation with Harry Blount, his "h's"
were handled in a most unfashionable manner; and while talking with
Terence, the Milesian came from his lips in a brogue almost as pure as
Tipperary could produce.
In a _tete-a-tete_ with Colin, the listener might have sworn that Bill
was more Scotch than the young Macpherson himself.
Colin perceived the justice of the sailor's suggestion; and immediately
ducked his head below the level of the parapet of sand.
This placed our adventurers in a position at once irksome and uncertain.
Curiosity, if nothing else, rendered them desirous to watch the
movements of the men who were approaching. Without noting these, they
would not be able to tell when they might again raise their heads above
the ridge; and might do so, just at the time when the horseman and the
rider of the maherry were either opposite or within sight of them.
As the sailor had said, any dark object of the size of a sixpence would
be seen if presented above the smooth combing of snow-white sand; and it
was evident to all that for one of them to look over it might lead to
their being discovered.
While discussing this point, they knew that some time had elapsed; and,
although the eyes they dreaded might still be distant, they could not
help thinking, that they were near enough to see them if only the hair
of their heads should be shown above the sand.
They reflected naturally. They knew that these sons of the desert must
be gifted with keen instincts; or, at all events, with an experience
that would enable them to detect the slightest "fault" in the aspect of
a landscape, so well-known to them, in short, that they would notice
anything that might appear "abnormal" in it.
From that time their situation was one of doubt and anxiety. They dared
not give even as much as a glance over the smooth, snow-white sand.
They could only crouch behind it, in anxious expectation; knowing not
when that dubious condition of things could be safely brought to a
close.
Luckily they were relieved from it, and sooner than they had expected.
Colin it was who discovered a way to get out of the difficulty.
"Ha!" exclaimed he, as an ingenious conception sprang up in his mind.
"I've got an idea that'll do. I'll watch these fellows, without giving
them a chance of seeing me. That will I."
"How?" asked the others.
Colin made no verbal reply; but instead, he was seen to insert his
telescope into the sand-parapet, in such a way that its tube passed
clear through to the other side, and of course commanded a view of the
beach, along which the two forms were advancing.
As soon as he had done so, he placed his eye to the glass, and in a
cautious whisper announced that both the horseman and camel-rider were
within his "field of view."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
THE TRAIL ON THE SAND.
The tube of the telescope, firmly embedded in the sand, kept its place
without the necessity of being held in hand. It only required to be
slightly shifted as the horseman and camel-rider changed place, so as to
keep them within its field of view.
By this means our adventures were able to mark their approach and note
every movement they made, without much risk of being seen themselves.
Each of them took a peep through the glass to satisfy their curiosity,
and then the instrument was wholly entrusted to its owner, who was
thenceforth constantly to keep his eye to it, and observe the movements
of the strangers. This the young Scotchman did, at intervals
communicating with his companions in a low voice.
"I can make out their faces," muttered he after a time, "and ugly enough
are they. One is yellow, the other black. He must be a negro; of
course he is, he's got woolly hair too. It's he that rides the camel,
just such another as this that stumbled over us. The yellow man upon
the horse has a pointed beard upon his chin. He has a sharp look, like
those Moors we've seen at Tetuan. He's an Arab, I suppose. He appears
to be the master of the black man. I can see him make gestures, as if
he was directing him to do something. There! they have stopped, they
are looking this way!"
"Marcy on us!" muttered Old Bill, "if they have speered the glass!"
"Troth! that's like enough," said Terence. "It'll be flashing in the
sun outside the sand. The sharp-eyed Arab is almost sure to see it."
"Had you not better draw it in?" suggested Harry Blount.
"True," answered Colin. "But I fear it would be too late now. If
that's what halted them, it's all over with us so far as hiding goes."
"Slip it in anyhow. If they don't see it any more they mayn't come
quite up to the ridge."
Colin was about to follow the advice thus offered, when on taking what
he intended to be a last squint through the telescope, he perceived that
the travellers were moving on up the beach, as if they had seen nothing
that called upon them to deviate from their course.
Fortunately for the four "stowaways" it was not the sparkle of the lens
that had caused them to make that stop. A ravine or opening through the
sand-ridges, much larger than that in which our adventurers were
concealed, embouched upon the beach, some distance below. It was the
appearance of this opening that had attracted the attention of the two
mounted men; and from their gestures Colin could tell they were talking
about it, as if undecided whether to go that way or keep on up the
strand.
It ended by the yellow man putting spurs to his horse and galloping off
up the ravine, followed by the black man on the camel.
From the way in which both behaved; keeping their eyes generally bent
upon the ground, but at intervals gazing about over the country; it was
evident they were in search of something, and this would be the
she-camel, that lay tethered in the bottom of the sand-gorse, close to
the spot occupied by our adventurers.
"They've gone off on the wrong track," said Colin, taking his eye from
the glass as soon as the switch tail of the maherry disappeared behind
the slope of a sand-dune. "So much the better for us. My heart was at
my mouth just a minute ago. I was sure it was all over with us."
"You think they haven't seen the shine of the lens?" interrogated Harry.
"Of course not; or else they'd have come on to examine it. Instead,
they've left the beach altogether. They've gone inland, among the
hills. They're no longer in sight."
"Good!" ejaculated Terence, raising his head over the ridge, as did also
the others.
"Och! good yez may well say, Masther Terence. Jist look what fools
we've been all four av us! We never thought av the thracks, nayther wan
nor other av us."
As Bill spoke he pointed down towards the beach, in the direction in
which he had made his late crawling excursion. There, distinctly
traceable in the half-wet sand, were the marks he had made both going
and returning, as if a huge tortoise or crocodile had been dragging
itself over the ground.
The truth of his words was apparent to all. It was chance, and not
their cunning, that had saved them from discovery. Had the owner of the
camel but continued another hundred yards along the beach, he could not
have failed to see the double "trail" made by the sailor; and of course
would have followed it to the spot where they were hidden. As it was,
the two mounted men had not come near enough to note the sign made by
the old salt in his laborious flounderings; and perhaps fancying they
had followed the strand far enough, they had struck off into the
interior, through the opening of the sand-hills, in the belief that the
she-camel might have done the same.
Whatever may have been their reason, they were now gone out of sight,
and the long stretch of desert shore was once more under the eyes of our
adventurers, unrelieved by the appearance of anything that might be
called a living creature.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
THE "DESERT SHIP."
Though there was now nothing within sight between them, they did not
think it prudent to move out of the gorge, nor even to raise their heads
above the level of the sand-wreath. They did so only at intervals, to
assure themselves that the "coast was clear"; and satisfied on this
score, they would lower their heads again, and remain in this attitude
of concealment.
One with but slight knowledge of the circumstances, or with the country
in which they were, might consider them over-cautious in acting thus,
and might fancy that in their forlorn, shipwrecked condition they should
have been but too glad to meet men.
On the contrary, a creature of their own shape was the last thing they
desired either to see or encounter; and for reasons already given in
their conversation, they could meet no men there who would not be their
enemies, worse than that, their tyrants, perhaps their torturers. Old
Bill was sure of this from what he had heard. So were Colin and Harry
from what they had read. Terence alone was incredulous as to the
cruelty of which the sailor had given such a graphic picture.
Terence, however rash he was by nature, allowed himself to be overruled
by his more prudent companions; and therefore, up to the hour when the
twilight began to empurple the sea, no movement towards stirring from
their place of concealment was made by any of the party.
The patient camel shared their silent retreat; though they had taken
precautions against its straying from them, had it felt so inclined, by
tying its shanks securely together. Towards evening the animal was
again milked, in the same fashion as in the morning; and, reinvigorated
by its bountiful yield, our adventurers prepared to depart from a spot
of which, notwithstanding the friendly concealment it had afforded them,
they were all heartily tired.
Their preparations were easily made, and occupied scarce ten seconds of
time. It was only to untether the camel and take to the road, or, as
Harry jocosely termed it, "unmoor the desert ship and begin their
voyage."
Just as the last gleam of daylight forsook the white crests of the
sand-hills, and went flickering afar over the blue waters of the ocean,
they stole forth from their hiding-place, and started upon a journey of
which they knew neither the length nor the ending.
Even of the direction of that undetermined journey they had but a vague
conception. They believed that the coast trended northward and
southward, and that one of these points was the proper one to head for.
It was almost "heads or tails" which of them they should take, and had
they been better acquainted with their true situation, it might as well
have been determined by a toss up, for any chance they had of ever
arriving at a civilised settlement. But they knew not that. They had a
belief, the old sailor stronger than the rest, that there were
Portuguese forts along the coast, chiefly to the southward, and that by
keeping along shore they might reach one of these. There were such
establishments it is true--still are; and though at that time there were
some nearer to the point where their ship had been wrecked, none were
near enough to be reached by the starving castaway, however
perseveringly he might travel towards them.
Ignorant of the impracticability of their attempt, our adventurers
entered upon it with a spirit worthy of success--worthy of the country
from which they had come.
For some time the maherry was led in hand, Old Bill being its conductor.
All four had been well rested during the day; and none of them cared to
ride.
As the tide, however, was now beginning to creep up into the sandy
inlets, to avoid walking in water, they were compelled to keep well high
up on the beach; and this forced them to make their way through the soft
yielding sand--a course that required considerable exertion.
One after another now began to feel fatigue, and talk about it as well;
and then the proposal was made that the maherry, who stepped over the
unsure surface with as much apparent lightness as a cat would have done,
should be made to carry at least one of the party. They could ride in
turns, which would give each of them an opportunity of resting.
No sooner was the proposition made than it was carried into execution;
Terence, who had been the one to advance it, being hoisted up to the
hump of the camel.
But though the young O'Connor had been accustomed the saddle from
childhood, and had ridden "across country" on many an occasion, it was
not long before he became dissatisfied with the saddle of a maherry.
