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Queen Sheba's Ring

by H. Rider Haggard · English · Gutenberg #2602 · 571,136 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Queen Sheba's Ring

Author: H. Rider Haggard


        
Release date: April 4, 2006 [eBook #2602]
                Most recently updated: January 9, 2022

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2602

Credits: John Bickers, Emma Dudding, Dagny and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK QUEEN SHEBA'S RING ***




QUEEN SHEBA’S RING



by H. Rider Haggard




CONTENTS


CHAPTER I. THE COMING OF THE RING
CHAPTER II. THE ADVICE OF SERGEANT QUICK
CHAPTER III. THE PROFESSOR GOES OUT SHOOTING
CHAPTER IV. THE DEATH WIND
CHAPTER V. PHARAOH MAKES TROUBLE
CHAPTER VI. HOW WE ESCAPED FROM HARMAC
CHAPTER VII. BARUNG
CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW OF FATE
CHAPTER IX. THE SWEARING OF THE OATH
CHAPTER X. QUICK LIGHTS A MATCH
CHAPTER XI. THE RESCUE FAILS
CHAPTER XII. THE DEN OF LIONS
CHAPTER XIII. THE ADVENTURES OF HIGGS
CHAPTER XIV. HOW PHARAOH MET SHADRACH
CHAPTER XV. SERGEANT QUICK HAS A PRESENTIMENT
CHAPTER XVI. HARMAC COMES TO MUR
CHAPTER XVII. I FIND MY SON
CHAPTER XVIII. THE BURNING OF THE PALACE
CHAPTER XIX. STARVATION
CHAPTER XX. THE TRIAL AND AFTER




CHAPTER I.

THE COMING OF THE RING


Every one has read the monograph, I believe that is the right word, of
my dear friend, Professor Higgs—Ptolemy Higgs to give him his full
name—descriptive of the tableland of Mur in North Central Africa, of
the ancient underground city in the mountains which surrounded it, and
of the strange tribe of Abyssinian Jews, or rather their mixed
descendants, by whom it is, or was, inhabited. I say every one
advisedly, for although the public which studies such works is usually
select, that which will take an interest in them, if the character of a
learned and pugnacious personage is concerned, is very wide indeed. Not
to mince matters, I may as well explain what I mean at once. 

Professor Higgs’s rivals and enemies, of whom either the brilliancy of
his achievements or his somewhat abrupt and pointed methods of
controversy seem to have made him a great many, have risen up, or
rather seated themselves, and written him down—well, an individual
who strains the truth. Indeed, only this morning one of these inquired,
in a letter to the press, alluding to some adventurous traveller who, I
am told, lectured to the British Association several years ago, whether
Professor Higgs did not, in fact, ride across the desert to Mur, not
upon a camel, as he alleged, but upon a land tortoise of extraordinary
size. 

The innuendo contained in this epistle has made the Professor, who, as I
have already hinted, is not by nature of a meek disposition, extremely
angry. Indeed, notwithstanding all that I could do, he left his London
house under an hour ago with a whip of hippopotamus hide such as the
Egyptians call a _koorbash_, purposing to avenge himself upon the
person of his defamer. In order to prevent a public scandal, however, I
have taken the liberty of telephoning to that gentleman, who, bold and
vicious as he may be in print, is physically small and, I should say,
of a timid character, to get out of the way at once. To judge from the
abrupt fashion in which our conversation came to an end, I imagine that
the hint has been taken. At any rate, I hope for the best, and, as an
extra precaution, have communicated with the lawyers of my justly 
indignant friend. 

The reader will now probably understand that I am writing this book, not
to bring myself or others before the public, or to make money of which
I have no present need, or for any purpose whatsoever, except to set
down the bare and actual truth. In fact, so many rumours are flying
about as to where we have been and what befell us that this has become
almost necessary. As soon as I laid down that cruel column of gibes and
insinuations to which I have alluded—yes, this very morning, before
breakfast, this conviction took hold of me so strongly that I cabled to
Oliver, Captain Oliver Orme, the hero of my history, if it has any
particular hero, who is at present engaged upon what must be an
extremely agreeable journey round the world—asking his consent. Ten
minutes since the answer arrived from Tokyo. Here it is: 

“Do what you like and think necessary, but please alter all names, et
cetera, as propose returning via America, and fear interviewers. Japan
jolly place.” Then follows some private matter which I need not
insert. Oliver is always extravagant where cablegrams are concerned.

I suppose that before entering on this narration, for the reader’s
benefit I had better give some short description of myself.

My name is Richard Adams, and I am the son of a Cumberland yeoman who
married a Welshwoman. Therefore I have Celtic blood in my veins, which
perhaps accounts for my love of roving and other things. I am now an
old man, near the end of my course, I suppose; at any rate, I was
sixty-five last birthday. This is my appearance as I see it in the
glass before me: tall, spare (I don’t weigh more than a hundred and
forty pounds—the desert has any superfluous flesh that I ever owned,
my lot having been, like Falstaff, to lard the lean earth, but in a hot
climate); my eyes are brown, my face is long, and I wear a pointed 
white beard, which matches the white hair above. 

Truth compels me to add that my general appearance, as seen in that
glass which will not lie, reminds me of that of a rather aged goat;
indeed, to be frank, by the natives among whom I have sojourned, and
especially among the Khalifa’s people when I was a prisoner there, I
have often been called the White Goat.

Of my very commonplace outward self let this suffice. As for my record,
I am a doctor of the old school. Think of it! When I was a student at
Bart.‘s the antiseptic treatment was quite a new thing, and
administered when at all, by help of a kind of engine on wheels, out of
which disinfectants were dispensed with a pump, much as the advanced
gardener sprays a greenhouse to-day. 

I succeeded above the average as a student, and in my early time as a
doctor. But in every man’s life there happen things which, whatever
excuses may be found for them, would not look particularly well in cold
print (nobody’s record, as understood by convention and the Pharisee,
could really stand cold print); also something in my blood made me its
servant. In short, having no strict ties at home, and desiring to see
the world, I wandered far and wide for many years, earning my living as
I went, never, in my experience, a difficult thing to do, for I was
always a master of my trade. 

My fortieth birthday found me practising at Cairo, which I mention only
because it was here that first I met Ptolemy Higgs, who, even then in
his youth, was noted for his extraordinary antiquarian and linguistic
abilities. I remember that in those days the joke about him was that he
could swear in fifteen languages like a native and in thirty-two with
common proficiency, and could read hieroglyphics as easily as a bishop
reads the _Times_. 

Well, I doctored him through a bad attack of typhoid, but as he had
spent every farthing he owned on scarabs or something of the sort, made
him no charge. This little kindness I am bound to say he never forgot,
for whatever his failings may be (personally I would not trust him
alone with any object that was more than a thousand years old), Ptolemy
is a good and faithful friend. 

In Cairo I married a Copt. She was a lady of high descent, the tradition
in her family being that they were sprung from one of the Ptolemaic
Pharaohs, which is possible and even probable enough. Also, she was a
Christian, and well educated in her way. But, of course, she remained
an Oriental, and for a European to marry an Oriental is, as I have
tried to explain to others, a very dangerous thing, especially if he
continues to live in the East, where it cuts him off from social
recognition and intimacy with his own race. Still, although this step
of mine forced me to leave Cairo and go to Assouan, then a little-known 
place, to practise chiefly among the natives, God knows we were happy
enough together till the plague took her, and with it my joy in life. 

I pass over all that business, since there are some things too dreadful
and too sacred to write about. She left me one child, a son, who, to
fill up my cup of sorrow, when he was twelve years of age, was
kidnapped by the Mardi’s people.

This brings me to the real story. There is nobody else to write it;
Oliver will not; Higgs cannot (outside of anything learned and
antiquarian, he is hopeless); so I must. At any rate, if it is not
interesting, the fault will be mine, not that of the story, which in
all conscience is strange enough. 

We are now in the middle of June, and it was a year ago last December
that, on the evening of the day of my arrival in London after an
absence of half a lifetime, I found myself knocking at the door of
Professor Higgs’s rooms in Guildford Street, W.C. It was opened by
his housekeeper, Mrs. Reid, a thin and saturnine old woman, who
reminded and still reminds me of a reanimated mummy. She told me that
the Professor was in, but had a gentleman to dinner, and suggested
sourly that I should call again the next morning. With difficulty I
persuaded her at last to inform her master that an old Egyptian friend
had brought him something which he certainly would like to see. 

Five minutes later I groped my way into Higgs’s sitting-room, which
Mrs. Reid had contented herself with indicating from a lower floor. It
is a large room, running the whole width of the house, divided into two
by an arch, where once, in the Georgian days, there had been folding
doors. The place was in shadow, except for the firelight, which shone
upon a table laid ready for dinner, and upon an extraordinary
collection of antiquities, including a couple of mummies with gold
faces arranged in their coffins against the wall. At the far end of the
room, however, an electric lamp was alight in the bow-window hanging
over another table covered with books, and by it I saw my host, whom I 
had not met for twenty years, although until I vanished into the desert
we frequently corresponded, and with him the friend who had come to
dinner.    

First, I will describe Higgs, who, I may state, is admitted, even by his
enemies, to be one of the most learned antiquarians and greatest masters
of dead languages in Europe, though this no one would guess from his
appearance at the age of about forty-five. In build short and stout,
face round and high-coloured, hair and beard of a fiery red, eyes, when
they can be seen—for generally he wears a pair of large blue
spectacles—small and of an indefinite hue, but sharp as needles.
Dress so untidy, peculiar, and worn that it is said the police
invariably request him to move on, should he loiter in the streets at
night. Such was, and is, the outward seeming of my dearest friend,
Professor Ptolemy Higgs, and I only hope that he won’t be offended
when he sees it set down in black and white. 

That of his companion who was seated at the table, his chin resting on
his hand, listening to some erudite discourse with a rather distracted
air, was extraordinarily different, especially by contrast. A tall
well-made young man, rather thin, but broad-shouldered, and apparently
five or six and twenty years of age. Face clean-cut—so much so,
indeed, that the dark eyes alone relieved it from a suspicion of
hardness; hair short and straight, like the eyes, brown; expression
that of a man of thought and ability, and, when he smiled, singularly
pleasant. Such was, and is, Captain Oliver Orme, who, by the way, I
should explain, is only a captain of some volunteer engineers, although,
 in fact, a very able soldier, as was proved in the South African War,
whence he had then but lately returned. 

I ought to add also that he gave me the impression of a man not in love
with fortune, or rather of one with whom fortune was not in love;
indeed, his young face seemed distinctly sad. Perhaps it was this that
attracted me to him so much from the first moment that my eyes fell on
him—me with whom fortune had also been out of love for many years.

While I stood contemplating this pair, Higgs, looking up from the
papyrus or whatever it might be that he was reading (I gathered later
that he had spent the afternoon in unrolling a mummy, and was studying
its spoils), caught sight of me standing in the shadow.

“Who the devil are you?” he exclaimed in a shrill and strident
voice, for it acquires that quality when he is angry or alarmed, “and
what are you doing in my room?”

“Steady,” said his companion; “your housekeeper told you that
some friend of yours had come to call.”

“Oh, yes, so she did, only I can’t remember any friend with a face
and beard like a goat. Advance, friend, and all’s well.”

So I stepped into the shining circle of the electric light and halted
again. 

“Who is it? Who is it?” muttered Higgs. “The face is the face
of—of—I have it—of old Adams, only he’s been dead these
ten years. The Khalifa got him, they said. Antique shade of the
long-lost Adams, please be so good as to tell me your name, for we
waste time over a useless mystery.”

“There is no need, Higgs, since it is in your mouth already. Well, I
should have known you anywhere; but then _your_ hair doesn’t go
white.”

“Not it; too much colouring matter; direct result of a sanguine
disposition. Well, Adams—for Adams you must be—I am really
delighted to see you, especially as you never answered some questions in
my last letter as to where you got those First Dynasty scarabs, of
which the genuineness, I may tell you, has been disputed by certain
envious beasts. Adams, my dear old fellow, welcome a thousand
times”—and he seized my hands and wrung them, adding, as his eye
fell upon a ring I wore, “Why, what’s that? Something quite
unusual. But never mind; you shall tell me after dinner. Let me
introduce you to my friend, Captain Orme, a very decent scholar of
Arabic, with a quite elementary knowledge of Egyptology.”

“_Mr._ Orme,” interrupted the younger man, bowing to me.

“Oh, well, Mr. or Captain, whichever you like. He means that he is not
in the regular army, although he has been all through the Boer War, and
wounded three times, once straight through the lungs. Here’s the
soup. Mrs. Reid, lay another place. I am dreadfully hungry; nothing
gives me such an appetite as unrolling mummies; it involves so much
intellectual wear and tear, in addition to the physical labour. Eat,
man, eat. We will talk afterwards.” 

So we ate, Higgs largely, for his appetite was always excellent, perhaps
because he was then practically a teetotaller; Mr. Orme very moderately,
and I as becomes a person who has lived for months at a time on
dates—mainly of vegetables, which, with fruits, form my principal
diet—that is, if these are available, for at a pinch I can exist on
anything. 

When the meal was finished and our glasses had been filled with port,
Higgs helped himself to water, lit the large meerschaum pipe he always
smokes, and pushed round the tobacco-jar which had once served as a
sepulchral urn for the heart of an old Egyptian.

“Now, Adams,” he said when we also had filled our pipes,
“tell us what has brought you back from the Shades. In short, your
story, man, your story.”

I drew the ring he had noticed off my hand, a thick band of rather
light-coloured gold of a size such as an ordinary woman might wear upon
her first or second finger, in which was set a splendid slab of
sapphire engraved with curious and archaic characters. Pointing to
these characters, I asked Higgs if he could read them.

“Read them? Of course,” he answered, producing a magnifying glass.
“Can’t you? No, I remember; you never were good at anything more
than fifty years old. Hullo! this is early Hebrew. Ah! I’ve got
it,” and he read:

“‘The gift of Solomon the ruler—no, the Great One—of
Israel, Beloved of Jah, to Maqueda of Sheba-land, Queen, Daughter of
Kings, Child of Wisdom, Beautiful.’

“That’s the writing on your ring, Adams—a really magnificent
thing. ‘Queen of Sheba—Bath-Melachim, Daughter of Kings,’
with our old friend Solomon chucked in. Splendid, quite
splendid!”—and he touched the gold with his tongue, and tested it
with his teeth. “Hum—where did you get this intelligent fraud from,
Adams?”

“Oh!” I answered, laughing, “the usual thing, of course. I
bought it from a donkey-boy in Cairo for about thirty shillings.”

“Indeed,” he replied suspiciously. “I should have thought the
stone in it was worth more than that, although, of course, it may be
nothing but glass. The engraving, too, is first-rate. Adams,” he
added with severity, “you are trying to hoax us, but let me tell you
what I thought you knew by this time—that you can’t take in Ptolemy
Higgs. This ring is a shameless swindle; but who did the Hebrew on it?
He’s a good scholar, anyway.”

“Don’t know,” I answered; “wasn’t aware till now
that it was Hebrew. To tell you the truth, I thought it was old
Egyptian. All I do know is that it was given, or rather lent, to me by
a lady whose title is Walda Nagasta, and who is supposed to be a
descendant of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.”

Higgs took up the ring and looked at it again; then, as though in a fit
of abstraction, slipped it into his waistcoat pocket.

“I don’t want to be rude, therefore I will not contradict
you,” he answered with a kind of groan, “or, indeed, say anything
except that if any one else had spun me that yarn I should have told him
he was a common liar. But, of course, as every schoolboy knows, Walda
Nagasta—that is, Child of Kings in Ethiopic—is much the same as
Bath-Melachim—that is, Daughter of Kings in Hebrew.”

Here Captain Orme burst out laughing, and remarked, “It is easy to see
why you are not altogether popular in the antiquarian world, Higgs. Your
methods of controversy are those of a savage with a stone axe.”

“If you only open your mouth to show your ignorance, Oliver, you had
better keep it shut. The men who carried stone axes had advanced far
beyond the state of savagery. But I suggest that you had better give
Doctor Adams a chance of telling his story, after which you can
criticize.” 

“Perhaps Captain Orme does not wish to be bored with it,” I said,
whereon he answered at once:

“On the contrary, I should like to hear it very much—that is, if
you are willing to confide in me as well as in Higgs.”

I reflected a moment, since, to tell the truth, for sundry reasons, my
intention had been to trust no one except the Professor, whom I knew to
be as faithful as he is rough. Yet some instinct prompted me to make an
exception in favour of this Captain Orme. I liked the man; there was
something about those brown eyes of his that appealed to me. Also it
struck me as odd that he should happen to be present on this occasion,
for I have always held that there is nothing casual or accidental in
the world; that even the most trivial circumstances are either
ordained, or the result of the workings of some inexorable law whereof
the end is known by whatever power may direct our steps, though it be
not yet declared. 

“Certainly I am willing,” I answered; “your face and your
friendship with the Professor are passport enough for me. Only I must
ask you to give me your word of honour that without my leave you will
repeat nothing of what I am about to tell you.”

“Of course,” he answered, whereon Higgs broke in:

“There, that will do; you don’t want us both to kiss the Book, do
you? Who sold you that ring, and where have you been for the last dozen
years, and whence do you come now?”

“I have been a prisoner of the Khalifa’s among other things. I had
five years of that entertainment of which my back would give some
evidence if I were to strip. I think I am about the only man who never
embraced Islam whom they allowed to live, and that was because I am a
doctor, and, therefore, a useful person. The rest of the time I have
spent wandering about the North African deserts looking for my son,
Roderick. You remember the boy, or should, for you are his godfather,
and I used to send you photographs of him as a little chap.”

“Of course, of course,” said the Professor in a new tone; “I
came across a Christmas letter from him the other day. But, my dear
Adams, what happened? I never heard.”

“He went up the river to shoot crocodiles against my orders, when he
was about twelve years old—not very long after his mother’s death,
and some wandering Mahdi tribesmen kidnapped him and sold him as a
slave. I have been looking for him ever since, for the poor boy was
passed on from tribe to tribe, among which his skill as a musician
enabled me to follow him. The Arabs call him the Singer of Egypt,
because of his wonderful voice, and it seems that he has learned to
play upon their native instruments.” 

“And now where is he?” asked Higgs, as one who feared the answer.

“He is, or was, a favourite slave among a barbarous, half-negroid
people called the Fung, who dwell in the far interior of North Central
Africa. After the fall of the Khalifa I followed him there; it took me
several years. Some Bedouin were making an expedition to trade with
these Fung, and I disguised myself as one of them.

“On a certain night we camped at the foot of a valley outside a great
wall which encloses the holy place where their idol is. I rode up to
this wall and, through the open gateway, heard some one with a
beautiful tenor voice singing in English. What he sang was a hymn that
I had taught my son. It begins: 

‘Abide with me, fast falls the eventide.’

“I knew the voice again. I dismounted and slipped through the gateway,
and presently came to an open space, where a young man sat singing upon
a sort of raised bench with lamps on either side of him, and a large
audience in front. I saw his face and, notwithstanding the turban which
he wore and his Eastern robe—yes, and the passage of all those
years—I knew it for that of my son. Some spirit of madness entered
into me, and I called aloud, ‘Roderick, Roderick!’ and he started
up, staring about him wildly. The audience started up also, and one of
them caught sight of me lurking in the shadow.

“With a howl of rage, for I had desecrated their sanctuary, they
sprang at me. To save my life, coward that I was, I fled back through
the gates. Yes, after all those years of seeking, still I fled rather
than die, and though I was wounded with a spear and stones, managed to
reach and spring upon my horse. Then, as I was headed off from our
camp, I galloped away anywhere, still to save my miserable life from
those savages, so strongly is the instinct of self-preservation
implanted in us. From a distance I looked back and saw by the light of
the fired tents that the Fung were attacking the Arabs with whom I had 
travelled, I suppose because they thought them parties to the sacrilege.
 Afterwards I heard that they killed them every one, poor men, but I
escaped, who unwittingly had brought their fate upon them. 