The rocking, and jolting, and "pitching" as our adventurers termed it,
from larboard to starboard, fore and aft, and alow and aloft, soon
caused Terence to sing out "belay"; and he descended into the soft sand
with a much greater desire for walking than the moment before he had had
for riding.
Harry Blount took his place; but although the young Englishman had been
equally accustomed to a hunting saddle, he found that his experience
went but a little way towards making him easy on the hump of a maherry;
and he was soon in the mood for dismounting.
The son of Scotia next climbed upon the back of the camel. Whether it
was that natural pride of prowess which oft impels his countrymen to
perseverance and daring deeds--whether it was that, or whether it arose
from a sterner power of endurance, certain it is that Colin kept his
seat longer than either of his predecessors.
But even Scotch sinews could not hold out against such a tension, such a
bursting and wrenching and tossing, and it ended by Colin declaring that
upon the whole he would prefer making the journey upon "Shanks's mare."
Saying this he slid down from the shoulders of the ungainly animal,
resigning the creature once more to the conduct of Old Bill, who had
still kept hold of the halter.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
HOMEWARD BOUND.
The experience of his young companions might have deterred the sailor
from imitating their example; more especially as Bill, according to his
own statement, had never been "aboard" a saddle in his life. But they
did not, and for special reasons. Awkward as the old salt might feel in
a saddle, he felt not less awkward afoot. That is ashore--on terra
firma.
Place him on the deck of a ship, or in the rigging of one, and no man in
all England's navy could have been more secure as to his footing, or
more difficult to dispossess of it; but set Sailor Bill upon shore, and
expect him to go ahead, you would be disappointed; you might as well
expect a fish to make progress on land; and you would witness a species
of locomotion more resembling that of a manatee or a seal than of a
human biped. As the old man-o'-war's-man had now been floundering for a
mile through the soft shore-sand, he was thoroughly convinced that any
mode of progression must be preferable to that; and as soon as the young
Scotchman descended from his seat he climbed into it. He had not much
climbing to do, for the well-trained maherry, when any one wished to
mount him, at once knelt down, making the ascent to his "summits" as
easy as possible.
Just as the sailor had got firmly into the saddle, the moon shone out
with a brilliance that almost rivalled the light of day. In the midst
of that desert landscape, against the ground of snow-white sand, the
figures of both camel and rider were piquantly conspicuous; and although
the one was figuratively a ship, and the other really a sailor, their
juxtaposition offered a contrast of the queerest kind. So ludicrous did
it seem that the three "mids", disregarding all ideas of danger, broke
forth with one accord into a strain of loud and continuous laughter.
They had all seen camels, or pictures of these animals; but never before
either a camel or the picture of one with a sailor upon his back. The
very idea of a dromedary carries along with it the cognate spectacle of
an Arab on its back--a slim, sinewy individual of swarth complexion and
picturesque garb, a bright burnouse streaming around his body, with a
twisted turban on his head. But a tall camel surmounted by a sailor, in
dreadnought jacket and sou'wester, was a picture to make a Solon laugh,
let alone a trio of midshipmen; and it drew from the latter such a
cachinnation as caused the shores of the Saara to echo with sounds of
joy, perhaps never heard there before. Old Bill was not angry. He was
only gratified to see these young gentlemen in such good spirits; and
calling upon them to keep close after him, he gave the halter to his
maherry and started off over the sand.
For some time his companions kept pace with him, doing their best. But
it soon became apparent, even to the sailor himself, that unless
something was done to restrain the impetuosity of the camel, he must
soon be separated from those following afoot.
This something its rider felt himself incapable of accomplishing. It is
true he still held the halter in his hand, but this gave him but slight
control over the camel. It was not a Mameluke bit, not even a snaffle,
and for directing the movements of the animal the old sailor felt
himself as helpless as if standing by the wheel of a seventy-four that
had unshipped her rudder. Just like a ship in such a situation did the
maherry behave. Surging through the ocean of soft sand, now mounting
the spurs that trended down to the beach, now descending headlong into
deep gullies, like troughs between the ocean waves, and gliding
silently, gently forward as a shallop upon a smooth sea. Such was the
course that the sailor was pursuing. Very different, however, were his
reflections to those he would have indulged in on board a man-o'-war;
and if any man ever sneered at that simile which likens a camel to a
ship, it was Sailor Bill upon that occasion.
"Avast there!" cried he, as soon as the maherry had fairly commenced
moving. "Shiver my old timbers! what do yez mean, you brute? Belay
there! belay! 'Ang it, I must pipe all hands, an' take in sail. Where
the deevil are ye steerin' to? Be jabers, yez may laugh, young
gentlemen, but this ain't a fair weather craft, I tell yez. Thunder an'
guns! it be as much as I can do to keep her to her course. Hullo! she's
off afore the wind!"
As the rider of the maherry gave out this declaration, the animal was
seen suddenly to increase its speed, not only in a progressive ratio,
but at once to double quick, as if impelled by some powerful motive.
At the same time it was heard to utter a strange cry, half scream, half
snort, which could not have been caused by any action on the part of its
rider.
It was already over a hundred yards in advance of those following on
foot; but after giving out that startling cry, the distance became
quickly increased, and in a few seconds of time the three astonished
"mids" saw only the shadow of a maherry, with a sailor upon its back,
first dissolving into dim outline until it finally disappeared behind
the sand-dunes that abutted upon the beach.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE DANCE INTERRUPTED.
Leaving the midshipmen to their mirth, which, however, was not of very
long duration, we must follow Sailor Bill and the runaway camel.
In reality the maherry had made off with him, though for what reason the
sailor could not divine. He only knew that it was going at the rate of
nine or ten knots an hour, and going its own way; for instead of keeping
to the line of the coast, the direction he would have wished it to take,
it had suddenly turned tail upon the sea, and headed towards the
interior of the country.
Its rider had already discovered that he had not the slightest control
over it. He had tugged upon the hair halter and shouted "Avast!" until
both his arms and tongue were tired. All to no purpose. The camel
scorned his commands, lent a deaf ear to his entreaties, and paid not
the slightest heed to his attempt to pull up, except to push on in the
opposite direction, with its snout elevated in the air and its long
ungainly neck stretched forward in the most determined and provoking
fashion.
There was not much force in the muscular efforts made to check it. It
was just as much as its rider could do to balance himself on its hump,
which, of course, he had to do Arab fashion, sitting upon the saddle as
on a chair, with his feet resting upon the back of the animal's neck.
It was this position that rendered his seat so insecure, but no other
could have been adopted in the saddle of a maherry, and the sailor was
compelled to keep it as well as he could.
At the time the animal first started off, it had not gone at so rapid a
pace but that he might have slipped down upon the soft sand without much
danger of being injured. This for an instant he had thought of doing;
but knowing that while "unhorsing" himself the camel might escape, he
had voluntarily remained on its back, in the hope of being able to pull
the animal up.
On becoming persuaded that this would be impossible, and that the
maherry had actually made off with him, it was too late to dismount
without danger. The camel was now shambling along so swiftly that he
could not slip down without submitting himself to a fall. It would be
no longer a tumble upon soft sand, for the runaway had suddenly swerved
into a deep gorge, the bottom of which was thickly strewed with boulders
of rock, and through these the maherry was making way with the speed of
a fast-trotting horse.
Had its rider attempted to abandon his high perch upon the hump, his
chances would have been good for getting dashed against one of the big
boulders, or trodden under the huge hoofs of the maherry itself.
Fully alive to this danger, Old Bill no more thought of throwing himself
to the ground; but on the contrary, held on to the lump with all the
tenacity that lay in his well tarred digits.
He had continued to shout for some time after parting with his
companions; but as this availed nothing, he at length desisted, and was
now riding the rest of his race in silence.
When was it to terminate? Whither was the camel conducting him? These
were the questions that now came before his mind.
He thought of an answer, and it filled him with apprehension. The
animal was evidently in eager haste. It was snuffing the wind in its
progress forward; something ahead seemed to be attracting it. What
could this something be but its home, the tent from which it had
strayed, the dwelling of its owner? And who could that owner be but one
of those cruel denizens of the desert they had been taking such pains to
avoid?
The sailor was allowed but little time for conjectures; for almost on
the instant of his shaping this, the very first one, the maherry shot
suddenly round a hill, bringing him in full view of a spectacle that
realised it.
A small valley, or stretch of level ground enclosed by surrounding
ridges, lay before him; its grey sandy surface interspersed by a few
patches of darker colour, which the moon, shining brightly from a blue
sky, disclosed to be tufts of tussock-grass and mimosa bushes.
These however, did not occupy the attention of the involuntary visitor
to that secluded spot; but something else that appeared in their midst--
something that proclaimed the presence of human beings.
Near the centre of the little valley half a dozen dark objects stood up
several feet above the level of the ground. Their size, shape, and
colour proclaimed their character. They were tents, the tents of a
Bedouin encampment. The old man-o'-war's-man had never seen such
before; but there was no mistaking them for anything else; even going as
he was at a speed that prevented him from having a very clear view of
them.
In a few seconds, however, he was near enough to distinguish something
more than the tents. They stood in a sort of circle of about twenty
yards in diameter, and within this could be seen the forms of men,
women, and children. Around were animals of different sorts; horses,
camels, sheep, goats, and dogs, grouped according to their kind, with
the exception of the dogs, which appeared to be straying everywhere.
This varied tableau was distinctly visible under the light of a full
mellow moon.
There were voices; shouting and singing. There was music, made upon
some rude instrument. The human forms, both of men and women, were in
motion, circling and springing about. The sailor saw they were dancing.
He heard and saw all this in a score of seconds, as the maherry hurried
him forward into their midst. The encampment was close to the bottom of
the hill round which the camel had carried him. He had at length made
up his mind to dismount _coute qui coute_; but there was no time.
Before he could make a movement to fling himself from the shoulders of
the animal, he saw that he was discovered. A cry coming from the tents
admonished him of this fact. It was too late to attempt a retreat, and,
in a state of desponding stupor, he stuck to the saddle. Not much
longer. The camel, with a snorting scream, responding to the call of
its fellows, rushed on into the encampment, right into the very circle
of the dancers; and there, amidst the shouts of men, the screeches of
women, the yelling of children, the neighing of horses, the bleating of
sheep and goats, and the barking of a score or two of cur dogs, the
animal stopped, with such abrupt suddenness that its rider, after
performing a somersault through the air, came down on all-fours in front
of its projecting snout!
In such fashion was Sailor Bill introduced to the Arab encampment.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
A SERIO-COMICAL RECEPTION.
It need scarce be said that the advent of the stranger produced some
surprise among the Terpsichorean crowd, into the midst of which he had
been so unceremoniously projected. And yet this surprise was not such
as might have been expected. One might suppose that an English
man-o'-war's-man, in pilot-cloth pea-jacket, glazed hat, and wide duck
trousers, would have been a singular sight to the eyes of the
dark-skinned individuals who now encircled him; dressed, as all of them
were, in gay-coloured floating shawl-robes, slippered or sandalled feet,
and with fez caps or turbans on their heads.
Not a bit of a singular sight; neither the colour of his skin, nor his
sailor-costume, had caused surprise to those who surrounded him. Both
were matters with which they were well acquainted, alas! too well.
The astonishment they had exhibited arose simply from the _sans facon_
manner of his coming amongst them; and on the instant after it
disappeared, giving place to a feeling of a different kind.
Succeeding to the shouts of surprise, arose a simultaneous peal of
laughter from men, women, and children; in which even the animals seemed
to join, more especially the maherry, who stood with its uncouth head
craned over its dismounted rider, and looking uncontrollably comic.
In the midst of this universal exclamation the sailor rose to his feet.
He might have been disconcerted by the reception, had his senses been
clear enough to comprehend what was passing. But they were not. The
effects of that fearful somersault had confused him; and he had only
risen to an erect attitude under a vague instinct or desire to escape
from that company.
After staggering some paces over the ground, his thoughts returned to
him; and he more clearly comprehended his situation. Escape was out of
the question. He was prisoner to a party of wandering Bedouins, the
worst to be found in all the wide expanse of the Saaran desert, the
wreckers of the Atlantic coast.
The sailor might have felt surprise at seeing a collection of familiar
objects, into the midst of which he had wandered. By the doorway of a
tent, one of the largest upon the ground, there was a pile of
paraphernalia, every article of which was typical, not of the Saara, but
the sea. There were "belongings" of the cabin and caboose, the 'tween
decks and the forecastle, all equally proclaiming themselves the debris
of a castaway ship.
The sailor could have no conjectures as to the vessel to which they had
belonged. He knew the articles by sight, one and all of them. They
were the spoils of the corvette that had been washed ashore and fallen
into the hands of the wreckers.
Among them Old Bill saw some things that had appertained to himself.
On the opposite side of the encampment, by another large tent, was a
second pile of ship's equipments, like the first guarded by a sentinel,
who squatted beside it. The sailor looked around in expectation to see
some of the corvette's crew. Some might have escaped, like himself and
his three companions, by reaching the shore on cask, coop, or spar. If
so, they had not fallen into the hands of the wreckers; or if they had,
they were not in the camp, unless, indeed, they might be inside some of
the tents. This was not likely. Most probably they had all been
drowned, or had succumbed to a worse fate than drowning--death at the
hands of the cruel coast robbers who now surrounded the survivor.
The circumstances under which the old sailor made these reflections were
such as to render the last hypothesis sufficiently probable. He was
being pushed about and dragged over the ground by two men, armed with
long curved scimitars, contesting some point with one another,
apparently as to which should be first to cut off his head!
Both of these men appeared to be chiefs, "sheiks", as the sailor heard
them called by their followers; a party of whom, also with arms in their
hands, stood behind each sheik, all seemingly alike eager to perform the
act of decapitation.
So near seemed the old sailor's head to being cut off, that for some
seconds he was not quite sure whether it still remained upon his
shoulders. He could not understand a word that passed between the
contending parties; though there was talk enough to have satisfied a
sitting of parliament, and probably with about the same quantity of
sense in it.
Before it had proceeded far, the sailor began to comprehend, not from
the speeches made, but the gestures that accompanied them, that it was
not the design of either party to cut off his head. The drawn
scimitars, sweeping through the air, were not aimed at his neck, but
rather in mutual menace of one another.
Old Bill could see that there was some quarrel between the two sheiks,
of which he was himself the cause; that the camp was not a unity
consisting of a single chief, his family, and following; but that there
were two separate leaders, each with his adherents, perhaps temporarily
associated together for purposes of plunder.
That they had collected the wreck of the corvette, and divided the
spoils between them, was evident from the two heaps being kept carefully
apart, each piled up near the tent of a chief.
The old man-o'-war's-man made his observations in the midst of great
difficulties; for while noting these particulars, he was pulled about
the place, first by one sheik, then by the other, each retaining his
disputed person in temporary possession.
From the manner in which they acted, he could tell that it was his
person that was the subject of dispute, and that both wanted to be the
proprietor of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
THE TWO SHEIKS.
There was a remarkable difference between the two men thus claiming
ownership in the body of Old Bill. One was a little weazen-faced
individual, whose yellow complexion and sharp angular features
proclaimed him of the Arab stock; while his competitor showed a skin of
almost ebon blackness, a frame of herculean development, a broad face,
with flat nose and thick lubberly lips, a head of enormous
circumference, surmounted by a mop of woolly hair, standing erect
several inches above his occiput.
Had the sailor been addicted to ethnological speculations, he might have
derived an interesting lesson from that contest, of which he was the
cause. It might have helped him to a knowledge of the geography of the
country in which he had been cast, for he was now upon that neutral
territory where the true Ethiopian, the son of Ham, occasionally
contests possession, both of the soil and the slave, with the wandering
children of Japhet.
The two men who were thus quarrelling about the possession of the
English tar, though both of African origin, could scarce have been more
unlike had their native countries been the antipodes of each other.
Their object was not so different, though even in this there was a
certain dissimilation. Both designed making the shipwrecked sailor a
slave. But the sheik of Arabs aspects wished to possess him, with a
view to his ultimate ransom. He knew that by carrying him northwards
there would be a chance to dispose of him at a good price, either to the
Jew merchants at Wedinoin, or the European consuls at Mogador. It would
not be the first Saaran castaway he had in this manner restored to his
friends and his country, not from any motives of humanity, but simply
for the profit it produced.
On the other hand, the black competitor had a different, though somewhat
similar, purpose in view. His thoughts extended towards the south.
There lay the emporium of his commerce, the great mud-built town of
Timbuctoo. Little as a white man was esteemed among the Arab merchants
when considered as a mere slave, the sable sheik knew that in the south
of the Saara he would command a price, if only as a curiosity to figure
among the followers of the sultan of some grand interior city. For this
reason, therefore, was the black determined upon the possession of Bill,
and showed as much eagerness to become his owner as did his tawny
competitor.
After several minutes spent in words and gestures of mutual menace,
which, from the wild shouts and flourishing of scimitars, seemed as if
it could only end in a general lopping off of heads, somewhat to the
astonishment of the sailor tranquillity became restored without any one
receiving scratch or cut.
The scimitars were returned to their scabbards; and although the affair
did not appear to be decided, the contest was now carried on in a more
pacific fashion by words. A long argument ensued, in which both sheik
displayed their oratorial powers. Though the sailor could not
understand a word of what was said, he could tell that the little Arab
was urging his ownership, on the plea that the camel which had carried
the captive into the encampment was his property, and on this account
was he entitled to the "waif."
The black seemed altogether to dissent from this doctrine; on his side
pointing to the two heaps of plunder; as much as to say that his share
of the spoils, already obtained, was the smaller one.
At this crisis a third party stepped between the two disputants, a young
fellow, who appeared to have some authority with both. His behaviour
told Bill that he was acting as mediator. Whatever was the proposal
made by him, it appeared to satisfy both parties, as both at once
desisted from their wordy warfare, at the same time that they seemed
preparing to settle the dispute in some other way.
The mode was soon made apparent. A spot of smooth even sand was
selected by the side of the encampment, to which the two sheiks,
followed by their respective parties, repaired.
A square figure was traced out, inside of which several rows of little
round holes were scooped in the sand, and then the rival sheiks sat
down, one on each side of the figure. Each had already provided himself
with a number of pellets of camels' dung, which were now placed in the
holes, and the play of "helga" was now commenced.
Whoever won the game was to become possessed of the single stake, which
was neither more nor less than Sailor Bill.
The game proceeded by the shifting of the dung pellets in a particular
fashion, from hole to hole, somewhat similar to the moving of draughts
upon the squares of a chequer-board.
During the play not a word was spoken by either party, the two sheiks
squatting opposite each other, and making their moves with as much
gravity as a pair of chess-players engaged in some grand tournament of
this intellectual game.
It was only when the affair ended that the noise broke forth again,
which it did in loud triumphant shouts from the conquering party, with
expressions of chagrin on the side of the conquered.
By interpreting these shouts Bill could tell that he had fallen to the
black; and this was soon after placed beyond doubt by the latter coming
up and taking possession of him.