“On and on I galloped up a steep road. I remember hearing lions
roaring round me in the darkness. I remember one of them springing upon
my horse and the poor beast’s scream. Then I remember no more till I
found myself—I believe it was a week or so later—lying on the
verandah of a nice house, and being attended by some good-looking women
of an Abyssinian cast of countenance.”

“Sounds rather like one of the lost tribes of Israel,” remarked
Higgs sarcastically, puffing at his big meerschaum.

“Yes, something of that sort. The details I will give you later. The
main facts are that these people who picked me up outside their gates
are called Abati, live in a town called Mur, and allege themselves to
be descended from a tribe of Abyssinian Jews who were driven out and
migrated to this place four or five centuries ago. Briefly, they look
something like Jews, practise a very debased form of the Jewish
religion, are civilized and clever after a fashion, but in the last
stage of decadence from interbreeding—about nine thousand men is
their total fighting force, although three or four generations ago they 
had twenty thousand—and live in hourly terror of extermination by the 
surrounding Fung, who hold them in hereditary hate as the possessors of
the wonderful mountain fortress that once belonged to their
forefathers.”    

“Gibraltar and Spain over again,” suggested Orme.

“Yes, with this difference—that the position is reversed, the Abati
of this Central African Gibraltar are decaying, and the Fung, who answer
to the Spaniards, are vigorous and increasing.”

“Well, what happened?” asked the Professor.

“Nothing particular. I tried to persuade these Abati to organize an
expedition to rescue my son, but they laughed in my face. By degrees I
found out that there was only one person among them who was worth
anything at all, and she happened to be their hereditary ruler who bore
the high-sounding titles of Walda Nagasta, or Child of Kings, and Takla
Warda, or Bud of the Rose, a very handsome and spirited young woman,
whose personal name is Maqueda——”

“One of the names of the first known Queens of Sheba,” muttered
Higgs; “the other was Belchis.”

“Under pretence of attending her medically,” I went on, “for
otherwise their wretched etiquette would scarcely have allowed me access
to one so exalted, I talked things over with her. She told me that the
idol of the Fung is fashioned like a huge sphinx, or so I gathered from
her description of the thing, for I have never seen it.”

“What!” exclaimed Higgs, jumping up, “a sphinx in North
Central Africa! Well, after all, why not? Some of the earlier Pharaohs
are said to have had dealings with that part of the world, or even to
have migrated from it. I think that the Makreezi repeats the legend. I
suppose that it is ram-headed.”

“She told me also,” I continued, “that they have a tradition,
or rather a belief, which amounts to an article of faith, that if this
sphinx or god, which, by the way, is lion, not ram-headed, and is
called Harmac——”

“Harmac!” interrupted Higgs again. “That is one of the names
of the sphinx—Harmachis, god of dawn.”

“If this god,” I repeated, “should be destroyed, the nation
of the Fung, whose forefathers fashioned it as they say, must move away
from that country across the great river which lies to the south. I
have forgotten its name at the moment, but I think it must be a branch
of the Nile. 

“I suggested to her that, in the circumstances, her people had better
try to destroy the idol. Maqueda laughed and said it was impossible,
since the thing was the size of a small mountain, adding that the Abati
had long ago lost all courage and enterprise, and were content to sit
in their fertile and mountain-ringed land, feeding themselves with
tales of departed grandeur and struggling for rank and high-sounding
titles, till the day of doom overtook them.

“I inquired whether she were also content, and she replied,
‘Certainly not’; but what could she do to regenerate her people,
she who was nothing but a woman, and the last of an endless line of
rulers? 

“‘Rid me of the Fung,’ she added passionately, ‘and I
will give you such a reward as you never dreamed. The old cave-city
yonder is full of treasure that was buried with its ancient kings long
before we came to Mur. To us it is useless, since we have none to trade
with, but I have heard that the peoples of the outside world worship
gold.’ 

“‘I do not want gold,’ I answered; ‘I want to rescue my
son who is a prisoner yonder.’

“‘Then,’ said the Child of Kings, ‘you must begin by
helping us to destroy the idol of the Fung. Are there no means by which
this can be done?’

“‘There are means,’ I replied, and I tried to explain to her
the properties of dynamite and of other more powerful explosives.

“‘Go to your own land,’ she exclaimed eagerly, ‘and
return with that stuff and two or three who can manage it, and I swear
to them all the wealth of Mur. Thus only can you win my help to save
your son.’”

“Well, what was the end?” asked Captain Orme.

“This: They gave me some gold and an escort with camels which were
literally lowered down a secret path in the mountains so as to avoid the
Fung, who ring them in and of whom they are terribly afraid. With these
people I crossed the desert to Assouan in safety, a journey of many
weeks, where I left them encamped about sixteen days ago, bidding them
await my return. I arrived in England this morning, and as soon as I
could ascertain that you still lived, and your address, from a book of
reference called _Who’s Who_, which they gave me in the hotel, I came
on here.” 

“Why did you come to me? What do you want me to do?” asked the
Professor.

“I came to you, Higgs, because I know how deeply you are interested in
anything antiquarian, and because I wished to give you the first
opportunity, not only of winning wealth, but also of becoming famous as
the discoverer of the most wonderful relics of antiquity that are left
in the world.” 

“With a very good chance of getting my throat cut thrown in,”
grumbled Higgs.

“As to what I want you to do,” I went on, “I want you to find
someone who understands explosives, and will undertake the business of
blowing up the Fung idol.”

“Well, that’s easy enough, anyhow,” said the Professor,
pointing to Captain Orme with the bowl of his pipe, and adding, “he is
an engineer by education, a soldier and a very fair chemist; also he
knows Arabic and was brought up in Egypt as a boy—just the man for
the job if he will go.”

I reflected a moment, then, obeying some sort of instinct, looked up and
asked: 

“Will you, Captain Orme, if terms can be arranged?”

“Yesterday,” he replied, colouring a little, “I should have
answered, ‘Certainly not.’ To-day I answer that I am prepared to
consider the matter—that is, if Higgs will go too, and you can
enlighten me on certain points. But I warn you that I am only an
amateur in the three trades that the Professor has mentioned, though,
it is true, one with some experience.”

“Would it be rude to inquire, Captain Orme, why twenty-four hours have
made such a difference in your views and plans?”

“Not rude, only awkward,” he replied, colouring again, this time
more deeply. “Still, as it is best to be frank, I will tell you.
Yesterday I believed myself to be the inheritor of a very large fortune
from an uncle whose fatal illness brought me back from South Africa
before I meant to come, and as whose heir I have been brought up.
To-day I have learned for the first time that he married secretly, last
year, a woman much below him in rank, and has left a child, who, of
course, will take all his property, as he died intestate. But that is
not all. Yesterday I believed myself to be engaged to be married;
to-day I am undeceived upon that point also. The lady,” he added with
some bitterness, “who was willing to marry Anthony Orme’s heir is
no longer willing to marry Oliver Orme, whose total possessions amount
to under £10,000. Well, small blame to her or to her relations,
whichever it may be, especially as I understand that she has a better
alliance in view. Certainly her decision has simplified matters,” and
he rose and walked to the other end of the room. 

“Shocking business,” whispered Higgs; “been infamously
treated,” and he proceeded to express his opinion of the lady
concerned, of her relatives, and of the late Anthony Orme, shipowner,
in language that, if printed, would render this history unfit for
family reading. The outspokenness of Professor Higgs is well known in
the antiquarian world, so there is no need for me to enlarge upon it.

“What I do not exactly understand, Adams,” he added in a loud
voice, seeing that Orme had turned again, “and what I think we should
both like to know, is _your_ exact object in making these proposals.”

“I am afraid I have explained myself badly. I thought I had made it
clear that I have only one object—to attempt the rescue of my son, if
he still lives, as I believe he does. Higgs, put yourself in my
position. Imagine yourself with nothing and no one left to care for
except a single child, and that child stolen away from you by savages.
Imagine yourself, after years of search, hearing his very voice, seeing
his very face, adult now, but the same, the thing you had dreamed of
and desired for years; that for which you would have given a thousand
lives if you could have had time to think. And then the rush of the
howling, fantastic mob, the breakdown of courage, of love, of 
everything that is noble under the pressure of primæval instinct, which
has but one song—Save your life. Lastly, imagine this coward saved,
dwelling within a few miles of the son whom he had deserted, and yet
utterly unable to rescue or even to communicate with him because of the
poltroonery of those among whom he had refuged.” 

“Well,” grunted Higgs, “I have imagined all that
high-faluting lot. What of it? If you mean that you are to blame, I
don’t agree with you. You wouldn’t have helped your son by getting
your own throat cut, and perhaps his also.”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I have brooded over the
thing so long that it seems to me that I have disgraced myself. Well,
there came a chance, and I took it. This lady, Walda Nagasta, or
Maqueda, who, I think, had also brooded over things, made me an
offer—I fancy without the knowledge or consent of her Council.
‘Help me,’ she said, ‘and I will help you. Save my people, and I
will try to save your son. I can pay for your services and those of any
whom you may bring with you.’ 

“I answered that it was hopeless, as no one would believe the tale,
whereon she drew from her finger the throne-ring or State signet which
you have in your pocket, Higgs, saying: ‘My mothers have worn this
since the days of Maqueda, Queen of Sheba. If there are learned men
among your people they will read her name upon it and know that I speak
no lie. Take it as a token, and take also enough of our gold to buy the
stuffs whereof you speak, which hide fires that can throw mountains
skyward, and the services of skilled and trusty men who are masters of
the stuff, two or three of them only, for more cannot be transported
across the desert, and come back to save your son and me.’ That’s
all the story, Higgs. Will you take the business on, or shall I try
elsewhere? You must make up your mind, because I have no time to lose,
if I am to get into Mur again before the rains.” 

“Got any of that gold you spoke of about you?” asked the Professor.

I drew a skin bag from the pocket of my coat, and poured some out upon
the table, which he examined carefully.

“Ring money,” he said presently, “might be Anglo-Saxon, might
be anything; date absolutely uncertain, but from its appearance I should
say slightly alloyed with silver; yes, there is a bit which has
oxydized—undoubtedly old, that.”

Then he produced the signet from his pocket, and examined the ring and
the stone very carefully through a powerful glass.

“Seems all right,” he said, “and although I have been greened
in my time, I don’t make many mistakes nowadays. What do you say,
Adams? Must have it back? A sacred trust! Only lent to you! All right,
take it by all means. _I_ don’t want the thing. Well, it is a risky
job, and if any one else had proposed it to me, I’d have told him to
go to—Mur. But, Adams, my boy, you saved my life once, and never sent
in a bill, because I was hard up, and I haven’t forgotten that. Also
things are pretty hot for me here just now over a certain controversy
of which I suppose you haven’t heard in Central Africa. I think
I’ll go. What do you say, Oliver?”

“Oh!” said Captain Orme, waking up from a reverie, “if you
are satisfied, I am. It doesn’t matter to me where I go.”




CHAPTER II.

THE ADVICE OF SERGEANT QUICK


At this moment a fearful hubbub arose without. The front door slammed, a
cab drove off furiously, a policeman’s whistle blew, heavy feet were
heard trampling; then came an invocation of “In the King’s name,”
answered by “Yes, and the Queen’s, and the rest of the Royal
Family’s, and if you want it, take it, you chuckle-headed,
flat-footed, pot-bellied Peelers.”

Then followed tumult indescribable as of heavy men and things rolling
down the stairs, with cries of fear and indignation.

“What the dickens is that?” asked Higgs.

“The voice sounded like that of Samuel—I mean Sergeant
Quick,” answered Captain Orme with evident alarm; “what can he be
after? Oh, I know, it is something to do with that infernal mummy you
unwrapped this afternoon, and asked him to bring round after dinner.”

Just then the door burst open, and a tall, soldier-like form stalked in,
carrying in his arms a corpse wrapped in a sheet, which he laid upon the
table among the wine glasses.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” he said, addressing Orme, “but
I’ve lost the head of the departed. I think it is at the bottom of the
stairs with the police. Had nothing else to defend myself with, sir,
against their unwarranted attacks, so brought the body to the present
and charged, thinking it very stiff and strong, but regret to say neck
snapped, and that deceased’s head is now under arrest.”

As Sergeant Quick finished speaking, the door opened again, and through
it appeared two very flurried and dishevelled policemen, one of whom
held, as far as possible from his person, the grizzly head of a mummy
by the long hair which still adhered to the skull.

“What do you mean by breaking into my rooms like this? Where’s your
warrant?” asked the indignant Higgs in his high voice.

“There!” answered the first policeman, pointing to the
sheet-wrapped form on the table.

“And here!” added the second, holding up the awful head. “As
in duty bound, we ask explanation from that man of the secret conveyance
of a corpse through the open streets, whereon he assaults us with the
same, for which assault, pending investigation of the corpse, I arrest
him. Now, Guv’nor” (addressing Sergeant Quick), “will you come
along with us quietly, or must we take you?”

The Sergeant, who seemed to be inarticulate with wrath, made a dash for
the shrouded object on the table, with the intention, apparently, of
once more using it as a weapon of offence, and the policemen drew their
batons. 

“Stop,” said Orme, thrusting himself between the combatants,
“are you all mad? Do you know that this woman died about four thousand
years ago?”

“Oh, Lord!” said the policeman who held the head, addressing his
companion, “it must be one of them mummies what they dig up in the
British Museum. Seems pretty ancient and spicy, don’t it?” and he
sniffed at the head, then set it down upon the table.

Explanations followed, and after the wounded dignity of the two officers
of the Force had been soothed with sundry glasses of port wine and a
written list of the names of all concerned, including that of the
mummy, they departed. 

“You take my advice, bobbies,” I heard the indignant Sergeant
declaim outside the door, “and don’t you believe things is always
what they seem. A party ain’t necessarily drunk because he rolls about
and falls down in the street; he may be mad, or ‘ungry, or epileptic,
and a body ain’t always a body jest because it’s dead and cold and
stiff. Why, men, as you’ve seen, it may be a mummy, which is quite a
different thing. If I was to put on that blue coat of yours, would that
make me a policeman? Good heavens! I should hope not, for the sake of
the Army to which I still belong, being in the Reserve. What you
bobbies need is to study human nature and cultivate observation, which
will learn you the difference between a new-laid corpse and a mummy,
and many other things. Now you lay my words to heart, and you’ll both
of you rise to superintendents, instead of running in daily
‘drunks’ until you retire on a pension. Good-night.” 

Peace having been restored, and the headless mummy removed into the
Professor’s bedroom, since Captain Orme declared that he could not
talk business in the presence of a body, however ancient, we resumed
our discussion. First of all, at Higgs’s suggestion I drew up a brief
memorandum of agreement which set out the objects of the expedition,
and provided for the equal division amongst us of any profit that might
accrue; in the event of the death of one or more of us, the survivors
or survivor to take their or his share.

To this arrangement personally I objected, who desired neither treasure
nor antiquities, but only the rescue of my son. The others pointed out,
however, that, like most people, I might in future want something to
live on, or that if I did not, in the event of his escape, my boy
certainly would; so in the end I gave way.

Then Captain Orme very sensibly asked for a definition of our respective
duties, and it was settled that I was to be guide to the expedition;
Higgs, antiquarian, interpreter, and, on account of his vast knowledge,
general referee; and Captain Orme, engineer and military commander,
with the proviso that, in the event of a difference of opinion, the
dissentient was to loyally accept the decision of the majority.

This curious document having been copied out fair, I signed and passed
it to the Professor, who hesitated a little, but, after refreshing
himself with a further minute examination of Sheba’s ring, signed
also, remarking that he was an infernal fool for his pains, and pushed
the paper across the table to Orme.

“Stop a minute,” said the Captain; “I forgot something. I
should like my old servant, Sergeant Quick, to accompany us. He’s a
very handy man at a pinch, especially if, as I understand, we are
expected to deal with explosives with which he has had a lot to do in
the Engineers and elsewhere. If you agree I will call him, and ask if
he will go. I expect he’s somewhere round.”

I nodded, judging from the episode of the mummy and the policeman that
the Sergeant was likely to be a useful man. As I was sitting next to
it, I opened the door for the Captain, whereon the erect shape of
Sergeant Quick, who had clearly been leaning against it, literally fell
into the room, reminding me much of an overset wooden soldier.

“Hullo!” said Orme as, without the slightest change of countenance,
his retainer recovered himself and stood to attention. “What the deuce
are you doing there?”

“Sentry go, Captain. Thought the police might change their minds and
come back. Any orders, Captain?”

“Yes. I am going to North Central Africa. When can you be ready to
start?”

“The Brindisi mail leaves to-morrow night, Captain, if you travel by
Egypt, but if you go by Tunis, 7.15 a.m. Saturday is the time from
Charing Cross. Only, as I understand that high explosives and arms have
to be provided, these might take awhile to lay in and pack so as to
deceive customs.” 

“You understand!” said Orme. “Pray, how do you
understand?”

“Doors in these old houses are apt to get away from their frames,
Captain, and the gentleman there”—and he pointed to the
Professor—“has a voice that carries like a dog-whistle. Oh, no
offence, sir. A clear voice is an excellent thing—that is, if the
doors fit”—and although Sergeant Quick’s wooden face did not
move, I saw his humorous grey eyes twinkle beneath the bushy eyebrows.

We burst out laughing, including Higgs.

“So you are willing to go?” said Orme. “But I hope you
clearly understand that this is a risky business, and that you may not
come back?”

“Spion Kop was a bit risky, Captain, and so was that business in the
donga, where every one was hit except you and me and the sailor man, but
we came back, for all that. Begging your pardon, Captain, there ain’t
no such thing as risk. Man comes here when he must, and dies when he
must, and what he does between don’t make a ha’porth of
difference.” 

“Hear, hear,” I said; “we are much of the same way of
thinking.”

“There have been several who held those views, sir, since old Solomon
gave the lady that”—and he pointed to Sheba’s ring, which was
lying on the table. “But excuse me, Captain; how about local
allowances? Not having been a marrying man myself, I’ve none
dependent upon me, but, as you know, I’ve sisters that have, and a
soldier’s pension goes with him. Don’t think me greedy, Captain,”
he added hastily, “but, as you gentlemen understand, black and white
at the beginning saves bother at the end”—and he pointed to the
agreement. 

“Quite right. What do you want, Sergeant?” asked Orme.

“Nothing beyond my pay, if we get nothing, Captain, but if we get
something, would five per cent. be too much?”

“It might be ten,” I suggested. “Sergeant Quick has a life to
lose like the rest of us.”

“Thank you kindly, sir,” he answered; “but that, in my
opinion, would be too much. Five per cent. was what I suggested.”

So it was written down that Sergeant Samuel Quick was to receive five
per cent. of the total profits, if any, provided that he behaved
himself and obeyed orders. Then he also signed the agreement, and was
furnished with a glass of whisky and water to drink to its good health.

“Now, gentlemen,” he said, declining the chair which Higgs offered
to him, apparently because, from long custom, he preferred his
wooden-soldier attitude against the wall, “as a humble five-per-cent.
private in this very adventurous company I’ll ask permission to say a
word.” 

Permission was given accordingly, and the Sergeant proceeded to inquire
what weight of rock it was wished to remove.

I told him that I did not know, as I had never seen the Fung idol, but I
understood that its size was enormous, probably as large as St. Paul’s
Cathedral.

“Which, if solid, would take some stirring,” remarked the Sergeant.
“Dynamite might do it, but it is too bulky to be carried across the
desert on camels in that quantity. Captain, how about them picrates? You
remember those new Boer shells that blew a lot of us to kingdom come,
and poisoned the rest?”

“Yes,” answered Orme; “I remember; but now they have stronger
stuffs—azo-imides, I think they call them—terrific new compounds of
nitrogen. We will inquire to-morrow, Sergeant.”