It appeared, however, that there had been certain subsiding conditions
to the play; and that the sailor had been in some way or another staked
against his own clothes, for before being fully appropriated by his
owner he was stripped to his shirt, and his habiliments, shoes and
sou'wester included, were handed over to the sheik who had played
second-best in the game of "helga". In this forlorn condition was the
old sailor conducted to the tent of his sable master, and placed like an
additional piece upon the pile of plunder already apportioned.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
SAILOR BILL BESHREWED.
Sailor Bill said not a word. He had no voice in the disposal of the
stakes, which were himself and his "toggery", and, knowing this, he
remained silent.
He was not allowed to remain undisturbed. During the progress of the
game, he had become the cynosure of a large circle of eyes, belonging to
the women and children of the united tribes.
He might have looked for some compassion, at least, from the female
portion of those who formed his _entourage_. Half famished with hunger,
a fact which he did not fail to communicate by signs, he might have
expected them to relieve his wants. The circumstance of his making them
known might argue that he did expect some sort of kind treatment.
It was not much, however. His hopes were but slight, and sprang rather
from a knowledge of his own necessities, and of what the women ought to
have done, than what they were likely to do. Old Bill had heard too
much of the character of these hags of the Saara, and their mode of
conducting themselves towards any unfortunate castaway who might be
drifted among them, to expect any great hospitality at their hands.
His hopes, therefore, were moderate; but, for all that, they were doomed
to disappointment.
Perhaps in no other part of the world is the "milk of human kindness" so
completely wanting in the female breast as among the women of the
wandering Arabs of Africa. Slaves to their imperious lords, even when
enjoying the sacred title of wife, they are themselves treated worse
than the animals which they have to manage and tend, even worse at times
than their own bond-slaves, with whom they mingle almost on an equality.
As in all like cases, this harsh usage, instead of producing sympathy
for others who suffer, has the very opposite tendency; as if they found
some alleviation of their cruel lot in imitating the brutality of their
oppressors.
Instead of receiving kindness, the old sailor became the recipient of
insults; not only from their tongues, which he could not understand, but
by acts and gestures which were perfectly comprehensible to him.
While his ears were dinned by virulent speeches which, could he have
comprehended them, would have told him how much he was despised for
being an infidel, and not a follower of the true Prophet; while his eyes
were well-nigh put out by dust thrown in his face, accompanied by
spiteful expectorations, his body was belaboured by sticks, his skin
scratched and pricked with sharp thorns, his whiskers lugged almost to
the dislocation of his jaws, and the hair of his head uprooted in
fistfuls from his pericranium.
All this, too, amid screams and fiendish laughter that resembled an
orgie of furies.
These women--she-devils they better deserved to be called--were simply
following out the teachings of their inhuman faith among religions, even
that of Rome not excepted, the most inhuman that has ever cursed
mankind. Had Old Bill been a believer in their "Prophet," that false
seer of the blood-stained sword, their treatment of him would have been
directly the reverse. Instead of kicks and cuffs, hustlings and
scratchings, he would have been made welcome to a share in such
hospitality as they could have bestowed upon him. It was religion, not
nature, made them act as they did. Their hardness of heart came not
from God, but the Prophet. They were only carrying out the edicts of
their "priests of a bloody faith."
In vain did the old man-o'-war's-man cry out "belay" and "avast". In
vain did he "shiver his timbers", and appeal against their scurvy
treatment by looks, words, and gesture.
These seemed only to augment the mirth and spitefulness of his
tormentors.
In this scene of cruelty there was one woman conspicuous among the rest.
By her companions she was called Fatima. The old sailor, ignorant of
Arabic feminine names, thought it a "misnomer", for of all his
she-persecutors she was the leanest and scraggiest. Notwithstanding the
poetical notions which the readers of Oriental romance might associate
with her name, there was not much poetry about the personage who so
assiduously assaulted Sailor Bill, pulling his whiskers, slapping his
cheeks, and every now and then spitting in his face.
She was something more than middle-aged, short squat, and meagre, with
the eye-teeth projecting on both sides so as to hold up the upper lip
and exhibit all the others in their ivory whiteness, with an expression
resembling that of the hyena. This is considered beauty, a fashion in
full vogue among her country-women who cultivate it with great care,
though to the eyes of the old sailor it rendered the hag all the more
hideous.
But the skinning of the eye-teeth was not the only attempt at ornament
made by this belle of the desert. Strings of black beads hung over her
wrinkled bosom, circlets of white bone were set in her hair, armlets and
bangles adorned her wrists and ankles, and altogether did her costume
and behaviour betoken one distinguished among the crowd of his
persecutors, in short, their sultana or queen.
And such did she prove; for on the black sheik appropriating the old
sailor as a stake fairly won in the game, and rescuing his newly
acquired property from the danger of being damaged, Fatima followed him
to his tent with such demonstrations as showed her to be if not the
"favourite", certainly the head of the harem.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
STARTING ON THE TRACK.
As already said, the mirth of the three midshipmen was brought to a
quick termination. It ended on the instant of Sailor Bill's
disappearance behind the spur of the sand-hills. At the same instant
all three came to a stop, and stood regarding one another with looks of
uneasiness and apprehension.
All agreed that the maherry had made away with the old man-o'-war's-man.
There could be no doubt about it. Bill's shouts, as he was hurried out
of their hearing, proved that he was doing his best to bring to, and
that the "ship of the desert" would not yield obedience to her helm.
They wondered a little why he had not slipped off and let the animal go.
They could not see why he should fear to drop down in the soft sand.
He might have had a tumble, but nothing to do him any serious injury,
nothing to break a bone or dislocate a joint. They supposed he had
stuck to the saddle from not wishing to abandon the maherry, and in hope
of soon bringing it to a halt.
This was just what he had done for the first three or four hundred
yards. After that he would only have been too well satisfied to
separate from the camel and let it go its way. But then he was among
the rough, jaggy rocks through which the path led; and then dismounting
was no longer to be thought of without also thinking of danger
considering that the camel was nearly ten feet in height, and going at a
pitching pace of ten miles to the hour. To have forsaken his saddle at
that moment, would have been to risk the breaking of his neck.
From where they stood looking after him the mids could not make out the
character of the ground. Under the light of the moon the surface seemed
all of a piece--all a bed of smooth, soft sand. For this reason were
they perplexed by his behaviour.
There was that in the incident to make them apprehensive. The maherry
would not have gone off at such a gait without some powerful motive to
impel it. Up to that moment it had shown no particular penchant for
rapid travelling, but had been going under their guidance with a steady
sober docility. Something must have attracted it towards the interior.
What could that something be, if not the knowledge that its home or its
companions were to be found in this direction?
This was the conjecture that came simultaneously into the minds of all
three, as is known the correct one.
There could be no doubt that their companion had been carried towards an
encampment; for no other kind of settlement could be thought of in such
a place. It was even a wonder that this could exist in the midst of a
dreary wild expanse of pure sand, like that surrounding them. Perhaps,
thought they, there may be "land" towards the interior of the country, a
spot of firm soil, with vegetation upon it; in short, an oasis.
After their first surprise had partially subsided, they took counsel as
to their course. Should they stay where they were, and wait for Bill's
return? Or should they follow, in the hope of overtaking him?
Perhaps he might not return? If carried into a camp of barbarous
savages it was not likely that he would. He would be seized and held
captive to a dead certainty. But surely he would not be such a
simpleton as to allow the maherry to transport him into the midst of his
enemies?
Again sprang up their surprise at his not having made an effort to
dismount.
For some ten or fifteen minutes the midshipmen stood hesitating, their
eyes all the while bent on the moonlit opening through which the maherry
had disappeared. There were no signs of anything in the pass, at least
anything like either a camel or a sailor. Only the bright beams of the
moon glittering upon crystals of purest sand.
They thought they heard sounds, the cries of quadrupeds mingling with
the voices of men. There were voices, too, of shriller intonation, that
might have proceeded from the throats of women.
Colin was confident he heard such. He was not contradicted by his
companions, who simply said they could not be sure they heard anything.
But for the constant roaring of the breakers, rolling up almost to the
spot upon which they stood, they would have declared themselves
differently; for at that moment there was a chorus being carried on at
no great distance, in a variety of most unmusical sounds, comprising the
bark of the dog, the neigh of the horse, the snorting scream of the
dromedary, the bleat of the sheep, and the sharper cry of its near
kindred the goat, along with the equally wild and scarce more articulate
utterances of savage men, women, and children.
Colin was convinced that he heard all these sounds, and declared that
they could only proceed from some encampment. His companions, knowing
that the young Scotsman was sharp-eared, made no attempt to question his
belief; but, on the contrary, gave ready credence to it.
Under any circumstances it seemed of no use to remain where they were.
If Bill did not return, they were bound in honour to go after him, and,
if possible, find out what had become of him. If, on the other hand, he
should be coming back, they must meet him somewhere in the pass through
which the camel had carried him off, since there was no other by which
he might conveniently get back to them.
This point determined, the three mids, setting their faces for the
interior of the country, started off towards the break between the
sand-hills.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
BILL TO BE ABANDONED.
They proceeded with caution, Colin even more than his companions. The
young Englishman was not so distrustful of the "natives", whoever they
might be, as the son of Scotia; and as for O'Connor, he still persisted
in the belief that there would be little if any danger in meeting with
men, and in his arguments still continued to urge seeking such an
encounter as the best course they could pursue.
"Besides," said Terence, "Colin says he hears the voices of women and
children. Sure no human creature that's got a woman and child in his
company would be such a cruel brute as you make out this desert
Ethiopian to be? Sailors' stories, to gratify the melodramatic ears of
Moll and Poll and Sue! Bah! if there be an encampment, let's go
straight into it, and demand hospitality of them. Sure they must be
Arabs; and sure you've heard enough of Arab hospitality?"
"More than's true, Terry," rejoined the young Englishman. "More than's
true, I fear."