“Yes, Captain,” he answered; “but the point is, who’ll
pay? You can’t buy hell-fire in bulk for nothing. I calculate that,
allowing for the purchase of the explosives and, say, fifty military
rifles with ammunition and all other necessaries, not including camels,
the outfit of this expedition can’t come to less than £1,500.”

“I think I have that amount in gold,” I answered, “of which
the lady of the Abati gave me as much as I could carry in comfort.”

“If not,” said Orme, “although I am a poor man now, I could
find £500 or so in a pinch. So don’t let us bother about the money.
The question is—Are we all agreed that we will undertake this
expedition and see it through to the end, whatever that may be?”

We answered that we were.

“Then has anybody anything more to say?”

“Yes,” I replied; “I forgot to tell you that if we should
ever get to Mur, none of you must make love to the Walda Nagasta. She is
a kind of holy person, who can only marry into her own family, and to
do so might mean that our throats would be cut.”

“Do you hear that, Oliver?” said the Professor. “I suppose
that the Doctor’s warning is meant for you, as the rest of us are
rather past that kind of thing.”

“Indeed,” replied the Captain, colouring again after his fashion.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I feel a bit past it myself, and, so far
as I am concerned, I don’t think we need take the fascinations of
this black lady into account.”

“Don’t brag, Captain. Please don’t brag,” said Sergeant
Quick in a hollow whisper. “Woman is just the one thing about which
you can never be sure. To-day she’s poison, and to-morrow honey—God
and the climate alone know why. Please don’t brag, or we may live to
see you crawling after this one on your knees, with the gent in the
specs behind, and Samuel Quick, who hates the whole tribe of them,
bringing up the rear. Tempt Providence, if you like, Captain, but
don’t tempt woman, lest she should turn round and tempt you, as she
has done before to-day.” 

“Will you be so good as to stop talking nonsense and call a cab,”
said Captain Orme coldly. But Higgs began to laugh in his rude fashion,
and I, remembering the appearance of “Bud of the Rose” when she
lifted her veil of ceremony, and the soft earnestness of her voice,
fell into reflection. “Black lady” indeed! What, I wondered, would
this young gentleman think if ever he should live to set his eyes upon
her sweet and comely face? 

It seemed to me that Sergeant Quick was not so foolish as his master
chose to imagine. Captain Orme undoubtedly was in every way qualified
to be a partner in our venture; still, I could have wished either that
he had been an older man, or that the lady to whom he was recently
affianced had not chosen this occasion to break her engagement. In
dealing with difficult and dangerous combinations, my experience has
been that it is always well to eliminate the possibility of a love
affair, especially in the East. 




CHAPTER III.

THE PROFESSOR GOES OUT SHOOTING


Of all our tremendous journey across the desert until we had passed the
forest and reached the plains which surrounded the mountains of Mur,
there are, I think, but few incidents with which the reader need be
troubled. The first of these was at Assouan, where a letter and various
telegrams overtook Captain Orme, which, as by this time we had become
intimate, he showed to me. They informed him that the clandestine
infant whom his uncle left behind him had suddenly sickened and died of
some childish ailment, so that he was once again heir to the large
property which he thought he had lost, since the widow only took a life
interest in some of the personalty. I congratulated him and said I 
supposed this meant that we should not have the pleasure of his company
to Mur.    

“Why not?” he asked. “I said I was going and I mean to go;
indeed, I signed a document to that effect.”

“I daresay,” I answered, “but circumstances alter cases. If I
might say so, an adventure that perhaps was good enough for a young and
well-born man of spirit and enterprise without any particular resources,
is no longer good enough for one who has the ball at his feet. Think
what a ball it is to a man of your birth, intelligence, record, and
now, great fortune come to you in youth. Why, with these advantages
there is absolutely nothing that you cannot do in England. You can go
into Parliament and rule the country; if you like you can become a
peer. You can marry any one who isn’t of the blood royal; in short,
with uncommonly little effort of your own, your career is made for you.
Don’t throw away a silver spoon like that in order, perhaps, to die
of thirst in the desert or be killed in a fight among unknown tribes.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered. “I never set heart
much on spoons, silver or other. When I lost this one I didn’t cry,
and now that I have found it again I shan’t sing. Anyway, I am going
on with you, and you can’t prevent me under the agreement. Only as I
have got such a lot to leave, I suppose I had better make a will first
and post it home, which is a bore.”

Just then the Professor came in, followed by an Arab thief of a dealer,
with whom he was trying to bargain for some object of antiquity. When
the dealer had been ejected and the position explained to him, Higgs,
who whatever may be his failings in small matters, is unselfish enough
in big ones, said that he agreed with me and thought that under the
circumstances, in his own interest, Orme ought to leave us and return
home. 

“You may save your breath, old fellow,” answered the Captain,
“for this reason if for no other,” and he threw him a letter across
the table, which letter I saw afterwards. To be brief, it was from the
young lady to whom he had been engaged to be married, and who on his
loss of fortune had jilted him. Now she seemed to have changed her mind
again, and, although she did not mention the matter, it is perhaps not
uncharitable to suppose that the news of the death of the inconvenient
child had something to do with her decision.

“Have you answered this?” asked Higgs.

“No,” answered Orme, setting his mouth. “I have not answered,
and I am not going to answer it, either in writing or in person. I
intend to start to-morrow for Mur and to travel as far on that road as
it pleases fate to allow, and now I am going to look at the rock
sculptures by the cataract.” 

“Well, that’s flat,” said Higgs after he had departed,
“and for my part I am glad of it, for somehow I think he will be a
useful man among those Fung. Also, if he went I expect that the
Sergeant would go too, and where should we be without Quick, I should
like to know?” 

Afterwards I conversed with the said Quick about this same matter,
repeating to him my opinions, to which the Sergeant listened with the
deference which he was always kind enough to show to me.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” he said, when I had finished,
“but I think you are both right and wrong. Everything has two ends,
hasn’t it? You say that it would be wicked for the Captain to get
himself killed, there being now so much money for him to live for,
seeing that life is common as dirt while money is precious, rare and
hard to come by. It ain’t the kings we admire, it’s their crowns;
it ain’t the millionaires, it’s their millions; but, after all, the
millionaires don’t take their millions with them, for Providence,
that, like Nature, hates waste, knows that if they did they’d melt,
so one man dead gives another bread, as the saying goes, or p’raps I
should say gingerbread in such cases.

“Still, on the whole, sir, I admit you are right as to the sinfulness
of wasting luck. But now comes the other end. I know this young lady
what the Captain was engaged to, which he never would have been if he
had taken my advice, since of all the fish-blooded little serpents that
ever I set eyes on she’s the serpentest, though pretty, I allow.
Solomon said in his haste that an honest woman he had not found, but if
he had met the Honourable Miss—well, never mind her name—he’d
have said it at his leisure, and gone on saying it. Now, no one should
never take back a servant what has given notice and then says he’s
sorry, for if he does the sorrow will be on the other side before
it’s all done; and much less should he take back a _fiancée_ (Quick
said a ‘finance’), on the whole, he’d better drown himself—I
tried it once, and I know. So that’s the tail of the business.

“But,” he went on, “it has a couple of fins as well, like
that eel beast I caught in the Nile. One of them is that the Captain
promised and vowed to go through with this expedition, and if a man’s
got to die, he’d better die honest without breaking his word. And the
other is what I said to you in London when I signed on, that he won’t
die a minute before his time, and nothing won’t happen to him, but
what’s bound to happen, and therefore it ain’t a ha’porth of use
bothering about anything, and that’s where the East’s well ahead of
the West. 

“And now, sir, I’ll go and look after the camels and those
half-bred Jew boys what you call Abati, but I call rotten sneaks, for if
they get their thieving fingers into those canisters of picric salts,
thinking they’re jam, as I found them trying to do yesterday,
something may happen in Egypt that’ll make the Pharaohs turn in their
graves and the Ten Plagues look silly.”

So, having finished his oration, Quick went, and in due course we
started for Mur.

The second incident that is perhaps worth recording was an adventure
that happened to us when we had completed about two of our four
months’ journey.

After weeks of weary desert travel—if I remember right, it was exactly
a fortnight after the dog Pharaoh, of which I shall soon have plenty to
say, had come into Orme’s possession—we reached an oasis called
Zeu, where I had halted upon my road down to Egypt. In this oasis,
which, although not large in extent, possesses springs of beautiful
water and groves of date-trees, we were, as it chanced, very welcome,
since when I was there before, I had been fortunate enough to cure its
sheik of an attack of ophthalmia and to doctor several of his people
for various ailments with good results. So, although I was burning to
get forward, I agreed with the others that it would be wise to accede
to the request of the leader of our caravan, a clever and resourceful, 
but to my mind untrustworthy Abati of the name of Shadrach, and camp in
Zeu for a week or so to rest and feed our camels, which had wasted
almost to nothing on the scant herbage of the desert. 

This Shadrach, I may add here, whom his companions, for some reason
unknown to me at that time, called the Cat, was remarkable for a triple
line of scars upon his face, which, he informed me, had been set there
by the claws of a lion. Now the great enemies of this people of Zeu
were lions, which at certain seasons of the year, I suppose when food
grew scarce, descended from the slopes of a range of hills that
stretched east and west at a distance of about fifty miles north of the
oasis, and, crossing the intervening desert, killed many of the Zeu 
sheep, camels, and other cattle, and often enough any of the tribe whom
they could catch. As these poor Zeus practically possessed no firearms,
they were at the mercy of the lions, which grew correspondingly bold.
Indeed, their only resource was to kraal their animals within stone
walls at night and take refuge in their huts, which they seldom left
between sunset and dawn, except to replenish the fires that they lit to
scare any beast of prey which might be prowling through the town. 

Though the lion season was now in full swing, as it happened, for the
first five days of our stay at Zeu we saw none of these great cats,
although in the darkness we heard them roaring in the distance. On the
sixth night, however, we were awakened by a sound of wailing, which
came from the village about a quarter of a mile away, and when we went
out at dawn to see what was the matter, were met by a melancholy
procession advancing from its walls. At the head of it marched the
grey-haired old chief, followed by a number of screaming women, who in
their excitement, or perhaps as a sign of mourning, had omitted to make
their toilette, and by four men, who carried something horrid on a 
wickerwork door. 

Soon we learned what had happened. It seemed that hungry lions, two or
three of them, had broken through the palm-leaf roof of the hut of one
of the sheik’s wives, she whose remains were stretched upon the door,
and, in addition to killing her, had actually carried off his son. Now
he came to implore us white men who had guns to revenge him on the
lions, which otherwise, having once tasted human flesh, would destroy
many more of his people. 

Through an interpreter who knew Arabic, for not even Higgs could
understand the peculiar Zeu dialect, he explained in excited and
incoherent words that the beasts lay up among the sand-hills not very
far away, where some thick reeds grew around a little spring of water.
Would we not come out and kill them and earn the blessing of the Zeus?

Now I said nothing, for the simple reason that, having such big matters
on hand, although I was always fond of sport, I did not wish any of us
to be led off after these lions. There is a time to hunt and a time to
cease from hunting, and it seemed to me, except for the purposes of
food, that this journey of ours was the latter. However, as I expected,
Oliver Orme literally leaped at the idea. So did Higgs, who of late had
been practising with a rifle and began to fancy himself a shot. He
exclaimed loudly that nothing would give him greater pleasure,
especially as he was sure that lions were in fact cowardly and
overrated beasts. 

From that moment I foreboded disaster in my heart. Still, I said I would
come too, partly because I had not shot a lion for many a day and had a
score to settle with those beasts which, it may be remembered, nearly
killed me on the Mountain of Mur, and partly because, knowing the
desert and also the Zeu people much better than either the Professor or
Orme, I thought that I might possibly be of service.

So we fetched our rifles and cartridges, to which by an afterthought we
added two large water-bottles, and ate a hearty breakfast. As we were
preparing to start, Shadrach, the leader of the Abati camel-drivers,
that man with the scarred face who was nicknamed the Cat, came up to me
and asked me whither we were going. I told him, whereon he said:

“What have you to do with these savages and their troubles, lords? If
a few of them are killed it is no matter, but as you should know, O
Doctor, if you wish to hunt lions there are plenty in that land whither
you travel, seeing that the lion is the fetish of the Fung and
therefore never killed. But the desert about Zeu is dangerous and harm
may come to you.” 

“Then accompany us,” broke in the Professor, between whom and
Shadrach there was no love lost, “for, of course, with you we should
be quite safe.”

“Not so,” he replied, “I and my people rest; only madmen
would go to hunt worthless wild beasts when they might rest. Have we not
enough of the desert and its dangers as it is? If you knew all that I
do of lions you would leave them alone.”

“Of the desert we have plenty also, but of shooting very little,”
remarked the Captain, who talked Arabic well. “Lie in your beds; we go
to kill the beasts that harass the poor people who have treated us so
kindly.”

“So be it,” said Shadrach with a smile that struck me as malicious.
“A lion made this”—pointing to the dreadful threefold scar
upon his face. “May the God of Israel protect you from lions.
Remember, lords, that, the camels being fresh again, we march the day
after to-morrow, should the weather hold, for if the wind blows on
yonder sand-hills, no man may live among them;” and, putting up his
hand, he studied the sky carefully from beneath its shadow, then, with
a grunt, turned and vanished behind a hut. 

All this while Sergeant Quick was engaged at a little distance in
washing up the tin breakfast things, to all appearance quite
unconscious of what was going on. Orme called him, whereupon he
advanced and stood to attention. I remember thinking how curious he
looked in those surroundings—his tall, bony frame clothed in
semi-military garments, his wooden face perfectly shaved, his iron-grey
hair neatly parted and plastered down upon his head with pomade or some
equivalent after the old private soldier fashion, and his sharp 
ferret-like grey eyes taking in everything. 

“Are you coming with us, Sergeant?” asked Orme.

“Not unless ordered so to do, Captain. I like a bit of hunting well
enough, but, with all three officers away, some one should mount guard
over the stores and transport, so I think the dog Pharaoh and I had
best stop behind.”

“Perhaps you are right, Sergeant, only tie Pharaoh up, or he’ll
follow me. Well, what do you want to say? Out with it.”

“Only this, Captain. Although I have served in three campaigns among
these here Arabians (to Quick, all African natives north of the Equator
were Arabians, and all south of it, niggers), I can’t say I talk
their lingo well. Still, I made out that the fellow they call Cat
don’t like this trip of yours, and, begging your pardon, Captain,
whatever else Cat may be, he ain’t no fool.”

“Can’t help it, Sergeant. For one thing, it would never do to give
in to his fancies now.”

“That’s true, Captain. When once it’s hoist, right or wrong,
keep the flag flying, and no doubt you’ll come back safe and sound if
you’re meant to.”

Then, having relieved his mind, the Sergeant ran his eye over our
equipment to see that nothing had been forgotten, rapidly assured
himself that the rifles were in working order, reported all well, and
returned to his dishes. Little did any of us guess under what
circumstances we should next meet with him. 

After leaving the town and marching for a mile or so along the oasis,
accompanied by a mob of the Zeus armed with spears and bows, we were led
by the bereaved chief, who also acted as tracker, out into the
surrounding sands. The desert here, although I remembered it well
enough, was different from any that we had yet encountered upon this
journey, being composed of huge and abrupt sand-hills, some of which
were quite three hundred feet high, separated from each other by deep,
wind-cut valleys. 

For a distance, while they were within reach of the moist air of the
oasis, these sand-mountains produced vegetation of various sorts.
Presently, however, we passed out into the wilderness proper, and for a
while climbed up and down the steep, shifting slopes, till from the
crest of one of them the chief pointed out what in South Africa is
called a pan, or _vlei_, covered with green reeds, and explained by
signs that in these lay the lions. Descending a steep declivity, we
posted ourselves, I at the top, and Higgs and Orme a little way down
either side of this _vlei_. This done, we dispatched the Zeus to beat
it out towards us, for although the reeds grew thick along the course of
 the underground water, it was but a narrow place, and not more than a
quarter of a mile in length. 

Scarcely had the beaters entered the tall reeds, evidently with
trepidation, for a good many of them held back from the adventure, when
a sound of loud wailing informed us that something had happened. A
minute or two later we saw two of them bearing away what appeared to be
the mangled remains of the chief’s son who had been carried off on
the previous night. 

Just then, too, we saw something else, for half-way down the marsh a
great male lion broke cover, and began to steal off toward the
sand-hills. It was about two hundred yards from Higgs, who chanced to
be nearest to it, and, therefore, as any big-game hunter will know, for
practical purposes, far out of shot. But the Professor, who was quite
unaccustomed to this, or, indeed, any kind of sport, and, like all
beginners, wildly anxious for blood, lifted his rifle and fired, as he
might have done at a rabbit. By some marvellous accident the aim was
good, and the bullet from the express, striking the lion fair behind the
 shoulder, passed through its heart, and knocked it over dead as a
stone.    

“By Jingo! Did you see that?” screamed Higgs in his delight. Then,
without even stopping to reload the empty barrel, he set off at the top
of his speed toward the prostrate beast, followed by myself and by
Orme, as fast as our astonishment would allow.

Running along the edge of the marsh, Higgs had covered about a hundred
yards of the distance, when suddenly, charging straight at him out of
the tall reeds, appeared a second lion, or rather lioness. Higgs
wheeled round, and wildly fired the left barrel of his rifle without
touching the infuriated brute. Next instant, to our horror, we saw him
upon his back, with the lioness standing over him, lashing her tail,
and growling. 

We shouted as we ran, and so did the Zeus, although they made no attempt
at rescue, with the result that the lioness, instead of tearing Higgs
to pieces, turned her head confusedly first to one side and then to the
other. By now I, who had a long start of Orme, was quite close, say
within thirty yards, though fire I dared not as yet, fearing lest,
should I do so, I might kill my friend. At this moment the lioness,
recovering her nerves, squatted down on the prostrate Higgs, and though
he hit at her with his fists, dropped her muzzle, evidently with the
intention of biting him through the head. 

Now I felt that if I hesitated any more, all would be finished. The
lioness was much longer than Higgs—a short, stout man—and her hind
quarters projected beyond his feet. At these I aimed rapidly, and,
pressing the trigger, next second heard the bullet clap upon the great
beast’s hide. Up she sprang with a roar, one hind leg dangling, and
after a moment’s hesitation, fled toward the sand-hill.

Now Orme, who was behind me, fired also, knocking up the dust beneath
the lioness’s belly, but although he had more cartridges in his
rifle, which was a repeater, before either he or I could get another
chance, it vanished behind a mound. Leaving it to go where it would, we
ran on towards Higgs, expecting to find him either dead or badly
mauled, but, to our amazement and delight, up jumped the Professor, his
blue spectacles still on his nose, and, loading his rifle as he went,
charged away after the wounded lioness. 

“Come back,” shouted the Captain as he followed.

“Not for Joe!” yelled Higgs in his high voice. “If you
fellows think that I’m going to let a great cat sit on my stomach for
nothing, you are jolly well mistaken.”

At the top of the first rise the long-legged Orme caught him, but
persuade him to return was more than he, or I when I arrived, could do.
Beyond a scratch on his nose, which had stung him and covered him with
blood, we found that he was quite uninjured, except in temper and
dignity. But in vain did we beg him to be content with his luck and the
honours he had won. 

“Why?” he answered, “Adams wounded the beast, and I’d
rather kill two lions than one; also I have a score to square. But if
you fellows are afraid, you go home.”

Well, I confess I felt inclined to accept the invitation, but Orme, who
was nettled, replied:

“Come, come; that settles the question, doesn’t it? You must be
shaken by your fall, or you would not talk like that, Higgs. Look, here
runs the spoor—see the blood? Well, let’s go steady and keep our
wind. We may come on her anywhere, but don’t you try any more long
distance shots. You won’t kill another lion at two hundred and fifty
yards.” 

“All right,” said Higgs, “don’t be offended. I
didn’t mean anything, except that I am going to teach that beast the
difference between a white man and a Zeu.”