"You may well say that," said Colin, confirmingly. "From what I've
heard and read, ay, and from something I've seen while up the
Mediterranean, a more beggarly hospitality than that called Arab don't
exist on the face of the earth. It's all well enough, so long as you're
one of themselves, and, like them, a believer in their pretended
Prophet. Beyond that, an Arab has got no more hospitality than a hyena.
You're both fond of talking about skinflint Scotchmen."
"True," interrupted Terence, who, even in that serious situation, could
not resist such a fine opportunity for displaying his Irish humour. "I
never think of a Scotchman without thinking of his skin. `God bless the
gude Duke of Argyle!'"
"Shame, Terence!" interrupted Harry Blount; "our situation is too
serious for jesting."
"He, all of us, may find it so before long," continued Colin, preserving
his temper unruffled. "If that yelling crowd, that I can now hear
plainer than ever, should come upon us, we'll have something else to
think of than jokes about gude `Duke o' Argyle'. Hush! Do you hear
that? Does it convince you that men and women are near? There are
scores of both kinds."
Colin had come to a stop, the others imitating his example. They were
now more distant from the breakers, whose roar was somewhat deadened by
the intervention of a sand-spur. In consequence, the other sounds were
heard more distinctly. They could no longer be mistaken, even by the
incredulous O'Connor.
There were voices of men, women and children, cries and calls of
quadrupeds, each according to its own kind, all mingled together in what
might have been taken for some nocturnal saturnalia of the desert.
The crisis was that in which Sailor Bill had become a subject of dispute
between the two sheiks, in which not only their respective followers of
the biped kind appeared to take part, but also every quadruped in the
camp: dogs and dromedaries, horses, goats, and sheep, as if each had an
interest in the ownership of the old man-o'-war's-man.
The grotesque chorus was succeeded by an interval of silence,
uninterrupted and profound. This was while the two sheiks were playing
their game of "helga," the "chequers" of the Saara, with Sailor Bill as
their stake.
During this tranquil interlude, the three midshipmen had advanced
through the rock-strewn ravine, had crept cautiously inside the ridges
that encircled the camp, and concealed by the sparse bushes of mimosa,
and favoured by the light of a full moon, had approached near enough to
take note of what was passing among the tents.
What they saw there, and then, was confirmatory of the theory of the
young Scotchman; and convinced not only Harry Blount, but Terence
O'Connor, that the stories of Arab hospitality were not only untrue, but
diametrically opposed to the truth.
There was old Bill before their faces, stripped to the shirt, to the
"buff," surrounded by a circle of short squat women, dark-skinned, with
black hair, and eyes sparkling in the moonlight, who were torturing him
with tongue and touch, who pinched and spat upon him, who looked
altogether like a band of infernal furies collected around some innocent
victim that had fallen among them, and giving full play to their
fiendish instincts.
Although they were witnesses to the subsequent rescue of Bill by the
black sheik, and the momentary release of the old sailor from his
tormentors, it did not increase their confidence in the crew who
occupied the encampment.
From the way in which the old salt appeared to be treated, they could
tell that he was regarded by the hosts into whose hands he had fallen,
not as a guest, but simply as a "piece of goods," just like any other
waif of the wreck that had been washed on that inhospitable shore.
In whispers the three mids made known their thoughts to one another.
Harry Blount no longer doubted the truth of Colin's statements; and
O'Connor had become equally converted from his incredulity. The conduct
of the women towards the unfortunate castaway, which all three
witnessed, told like the tongue of a trumpet. It was cruel beyond
question. What, when exercised, must be that of their men?
To think of leaving their old comrade in such keeping was not a pleasant
reflection. It was like their abandoning him upon the sandspit, to the
threatening engulfment of the tide. Even worse: for the angry breakers
seemed less spiteful than the hags who surrounded him in the Arab camp.
Still, what could the boys do? Three midshipmen, armed only with their
tiny dirks, what chance would they have among so many? There were
scores of these sinewy sons of the desert, without counting the shrewish
women, each armed with gun and scimitar, any one of whom ought to have
been more than a match for a mid. It would have been sheer folly to
have attempted a rescue. Despair only could have sanctioned such a
course.
In a whispered consultation it was determined otherwise. The old sailor
must be abandoned to his fate, just as he had been left upon the
sandspit. His youthful companions could only breathe a prayer in his
behalf, and express a hope that, as upon the latter occasion, some
providential chance should turn up in his favour, and he might again be
permitted to rejoin them.
After communicating this hope to one another, all three turned their
faces shoreward, determined to put as much space between themselves and
the Arab encampment as night and circumstances would permit.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
A CAUTIOUS RETREAT.
The ravine, up which the maherry had carried the old man-o'-war's-man,
ran perpendicularly to the trending of the seashore, and almost in a
direct line from the beach to the valley in which was the Arab
encampment. It could not, however, be said to debouch into this valley.
Across its mouth the sand-drift had formed a barrier, like a huge
"snow-wreath," uniting the two parallel ridges that formed the sides of
the ravine itself. This "mouthpiece" was not so high as either of the
flanking ridges; though it was nearly a hundred feet above the level of
the beach on one side, and the valley on the other. Its crest, viewed
_en profile_, exhibited a saddle-shaped curve, the concavity turned
upward. Through the centre of this saddle of sand, and transversely,
the camel had carried Bill; and over the same track the three midshipmen
had gone in search of him.
They had seen the Arab tents from the summit of the pass; and had it
been daylight, need have gone no nearer to note what was being there
done. Even by the moonlight they had been able to make out the forms of
the horses, camels, men, and women; but not with sufficient distinctness
to satisfy them as to what was going on.
For this reason had they descended into the valley, creeping cautiously
down the slope of the sand-wreath, and with equal caution advancing from
boulder to bush, and bush to boulder.
On taking the back track to regain the beach, they still observed
caution, though perhaps not to such a degree as when approaching the
camp. Their desire to put space between themselves and the barbarous
denizens of the desert, of whose barbarity they had now obtained both
ocular and auricular proof, had very naturally deprived them of that
prudent coolness which the occasion required. For all that, they did
not retreat with reckless rashness; and all three arrived at the bottom
of the sloping sand-ridge without having any reason to think they had
been observed.
But the most perilous point was yet to be passed. Against the face of
the acclivity, there was not much danger of their being seen. The moon
was shining on the other side. That which they had to ascend was in
shadow, dark enough to obscure the outlines of their bodies to an eye
looking in that direction, from such a distance as the camp. It was not
while toiling up the slope that the dreaded detection, but at the moment
when they must cross the saddle-shaped summit of the pass. Then, the
moon being low down in the sky, directly in front of their faces, while
the camp, still lower, was right behind their backs, it was not
difficult to tell that their bodies would be exactly aligned between the
luminary of night and the sparkling eyes of the Arabs, and that their
figures would be exhibited in conspicuous outline.
It had been much the same way on their entrance to the oasis; but then
they were not so well posted up in the peril of their position. They
now wondered at their not having been observed while advancing; but that
could be rationally accounted for on the supposition that the Bedouins
had been at the time too busy over Old Bill to take heed of anything
beyond the limits of their encampment. It was different now. There was
quiet in the camp, though both male and female figures could be seen
stirring among the tents. The saturnalia that succeeded the capture of
the castaway had come to a close. A comparative peacefulness reigned
throughout the valley; but in this very tranquillity lay the danger
which our adventurers dreaded.
With nothing else to attract their attention, the occupants of the
encampments would be turning their eyes in every direction. If any of
them should look westward at a given moment, that is, while the three
mids should be "in the saddle," the latter could not fail to be
discovered. What was to be done? There was no other way leading forth
from the valley. It was on all sides encircled by steep ridges of sand,
not so steep as to hinder them from being scaled; but on every side,
except that on which they had entered, and by which they were about to
make their exit, the moon was shining in resplendent brilliance. A cat
could not have crawled up anywhere, without being seen from the tents,
even had she been of the hue of the sand itself.
A hurried consultation, held between the trio of adventurers, convinced
them that there was nothing to be gained by turning back, nothing by
going to the right or the left. There was no other way, no help for it,
but to scale the ridge in front, and cut as quickly as possible across
the hollow of the saddle.
There was one other way; or at least a deviation from the course which
had thus recommended itself. It was to wait for the going down of the
moon, before they should attempt the crossing. This prudent project
originated in the brain of the young Scotchman; and it might have been
well if his companions had adopted the idea. But they would not. What
they had seen of Saaran civilisation had inspired them with a keen
disgust for it; and they were only too eager to escape from its
proximity. The punishment inflicted upon poor Bill had made a painful
impression upon them; and they had no desire to become the victims of a
similar chastisement.
Colin did not urge his councils. He had been as much impressed by what
he had seen as his companions, and was quite as desirous as they to give
the Bedouins a wide berth. Withdrawing his opposition, therefore, he
acceded to the original design; and without further ado, all three
commenced crawling up the slope.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
A QUEER QUADRUPED.
Half way up they halted, though not to take breath. Strong-limbed,
long-winded lads like them, who could have swarmed in two minutes to the
main truck of a man-o'-war, needed no such indulgence as that. Instead
of one hundred feet of sloping sand, any one of them could have scaled
Snowdon without stopping to look back.
Their halt had been made from a different motive. It was sudden and
simultaneous, all three having stopped at the same time, and without any
previous interchange of speech. The same cause had brought them to that
abrupt cessation in their climbing; and as they stood side by side,
aligned upon one another, the eyes of all three were turned on the same
object.
It was an animal, a quadruped. It could not be anything else if
belonging to a sublunary world; and to this it appeared to belong. A
strange creature notwithstanding; and one which none of the three
remembered to have met before. The remembrance of something like it
flitted across their brains, seen upon the shelves of a museum, but not
enough of resemblance to give a clue for its identification.