Then we began our march, following the blood tracks up and down the
steep sand-slopes. When we had been at it for about half-an-hour our
spirits were cheered by catching sight of the lioness on a ridge five
hundred yards away. Just then, too, some of the Zeus overtook us and
joined the hunt, though without zeal.

Meanwhile, as the day grew, the heat increased until it was so intense
that the hot air danced above the sand slopes like billions of midges,
and this although the sun was not visible, being hidden by a sort of
mist. A strange silence, unusual even in the desert, pervaded the earth
and sky; we could hear the grains of sand trickling from the ridges.
The Zeus, who accompanied us, grew uneasy, and pointed upward with
their spears, then behind toward the oasis of which we had long lost
sight. Finally, when we were not looking, they disappeared.

Now I would have followed them, guessing that they had some good reason
for this sudden departure. But Higgs refused to come, and Orme, in whom
his foolish taunt seemed still to rankle, only shrugged his shoulders
and said nothing. 

“Let the black curs go,” exclaimed the Professor as he polished his
blue spectacles and mopped his face. “They are a white-livered lot of
sneaks. Look! There she is, creeping off to the left. If we run round
that sand-hill we shall meet her.”

So we ran round the sand-hill, but we did not meet her, although after
long hunting we struck the blood spoor afresh, and followed it for
several miles, first in this direction, and then in that, until Orme
and I wondered at Higgs’s obstinacy and endurance. At length, when
even he was beginning to despair, we put up the lioness in a hollow,
and fired several shots at her as she hobbled over the opposing slope,
one of which hit her, for she rolled over, then picked herself up
again, roaring. As a matter of fact, it came from the Captain’s
rifle, but Higgs, who, like many an inexperienced person was a jealous
sportsman, declared that it was his and we did not think it worth while 
to contradict him. 

On we toiled, and, just beyond the ridge, walked straight into the
lioness, sitting up like a great dog, so injured that she could do
nothing but snarl hideously and paw at the air.

“Now it is my turn, old lady,” ejaculated Higgs, and straightway
missed her clean from a distance of five yards. A second shot was more
successful, and she rolled over, dead.

“Come on,” said the exultant Professor, “and we’ll skin
her. She sat on me, and I mean to sit on her for many a day.”

So we began the job, although I, who had large experience of this
desert, and did not like the appearance of the weather, wished to leave
the beast where it lay and get back to the oasis. It proved long, for I
was the only one of us who had any practical knowledge of flaying
animals, and in that heat extremely unpleasant.

At length it was done, and, having doubled the hide over a rifle for two
of us to carry in turns, we refreshed ourselves from the water-bottles
(I even caught the Professor washing the blood off his face and hands
with some of the precious fluid). Then we started for the oasis, only
to discover, though we were all sure that we knew the way, that not one
of us had a slightest idea of its real direction. In the hurry of our
departure we had forgotten to bring a compass, and the sun, that would
have been our guide in ordinary circumstances, and to which we always
trusted in the open desert, was hidden by the curious haze that has
been described. 

So, sensibly enough, we determined to return to the sand crest where we
had killed the lioness, and then trace our own footprints backward.
This seemed simple enough, for there, within half-a-mile, rose the
identical ridge. 

We reached it, grumbling, for the lion-skin was heavy, only to discover
that it was a totally different ridge. Now, after reflection and
argument, we saw our exact mistake, and made for what was obviously the
real ridge—with the same result.

We were lost in the desert!




CHAPTER IV.

THE DEATH WIND


“The fact is,” said Higgs presently, speaking with the air of an
oracle, “the fact is that all these accursed sand-hills are as like
each other as mummy beads on the same necklace, and therefore it is
very difficult to know them apart. Give me that water-bottle, Adams; I
am as dry as a lime-kiln.”

“No,” I said shortly; “you may be drier before the end.”

“What do you mean? Oh! I see; but that’s nonsense; those Zeus will
hunt us up, or, at the worst, we have only to wait till the sun gets
out.” 

As he spoke, suddenly the air became filled with a curious singing sound
impossible to describe, caused as I knew, who had often heard it before,
by millions and millions of particles of sand being rubbed together. We
turned to see whence it came, and perceived, far away, rushing towards
us with extraordinary swiftness, a huge and dense cloud preceded by
isolated columns and funnels of similar clouds.

“A sand-storm,” said Higgs, his florid face paling a little.
“Bad luck for us! That’s what comes of getting out of bed the wrong
side first this morning. No, it’s your fault, Adams; you helped me to
salt last night, in spite of my remonstrances” (the Professor has
sundry little superstitions of this sort, particularly absurd in so
learned a man). “Well, what shall we do? Get under the lee of the
hill until it blows over?”

“Don’t suppose it will blow over. Can’t see anything to do
except say our prayers,” remarked Orme with sweet resignation. Oliver
is, I think, the coolest hand in an emergency of any one I ever met,
except, perhaps, Sergeant Quick, a man, of course, nearly old enough to
be his father. “The game seems to be pretty well up,” he added.
“Well, you have killed two lions, Higgs, and that is something.”

“Oh, hang it! You can die if you like, Oliver. The world won’t miss
you; but think of its loss if anything happened to _me_. I don’t
intend to be wiped out by a beastly sand-storm. I intend to live to
write a book on Mur,” and Higgs shook his fist at the advancing
clouds with an air that was really noble. It reminded me of Ajax
defying the lightning. 

Meanwhile I had been reflecting.

“Listen,” I said. “Our only chance is to stop where we are,
for if we move we shall certainly be buried alive. Look; there is
something solid to lie on,” and I pointed to a ridge of rock, a kind
of core of congealed sand, from which the surface had been swept by
gales. “Down with you, quick,” I went on, “and let’s draw that
lion-skin over our heads. It may help to keep the dust from choking us.
Hurry, men; it’s coming!”

Coming, it was indeed, with a mighty, wailing roar. Scarcely had we got
ourselves into position, our backs to the blast and our mouths and noses
buried after the fashion of camels in a similar predicament, the
lion-skin covering our heads and bodies to the middle, with the paws
tucked securely beneath us to prevent it from being blown away, when
the storm leaped upon us furiously, bringing darkness in its train.
There we lay for hour after hour, unable to see, unable to talk because
of the roaring noise about us, and only from time to time lifting
ourselves a little upon our hands and knees to disturb the weight of
sand that accumulated on our bodies, lest it should encase us in a 
living tomb. 

Dreadful were the miseries we suffered—the misery of the heat beneath
the stinking pelt of the lion, the misery of the dust-laden air that
choked us almost to suffocation, the misery of thirst, for we could not
get at our scanty supply of water to drink. But worst of all perhaps,
was the pain caused by the continual friction of the sharp sand driven
along at hurricane speed, which, incredible as it may seem, finally
wore holes in our thin clothing and filed our skins to rawness.

“No wonder the Egyptian monuments get such a beautiful shine on
them,” I heard poor Higgs muttering in my ear again and again, for he
was growing light-headed; “no wonder, no wonder! My shin-bones will
be very useful to polish Quick’s tall riding-boots. Oh! curse the
lions. Why did you help me to salt, you old ass; why did you help me to
salt? It’s pickling me behind.”

Then he became quite incoherent, and only groaned from time to time.

Perhaps, however, this suffering did us a service, since otherwise
exhaustion, thirst, and dust might have overwhelmed our senses, and
caused us to fall into a sleep from which we never should have
awakened. Yet at the time we were not grateful to it, for at last the
agony became almost unbearable. Indeed, Orme told me afterwards that
the last thing he could remember was a quaint fancy that he had made a
colossal fortune by selling the secret of a new torture to the
Chinese—that of hot sand driven on to the victim by a continuous 
blast of hot air. 

After a while we lost count of time, nor was it until later that we
learned that the storm endured for full twenty hours, during the latter
part of which, notwithstanding our manifold sufferings, we must have
become more or less insensible. At any rate, at one moment I remembered
the awful roar and the stinging of the sand whips, followed by a kind
of vision of the face of my son—that beloved, long-lost son whom I
had sought for so many years, and for whose sake I endured all these
things. Then, without any interval, as it were, I felt my limbs being
scorched as though by hot irons or through a burning-glass, and with a
fearful effort staggered up to find that the storm had passed, and that
the furious sun was blistering my excoriated skin. Rubbing the caked
dirt from my eyes, I looked down to see two mounds like those of 
graves, out of which projected legs that had been white. Just then one
pair of legs, the longer pair, stirred, the sand heaved up
convulsively, and, uttering wandering words in a choky voice, there
arose the figure of Oliver Orme.    

For a moment we stood and stared at each other, and strange spectacles
we were. 

“Is he dead?” muttered Orme, pointing to the still buried Higgs.

“Fear so,” I answered, “but we’ll look;” and
painfully we began to disinter him.

When we came to it beneath the lion-skin, the Professor’s face was
black and hideous to see, but, to our relief, we perceived that he was
not dead, for he moved his hand and moaned. Orme looked at me.

“Water would save him,” I said.

Then came the anxious moment. One of our water-bottles was emptied
before the storm began, but the other, a large, patent flask covered
with felt, and having a screw vulcanite top, should still contain a
good quantity, perhaps three quarts—that is, if the fluid had not
evaporated in the dreadful heat. If this had happened, it meant that
Higgs would die, and unless help came, that soon we should follow him.
Orme unscrewed the flask, for my hands refused that office, and used
his teeth to draw the cork, which, providentially enough the thoughtful
Quick had set in the neck beneath the screw. Some of the water, which,
although it was quite hot, had _not_ evaporated, thank God! flew 
against his parched lips, and I saw him bite them till the blood came in
the fierceness of the temptation to assuage his raging thirst. But he
resisted it like the man he is, and, without drinking a drop, handed me
the bottle, saying simply: 

“You are the oldest; take care of this, Adams.”

Now it was my turn to be tempted, but I, too, overcame, and, sitting
down, laid Higgs’s head upon my knee; then, drop by drop, let a
little of the water trickle between his swollen lips.

The effect was magical, for in less than a minute the Professor sat up,
grasped at the flask with both hands, and strove to tear it away.

“You cruel brute! You cruel selfish brute!” he moaned as I wrenched
it from him.

“Look here, Higgs,” I answered thickly; “Orme and I want
water badly enough, and we have had none. But you might take it all if
it would save you, only it wouldn’t. We are lost in the desert, and
must be sparing. If you drank everything now, in a few hours you would
be thirsty again and die.”

He thought awhile, then looked up and said:

“Beg pardon—I understand. I’m the selfish brute. But
there’s a good lot of water there; let’s each have a drink; we
can’t move unless we do.”

So we drank, measuring out the water in a little india-rubber cup which
we had with us. It held about as much as a port wine glass, and each of
us drank, or rather slowly sipped, three cupfuls; we who felt as though
we could have swallowed a gallon apiece, and asked for more. Small as
was the allowance, it worked wonders in us; we were men again.

We stood up and looked about us, but the great storm had changed
everything. Where there had been sand-hills a hundred feet high, now
were plains and valleys; where there had been valleys appeared
sand-hills. Only the high ridge upon which we had lain was as before,
because it stood above the others and had a core of rock. We tried to
discover the direction of the oasis by the position of the sun, only to
be baffled, since our two watches had run down, and we did not know the
time of day or where the sun ought to be in the heavens. Also, in that
howling wilderness there was nothing to show us the points of the
compass.    

Higgs, whose obstinacy remained unimpaired, whatever may have happened
to the rest of his vital forces, had one view of the matter, and Orme
another diametrically opposed to it. They even argued as to whether the
oasis lay to our right or to our left, for their poor heads were so
confused that they were scarcely capable of accurate thought or
observation. Meanwhile I sat down upon the sand and considered. Through
the haze I could see the points of what I thought must be the hills
whence the Zeus declared that the lions came, although of course, for
aught I knew, they might be other hills. 

“Listen,” I said; “if lions live upon those hills, there must
be water there. Let us try to reach them; perhaps we shall see the oasis
as we go.”

Then began our dreadful march. The lion-skin that had saved our lives,
and was now baked hard as a board, we left behind, but the rifles we
took. All day long we dragged ourselves up and down steep sand-slopes,
pausing now again to drink a sip of water, and hoping always that from
the top of the next slope we should see a rescue party headed by Quick,
or perhaps the oasis itself. Indeed, once we did see it, green and
shining, not more than three miles away, but when we got to the head of
the hill beyond which it should lie we found that the vision was only a
mirage, and our hearts nearly broke with disappointment. Oh! to men 
dying of thirst, that mirage was indeed a cruel mockery. 

At length night approached, and the mountains were yet a long way off.
We could march no more, and sank down exhausted, lying on our faces,
because our backs were so cut by the driving sand and blistered by the
sun that we could not sit. By now almost all our water was gone.
Suddenly Higgs nudged us and pointed upwards. Following the line of his
hand, we saw, not thirty yards away and showing clear against the sky,
a file of antelopes trekking along the sand-ridge, doubtless on a night
journey from one pasturage to another. 

“You fellows shoot,” he muttered; “I might miss and frighten
them away,” for in his distress poor Higgs was growing modest.

Slowly Orme and I drew ourselves to our knees, cocking our rifles. By
this time all the buck save one had passed; there were but six of them,
and this one marched along about twenty yards behind the others. Orme
pulled the trigger, but his rifle would not go off because, as he
discovered afterwards, some sand had worked into the mechanism of the
lock. 

Meanwhile I had also covered the buck, but the sunset dazzled my
weakened eyes, and my arms were feeble; also my terrible anxiety for
success, since I knew that on this shot hung our lives, unnerved me.
But it must be now or never; in three more paces the beast would be
down the dip. 

I fired, and knowing that I had missed, turned sick and faint. The
antelope bounded forward a few yards right to the edge of the dip;
then, never having heard such a sound before, and being overcome by
some fatal curiosity, stopped and turned around, staring at the
direction whence it had come. 

Despairingly I fired again, almost without taking aim, and this time the
bullet went in beneath the throat, and, raking the animal, dropped it
dead as a stone. We scrambled to it, and presently were engaged in an
awful meal of which we never afterwards liked to think. Happily for us
that antelope must have drunk water not long before.

Our hunger and thirst assuaged after this horrible fashion, we slept
awhile by the carcase, then arose extraordinarily refreshed, and,
having cut off some hunks of meat to carry with us, started on again.
By the position of the stars, we now knew that the oasis must lie
somewhere to the east of us; but as between us and it there appeared to
be nothing but these eternal sand-hills stretching away for many miles,
and as in front of us toward the range the character of the desert
seemed to be changing, we thought it safer, if the word safety can be
used in such a connection, to continue to head for that range. All the 
remainder of this night we marched, and, as we had no fuel wherewith to
cook it, at dawn ate some of the raw meat, which we washed down with
the last drops of our water. 

Now we were out of the sand-hills, and had entered on a great pebbly
plain that lay between us and the foot of the mountains. These looked
quite close, but in fact were still far off. Feebly and ever more
feebly we staggered on, meeting no one and finding no water, though
here and there we came across little bushes, of which we chewed the
stringy and aromatic leaves that contained some moisture, but drew up
our mouths and throats like alum. 

Higgs, who was the softest of us, gave out the first, though to the last
he struggled forward with surprising pluck, even after he had been
obliged to throw away his rifle, because he could no longer carry it,
though this we did not notice at the time. When he could not support
himself upon his feet, Orme took him by one arm, and I by the other,
and helped him on, much as I have seen two elephants do by a wounded
companion of the herd. 

Half-an-hour or so later my strength failed me also. Although advanced
in years, I am tough and accustomed to the desert and hardships; who
would not be who had been a slave to the Khalifa? But now I could do no
more, and halting, begged the others to go on and leave me. Orme’s
only answer was to proffer me his left arm. I took it, for life is
sweet to us all, especially when one has something to live for—a
desire to fulfil as I had, though to tell the truth, even at the time I
felt ashamed of myself. 

Thus, then, we proceeded awhile, resembling a sober man attempting to
lead two drunken friends out of reach of that stern policeman, Death.
Orme’s strength must be wonderful; or was it his great spirit and his
tender pity for our helplessness which enabled him to endure beneath
this double burden. 

Suddenly he fell down as though he had been shot, and lay there
senseless. The Professor, however, retained some portion of his mind,
although it wandered. He became light-headed, and rambled on about our
madness in having undertaken such a journey, “just to pot a couple of
beastly lions,” and although I did not answer them, I agreed heartily
with his remarks. Then he seemed to imagine that I was a clergyman, and
kneeling on the sand, he made a lengthy confession of his sins which,
so far as I gathered, though I did not pay much attention to them, for
I was thinking of my own, appeared chiefly to consist of the unlawful
acquisition of certain objects of antiquity, or of having overmatched
others in the purchase of such objects. 

To pacify him, for I feared lest he should go raving mad, I pronounced
some religious absolution, whereon poor Higgs rolled over and lay still
by Orme. Yes; he, the friend whom I had always loved, for his very
failings were endearing, was dead or at the point of death, like the
gallant young man at his side, and I myself was dying. Tremors shook my
limbs; horrible waves of blackness seemed to well up from my vitals,
through my breast to my brain, and thence to evaporate in queer, jagged
lines and patches, which I realized, but could not actually see. Gay
memories of my far-off childhood arose in me, particularly those of a
Christmas party where I had met a little girl dressed like an elf, a
little girl with blue eyes whom I had loved dearly for quite a 
fortnight, to be beaten down, stamped out, swallowed by that vision of
the imminent shadow which awaits all mankind, the black womb of a
re-birth, if re-birth there be. 

What could I do? I thought of lighting a fire; at any rate it would
serve to scare the lions and other wild beasts which else might prey
upon us before we were quite dead. It would be dreadful to lie helpless
but sentient, and feel their rending fangs. But I had no strength to
collect the material. To do so at best must have meant a long walk, for
even here it was not plentiful. I had a few cartridges left—three, to
be accurate—in my repeating rifle; the rest I had thrown away to be
rid of their weight. I determined to fire them, since, in my state I
thought they could no longer serve either to win food or for the
purposes of defence, although, as it happened, in this I was wrong. It
was possible that, even in that endless desert, some one might hear the
shots, and if not—well, good-night. 

So I sat up and fired the first cartridge, wondering in a childish
fashion where the bullet would fall. Then I went to sleep for awhile.
The howling of a hyena woke me up, and, on glancing around, I saw the
beast’s flaming eyes quite close to me. I aimed and shot at it, and
heard a yell of pain. That hyena, I reflected, would want no more food
at present. 

The silence of the desert overwhelmed me; it was so terrible that I
almost wished the hyena back for company. Holding the rifle above my
head, I fired the third cartridge. Then I took the hand of Higgs in my
own, for, after all, it was a link—the last link with humanity and
the world—and lay down in the company of death that seemed to fall
upon me in black and smothering veils.

I woke up and became aware that some one was pouring water down my
throat. Heaven! I thought to myself, for at that time heaven and water
were synonymous in my mind. I drank a good deal of it, not all I wanted
by any means, but as much as the pourer would allow, then raised myself
upon my hands and looked. The starlight was extraordinarily clear in
that pure desert atmosphere, and by it I saw the face of Sergeant Quick
bending over me. Also, I saw Orme sitting up, staring about him
stupidly, while a great yellow dog, with a head like a mastiff, licked
his hand. I knew the dog at once; it was that which Orme had bought
from some wandering natives, and named Pharaoh because he ruled over all
 other dogs. Moreover, I knew the two camels that stood near by. So I
was still on earth—unless, indeed we had all moved on a step. 

“How did you find us, Sergeant?” I asked feebly.

“Didn’t find you, Doctor,” answered Quick, “dog Pharaoh
found you. In a business like this a dog is more useful than man, for he
can smell what one can’t see. Now, if you feel better, Doctor, please
look at Mr. Higgs, for I fear he’s gone.”

I looked, and, although I did not say so, was of the same opinion. His
jaw had fallen, and he lay limp and senseless; his eyes I could not
see, because of the black spectacles.