The quadruped in question was not bigger than a "San Bernard," a
"Newfoundland", or a mastiff; but seen as it was, it loomed larger than
any of the three. Like these creatures, it was canine in shape, lupine
we should rather say, but of an exceedingly grotesque and ungainly
figure. A huge square head seemed set without neck upon its shoulders;
while its fore limbs, out of all proportion longer than the hind ones,
gave to the spinal column a sharp downward slant towards the tail. The
latter appendage, short and "bunchy", ended abruptly, as if either cut
off or "driven in"--adding to the uncouth appearance of the animal. A
stiff hedge of hard bristles upon the back continued its _chevaux de
frise_ along the short thick neck, till it ended between two erect
tufted ears. Such was the shape of the beast that had suddenly
presented itself to the eyes of our adventurers.
They had a good opportunity of observing its outlines. It was on the
ridge towards the crest of which they were advancing. The moon was
shining beyond. Every turn of its head or body, every motion made by
its limbs, was conspicuously revealed against the luminous background of
the sky.
It was neither standing nor at rest in any way. Head, limbs, and body
were all in motion, constantly changing, not only their relative
attitudes to one another, but their absolute situation in regard to
surrounding objects.
And yet the change was anything but arbitrary. The relative movements
made by the members of the animal's body, as well as the absolute
alterations of position, were all in obedience to strictly natural laws,
all repetitions of the same manoeuvre, worked with a monotony that
seemed mechanical.
The creature was pacing to and fro, like a well-trained sentry, its
"round" being the curved crest of the sand-ridge, from which it did not
deviate to the licence of an inch. Backward and forward did it traverse
the saddle in a longitudinal direction--now poised upon the pommel, now
sinking downward into the seat, and then rising to the level of the
group, now turning in the opposite direction, and retracing in long
uncouth strides the path over which it appeared to have been passing
since the earliest hour of its existence!
Independent of the surprise which the presence of this animal had
created, there was something in its aspect calculated to cause terror.
Perhaps, had the mids known what kind of creature it was, or been in any
way apprised of its real character, they would have paid less regard to
its presence. Certainly not so much as they did: for instead of
advancing upon it, and making their way over the crest of the ridge,
they stopped in their track, and held a whispered consultation as to
what they should do.
It is not to be denied that the barrier before them presented a
formidable appearance. A brute, it appeared as big as a bull, for
magnified by the moonlight, and perhaps a little by the fears of those
who looked upon it, the quadruped was quite quadrupled in size.
Disputing their passage too; for its movements made it manifest that
such was its design. Backwards and forwards, up and down that curving
crest did it glide, with a nervous quickness that hindered any hope of
being able to rush past it, either before or behind, its own crest all
the while erected, like that of the dragon subdued by Saint George.
With all his English pluck, even stimulated by this resemblance to the
national knight, Harry Blount felt shy to approach that creature that
challenged the passage of himself and his companions.
Had there been no danger _en arriere_, perhaps our adventurers would
have turned back into the valley, and left the ugly quadruped master of
the pass.
As it was, a different resolve was arrived at, necessity being the
dictator.
The three midshipmen, drawing their dirks, advanced, in line of battle,
up the slope. The devil himself could scarce withstand such an assault.
England, Scotland, Ireland, abreast, _tres juncti in uno_, united in
thought, aim and action, was there aught upon earth, biped, quadruped,
or _mille-pied_, that must not yield to the charge?
If there was, it was not that animal oscillating along the saddle of
sand, progressing from pommel to cantel, like the pendulum of a clock.
Whether natural or supernatural, long before our adventurers got near
enough to decide, the creature, to use a phrase of very modern mention,
"skedaddled", leaving them free, so far as it was concerned, to continue
their retreat unmolested.
It did not depart, however, until after delivering a salute, that left
our adventurers in greater doubt than ever of its true character. They
had been debating among themselves whether it was a thing of the earth,
of time, or something that belonged to eternity. They had seen it under
a fair light, and could not decide. But now that they had heard it, had
listened to a strain of loud cachinnation, scarce mocking the laughter
of the maniac, there was no escaping from the conclusion that what they
had seen was either Satan himself, or one of his Ethiopian satellites.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
THE HUE AND CRY.
As the strange creature that had threatened to dispute their passage was
no longer in sight, and seemed, moreover, to have gone clear away, the
three mids ceased to think any more of it; their minds being given to
making their way over the ridge without being seen by the occupants of
the encampment.
Having returned their dirks to the sheath, they continued to advance
towards the crest of the transverse sand-spur, as cautiously as at
starting.
It is possible they might have succeeded in crossing without being
perceived, but for a circumstance of which they had taken too little
heed. Only too well pleased, at seeing the strange quadruped make its
retreat, they had been less affected by its parting salutation, weird
and wild as this had sounded in their ears. But they had not thought of
the effects which the same salute had produced upon the people of the
Arab camp, causing all of them, as it did, to turn their eyes in the
direction whence it was heard. To them there was no mystery in that
screaming cachinnation. Unearthly as it had echoed in the ears of the
three mids, it fell with a perfectly natural tone on those of the Arabs:
for it was but one of the well-known voices of their desert home,
recognised by them as the cry of the laughing hyena.
The effect produced upon the encampment was twofold. The children
straying outside the tents, like young chicks frightened by the swooping
of a hawk, ran inward; while their mothers, after the manner of so many
old hens, rushed forth to take them under their protection. The
proximity of a hungry hyena, more especially one of the laughing
species, was a circumstance to cause alarm. All the fierce creature
required was a chance to close his strong vice-like jaws upon the limbs
of one of those juvenile Ishmaelites, and that would be the last his
mother would ever see of him.
Knowing this, the screech of the hyena had produced a momentary
commotion among the women and children of the encampment. Neither had
the men listened to it unmoved. In hopes of procuring its skin for
house or tent furniture, and its flesh for food, for these hungry
wanderers will eat anything, several had seized hold of their long guns,
and rushed forth from among the tents.
The sound had guided them as to the direction in which they should go;
and as they ran forward they saw, not a hyena, but three human beings
just mounting upon the summit of the sand-ridge, under the full light of
the moon. So conspicuously did the latter appear upon the smooth crest
of the wreath, that there was no longer any chance of concealment.
Their dark blue dresses, the yellow buttons on their jackets, and the
bands around their caps, were all discernible. It was the costume of
the sea, not of the Saara. The Arab wreckers knew it at a glance; and,
without waiting a second, every man of the camp sallied off in pursuit,
each, as he started, giving utterance to an ejaculation of surprise or
pleasure.
Some hurried forward afoot, just as they had been going out to hunt the
hyena; others climbed upon their swift camels; while a few, who owned
horses, thinking they might do better with them, quickly caparisoned
them, and came galloping on after the rest; all three sorts of pursuers,
footmen, horsemen, and maherrymen, seemingly as intent upon a contest of
screaming, as upon a trial of speed.
It is needless to say that the three midshipmen were, by this time,
fully apprised of the hue and cry raised after them. It reached their
ears just as they arrived upon the summit of the sand-ridge; and any
doubt they might have had as to its meaning was at once determined when
they saw the Arabs brandishing their arms and rushing out like so many
madmen from among the tents. They stayed to see no more. To keep their
ground could only end in their being captured, and carried prisoners to
the encampment; and after the spectacle they had just witnessed, in
which the old man-o'-war's-man had played such a melancholy part, any
fate appeared preferable to that.
With some such fear all three were affected; and simultaneously yielding
to it, they turned their backs upon the pursuit, and rushed headlong
down the ravine, up which they had so imprudently ascended.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
A SUBAQUEOUS ASYLUM.
As the gorge was of no great length, and the downward incline in their
favour, they were not long in getting to its lower end, and out to the
level plain that formed the sea-beach.
In their hurried traverse thither, it had not occurred to them to
inquire for what purpose they were running towards the sea. There could
be no chance of their escaping in that direction. Nor did there appear
to be much in any other, afoot, as they were, and pursued by mounted
men. The night was too clear to offer any opportunity of hiding
themselves, especially in a country where there was neither brake, bush,
nor scaur to conceal them. Go which way they would, or crouch wherever
they might, they would be almost certain of being discovered by their
lynx-eyed enemies.
There was but one way in which they might have stood a chance of getting
clear, at least for a time. This was to have turned aside among the
sand-ridges, and by keeping along some of the lateral hollows, double
back upon their pursuers. There were several such side hollows; for on
going up the main ravine, they had observed them, and also in going
down; but in their hurry to put space between themselves and their
pursuers, they had overlooked this chance of concealment.
At best it was but slim, though it was the only one that offered. It
only presented itself when it was too late for them to take advantage of
it, only after they had got clear out of the gully and stood upon the
open level of the sea-beach, within less than two hundred yards of the
sea itself. There they halted, partly to recover breath and partly to
hold counsel as to their further course.
There was not much time for either; and as the three stood in a triangle
with their faces turned towards each other, the moonlight shone upon
lips and cheeks blanched with dismay.
It now occurred to them for the first time, and simultaneously, that
there was no hope of their escaping, either by flight or concealment.
They were already some distance out upon the open plain, as conspicuous
upon its surface of white sand, as would have been three black crows in
the middle of a field six inches under snow.
They saw that they had made a mistake. They should have stayed among
the sand-ridges, and sought shelter in some of the deep gullies that
divided them. They bethought them of going back; but a moment's
deliberation was sufficient to convince them that this was no longer
practicable. There would not be time, scarce even to re-enter the
ravine, before their pursuers would be upon them.
It was an instinct that had caused them to rush towards the sea, their
habitual home, for which they had thoughtlessly sped, notwithstanding
their late rude ejection from it. Now that they stood upon its shore,
as if appealing to it for protection, it seemed still desirous of
spurning them from its bosom, and leaving them without mercy to their
merciless enemies.
A line of breakers trended parallel to the water's edge, scarce a
cable's length from the shore, and not two hundred yards from the spot
where they had come to a pause.
They were not very formidable breakers, only the tide rolling over a
sand-bar, or a tiny reef of rocks. It was at best but a big surf,
crested with occasional flakes of foam, and sweeping in successive
swells against the smooth beach.
What was there in all this to fix the attention of the fugitives, for it
had? The seething flood seemed only to hiss at their despair.
And yet almost on the instant after suspending their flight, they had
turned their faces towards it, as if some object of interest had
suddenly shown itself in the surf. Object there was none, nothing but
the flakes of white froth and the black vitreous waves over which it was
dancing.
It was not an object, but a purpose that was engaging their attention, a
resolve that had suddenly sprung up within their minds, almost as
suddenly to be carried into execution. After all, their old home was
not to prove so inhospitable. It would provide them with a place of
concealment.
The thought occurred to all three almost at the same instant of time;
though Terence was the first to give speech to it.
"By Saint Patrick!" he exclaimed, "let's take to the wather! Them
breakers 'll give us a good hiding-place. I've hid before now in that
same way, when taking a moonlight bath on the coast of owld Galway. I
did it to scare my schoolfellows, by making believe I was drowned. What
say ye to our trying it?"
His companions made no reply. They had scarce even waited for the
wind-up of his harangue. Both had equally perceived the feasibility of
the scheme; and yielding to a like impulse, all three started into a
fresh run, with their faces turned towards the sea.
In less than a score of seconds, they had crossed the strip of strand;
and in a similarly short space of time were plunging, thigh deep,
through the water; still striding impetuously onward as if the intended
to wade across the Atlantic.
A few more strides, however, brought them to a stand, just inside the
line of breakers, where the seething waters, settling down into a state
of comparative tranquillity, presented a surface variegated with large
clouts of floating froth.
Amidst this mottling of white and black, even under the bright
moonlight, it would have been difficult for the keenest eye to have
detected the head of a human being, supposing the body to have been kept
carefully submerged; and under this confidence the mids were not slow in
submerging themselves.
Ducking down, till their chins touched the water, all three were soon as
completely out of sight, to any eye looking from the shore, as if
Neptune, pitying their forlorn condition, had stretched forth his
trident with a bunch of seaweed upon its prongs, to screen and protect
them.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
THE PURSUERS NONPLUSSED.
Not one second too soon had they succeeded in making good their entry
into this subaqueous asylum. Scarce had their chins come in contact
with the water, when the voices of men, accompanied by the baying of
dogs, the snorting of maherries, and the neighing of horses, were heard
with the gorge from which they had just issued; and in a few minutes
after, a straggling crowd, composed of these various creatures, came
rushing out of the ravine. Of men, afoot and on horseback, twenty or
more were seen pouring forth; all, apparently, in hot haste, as if eager
to be in at the death of some object pursued, that could not possibly
escape capture.
Once outside the jaws of the gully, the irregular cavalcade advanced
scattering by over the plain. Only for a short distance, however; for,
as if by a common understanding, rather than in obedience to any
command, all came to a halt.
A silence followed this halt, apparently proceeding from astonishment.
It was general, it might be said universal, for even the animals
appeared to partake of it. At all events, some seconds transpired,
during which the only sound heard was the sighing of the sea, and the
only motion to be observed was the sinking and swelling of the waves.
The Saaran rovers on foot, as well as those that were mounted, their
horses, dogs, and camels, as they stood upon that smooth plain, seemed
to have been suddenly transformed into stone, and set like so many
sphinxes in the sand.
In truth it was surprise that had so transfixed them, the men, at least;
and their well-trained animals were only acting in obedience to a habit
taught them by their masters, who, in pursuit of their predatory life,
can cause these creatures to be both silent and still, whenever the
occasion requires it.
For their surprise, which this exhibition of it proved to be extreme,
the sons of the desert had sufficient reason. They had seen three
midshipmen on the crest of the sand-ridge; had even noted the peculiar
garb that bedecked their bodies, all this beyond doubt. Notwithstanding
the haste with which they had entered on the pursuit, they had not
continued it either in a reckless or improvident manner. Skilled in the
ways of the wilderness, cautious as cats, they had continued the chase;
those in the lead from time to time assuring themselves that the game
was still before them. This they had done by glancing occasionally to
the ground, where shoe tracks in the soft sand, three sets of them,
leading to and fro, were sufficient evidence that the three mids must
have gone back to the embouchure of the ravine; and thither emerged upon
the open sea-beach.
Where were they now?
Looking up the smooth strand, as far as the eye could reach, and down it
to a like distance, there was no place where a crab could have screened
itself; and these Saaran wreckers, well acquainted with the coast, knew
that in neither direction was there any other ravine or gully into which
the fugitives could have retreated.
No wonder then that the pursuers wondered, even to speechlessness.
Their silence was of short duration, though it was succeeded only by
cries expressing their great surprise, among which might have been
distinguished their usual invocations to Allah and the Prophet. It was
evident that a superstitious feeling had arisen in their minds, not
without its usual accompaniment of fear; and although they no longer
kept their places, the movement now observable among them was that they
gathered closer together, and appeared to enter upon a grave
consultation.
This was terminated by some of them once more proceeding to the
embouchure of the ravine, and betaking themselves to a fresh scrutiny of
the tracks made by the shoes of the midshipmen; while the rest sate
silently upon their horses and maherries, awaiting the result.
The footmarks of the three mids were still easily traceable, even on the
ground already trampled by the Arabs, their horses, and maherries. The
"cloots" of a camel would not have been more conspicuous in the mud of
an English road, than were the shoe-prints of the three young seamen in
the sands of the Saara. The Arab trackers had no difficulty in making
them out; and in a few minutes had traced them from the mouth of the
gorge almost in a direct line to the sea. There, however, there was a
breadth of wet sea-beach, where the springy sand instantly obliterated
any foot-mark that might be made upon it, and there the tracks ended.
But why should they have extended farther? No one could have gone
beyond that point, without either walking straight into the water, or
keeping along the strip of sea-beach, upwards or downwards.
The fugitives could not have escaped in either way, unless they had
taken to the water and committed suicide by drowning themselves. Up the
coast or down it they would have been seen to a certainty.
Their pursuers, clustering around the place where the tracks terminated,
were no wiser than ever. Some of them were ready to believe that
drowning had been the fate of the castaways upon their coast, and so
stated it to their companions. But they spoke only conjectures, and in
tones that told them, like the rest, to be under the influence of some
superstitious fear. Despite their confidence in the protection of their
boasted Prophet, they felt a natural dread of that wilderness of waters,
less known to them than the wilderness of sand.
Ere long they withdrew from its presence; and betook themselves back to
their encampment, under a half belief that the three individuals seen
and pursued had either drowned themselves in the great deep, or by some
mysterious means known to these strange men of the sea, had escaped
across its far-reaching waters.
CHAPTER THIRTY.
A DOUBLE PREDICAMENT.
Short time as their pursuers had stayed upon the strand, it seemed an
age to the submerged midshipmen.
On first placing themselves in position, they had chosen a spot where,
with their knees resting upon the bottom, they could just hold their
chins above water. This would enable them to hold their ground without
any great difficulty, and for some time they so maintained it.
Soon, however, they began to perceive that the water was rising around
them--a circumstance easily explained by the influx of the tide. The
rise was slow and gradual, but for all that they saw that should they
require to remain in their place of concealment for any length of time,
drowning must be their inevitable destiny.
A means of avoiding this soon presented itself. Inside the line of
breakers, the water shoaled gradually towards the shore. By advancing
in this direction they could still keep to the same depth. This course
they adopted, gliding cautiously forward upon their knees whenever the
tide admonished them to repeat the manoeuvre.
This state of affairs would have been satisfactory enough, but for a
circumstance that, every moment, was making itself more apparent. At
each move they were not only approaching nearer to their enemies,
scattered along the strand, but as they receded from the line of the
breakers, the water became comparatively tranquil, and its smooth
surface, less confused by the masses of floating foam, was more likely
to betray them to the spectators on the shore.
To avoid this catastrophe, which would have been fatal, they moved
shoreward only when it became absolutely necessary to do so, often
permitting the tidal waves to sweep completely over the crown of their
heads, and several time threaten suffocation.
Under circumstances so trying, so apparently hopeless, most lads--ay,
most men--would have submitted to despair, and surrendered themselves to
a fate apparently unavoidable. But with that true British pluck,
combining the tenacity of the Scotch terrier, the English bulldog, and
the Irish stag-hound, the three youthful representatives of the triple
kingdom determined to hold on.
And they held on, with the waves washing against their cheeks, and at
intervals quite over their heads, with the briny fluid rushing into
their ears and up their nostrils, until one after another began to
believe that there would be no alternative between surrendering to the
cruel sea, or to the not less cruel sons of the Saara.
As they were close together, they could hold council, conversing all the
time in something louder than a whisper. There was no risk of their
being overheard. Though scarce a cable's length from the shore, the
hoarse soughing of the surf would have drowned the sound of their
voices, even if uttered in a much louder tone; but being skilled in the
acoustics of the ocean, they exchanged their thoughts with due caution:
and while encouraging one another to remain firm, they speculated freely
upon the chances of escaping from their perilous predicament.
While thus occupied, a predicament of an equally perilous and still more
singular kind, was in store for them. They had been hitherto advancing
towards the water's edge, in regular progression with the influx of the
tide, all the while upon their knees. This, as already stated, had
enabled them to sustain themselves steadily, without showing anything
more than three-quarters of the head above the surface.