“Water,” I said, and Quick poured some into his mouth, where it
vanished.

Still he did not stir, so I opened his garments and felt his heart. At
first I could detect nothing; then there was the slightest possible
flutter. 

“There’s hope,” I said in answer to the questioning looks.
“You don’t happen to have any brandy, do you?” I added.

“Never travelled without it yet, Doctor,” replied Quick
indignantly, producing a metal flask.

“Give him some,” I said, and the Sergeant obeyed with liberality
and almost instantaneous effect, for Higgs sat up gasping and coughing.

“Brandy; filthy stuff; teetotaller! Cursed trick! Never forgive you.
Water, water,” he spluttered in a thick, low voice.

We gave it to him, and he drank copiously, until we would let him have
no more indeed. Then, by degrees, his senses came back to him. He
thrust up his black spectacles which he had worn all this while, and
stared at the Sergeant with his sharp eyes.

“I understand,” he said. “So we are not dead, after all,
which perhaps is a pity after getting through the beastly preliminaries.
What has happened?”

“Don’t quite know,” answered Orme; “ask Quick.”

But the Sergeant was already engaged in lighting a little fire and
setting a camp-kettle to boil, into which he poured a tin of beef
extract that he had brought with other eatables from our stores on the
chance that he might find us. In fifteen minutes we were drinking soup,
for I forbade anything more solid as yet, and, oh! what a blessed meal
was that. When it was finished, Quick fetched some blankets from the
camels, which he threw over us. 

“Lie down and sleep, gentlemen,” he said; “Pharaoh and I will
watch.”

The last thing I remember was seeing the Sergeant, in his own fashion an
extremely religious man, and not ashamed of it, kneeling upon the sand
and apparently saying his prayers. As he explained afterwards, of
course, as a fatalist, he knew well that whatever must happen would
happen, but still he considered it right and proper to return thanks to
the Power which had arranged that on this occasion the happenings
should be good, and not ill, a sentiment with which every one of us
agreed. Opposite to him, with one of his faithful eyes fixed on Orme,
sat Pharaoh in grave contemplation. Doubtless, being an Eastern dog, he
understood the meaning of public prayer; or perhaps he thought that he
should receive some share of gratitude and thanks. 

When we awoke the sun was already high, and to show us that we had
dreamed no dream, there was Quick frying tinned bacon over the fire,
while Pharaoh sat still and watched him—or the bacon.

“Look,” said Orme to me, pointing to the mountains, “they are
still miles away. It was madness to think that we could reach them.”

I nodded, then turned to stare at Higgs, who was just waking up, for,
indeed, he was a sight to see. His fiery red hair was full of sand, his
nether garments were gone, apparently at some stage in our march he had
dispensed with the remains of them because they chafed his sore limbs,
and his fair skin, not excluding that of his face, was a mass of
blisters, raised by the sun. In fact he was so disfigured that his
worst enemy would not have known him. He yawned, stretched himself,
always a good sign in man or beast, and asked for a bath. 

“I am afraid you will have to wash yourself in sand here, sir, like
them filthy Arabians,” said Quick, saluting. “No water to spare for
baths in this dry country. But I’ve got a tube of hazeline, also a
hair-brush and a looking-glass,” he added, producing these articles.

“Quite so, Sergeant,” said Higgs, as he took them;
“it’s sacrilege to think of using water to wash. I intend never to
waste it in that way again.” Then he looked at himself in the glass,
and let it fall upon the sand, ejaculating, “Oh! good Lord, is that
me?” 

“Please be careful, sir,” said the Sergeant sternly; “you
told me the other day that it’s unlucky to break a looking-glass; also
I have no other.”

“Take it away,” said the Professor; “I don’t want it
any more, and, Doctor, come and oil my face, there’s a good fellow;
yes, and the rest of me also, if there is enough hazeline.”

So we treated each other with the ointment, which at first made us smart
fearfully, and then, very gingerly sat down to breakfast.

“Now, Sergeant,” said Orme, as he finished his fifth pannikin of
tea, “tell us your story.”

“There isn’t much of a story, Captain. Those Zeu fellows came back
without you, and, not knowing the lingo, I could make nothing of their
tale. Well, I soon made Shadrach and Co. understand that, death-wind or
no death-wind—that’s what they call it—they must come with me to
look for you, and at last we started, although they said that I was mad,
as you were dead already. Indeed, it wasn’t until I asked that fellow
Shadrach if he wanted to be dead too”—and the Sergeant tapped his
revolver grimly—“that he would let any one go.

“As it proved, he was right, for we couldn’t find you, and after
awhile the camels refused to face the storm any longer; also one of the
Abati drivers was lost, and hasn’t been heard of since. It was all
the rest of us could do to get back to the oasis alive, nor would
Shadrach go out again even after the storm had blown itself away. It
was no use arguing with the pig, so, as I did not want his blood upon
my hands, I took two camels and started with the dog Pharaoh for
company. 

“Now this was my thought, although I could not explain it to the Abati
crowd, that if you lived at all, you would almost certainly head for the
hills as I knew you had no compass, and you would not be able to see
anything else. So I rode along the plain which stretches between the
desert and the mountains, keeping on the edge of the sand-hills. I rode
all day, but when night came I halted, since I could see no more. There
I sat in that great place, thinking, and after an hour or two I
observed Pharaoh prick his ears and look toward the west. So I also
started toward the west, and presently I thought that I saw one faint
streak of light which seemed to go upward, and therefore couldn’t 
come from a falling star, but might have come from a rifle fired toward
the sky.    

“I listened, but no sound reached me, only presently, some seconds
afterwards, the dog again pricked his ears as though _he_ heard
something. That settled me, and I mounted and rode forward through the
night toward the place where I thought I had seen the flash. For two
hours I rode, firing my revolver from time to time; then as no answer
came, gave it up as a bad job, and stopped. But Pharaoh there
wouldn’t stop. He began to whine and sniff and run forward, and at
last bolted into the darkness, out of which presently I heard him
barking some hundreds of yards away, to call me, I suppose. So I 
followed and found you three gentlemen, dead, as I thought at first. 
That’s all the story, Captain.” 

“One with a good end, anyway, Sergeant. We owe our lives to you.”

“Beg your pardon, Captain,” answered Quick modestly; “not to
me at all, but to Providence first that arranged everything, before we
were born perhaps, and next to Pharaoh. He’s a wise dog, Pharaoh,
though fierce with some, and you did a good deal when you bought him
for a bottle of whisky and a sixpenny pocket-knife.”

It was dawn on the following morning before we sighted the oasis,
whither we could travel but slowly, since, owing to the lack of camels,
two of us must walk. Of these two, as may be guessed, the Sergeant was
always one and his master the other, for of all the men I ever knew I
think that in such matters Orme is the most unselfish. Nothing would
induce him to mount one of the camels, even for half-an-hour, so that
when I walked, the brute went riderless. On the other hand, once he was
on, notwithstanding the agonies he suffered from his soreness, nothing
would induce Higgs to get off. 

“Here I am and here I stop,” he said several times, in English,
French, and sundry Oriental languages. “I’ve tramped it enough to
last me the rest of my life.”

Both of us were dozing upon our saddles when suddenly I heard the
Sergeant calling to the camels to halt and asked what was the matter.

“Looks like Arabians, Doctor,” he said, pointing to a cloud of dust
advancing toward us.

“Well, if so,” I answered, “our best chance is to show no
fear and go on. I don’t think they will harm us.”

So, having made ready such weapons as we had, we advanced, Orme and the
Sergeant walking between the two camels, until presently we encountered
the other caravan, and, to our astonishment, saw none other than
Shadrach riding at the head of it, mounted on my dromedary, which his
own mistress, the Lady of the Abati, had given to me. We came face to
face, and halted, staring at each other.

“By the beard of Aaron! is it you, lords?” he asked. “We
thought you were dead.”

“By the hair of Moses! so I gather,” I answered angrily,
“seeing that you are going off with all our belongings,” and I
pointed to the baggage camels laden with goods.

Then followed explanations and voluble apologies, which Higgs for one
accepted with a very bad grace. Indeed, as he can talk Arabic and its
dialects perfectly, he made use of that tongue to pour upon the heads
of Shadrach and his companions a stream of Eastern invective that must
have astonished them, ably seconded as it was by Sergeant Quick in
English. 

Orme listened for some time, then said:

“That’ll do, old fellow; if you go on, you will get up a row, and,
Sergeant, be good enough to hold your tongue. We have met them, so there
is no harm done. Now, friend Shadrach, turn back with us to the oasis.
We are going to rest there for some days.”

Shadrach looked sulky, and said something about our turning and going on
with _them_, whereon I produced the ancient ring, Sheba’s ring, which
I had brought as a token from Mur. This I held before his eyes, saying:

“Disobey, and there will be an account to settle when you come into
the presence of her who sent you forth, for even if we four should
die”—and I looked at him meaningly—“think not that you
will be able to hide this matter; there are too many witnesses.”

Then, without more words, he saluted the sacred ring, and we all went
back to Zeu.




CHAPTER V.

PHARAOH MAKES TROUBLE


Another six weeks or so had gone by, and at length the character of the
country began to change. At last we were passing out of the endless
desert over which we had travelled for so many hundreds of miles; at
least a thousand, according to our observations and reckonings, which I
checked by those that I had taken upon my eastward journey. Our march,
after the great adventure at the oasis, was singularly devoid of
startling events. Indeed, it had been awful in its monotony, and yet,
oddly enough, not without a certain charm—at any rate for Higgs and
Orme, to whom the experience was new. 

Day by day to travel on across an endless sea of sand so remote, so
unvisited that for whole weeks no man, not even a wandering Bedouin of
the desert, crossed our path. Day by day to see the great red sun rise
out of the eastern sands, and, its journey finished, sink into the
western sands. Night by night to watch the moon, the same moon on which
were fixed the million eyes of cities, turning those sands to a silver
sea, or, in that pure air, to observe the constellations by which we
steered our path making their majestic march through space. And yet to
know that this vast region, now so utterly lonesome and desolate, had
once been familiar to the feet of long-forgotten men who had trod the
sands we walked, and dug the wells at which we drank. 

Armies had marched across these deserts, also, and perished there. For
once we came to a place where a recent fearful gale had almost denuded
the underlying rock, and there found the skeletons of thousands upon
thousands of soldiers, with those of their beasts of burden, and among
them heads of arrows, sword-blades, fragments of armour and of painted
wooden shields. 

Here a whole host had died; perhaps Alexander sent it forth, or perhaps
some far earlier monarch whose name has ceased to echo on the earth. At
least they had died, for there we saw the memorial of that buried
enterprise. There lay the kings, the captains, the soldiers, and the
concubines, for I found the female bones heaped apart, some with the
long hair still upon the skulls, showing where the poor, affrighted
women had hived together in the last catastrophe of slaughter or of
famine, thirst, and driven sand. Oh, if only those bones could speak,
what a tale was theirs to tell! 

There had been cities in this desert, too, where once were oases, now
overwhelmed, except perhaps for a sand-choked spring. Twice we came upon
the foundations of such places, old walls of clay or stone, stark
skeletons of ancient homes that the shifting sands had disinterred,
which once had been the theatre of human hopes and fears, where once
men had been born, loved, and died, where once maidens had been fair,
and good and evil wrestled, and little children played. Some Job may
have dwelt here and written his immortal plaint, or some king of Sodom,
and suffered the uttermost calamity. The world is very old; all we
Westerns learned from the contemplation of these wrecks of men and of
their works was just that the world is very old. 

One evening against the clear sky there appeared the dim outline of
towering cliffs, shaped like a horseshoe. They were the Mountains of
Mur many miles away, but still the Mountains of Mur, sighted at last.
Next morning we began to descend through wooded land toward a wide
river that is, I believe, a tributary of the Nile, though upon this
point I have no certain information. Three days later we reached the
banks of this river, following some old road, and faring sumptuously
all the way, since here there was much game and grass in plenty for the
camels that, after their long abstinence, ate until we thought that they
 would burst. Evidently we had not arrived an hour too soon, for now the
 Mountains of Mur were hid by clouds, and we could see that it was
raining upon the plains which lay between us and them. The wet season
was setting in, and, had we been a single week later, it might have
been impossible for us to cross the river, which would then have been
in flood. As it was, we passed it without difficulty by the ancient
ford, the water never rising above the knees of our camels. 

Upon its further bank we took counsel, for now we had entered the
territory of the Fung, and were face to face with the real dangers of
our journey. Fifty miles or so away rose the fortress of Mur, but, as I
explained to my companions, the question was how to pass those fifty
miles in safety. Shadrach was called to our conference, and at my
request set out the facts. 

Yonder, he said, rose the impregnable mountain home of the Abati, but
all the vast plain included in the loop of the river which he called
Ebur, was the home of the savage Fung race, whose warriors could be
counted by the ten thousand, and whose principal city, Harmac, was
built opposite to the stone effigy of their idol, that was also called
Harmac—— 

“Harmac—that is Harmachis, god of dawn. Your Fung had something to
do with the old Egyptians, or both of them came from a common stock,”
interrupted Higgs triumphantly.

“I daresay, old fellow,” answered Orme; “I think you told us
that before in London; but we will go into the archæology afterwards if
we survive to do so. Let Shadrach get on with his tale.”

This city, which had quite fifty thousand inhabitants, continued
Shadrach, commanded the mouth of the pass or cleft by which we must
approach Mur, having probably been first built there for that very
purpose. 

Orme asked if there was no other way into the stronghold, which, he
understood, the embassy had left by being let down a precipice.
Shadrach answered that this was true, but that although the camels and
their loads had been let down that precipitous place, owing to the
formation of its overhanging rocks, it would be perfectly impossible to
haul them up it with any tackle that the Abati possessed.

He asked again if there was not a way round, if that circle of mountains
had no back door. Shadrach replied that there was such a back door
facing to the north some eight days’ journey away. Only at this
season of the year it could not be reached, since beyond the Mountains
of Mur in that direction was a great lake, out of which flowed the
river Ebur in two arms that enclosed the whole plain of Fung. By now
this lake would be full, swollen with rains that fell on the hills of
Northern Africa, and the space between it and the Mur range nothing but
an impassable swamp. 

Being still unsatisfied, Orme inquired whether, if we abandoned the
camels, we could not then climb the precipice down which the embassy
had descended. To this the answer, which I corroborated, was that if
our approach were known and help given to us from above, it might be
possible, provided that we threw away the loads.

“Seeing what these loads are, and the purpose for which we have
brought them so far, that is out of the question,” said Orme.
“Therefore, tell us at once, Shadrach, how we are to win through the
Fung to Mur.” 

“In one way only, O son of Orme, should it be the will of God that we
do so at all; by keeping ourselves hidden during the daytime and
marching at night. According to their custom at this season, to-morrow,
after sunset, the Fung hold their great spring feast in the city of
Harmac, and at dawn go up to make sacrifice to their idol. But after
sunset they eat and drink and are merry, and then it is their habit to
withdraw their guards, that they may take part in the festival. For
this reason I have timed our march that we should arrive on the night
of this feast, which I know by the age of the moon, when, in the
darkness, with God’s help, perchance we may slip past Harmac, and at
the first light find ourselves in the mouth of the road that runs up to
Mur. Moreover, I will give warning to my people, the Abati, that we are
coming, so that they may be at hand to help us if there is need.” 

“How?” asked Orme.

“By firing the reeds”—and he pointed to the dense masses of
dead vegetation about—“as I arranged that I would do before we left
Mur many months ago. The Fung, if they see it, will think only that it
is the work of some wandering fisherman.”

Orme shrugged his shoulders, saying:

“Well, friend Shadrach, you know the place and these people, and I do
not, so we must do what you tell us. But I say at once that if, as I
understand, yonder Fung will kill us if they can, to me your plan seems
very dangerous.”

“It is dangerous,” he answered, adding with a sneer, “but I
thought that you men of England were not cowards.”

“Cowards! you son of a dog!” broke in Higgs in his high voice.
“How dare you talk to us like that? You see this man
here”—and he pointed to Sergeant Quick, who, tall and upright,
stood watching this scene grimly, and understanding most of what
passed—“well, he is the lowest among us—a servant only”
(here the Sergeant saluted), “but I tell you that there is more
courage in his little finger than in your whole body, or in that of all
the Abati people, so far as I can make out.”

Here the Sergeant saluted again, murmuring beneath his breath, “I hope
so, sir. Being a Christian, I hope so, but till it comes to the
sticking-point, one can never be sure.”

“You speak big words, O Higgs,” answered Shadrach insolently, for,
as I think I have said, he hated the Professor, who smelt the rogue in
him, and scourged him continually with his sharp tongue, “but if the
Fung get hold of you, then we shall learn the truth.”

“Shall I punch his head, sir?” queried Quick in a meditative voice.

“Be quiet, please,” interrupted Orme. “We have troubles
enough before us, without making more. It will be time to settle our
quarrels when we have got through the Fung.”

Then he turned to Shadrach and said:

“Friend, this is no time for angry words. You are the guide of this
party; lead us as you will, remembering only that if it comes to war, I,
by the wish of my companions, am Captain. Also, there is another thing
which you should not forget—namely, that in the end you must make
answer to your own ruler, she who, I understand from the doctor here,
is called Walda Nagasta, the Child of Kings. Now, no more words; we
march as you wish and where you wish. On your head be it!”

The Abati heard and bowed sullenly. Then, with a look of hate at Higgs,
he turned and went about his business.

“Much better to have let me punch his head,” soliloquized Quick.
“It would have done him a world of good, and perhaps saved many
troubles, for, to tell the truth, I don’t trust that quarter-bred
Hebrew.” 

Then he departed to see to the camels and the guns while the rest of us
went to our tents to get such sleep as the mosquitoes would allow. In
my own case it was not much, since the fear of evil to come weighed
upon me. Although I knew the enormous difficulty of entering the
mountain stronghold of Mur by any other way, such as that by which I
had quitted it, burdened as we were with our long train of camels laden
with rifles, ammunition, and explosives, I dreaded the results of an
attempt to pass through the Fung savages. 

Moreover, it occurred to me that Shadrach had insisted upon this route
from a kind of jealous obstinacy, and to be in opposition to us
Englishmen, whom he hated in his heart, or perhaps for some dark and
secret reason. Still, the fact remained that we were in his power,
since owing to the circumstances in which I had entered and left the
place, it was impossible for me to act as guide to the party. If I
attempted to do so, no doubt he and the Abati with him would desert,
leaving the camels and their loads upon our hands. Why should they not, 
seeing that they would be quite safe in concluding that we should never
have an opportunity of laying our side of the case before their ruler? 
 

Just as the sun was setting, Quick came to call me, saying that the
camels were being loaded up.

“I don’t much like the look of things, Doctor,” he said as he
helped me to pack my few belongings, “for the fact is I can’t trust
that Shadrach man. His pals call him ‘Cat,’ a good name for him, I
think. Also, he is showing his claws just now, the truth being that he
hates the lot of us, and would like to get back into Purr or Mur, or
whatever the name of the place is, having lost us on the road. You
should have seen the way he looked at the Professor just now. Oh! I
wish the Captain had let me punch his head. I’m sure it would have
cleared the air a lot.” 

As it chanced, Shadrach was destined to get his head “punched”
after all, but by another hand. It happened thus. The reeds were fired,
as Shadrach had declared it was necessary to do, in order that the
Abati watchmen on the distant mountains might see and report the
signal, although in the light of subsequent events I am by no means
certain that this warning was not meant for other eyes as well. Then,
as arranged, we started out, leaving them burning in a great sheet of
flame behind us, and all that night marched by the shine of the stars
along some broken-down and undoubtedly ancient road. 