All at once, however, the water appeared to deepen; and by going upon
their knees they could no longer surmount the waves, even with their
eyes. By moving on towards the beach, they might again get into
shallower water; but just at this point the commotion caused by the
breakers came to a termination, and the flakes of froth, with the
surrounding spray of bubbles here bursting, one after another, left the
surface of the sea to its restored tranquillity. Anything beyond a
cork, or the tiniest waif of seaweed, could scarce fail to be seen from
the strand, though the latter was itself, constantly receding as the
tide flowed inward.
The submerged middies were now in a dilemma they had not dreamed of. By
holding their ground, they could not fail to "go under". By advancing
farther, they would run the risk of being discovered to the enemy.
Their first movement was to get up from their knees, and raise their
heads above water by standing in a crouched attitude on their feet.
This they had done before, more than once, returning to the posture of
supplication only when too tired to sustain themselves.
This they attempted again, and determined to continue it to the last
moment, in view of the danger of approaching nearer to the enemy.
To their consternation they now found that it would no longer avail
them. Scarce they had risen erect before discovering that, even in his
position, they were immersed to the chin, and after plunging a pace or
two forward, they were still sinking deeper. They could feel that their
feet were not resting on firm bottom; but constantly going down.
"A quicksand!" was the apprehension that rushed simultaneously into the
minds of all three.
Fortunately for them, the Arabs, at that moment, yielding to their
fatalist fears, had faced away from the shore; else the plunging and
splashing made by them in their violent endeavours to escape from the
quicksand could not have failed to dissipate these superstitions, and
cause their pursuers to complete the capture they had so childishly
relinquished.
As it chanced, the Saaran wreckers saw nothing of all this; and as the
splashing sounds, which otherwise might have reached them, were drowned
by the louder sough of the sea, they returned toward their encampment in
a state of perplexity bordering upon bewilderment.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
ONCE MORE THE MOCKING LAUGH.
After a good deal of scrambling and struggling, our adventurers
succeeded in getting clear of the quicksand, and planting their feet
upon firmer bottom, a little nearer to the water's edge. Though at this
point more exposed than they wished to be, they concealed themselves as
well as they could, holding their faces under the water up to the eyes.
Though believing that their enemies were gone for good, they dared not
as yet wade out upon the beach. The retiring pursuers would naturally
be looking back; and as the moon was still shining clearly as ever, they
might have been seen from a great distance.
They felt that they would not be safe in leaving their place of
concealment until the horde had re-crossed the ridge and descended once
more into the oasis that contained their encampment.
Making a rough calculation as to the time it would take for the return
journey, and allowing a considerable margin against the eventuality of
any unforeseen delay, the mids remained in their subaqueous retreat
without any material change of position.
When at length it appeared to them that the coast was clear, they rose
to their feet and commenced wading towards the strand.
Though no longer believing themselves observed, they proceeded silently
and with caution, the only noise made among them being the chattering of
their teeth, which were going like three complete sets of castanets.
This they could not help. The night breeze playing upon the saturated
garments, that clung coldly around their bodies, chilled them to the
very bones; and not only their teeth, but their knees knocked together,
as they staggered towards the beach.
Just before reaching it, an incident arose that filled them with fresh
forebodings. The strange beast that had threatened to intercept their
retreat over the ridge, once more appeared before their eyes. It was
either the same or one of the same kind, equally ugly, and, to all
appearance, equally determined to dispute their passage.
It was now patrolling the strand close by the water's edge; going
backwards and forwards, precisely as it had done along the saddle-shaped
sand-wreath; all the while keeping its hideous face turned towards them.
With the moon behind their backs, they had a better view of it than
before; but this, though enabling them to perceive that it was some
strange quadruped, did not in any way improve their opinion of it. They
could see that it was covered with a coat of long shaggy hair, of a
brindled brown colour; and that from a pair of large orbs, set obliquely
in its head, gleamed forth a fierce sullen light.
How it had come there they knew not; but there it was. Judging from the
experience of their former encounter with it they presumed it would
again retreat at their approach; and, once more drawing their dirks,
they advanced boldly towards it.
They were not deceived. Long before they were near, the uncouth
creature turned tail; and, again giving utterance to its unearthly cry,
scampered off towards the ravine, in whose shadowy depths it soon
disappeared from their view.
Supposing they had nothing further to fear, our adventures stepped out
upon the strand, and commenced consultation as to their future course.
To keep on down the coast and get as far as possible from the Arab
encampment was the thought of all three; and as they were unanimous in
this, scarce a moment was wasted in coming to a determination. Once
resolved, they faced southward; and started off as briskly as their
shivering frames and saturated garments would allow them.
There was not much to cheer them on their way, only the thought that
they had so adroitly extricated themselves from a dread danger. But
even this proved only a fanciful consolation: for scarce had they made a
score of steps along the strand, when they were brought to a sudden
halt, by hearing a noise that appeared to proceed from the ravine behind
them.
It was a slight noise, something like a snort, apparently made by some
animal; and for a moment, they supposed it to come from the ugly
quadruped that, after saluting them, had retreated up the gorge.
On turning their eyes in that direction, they at once saw that they were
mistaken. A quadruped had produced the noise, but one of a very
different kind from the hairy brute with which they had parted. Just
emerging from the shadow of the sand-hills, they perceived a huge
creature, whose uncouth shape proclaimed it to be a camel.
The sight filled them with consternation. Not that it was a camel; but
because, at the same time, they discovered that there was a man upon its
back, who brandishing a long weapon, was urging the animal towards them.
The three midshipmen made no effort to continue the journey thus
unexpectedly interrupted. They saw that any attempt to escape from such
a fast-going creature would be idle. Encumbered as they were with their
wet garments, they could not have distanced a lame duck; and, resigning
themselves to the chances of destiny, they stood awaiting the encounter.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
A CUNNING SHEIK.
When the camel and its rider first loomed in sight, indistinctly seen
under the shadow of the sand-dunes, our adventurers had conceived a
faint hope that it might be Sailor Bill.
It was possible, they thought, that the old man-o'-war's-man, left
unguarded in the camp, might have laid hands on the maherry that had
made away with him, and pressed it into service to assist his escape.
The hope was entertained only for a instant. Bill had encountered no
such golden opportunity, but was still a prisoner in the tent of the
black sheik, surrounded by his shrewish tormentors. It was the maherry,
however, that was seen coming back; for as it came near, the three
middies recognised the creature whose intrusion upon their slumbers of
the preceding night had been the means, perhaps, of saving their lives.
Instead of a Jack Tar now surmounting its high hunch, they saw a little
weazen-faced individual, with sharp angular features, and a skin of
yellowish hue puckered like parchment. He appeared to be at least sixty
years of age; while his costume, equipments, and above all, a certain
authoritative bearing, bespoke him to be one of the head men of the
horde.
Such in truth was he--one of the two sheiks--the old Arab to whom the
straying camel belonged; and who was now mounted on his own maherry.
His presence on the strand at this, to our adventurers, most inopportune
moment, requires explanation.
He had been on the beach before, along with the others; and had gone
away with the rest. But instead of continuing on to the encampment, he
had fallen behind in the ravine; where, under the cover of some rocks,
and favoured by the obscure light within the gorge, he had succeeded in
giving his comrades the slip. There he had remained, permitting the
rest to recross the ridge, and return to the tents.
He had not taken these steps without an object. Less superstitious than
his black brother sheik, he knew that there must be some natural
explanation of the disappearance of the three castaways; and he
determined to seek, and if possible, discover it.
It was not mere curiosity that prompted him to this determination. He
had been all out of sorts with himself since losing Sailor Bill in the
game of helga; and he was desirous of obtaining some compensation for
his ill luck, by capturing the three castaways who had so mysteriously
disappeared.
As to their having either drowned themselves, or walked away over the
waste of waters, the old sheik had seen too many Saaran summers and
winters to give credence either to one tale or the other. He knew they
would turn up again; and though he was not quite certain of the where,
he more than half suspected it. He had kept his suspicions to himself,
not imparting them even to his own special followers. By the laws of
the Saara, a slave taken by any one of the tribe belongs not to its
chief but to the individual who makes the capture. For this reason had
the cunning sexagenarian kept his thoughts to himself, and fallen
_solus_ into the rear of the returning horde.
It might be supposed that he would have made some of his following privy
to his plan, for the sake of having help to effect such a wholesale
capture. But no. His experience as a "Barbary wrecker" had taught him
that there would be no danger, no likelihood of resistance, even though
the castaways numbered thirty instead of three.
Armed with this confidence, and his long gun, he had returned down the
ravine; and laid in wait near its mouth, at a point where he commanded a
view of the coast line, to the distance of more than a mile on each side
of him.
His vigil was soon rewarded by seeing the three individuals for whom it
had been kept step forth from the sea, as if emerging from its
profoundest depths, and stand conspicuously upon the beach.
He waited for nothing more; but, giving the word to his maherry, had
ridden out of the ravine, and was now advancing with all speed upon the
tracks of the retreating mids.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
A QUEER ENCOUNTER.
In about threescore seconds from the time he was first seen pursuing
them, the old sheik was up to the spot where our adventurers had awaited
him.
His first salute appeared to be some words of menace or command,
rendered more emphatic by a series of gestures made with his long gun;
which was successively pointed at the heads of the three. Of course,
none of them understood what was said; but his gesticulations made it
clear enough that he required their company to the Arab encampment.
Their first impulse was to yield obedience to this command; and Terence
had given a sign of assent, which was acquiesced in by Colin. Not so
Master Blount, in whom the British bulldog had become aroused even to
the showing of his teeth.
"See him hanged first!" cried Harry. "What! yield up to an old monkey
like that, and walk tamely to the camp at the tail of his camel? No
such thing! If I am to become a prisoner, it will be to one who can
take me."
Terence, rather ashamed at having shown such facile submission, now
rushed to the
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