At the first sign of dawn we left this road and camped amid the
overgrown ruins of a deserted town that had been built almost beneath
the precipitous cliffs of Mur, fortunately without having met any one
or being challenged. I took the first watch, while the others turned in
to sleep after we had all breakfasted off cold meats, for here we dared
not light a fire. As the sun grew high, dispelling the mists, I saw
that we were entering upon a thickly-populated country which was no
stranger to civilization of a sort. Below us, not more than fifteen or
sixteen miles away, and clearly visible through my field-glasses, lay
the great town of Harmac, which, during my previous visit to this land,
I had never seen, as I passed it in the night. 

It was a city of the West Central African type, with open market-places
and wide streets, containing thousands of white, flat-roofed houses,
the most important of which were surrounded by gardens. Round it ran a
high and thick wall, built, apparently, of sun-burnt brick, and in
front of the gateways, of which I could see two, stood square towers
whence these might be protected. All about this city the flat and
fertile land was under cultivation, for the season being that of early
spring, already the maize and other crops showed green upon the ground.

Beyond this belt of plough-lands, with the aid of the field-glasses, I
could make out great herds of grazing cattle and horses, mixed with
wild game, a fact that assured me of the truth of what I had heard
during my brief visit to Mur, that the Fung had few or no firearms,
since otherwise the buck and quagga would have kept at a distance. Far
off, too, and even on the horizon, I saw what appeared to be other
towns and villages. Evidently this was a very numerous people, and one
which could not justly be described as savage. No wonder that the
little Abati tribe feared them so intensely, notwithstanding the mighty 
precipices by which they were protected from their hate. 

About eleven o’clock Orme came on watch, and I turned in, having
nothing to report. Soon I was fast asleep, notwithstanding the
anxieties that, had I been less weary, might well have kept me wakeful.
For these were many. On the coming night we must slip through the Fung,
and before midday on the morrow we should either have entered Mur, or
failed to have entered Mur, which meant—death, or, what was worse,
captivity among barbarians, and subsequent execution, preceded probably
by torture of one sort or another. 

Of course, however, we might come thither without accident, travelling
with good guides on a dark night, for, after all, the place was big,
and the road lonely and little used, so that unless we met a watch,
which, we were told, would not be there, our little caravan had a good
chance to pass unobserved. Shadrach seemed to think that we should do
so, but the worst of it was that, like Quick, I did not trust Shadrach.
Even Maqueda, the Lady of the Abati, she whom they called Child of
Kings, had her doubts about him, or so it had seemed to me.

At any rate, she had told me before I left Mur that she chose him for
this mission because he was bold and cunning, one of the very few of
her people also who, in his youth, had crossed the desert and,
therefore, knew the road. “Yet, Physician,” she added meaningly,
“watch him, for is he not named ‘Cat’? Yes, watch him, for did I
not hold his wife and children hostages, and were I not sure that he
desires to win the great reward in land which I have promised to him, I
would not trust you to this man’s keeping.”

Well, after many experiences in his company, my opinion coincided with
Maqueda’s, and so did that of Quick, no mean judge of men.

“Look at him, Doctor,” he said when he came to tell me that I could
turn in, for whether it were his watch or not, the Sergeant never seemed
to be off duty. “Look, at him,” and he pointed to Shadrach, who was
seated under the shade of a tree, talking earnestly in whispers with two
of his subordinates with a very curious and unpleasing smile upon his
face. “If God Almighty ever made a scamp, he’s squatting yonder. My
belief is that he wanted to be rid of us all at Zeu, so that he might
steal our goods, and I hope he won’t play the same trick again
to-night. Even the dog can’t abide him.”

Before I could answer, I had proof of this last statement, for the great
yellow hound, Pharaoh, that had found us in the desert, hearing our
voices, emerged from some corner where it was hidden, and advanced
toward us, wagging its tail. As it passed Shadrach, it stopped and
growled, the hair rising on its back, whereon he hurled a stone at it
and hit its leg. Next instant Pharaoh, a beast of enormous power, was
on the top of him, and really, I thought, about to tear out his throat.

Well, we got him off before any harm was done, but Shadrach’s face,
lined with its livid scars, was a thing to remember. Between rage and
fear, it looked like that of a devil.

To return. After this business I went to sleep, wondering if it were my
last rest upon the earth, and whether, having endured so much for his
sake, it would or would not be my fortune to see the face of my son
again, if, indeed, he still lived, yonder not a score of miles
away—or anywhere. 

Toward evening I was awakened by a fearful hubbub, in which I
distinguished the shrill voice of Higgs ejaculating language which I
will not repeat, the baying of Pharaoh, and the smothered groans and
curses of an Abati. Running from the little tent, I saw a curious
sight, that of the Professor with Shadrach’s head under his left arm,
in chancery, as we used to call it at school, while with his right he
punched the said Shadrach’s nose and countenance generally with all
his strength, which, I may add, is considerable. Close by, holding
Pharaoh by the collar, which we had manufactured for him out of the 
skin of a camel that had died, stood Sergeant Quick, a look of grim
amusement on his wooden face, while around, gesticulating after their
Eastern fashion, and uttering guttural sounds of wrath, were several of
the Abati drivers. Orme was absent, being, in fact, asleep at the time.
   

“What are you doing, Higgs?” I shouted.

“Can’t—you—see,” he spluttered, accompanying each
word with a blow on the unfortunate Shadrach’s prominent nose. “I
am punching this fellow’s beastly head. Ah! you’d bite, would you?
Then take that, and that and—that. Lord, how hard his teeth are. Well,
I think he has had enough,” and suddenly he released the Abati, who,
a gory and most unpleasant spectacle, fell to the ground and lay there
panting. His companions, seeing their chief’s melancholy plight,
advanced upon the Professor in a threatening fashion; indeed, one of
them drew a knife. 

“Put up that thing, sonny,” said the Sergeant, “or by heaven,
I’ll loose the dog upon you. Got your revolver handy, Doctor?”

Evidently, if the man did not understand Quick’s words, their purport
was clear to him, for he sheathed his knife and fell back with the
others. Shadrach, too, rose from the ground and went with them. At a
distance of a few yards, however, he turned, and, glaring at Higgs out
of his swollen eyes, said: 

“Be sure, accursed Gentile, that I will remember and repay.”

At this moment, too, Orme arrived upon the scene, yawning.

“What the deuce is the matter?” he asked.

“I’d give five bob for a pint of iced stone ginger,” replied
Higgs inconsequently. Then he drank off a pannikin of warmish,
muddy-coloured water which Quick gave to him, and handed it back,
saying: 

“Thanks, Sergeant; that’s better than nothing, and cold drink is
always dangerous if you are hot. What’s the matter? Oh! not much.
Shadrach tried to poison Pharaoh; that’s all. I was watching him out
of the corner of my eye, and saw him go to the strychnine tin, roll a
bit of meat in it which he had first wetted, and throw it to the poor
beast. I got hold of it in time, and chucked it over that wall, where
you will find it if you care to look. I asked Shadrach why he had done
such a thing. He answered, ‘To keep the dog quiet while we are
passing through the Fung,’ adding that anyhow it was a savage beast
and best out of the way, as it had tried to bite him that morning. Then
I lost my temper and went for the blackguard, and although I gave up
boxing twenty years ago, very soon had the best of it, for, as you may
have observed, no Oriental can fight with his fists. That’s all. Give
me another cup of water, Sergeant.” 

“I hope it may be,” answered Orme, shrugging his shoulders.
“To tell the truth, old fellow, it would have been wiser to defer
blacking Shadrach’s eyes till we were safe in Mur. But it’s no use
talking now, and I daresay I should have done the same myself if I had
seen him try to poison Pharaoh,” and he patted the head of the great
dog, of which we were all exceedingly fond, although in reality it only
cared for Orme, merely tolerating the rest of us.

“Doctor,” he added, “perhaps you would try to patch up our
guide’s nose and soothe his feelings. You know him better than we do.
Give him a rifle. No, don’t do that, or he might shoot some one in the
back—by accident done on purpose. Promise him a rifle when we get into
Mur; I know he wants one badly, because I caught him trying to steal a
carbine from the case. Promise him anything so long as you can square
it up.” 

So I went, taking a bottle of arnica and some court plaster with me, to
find Shadrach surrounded by sympathizers and weeping with rage over the
insult, which, he said, had been offered to his ancient and
distinguished race in his own unworthy person. I did my best for him
physically and mentally, pointing out, as I dabbed the arnica on his
sadly disfigured countenance, that he had brought the trouble on
himself, seeing that he had really no business to poison Pharaoh
because he had tried to bite him. He answered that his reason for 
wishing to kill the dog was quite different, and repeated at great
length what he had told the Professor—namely, that it might betray us
while we were passing through the Fung. Also he went on so venomously
about revenge that I thought it time to put a stop to the thing. 

“See here, Shadrach,” I said, “unless you unsay those words
and make peace at once, you shall be bound and tried. Perhaps we shall
have a better chance of passing safely through the Fung if we leave you
dead behind us than if you accompany us as a living enemy.”

On hearing this, he changed his note altogether, saying that he saw he
had been wrong. Moreover, so soon as his injuries were dressed, he
sought out Higgs, whose hand he kissed with many apologies, vowing that
he had forgotten everything and that his heart toward him was like that
of a twin brother. 

“Very good, friend,” answered Higgs, who never bore malice,
“only don’t try to poison Pharaoh again, and, for my part,
I’ll promise not to remember this matter when we get to Mur.”

“Quite a converted character, ain’t he, Doctor?”
sarcastically remarked Quick, who had been watching this edifying scene.
“Nasty Eastern temper all gone; no Hebrew talk of eye for eye or tooth
for tooth, but kisses the fist that smote him in the best Christian
spirit. All the same, I wouldn’t trust the swine further than I could
kick him, especially in the dark, which,” he added meaningly, “is
what it will be to-night.”

I made no answer to the Sergeant, for although I agreed with him, there
was nothing to be done, and talking about a bad business would only
make it worse. 

By now the afternoon drew towards night—a very stormy night, to judge
from the gathering clouds and rising wind. We were to start a little
after sundown, that is, within an hour, and, having made ready my own
baggage and assisted Higgs with his, we went to look for Orme and
Quick, whom we found very busy in one of the rooms of an unroofed
house. To all appearance they were engaged, Quick in sorting pound tins
of tobacco or baking-powder, and Orme in testing an electric battery
and carefully examining coils of insulated wire. 

“What’s your game?” asked the Professor.

“Better than yours, old boy, when Satan taught your idle hands to
punch Shadrach’s head. But perhaps you had better put that pipe out.
These azo-imide compounds are said to burn rather more safely than
coal. Still, one never knows; the climate or the journey may have
changed their constitution.”

Higgs retreated hurriedly, to a distance of fifty yards indeed, whence
he returned, having knocked out his pipe and even left his matches on a
stone. 

“Don’t waste time in asking questions,” said Orme as the
Professor approached with caution. “I’ll explain. We are going on a
queer journey to-night—four white men with about a dozen half-bred
mongrel scamps of doubtful loyalty, so you see Quick and I thought it as
well to have some of this stuff handy. Probably it will never be
wanted, and if wanted we shall have no time to use it; still, who
knows? There, that will do. Ten canisters; enough to blow up half the
Fung if they will kindly sit on them. You take five, Quick, a battery
and three hundred yards of wire, and I’ll take five, a battery, and
three hundred yards of wire. Your detonators are all fixed, aren’t
they? Well, so are mine,” and without more words he proceeded to stow
away his share of the apparatus in the poacher pockets of his coat and
elsewhere, while Quick did likewise with what remained. Then the case 
that they had opened was fastened up again and removed to be laden on a
camel.    




CHAPTER VI.

HOW WE ESCAPED FROM HARMAC


As finally arranged this was the order of our march: First went an Abati
guide who was said to be conversant with every inch of the way. Then
came Orme and Sergeant Quick, conducting the camels that were loaded
with the explosives. I followed in order to keep an eye upon these
precious beasts and those in charge of them. Next marched some more
camels, carrying our baggage, provisions, and sundries, and finally in
the rear were the Professor and Shadrach with two Abati.

Shadrach, I should explain, had selected this situation for the reason,
as he said, that if he went first, after what had passed, any mistake
or untoward occurrence might be set down to his malice, whereas, if he
were behind, he could not be thus slandered. On hearing this, Higgs,
who is a generous soul, insisted upon showing his confidence in the
virtue of Shadrach by accompanying him as a rearguard. So violently did
he insist, and so flattered did Shadrach seem to be by this mark of
faith, that Orme, who, I should say, if I have not already done so, was
in sole command of the party now that hostilities were in the air,
consented to the plan, if with evident reluctance. 

As I know, his own view was that it would be best for us four Englishmen
to remain together, although, if we did so, whatever position we chose,
it would be impossible for us in that darkness to keep touch with the
line of camels and their loads, which were almost as important to us as
our lives. At least, having made up our minds to deliver them in Mur,
we thought that they were important, perhaps because it is the fashion
of the Anglo-Saxon race to put even a self-created idea of duty before
personal safety or convenience. 

Rightly or wrongly, so things were settled, for in such troublous
conditions one can only do what seems best at the moment. Criticism
subsequent to the event is always easy, as many an unlucky commander
has found out when the issue went awry, but in emergency one must
decide on something. 

The sun set, the darkness fell, and it began to rain and blow. We
started quite unobserved, so far as we could tell, and, travelling
downward from the overgrown, ruined town, gained the old road, and in
complete silence, for the feet of camels make no noise, passed along it
toward the lights of Harmac, which now and again, when the storm-clouds
lifted, we saw glimmering in front of us and somewhat to our left.

In all my long wanderings I cannot remember a more exciting or a more
disagreeable journey. The blackness, relieved only from time to time by
distant lightnings, was that of the plagues of Egypt; the driving rain
worked through the openings of our camel-hair cloaks and the
waterproofs we wore underneath them, and wet us through. The cold, damp
wind chilled us to the bone, enervated as we were with the heat of the
desert. But these discomforts, and they were serious enough, we forgot
in the tremendous issue of the enterprise. Should we win through to
Mur? Or, as a crown to our many labours and sufferings, should we
perish presently on the road? That was the question; as I can assure the
 reader, one that we found very urgent and interesting. 

Three hours had gone by. Now we were opposite to the lights of Harmac,
also to other lights that shone up a valley in the mountain to our
right. As yet everything was well; for this we knew by the words
whispered up and down the line.

Then of a sudden, in front of us a light flashed, although as yet it was
a long way off. Next came another whispered message of “Halt!” So
we halted, and presently one of the front guides crept back, informing
us that a body of Fung cavalry had appeared upon the road ahead. We
took counsel. Shadrach arrived from the rear, and said that if we
waited awhile they might go away, as he thought that their presence
must be accidental and connected with the great festival. He implored
us to be quite silent. Accordingly, not knowing what to do, we waited.

Now I think I have forgotten to say that the dog Pharaoh, to prevent
accidents, occupied a big basket; this basket, in which he often rode
when tired, being fixed upon one side of Orme’s camel. Here he lay
peaceably enough until, in an unlucky moment, Shadrach left me to go
forward to talk to the Captain, whereon, smelling his enemy, Pharaoh
burst out into furious baying. After that everything was confusion.
Shadrach darted back toward the rear. The light ahead began to move
quickly, advancing toward us. The front camels left the road, as I
presume, following their leader according to the custom of these beasts
when marching in line. 

Presently, I know not how, Orme, Quick, and myself found ourselves
together in the darkness; at the time we thought Higgs was with us
also, but in this we were mistaken. We heard shoutings and strange
voices speaking a language that we could not understand. By the sudden
glare of a flash of lightning, for the thunderstorm was now travelling
over us, we saw several things. One of these was the Professor’s
riding-dromedary, which could not be mistaken because of its pure white
colour and queer method of holding its head to one side, passing within
ten yards, between us and the road, having a man upon its back who
evidently was not the Professor. Then it was that we discovered his
absence and feared the worst. 

“A Fung has got his camel,” I said.

“No,” answered Quick; “Shadrach has got it. I saw his ugly
mug against the light.”

Another vision was that of what appeared to be our baggage camels moving
swiftly away from us, but off the road which was occupied by a body of
horsemen in white robes. Orme issued a brief order to the effect that
we were to follow the camels with which the Professor might be. We
started to obey, but before we had covered twenty yards of the
cornfield or whatever it was in which we were standing, heard voices
ahead that were not those of Abati. Evidently the flash which showed
the Fung to us had done them a like service, and they were now 
advancing to kill or capture us. 

There was only one thing to do—turn and fly—and this we did,
heading whither we knew not, but managing to keep touch of each other.

About a quarter of an hour later, just as we were entering a grove of
palms or other trees which hid everything in front of us, the lightning
blazed again, though much more faintly, for by this time the storm had
passed over the Mountains of Mur, leaving heavy rain behind it. By the
flash I, who was riding last and, as it chanced, looking back over my
shoulder, saw that the Fung horsemen were not fifty yards behind, and
hunting for us everywhere, their line being extended over a long front.
I was, however, sure that they had not yet caught sight of us in the
dense shadow of the trees. 

“Get on,” I said to the others; “they will be here
presently,” and heard Quick add:

“Give your camel his head, Captain; he can see in the dark, and
perhaps will take us back to the road.”

Orme acted on this suggestion, which, as the blackness round us was
pitchy, seemed a good one. At any rate it answered, for off we went at
a fair pace, the three camels marching in line, first over soft ground
and afterwards on a road. Presently I thought that the rain had
stopped, since for a few seconds none fell on us, but concluded from
the echo of the camels’ feet and its recommencement that we had
passed under some archway. On we went, and at length even through the
gloom and rain I saw objects that looked like houses, though if so
there were no lights in them, perhaps because the night drew toward 
morning. A dreadful idea struck me: we might be in Harmac! I passed it
up for what it was worth. 

“Very likely,” whispered Orme back. “Perhaps these camels
were bred here, and are looking for their stables. Well, there is only
one thing to do—go on.”

So we went on for a long while, only interfered with by the occasional
attentions of some barking dog. Luckily of these Pharaoh, in his basket,
took no heed, probably because it was his habit if another dog barked
at him to pretend complete indifference until it came so near that he
could spring and fight, or kill it. At length we appeared to pass under
another archway, after which, a hundred and fifty yards or so further
on, the camels came to a sudden stop. Quick dismounted, and presently I
heard him say: 

“Doors. Can feel the brasswork on them. Tower above, I think, and wall
on either side. Seem to be in a trap. Best stop here till light comes.
Nothing else to be done.”

Accordingly, we stopped, and, having tied the camels to each other to
prevent their straying, took shelter from the rain under the tower or
whatever it might be. To pass away the time and keep life in us, for we
were almost frozen with the wet and cold, we ate some tinned food and
biscuits that we carried in our saddle-bags, and drank a dram of brandy
from Quick’s flask. This warmed us a little, though I do not think
that a bottleful would have raised our spirits. Higgs, whom we all
loved, was gone, dead, probably, by that time; the Abati had lost or
deserted us, and we three white men appeared to have wandered into a
savage stronghold, where, as soon as we were seen, we should be trapped 
like birds in a net, and butchered at our captor’s will. Certainly the
 position was not cheerful. 

Overwhelmed with physical and mental misery, I began to doze; Orme grew
silent, and the Sergeant, having remarked that there was no need to
bother, since what must be must be, consoled himself in a corner by
humming over and over again the verse of the hymn which begins:

“There is a blessed home beyond this land of woe,

Where trials never come nor tears of sorrow flow.”

Fortunately for us, shortly before dawn the “tears of sorrow” as
represented by the rain ceased to flow. The sky cleared, showing the
stars; suddenly the vault of heaven was suffused with a wonderful and
pearly light, although on the earth the mist remained so thick that we
could see nothing. Then above this sea of mist rose the great ball of
the sun, but still we could see nothing that was more than a few yards
away from us. 

“There is a blessed home beyond this land of woe”

droned Quick beneath his breath for about the fiftieth time, since,
apparently, he knew no other hymn which he considered suitable to our
circumstances, then ejaculated suddenly:

“Hullo! here’s a stair. With your leave I’ll go up it,
Captain,” and he did.

A minute later we heard his voice calling us softly:

“Come here, gentlemen,” he said, “and see something worth
looking at.”

So we scrambled up the steps, and, as I rather expected, found ourselves
upon the top of one of two towers set above an archway, which towers
were part of a great protective work outside the southern gates of a
city that could be none other than Harmac. Soaring above the mist rose
the mighty cliffs of Mur that, almost exactly opposite to us, were
pierced by a deep valley. 

Into this valley the sunlight poured, revealing a wondrous and
awe-inspiring object of which the base was surrounded by billowy
vapours, a huge, couchant animal fashioned of black stone, with a head
carved to the likeness of that of a lion, and crowned with the
_uraeus_, the asp-crested symbol of majesty in old Egypt. How big the
creature might be it was impossible to say at that distance, for we
were quite a mile away from it; but it was evident that no other
monolithic monument that we had ever seen or heard of could approach its
 colossal dimensions. 

Compared to this tremendous effigy indeed, the boasted Sphinx of Gizeh
seemed but a toy. It was no less than a small mountain of rock shaped
by the genius and patient labour of some departed race of men to the
form of a lion-headed monster. Its majesty and awfulness set thus above
the rolling mists in the red light of the morning, reflected on it from
the towering precipices beyond, were literally indescribable; even in
our miserable state, they oppressed and overcame us, so that for awhile
we were silent. Then we spoke, each after his own manner:

“The idol of the Fung!” said I. “No wonder that savages
should take it for a god.”

“The greatest monolith in all the world,” muttered Orme, “and
Higgs is dead. Oh! if only he had lived to see it, he would have gone
happy. I wish it had been I who was taken; I wish it had been I!” and
he wrung his hands, for it is the nature of Oliver Orme always to think
of others before himself.

“That’s what we have come to blow up,” soliloquized Quick.
“Well, those ‘azure stinging-bees,’ or whatever they call the
stuff (he meant azo-imides) are pretty active, but it will take a lot of
stirring if ever we get there. Seems a pity, too, for the old pussy is
handsome in his way.”

“Come down,” said Orme. “We must find out where we are;
perhaps we can escape in the mist.”

“One moment,” I answered. “Do you see that?” and I
pointed to a needle-like rock that pierced the fog about a mile to the
south of the idol valley, and say two miles from where we were.
“That’s the White Rock; it isn’t white really, but the vultures
roost on it and make it look so. I have never seen it before, for I
passed it in the night, but I know that it marks the beginning of the
cleft which runs up to Mur; you remember, Shadrach told us so. Well, if
we can get to that White Rock we have a chance of life.”

Orme studied it hurriedly and repeated, “Come down; we may be seen up
here.”

We descended and began our investigations in feverish haste. This was
the sum of them: In the arch under the tower were set two great doors
covered with plates of copper or bronze beaten into curious shapes to
represent animals and men, and apparently very ancient. These huge
doors had grilles in them through which their defenders could peep out
or shoot arrows. What seemed more important to us, however, was that
they lacked locks, being secured only by thick bronze bolts and bars
such as we could undo. 

“Let’s clear out before the mist lifts,” said Orme.
“With luck we may get to the pass.”

We assented, and I ran to the camels that lay resting just outside the
arch. Before I reached them, however, Quick called me back.

“Look through there, Doctor,” he said, pointing to one of the
peep-holes.

I did so, and in the dense mist saw a body of horsemen advancing toward
the door.

They must have seen us on the top of the wall. “Fools that we were to
go there!” exclaimed Orme.

Next instant he started back, not a second too soon, for through the
hole where his face had been, flashed a spear which struck the ground
beyond the archway. Also we heard other spears rattle upon the bronze
plates of the doors. 

“No luck!” said Orme; “that’s all up, they mean to
break in. Now I think we had better play a bold game. Got your rifles,
Sergeant and Doctor? Yes? Then choose your loopholes, aim, and empty
the magazines into them. Don’t waste a shot. For heaven’s sake
don’t waste a shot. Now—one—two—three, fire!”

Fire we did into the dense mass of men who had dismounted and were
running up to the doors to burst them open. At that distance we could
scarcely miss and the magazines of the repeating rifles held five shots
apiece. As the smoke cleared away I counted quite half-a-dozen Fung
down, while some others were staggering off, wounded. Also several of
the men and horses beyond were struck by the bullets which had passed
through the bodies of the fallen. 

The effect of this murderous discharge was instantaneous and remarkable.
Brave though the Fung might be, they were quite unaccustomed to
magazine rifles. Living as they did perfectly isolated and surrounded
by a great river, even if they had heard of such things and
occasionally seen an old gaspipe musket that reached them in the course
of trade, of modern guns and their terrible power they knew nothing.
Small blame to them, therefore, if their courage evaporated in face of
a form of sudden death which to them must have been almost magical. At
any rate they fled incontinently, leaving their dead and wounded on the 
ground. 

Now again we thought of flight, which perhaps would have proved our
wisest course, but hesitated because we could not believe that the Fung
had left the road clear, or done more than retreat a little to wait for
us. While we lost time thus the mist thinned a great deal, so much
indeed that we could see our exact position. In front of us, towards
the city side, lay a wide open space, whereof the walls ended against
those of Harmac itself, to which they formed a kind of vestibule or
antechamber set there to protect this gateway of the town through which
we had ridden in the darkness, not knowing whither we went. 

“Those inner doors are open,” said Orme, nodding his head toward
the great portals upon the farther side of the square. “Let’s go
see if we can shut them. Otherwise we shan’t hold this place long.”

So we ran across to the further doors that were similar to those through
which we had just fired, only larger, and as we met nobody to interfere
with our efforts, found that the united strength of the three of us was
just, only just, sufficient to turn first one and then the other of
them upon its hinges and work the various bolts and bars into their
respective places. Two men could never have done the job, but being
three and fairly desperate we managed it. Then we retreated to our
archway and, as nothing happened, took the opportunity to eat and drink
a few mouthfuls, Quick remarking sagely that we might as well die upon
full as upon empty stomachs. 

When we had crossed the square the fog was thinning rapidly, but as the
sun rose, sucking the vapours from the rain-soaked earth, it thickened
again for awhile.

“Sergeant,” said Orme presently, “these black men are bound
to attack us soon. Now is the time to lay a mine while they can’t see
what we are after.”

“I was just thinking the same thing, Captain; the sooner the
better,” replied Quick. “Perhaps the Doctor will keep a watch here
over the camels, and if he sees any one stick up his head above the
wall, he might bid him good-morning. We know he is a nice shot, is the
Doctor,” and he tapped my rifle.

I nodded and the two of them set out laden with wires and the packages
that looked like tobacco tins, heading for a stone erection in the
centre of the square which resembled an altar, but was, I believe, a
rostrum whence the native auctioneers sold slaves and other
merchandise. What they did there exactly, I am sure I do not know;
indeed, I was too much occupied in keeping a watch upon the walls
whereof I could clearly see the crest above the mist, to pay much
attention to their proceedings. 

Presently my vigilance was rewarded, for over the great gateway
opposite, at a distance of about a hundred and fifty paces from me,
appeared some kind of a chieftain clad in white robes and wearing a
very fine turban or coloured head-dress, who paraded up and down,
waving a spear defiantly and uttering loud shouts.

This man I covered very carefully, lying down to do so. As Quick had
said, I am a good rifle shot, having practised that art for many years;
still, one may always miss, which, although I bore no personal grudge
against the poor fellow in the fine head-dress, on this occasion I did
not wish to do. The sudden and mysterious death of that savage would, I
felt sure, produce a great effect among his people.

At length he stopped exactly over the door and began to execute a kind
of war-dance, turning his head from time to time to yell out something
to others on the farther side of the wall. This was my opportunity. I
covered him with as much care as though I were shooting at a target,
with one bull’s eye to win. Aiming a little low in case the rifle
should throw high, very gently I pressed the trigger. The cartridge
exploded, the bullet went on its way, and the man on the wall stopped
dancing and shouting and stood quite still. Clearly he had heard the
shot or felt the wind of the ball, but was untouched. 

I worked the lever jerking out the empty case, preparatory to firing
again, but on looking up saw that there was no need, for the Fung
captain was spinning round on his heels like a top. Three or four times
he whirled thus with incredible rapidity, then suddenly threw his arms
wide, and dived headlong from the wall like a bather from a plank, but
backward, and was seen no more. Only from the farther side of those
gates arose a wail of wrath and consternation. 

After this no other Fung appeared upon the wall, so I turned my
attention to the spy-hole in the doors behind me, and seeing some
horsemen moving about at a distance of four or five hundred yards on a
rocky ridge where the mist did not lie, I opened fire on them and at
the second shot was fortunate enough to knock a man out of the saddle.
One of those with him, who must have been a brave fellow, instantly
jumped down, threw him, dead or living, over the horse, leaped up
behind him, and galloped away accompanied by the others, pursued by 
some probably ineffective bullets that I sent after them. 

Now the road to the Pass of Mur seemed to be clear, and I regretted that
Orme and Quick were not with me to attempt escape. Indeed, I meditated
fetching or calling them, when suddenly I saw them returning, burying a
wire or wires in the sand as they came, and at the same time heard a
noise of thunderous blows of which I could not mistake the meaning.
Evidently the Fung were breaking down the farther bronze doors with
some kind of battering-ram. I ran out to meet them and told my news.

“Well done,” said Orme in a quiet voice. “Now, Sergeant, just
join up those wires to the battery, and be careful to screw them in
tight. You have tested it, haven’t you? Doctor, be good enough to
unbar the gates. No, you can’t do that alone; I’ll help you
presently. Look to the camels and tighten the girths. These Fung will
have the doors down in a minute, and then there will be no time to
lose.” 

“What are you going to do?” I asked as I obeyed.

“Show them some fireworks, I hope. Bring the camels into the archway
so that they can’t foul the wire with their feet. So—stand still,
you grumbling brutes! Now for these bolts. Heavens! how stiff they are.
I wonder why the Fung don’t grease them. One door will do—never
mind the other.”

Labouring furiously we got it undone and ajar. So far as we could see
there was no one in sight beyond. Scared by our bullets or for other
reasons of their own, the guard there appeared to have moved away.

“Shall we take the risk and ride for it?” I suggested.

“No,” answered Orme. “If we do, even supposing there are no
Fung waiting beyond the rise, those inside the town will soon catch us
on their swift horses. We must scare them before we bolt, and then
those that are left of them may let us alone. Now listen to me. When I
give the word, you two take the camels outside and make them kneel
about fifty yards away, not nearer, for I don’t know the effective
range of these new explosives; it may be greater than I think. I shall
wait until the Fung are well over the mine and then fire it, after
which I hope to join you. If I don’t, ride as hard as you can go to
that White Rock, and if you reach Mur give my compliments to the Child
of Kings, or whatever she is called, and say that although I have been 
prevented from waiting upon her, Sergeant Quick understands as much
about picrates as I do. Also get Shadrach tried and hanged if he is
guilty of Higgs’s death. Poor old Higgs! how he would have enjoyed
this.”    

“Beg your pardon, Captain,” said Quick, “but I’ll stay
with you. The doctor can see to the baggage animals.”

“Will you be good enough to obey orders and fall to the rear when you
are told, Sergeant? Now, no words. It is necessary for the purposes of
this expedition that one of us two should try to keep a whole skin.”

“Then, sir,” pleaded Quick, “mayn’t I take charge of
the battery?”

“No,” he answered sternly. “Ah! the doors are down at
last,” and he pointed to a horde of Fung, mounted and on foot, who
poured through the gateway where they had stood, shouting after their
fashion, and went on: “Now then, pick out the captains and pepper
away. I want to keep them back a bit, so that they come on in a crowd,
not scattered.” 

We took up our repeating rifles and did as Orme told us, and so dense
was the mass of humanity opposite that if we missed one man, we hit
another, killing or wounding a number of them. The result of the loss
of several of their leaders, to say nothing of meaner folk, was just
what Orme had foreseen. The Fung soldiers, instead of rushing on
independently, spread to right and left, until the whole farther side
of the square filled up with thousands of them, a veritable sea of men,
at which we pelted bullets as boys hurl stones at a wave. 

At length the pressure of those behind thrust onward those in front, and
the whole fierce, tumultuous mob began to flow forward across the
square, a multitude bent on the destruction of three white men, armed
with these new and terrible weapons. It was a very strange and
thrilling sight; never have I seen its like.

“Now,” said Orme, “stop firing and do as I bid you. Kneel the
camels fifty yards outside the wall, not less, and wait till you know
the end. If we shouldn’t meet again, well, good-bye and good luck.”

So we went, Quick literally weeping with shame and rage.

“Good Lord!” he exclaimed, “good Lord! to think that, after
four campaigns, Samuel Quick, Sergeant of Engineers, with five medals,
should live to be sent off with the baggage like a pot-bellied
bandmaster, leaving his captain to fight about three thousand niggers
single-handed. Doctor, if he don’t come out, you do the best you can
for yourself, for I’m going back to stop with him, that’s all.
There, that’s fifty paces; down you go, you ugly beasts,” and he
bumped his camel viciously on the head with the butt of his rifle.

From where we had halted we could only see through the archway into the
space beyond. By now the square looked like a great Sunday meeting in
Hyde Park, being filled up with men of whom the first rows were already
past the altar-like rostrum in its centre.

“Why don’t he loose off them stinging-bees?” muttered Quick.
“Oh! I see his little game. Look,” and he pointed to the figure of
Orme, who had crept behind the unopened half of the door on our side of
it and was looking intently round its edge, holding the battery in his
right hand. “He wants to let them get nearer so as to make a bigger
bag. He——”

I heard no more of Quick’s remarks, for suddenly something like an
earthquake took place, and the whole sky seemed to turn to one great
flame. I saw a length of the wall of the square rush outward and
upward. I saw the shut half of the bronze-plated door skipping and
hopping playfully toward us, and in front of it the figure of a man.
Then it began to rain all sorts of things. 

For instance, stones, none of which hit us, luckily, and other more
unpleasant objects. It is a strange experience to be knocked backward
by a dead fist separated from its parent body, yet on this occasion
this actually happened to me, and, what is more, the fist had a spear
in it. The camels tried to rise and bolt, but they are phlegmatic
brutes, and, as ours were tired as well, we succeeded in quieting them.

Whilst we were thus occupied somewhat automatically, for the shock had
dazed us, the figure that had been propelled before the dancing door
arrived, reeling in a drunken fashion, and through the dust and falling
_débris_ we knew it for that of Oliver Orme. His face was blackened,
his clothes were torn half off him, and blood from a scalp wound ran
down his brown hair. But in his right hand he still held the little
electric battery, and I knew at once that he had no limbs broken.

“Very successful mine,” he said thickly. “Boer melinite
shells aren’t in it with this new compound. Come on before the enemy
recover from the shock,” and he flung himself upon his camel.

In another minute we had started at a trot toward the White Rock, whilst
from the city of Harmac behind us rose a wail of fear and misery. We
gained the top of the rise on which I had shot the horseman, and, as I
expected, found that the Fung had posted a strong guard in the dip
beyond, out of reach of our bullets, in order to cut us off, should we
attempt to escape. Now, terrified by what had happened, to them a
supernatural catastrophe, they were escaping themselves, for we
perceived them galloping off to the left and right as fast as their
horses would carry them. 

So for awhile we went on unmolested, though not very quickly, because of
Orme’s condition. When we had covered about half the distance between
us and the White Rock, I looked round and became aware that we were
being pursued by a body of cavalry about a hundred strong, which I
supposed had emerged from some other gate of the city.

“Flog the animals,” I shouted to Quick, “or they will catch
us after all.”

He did so, and we advanced at a shambling gallop, the horsemen gaining
on us every moment. Now I thought that all was over, especially when of
a sudden from behind the White Rock emerged a second squad of horsemen.

“Cut off!” I exclaimed.

“Suppose so, sir,” answered Quick, “but these seem a
different crowd.”

I scanned them and saw that he was right. They were a very different
crowd, for in front of them floated the Abati banner, which I could not
mistake, having studied it when I was a guest of the tribe: a curious,
triangular, green flag covered with golden Hebrew characters,
surrounding the figure of Solomon seated on a throne. Moreover,
immediately behind the banner in the midst of a bodyguard rode a
delicately shaped woman clothed in pure white. It was the Child of
Kings herself! 

Two more minutes and we were among them. I halted my camel and looked
round to see that the Fung cavalry were retreating. After the events of
that morning clearly they had no stomach left for a fight with a
superior force. 

The lady in white rode up to us.

“Greetings, friend,” she exclaimed to me, for she knew me again at
once. “Now, who is captain among you?”

I pointed to the shattered Orme, who sat swaying on his camel with eyes
half closed.

“Noble sir,” she said, addressing him, “if you can, tell me
what has happened. I am Maqueda of the Abati, she who is named Child of
Kings. Look at the symbol on my brow, and you will see that I speak
truth,” and, throwing back her veil, she revealed the coronet of gold
that showed her rank. 




CHAPTER VII.

BARUNG


At the sound of this soft voice (the extreme softness of Maqueda’s
voice was always one of her greatest charms), Orme opened his eyes and
stared at her. 

“Very queer dream,” I heard him mutter. “Must be something in
the Mohammedan business after all. Extremely beautiful woman, and that
gold thing looks well on her dark hair.”

“What does the lord your companion say?” asked Maqueda of me.

Having first explained that he was suffering from shock, I translated
word for word, whereon Maqueda blushed to her lovely violet eyes and
let fall her veil in a great hurry. In the confusion which ensued, I
heard Quick saying to his master:

“No, no, sir; this one ain’t no houri. She’s a flesh and
blood queen, and the pleasantest to look at I ever clapped eyes on,
though a benighted African Jew. Wake up, Captain, wake up; you are out
of that hell-fire now. It’s got the Fung, not you.”

The word Fung seemed to rouse Orme.

“Yes,” he said; “I understand. The vapour of the stuff
poisoned me, but it is passing now. Adams, ask that lady how many men
she’s got with her. What does she say? About five hundred? Well, then,
let her attack Harmac at once. The outer and inner gates are down; the
Fung think they have raised the devil and will run. She can inflict a
defeat on them from which they will not recover for years, only it must
be done at once, before they get their nerve again, for, after all,
they are more frightened than hurt.”

Maqueda listened to this advice intently.

“It is to my liking; it is very good,” she said in her quaint
archaic Arabic when I had finished translating. “But I must consult my
Council. Where is my uncle, the prince Joshua?”

“Here, Lady,” answered a voice from the press behind, out of which
presently emerged, mounted on a white horse, a stout man, well advanced
in middle age, with a swarthy complexion and remarkably round,
prominent eyes. He was clad in the usual Eastern robes, richly worked,
over which he wore a shirt of chain-mail, and on his head a helmet,
with mail flaps, an attire that gave the general effect of an obese
Crusader of the early Norman period without his cross.

“Is that Joshua?” said Orme, who was wandering a little again.
“Rummy-looking cock, isn’t he? Sergeant, tell Joshua that the walls
of Jericho are down, so there’ll be no need to blow his own trumpet.
I’m sure from the look of him that he’s a perfect devil with a
trumpet.”

“What does your companion say?” asked Maqueda again.

I translated the middle part of Orme’s remarks, but neither the
commencement nor the end, but even these amused her very much, for she
burst out laughing, and said, pointing to Harmac, over which still hung
a cloud of dust:

“Yes, yes, Joshua, my uncle, the walls of Jericho are down, and the
question is, will you not take your opportunity? So in an hour or two we
shall be dead, or if God goes with us, perhaps free from the menace of
the Fung for years.”

The prince Joshua stared at her with his great, prominent eyes, then
answered in a thick, gobbling voice:

“Are you mad, Child of Kings? Of us Abati here there are but five
hundred men, and of the Fung yonder tens of thousands. If we attacked,
they would eat us up. Can five hundred men stand against tens of
thousands?” 

“It seems that three stood against them this morning, and worked some
damage, my uncle, but it is true those three are of a different race
from the Abati,” she added with bitter sarcasm. Then she turned to
those behind her and cried: “Who of my captains and Council will
accompany me, if I who am but a woman dare to advance on Harmac?”

Now here and there a voice cried, “I will,” or some gorgeously
dressed person stepped forward in a hesitating way, and that was all.

“You see, men of the West!” said Maqueda after a little pause,
addressing us three. “I thank you for the great deeds that you have
done and for your counsel. But I cannot take it because my people are
not—warlike,” and she covered her face with her hands.

Now there arose a great tumult among her followers, who all began to
talk at once. Joshua in particular drew a large sword and waved it,
shouting out a recital of the desperate actions of his youth and the
names of Fung chieftains whom he alleged he had killed in single
combat. 

“Told you that fat cur was a first-class trumpeter,” said Orme
languidly, while the Sergeant ejaculated in tones of deep disgust:

“Good Lord! what a set. Why, Doctor, they ain’t fit to savage a
referee in a London football ground. Pharaoh there in his basket (where
he was barking loudly) would make the whole lot run, and if he was
out—oh my! Now, then, you porpoise”—this he addressed to Joshua,
who was flourishing his sword unpleasantly near—“put your
pasteboard up, won’t you, or I’ll knock your fat head off,”
whereon the Prince, who, if he did not understand Quick’s words, at
any rate caught their meaning wonderfully well, did as he was told, and
fell back. 

Just then, indeed, there was a general movement up the pass, in the wide
mouth of which all this scene took place, for suddenly three Fung
chieftains appeared galloping toward us, one of whom was veiled with a
napkin in which were cut eyeholes. So universal was this retreat, in
fact, that we three on our camels, and the Child of Kings on her
beautiful mare, found ourselves left alone. 

“An embassy,” said Maqueda, scanning the advancing horsemen, who
carried with them a white flag tied to the blade of a spear.
“Physician, will you and your friends come with me and speak to these
messengers?” And without even waiting for an answer, she rode forward
fifty yards or so on to the plain, and there reined up and halted till
we could bring our camels round and join her. As we did so, the three
Fung, splendid-looking, black-faced fellows, arrived at a furious
gallop, their lances pointed at us. 

“Stand still, friends,” said Maqueda; “they mean no
harm.”

As the words passed her lips, the Fung pulled the horses to their
haunches, Arab-fashion, lifted spears and saluted. Then their
leader—not the veiled man, but another—spoke in a dialect that I,
who had spent so many years among the savages of the desert, understood
well enough, especially as the base of it was Arabic.

“O, Walda Nagasta, Daughter of Solomon,” he said, “we are the
tongues of our Sultan Barung, Son of Barung for a hundred generations,
and we speak his words to the brave white men who are your guests. Thus
says Barung. Like the Fat One whom I have already captured, you white
men are heroes. Three of you alone, you held the gate against my army.
With the weapons of the white man you killed us from afar, here one and
there one. Then, at last, with a great magic of thunder and lightning
and earthquake, you sent us by scores into the bosom of our god, and
shook down our walls about our ears and out of that hell you escaped
yourselves. 

“Now, O white men, this is the offer of Barung to you: Leave the curs
of the Abati, the baboons who gibber and deck themselves out, the
rock-rabbits who seek safety in the cliffs, and come to him. He will
give you not only life, but all your heart’s desire—lands and wives
and horses; great shall you be in his councils and happy shall you
live. Moreover, for your sakes he will try to spare your brother, the
Fat One, whose eyes look out of black windows, who blows fire from his
mouth, and reviles his enemies as never man did before. Yes, although
the priests have doomed him to sacrifice at the next feast of Harmac,
he will try to spare him, which, perhaps, he can do by making him, like 
the Singer of Egypt, also a priest of Harmac, and thus dedicate forever
to the god with whom, indeed, he says he had been familiar for
thousands of years. This is our message, O white men.” 

Now, when I had translated the substance of this oration to Orme and
Quick, for, as I saw by the quiver that passed through her at the Fung
insults upon her tribe, Maqueda understood it, their tongues not
differing greatly, Orme who, for the time at any rate, was almost
himself again, said: 

“Tell these fellows to say to their Sultan that he is a good old boy,
and that we thank him very much; also that we are sorry to have been
obliged to kill so many of them in a way that he must have thought
unsportsmanlike, but we had to do it, as we are sure he will
understand, in order to save our skins. Tell him also that, speaking
personally, having sampled the Abati yonder and on our journey, I
should like to accept his invitation. But although, as yet, we have
found no men among them, only, as he says, baboons, rock-rabbits, and 
boasters without a fight in them, we have”—and here he bowed his 
bleeding head to Maqueda—“found a woman with a great heart. Of her 
salt we have eaten, or are about to eat; to serve her we have come from
far upon her camels, and, unless she should be pleased to accompany us,
we cannot desert her.” 

All of this I rendered faithfully, while every one, and especially
Maqueda, listened with much attention. When they had considered our
words, the spokesman of the messengers replied to the effect that the
motives of our decision were of a nature that commanded their entire
respect and sympathy, especially as their people quite concurred in our
estimate of the character of the Abati ruler, Child of Kings. This
being so, they would amend their proposition, knowing the mind of their
Sultan, and having, indeed, plenipotentiary powers. 

“Lady of Mur,” he went on, addressing Maqueda directly, “fair
daughter of the great god Harmac and a mortal queen, what we have
offered to the white lords, your guests, we offer to you also. Barung,
our Sultan, shall make you his head wife; or, if that does not please
you, you shall wed whom you will”—and, perhaps by accident, the
envoy’s roving eyes rested for a moment upon Oliver Orme.

“Leave, then, your rock-rabbits, who dare not quit their cliffs when
but three messengers wait without with sticks,” and he glanced at the
spear in his hand, “and come to dwell among men. Listen, high Lady;
we know your case. You do your best in a hopeless task. Had it not been
for you and your courage, Mur would have been ours three years ago, and
it was ours before your tribe wandered thither. But while you can find
but a hundred brave warriors to help you, you think the place
impregnable, and you have perhaps that number, though we know they are
not here; they guard the gates above. Yes, with a few of your
Mountaineers whose hearts are as those of their forefathers were, so
far as you have defied all the power of the Fung, and when you saw that
the end drew near, using your woman’s wit, you sent for the white men
to come with their magic, promising to pay them with the gold which you 
have in such plenty in the tombs of our old kings and in the rocks of
the mountains.” 

“Who told you that, O Tongue of Barung?” asked Maqueda in a low
voice, speaking for the first time. “The man of the West whom you took
prisoner—he whom you call Fat One?”

“No, no, O Walda Nagasta, the lord Black Windows has told us nothing
as yet, except sundry things about the history of our god, with whom,
as we said, he seems to be familiar, and to whom, therefore, we vowed
him at once. But there are others who tell us things, for in times of
truce our peoples trade together a little, and cowards are often spies.
For instance, we knew that these white men were coming last night,
though it is true that we did not know of their fire magic, for, had we
done so, we should not have let the camels slip through, since there
may be more of it on them——” 

“For your comfort, learn that there is—much more,” I
interrupted.

“Ah!” replied the Tongue, shaking his head sadly, “and yet we
suffered Cat, whom you call Shadrach, to make off with that of your fat
brother; yes, and even gave it to him after his own beast had been lamed
by accident. Well, it is our bad luck, and without doubt Harmac is
angry with us to-day. But your answer, O Walda Nagasta, your answer, O
Rose of Mur?” 

“What can it be, O Voices of Barung the Sultan?” replied Maqueda.
“You know that by my blood and by my oath of office I am sworn to
protect Mur to the last.”

“And so you shall,” pleaded the Tongue, “for when we have
cleaned it of baboons and rock-rabbits, which, if you were among us, we
soon should do, and thus fulfilled our oath to regain our ancient
secret City of the Rocks, we will set you there once more as its Lady,
under Barung, and give you a multitude of subjects of whom you may be
proud.” 

“It may not be, O Tongue, for they would be worshippers of Harmac, and
between Jehovah, whom I serve, and Harmac there is war,” she answered
with spirit.

“Yes, sweet-smelling Bud of the Rose, there is war, and let it be
admitted that the first battle has gone against Harmac, thanks to the
magic of the white men. Yet yonder he sits in his glory as the spirits,
his servants, fashioned him in the beginning,” and he pointed with
his spear toward the valley of the idol. “You know our
prophecy—that until Harmac rises from his seat and flies away, for
where he goes, the Fung must follow—till then, I say, we shall hold
the plains and the city of his name—that is, for ever.”

“For ever is a long word, O Mouth of Barung.” Then she paused a
little, and added slowly, “Did not certain of the gates of Harmac fly
far this morning? Now what if your god should follow his gates and
those worshippers who went with them, and be seen no more? Or what if
the earth should open and swallow him, so that he goes down to hell,
whither you cannot follow? Or what if the mountains should fall
together and bury him from your sight eternally. Or what if the
lightnings should leap out and shatter him to dust?”

At these ominous words the envoys shivered, and it seemed to me that
their faces for a moment turned grey.

“Then, O Child of Kings,” answered the spokesman solemnly,
“the Fung will acknowledge that your god is greater than our god, and
that our glory is departed.”

Thus he spoke and was silent, turning his eyes toward the third
messenger, he who wore a cloth or napkin upon his head that was pierced
with eyeholes and hung down to the breast. With a quick motion, the man
dragged off this veil and threw it to the ground, revealing a very
noble countenance, not black like that of his followers, but
copper-coloured. He was about fifty years of age, with deep-set
flashing eyes, hooked nose, and a flowing, grizzled beard. The collar 
of gold about his neck showed that his rank was high, but when we
noticed a second ornament of gold, also upon his brow, we knew that it
must be supreme. For this ornament was nothing less than the symbol of
royalty, once worn by the ancient Pharaohs of Egypt, the double snakes
of the _uraeus_ bending forward as though to strike, which, as we had
seen, rose also from the brow of the lion-headed sphinx of Harmac. 

As he uncovered, his two companions leapt to the ground and prostrated
themselves before him, crying, “Barung! Barung!” while all three of
us Englishmen saluted, involuntarily, I think, and even the Child of
Kings bowed.

The Sultan acknowledged our greetings by raising his spear. Then he
spoke in a grave measured voice:

“O Walda Nagasta, and you, white men, sons of great fathers, I have
listened to the talk between you and my servants; I confirm their words
and I add to them. I am sorry that my generals tried to kill you last
night. I was making prayer to my god, or it should not have happened. I
have been well repaid for that deed, since an army should not make war
upon four men, even though by their secret power four men can defeat an
army. I beseech you, and you also, Rose of Mur, to accept my proffered
friendship, since otherwise, ere long, you will soon be dead, and your
wisdom will perish with you for I am weary of this little war against a
handful whom we despise. 

“O Walda Nagasta, you have breathed threats against the Majesty of
Harmac, but he is too strong for you, nor may the might that can turn a
few bricks to dust and shatter the bones of men prevail against him who
is shaped from the heart of a mountain and holds the spirit of
eternity. So at least I think: but even if it is decreed otherwise,
what will that avail you? If it should please the god to leave us
because of your arts, the Fung will still remain to avenge him ere they
follow. Then I swear to you by my majesty and by the bones of my
ancestors who sit in the caves of Mur, that I will spare but one of the
Abati Jews, yourself, O Child of Kings, because of your great heart, 
and the three white men, your guests, should they survive the battle,
because of their courage and their wisdom. As for their brother, Black
Windows, whom I have captured, he must be sacrificed, since I have
sworn it, unless you yield, when I will plead for his life to the god,
with what result I cannot tell. Yield, then, and I will not even slay
the Abati; they shall live on and serve the Fung as slaves and minister
to the glory of Harmac.”    

“It may not be, it may not be!” Maqueda answered, striking the
pommel of her saddle with her small hand. “Shall Jehovah whom Solomon,
my father, worshipped, Jehovah of all the generations, do homage to an
idol shaped by the hands He made? My people are worn out; they have
forgot their faith and gone astray, as did Israel in the desert. I know
it. It may even happen that the time has come for them to perish, who
are no longer warriors, as of old. Well, if so, let them die free, and
not as slaves. At least I, in whom their best blood runs, do not seek
your mercy, O Barung. I’ll be no plaything in your house, who, at the
worst, can always die, having done my duty to my God and those who bred
me. Thus I answer you as the Child of many Kings. Yet as a woman,”
she added in a gentler voice, “I thank you for your courtesy. When I
am slain, Barung, if I am fated to be slain, think kindly of me, as one
who did her best against mighty odds,” and her voice broke. 

“That I shall always do,” he answered gravely. “Is it
ended?”

“Not quite,” she answered. “These Western lords, I give them
to you; I absolve them from their promise. Why should they perish in a
lost cause? If they take their wisdom to you to use against me, you
have vowed them their lives, and, perhaps, that of their brother, your
captive. There is a slave of yours also—you spoke of him, or your
servant did—Singer of Egypt is his name. One of them knew him as a
child; perchance you will not refuse him to that man.”

She paused, but Barung made no answer.

“Go, my friends,” she went on, turning toward us. “I thank
you for your long journey on my behalf and the blow you have struck for
me, and in payment I will send you a gift of gold; the Sultan will see
it safe into your hands. I thank you. I wish I could have known more of
you, but mayhap we shall meet again in war. Farewell.”

She ceased, and I could see that she was watching us intently through
her thin veil. The Sultan also watched us, stroking his long beard, a
look of speculation in his eyes, for evidently this play interested him
and he wondered how it would end.

“This won’t do,” said Orme, when he understood the thing.
“Higgs would never forgive us if we ate dirt just on the off-chance of
saving him from sacrifice. He’s too straight-minded on big things.
But, of course, Doctor,” he added jerkily, “you have interests of
your own and must decide for yourself. I think I can speak for the
Sergeant.” 

“I have decided,” I answered. “I hope that my son would never
forgive me either; but if it is otherwise, why, so it must be. Also
Barung has made no promises about him.”

“Tell him, then,” said Orme. “My head aches infernally, and I
want to go to bed, above ground or under it.”

So I told him, although, to speak the truth, I felt like a man with a
knife in his heart, for it was bitter to come so near to the desire of
years, to the love of life, and then to lose all hope just because of
duty to the head woman of a pack of effete curs to whom one had chanced
to make a promise in order to gain this very end. If we could have
surrendered with honour, at least I should have seen my son, whom now I
might never see again. 

One thing, however, I added on the spur of the moment—namely, a
request that the Sultan would tell the Professor every word that had
passed, in order that whatever happened to him he might know the exact
situation. 

“My Harmac,” said Barung when he had heard, “how disappointed
should I have been with you if you had answered otherwise when a woman
showed you the way. I have heard of you English before—Arabs and
traders brought me tales of you. For instance, there was one who died
defending a city against a worshipper of the Prophet who called himself
a prophet, down yonder at Khartoum on the Nile—a great death, they
told me, a great death, which your people avenged afterwards.

“Well I did not quite believe the story, and I wished to judge of it
by you. I have judged, white lords, I have judged, and I am sure that
your fat brother, Black Windows, will be proud of you even in the
lion’s jaws. Fear not; he shall hear every word. The Singer of Egypt,
who, it appears, can talk his tongue, shall tell the tale to him, and
make a song of it to be sung over your honourable graves. And now
farewell; may it be my lot to cross swords with one of you before all
is done. That shall not be yet, for you need rest, especially yonder
tall son of a god who is wounded,” and he pointed to Orme. “Child
of Kings with a heart of kings, permit me to kiss your hand and to lead
you back to your people, that I would were more worthy of you. Ah! yes,
I would that _we_ were your people.” 

Maqueda stretched out her hand, and, taking it, the Sultan barely
touched her fingers with his lips. Then, still holding them, he rode
with her toward the pass.

As we approached its mouth, where the Abati were crowded together,
watching our conference, I heard them murmur, “The Sultan, the Sultan
himself!” and saw the prince Joshua mutter some eager words to the
officers about him. 

“Look out, Doctor,” said Quick into my ear. “Unless I’m
mistook, that porpoise is going to play some game.”

Hardly were the words out of his mouth when, uttering the most valiant
shouts and with swords drawn, Joshua and a body of his companions
galloped up and surrounded our little group.

“Now yield, Barung,” bellowed Joshua; “yield or die!”

The Sultan stared at him in astonishment, then answered:

“If I had any weapon (he had thrown down his lance when he took
Maqueda by the hand), certainly one of us should die, O Hog in man’s
clothes.”

Then he turned to Maqueda and added, “Child of Kings, I knew these
people of yours to be cowardly and treacherous, but is it thus that you
suffer them to deal with envoys under a flag of peace?”

“Not so, not so,” she cried. “My uncle Joshua, you disgrace
me; you make our people a shame, a hissing, and a reproach. Stand back;
let the Sultan of the Fung go free.”

But they would not; the prize was too great to be readily disgorged.

We looked at each other. “Not at all the game,” said Orme.
“If they collar him, we shall be tarred with their extremely dirty
brush. Shove your camel in front, Sergeant, and if that beggar Joshua
tries any tricks, put a bullet through him.”

Quick did not need to be told twice. Banging his dromedary’s ribs with
the butt end of his rifle, he drove it straight on to Joshua, shouting:

“Out of the light, porpoise!” with the result that the
Prince’s horse took fright, and reared up so high that its rider slid
off over its tail to find himself seated on the ground, a sorry
spectacle in his gorgeous robes and armour.

Taking advantage of the confusion which ensued, we surrounded the Sultan
and escorted him out of the throng back to his two companions, who,
seeing that there was something amiss, were galloping toward us.

“I am your debtor,” said Barung, “but, O White Men, make me
more so. Return, I pray you, to that hog in armour, and say that Barung,
Sultan of the Fung, understands from his conduct that he desires to
challenge him to single combat, and that, seeing he is fully armed, the
Sultan, although he wears no mail, awaits him here and now.”

So I went at once with the message. But Joshua was far too clever to be
drawn into any such dangerous adventure.

Nothing, he said, would have given him greater joy than to hack the head
from the shoulders of this dog of a Gentile sheik. But, unhappily,
owing to the conduct of one of us foreigners, he had been thrown from
his horse, and hurt his back, so that he could scarcely stand, much
less fight a duel. 

So I returned with my answer, whereat Barung smiled and said nothing.
Only, taking from his neck a gold chain which he wore, he proffered it
to Quick, who, as he said, had induced the prince Joshua to show his
horsemanship if not his courage. Then he bowed to us, one by one, and
before the Abati could make up their mind whether to follow him or not,
galloped off swiftly with his companions toward Harmac.

Such was our introduction to Barung, Sultan of the Fung, a barbarian
with many good points, among them courage, generosity, and appreciation
of those qualities even in a foe, characteristics that may have been
intensified by the blood of his mother, who, I am told, was an Arab of
high lineage captured by the Fung in war and given as a wife to the
father of Barung. 




CHAPTER VIII.

THE SHADOW OF FATE


Our ride from the plains up the pass that led to the high tableland of
Mur was long and, in its way, wonderful enough. I doubt whether in the
whole world there exists another home of men more marvellously defended
by nature. Apparently the road by which we climbed was cut in the first
instance, not by human hands, but by the action of primæval floods,
pouring, perhaps, from the huge lake which doubtless once covered the
whole area within the circle of the mountains, although to-day it is
but a moderate-sized sheet of water, about twenty miles long by ten in
breadth. However this may be, the old inhabitants had worked on it, the
marks of their tools may still be seen upon the rock. 

For the first mile or two the road is broad and the ascent so gentle
that my horse was able to gallop up it on that dreadful night when,
after seeing my son’s face, accident, or rather Providence, enabled
me to escape the Fung. But from the spot where the lions pulled the
poor beast down, its character changes. In places it is so narrow that
travellers must advance in single file between walls of rock hundreds
of feet high, where the sky above looks like a blue ribbon, and even at
midday the path below is plunged in gloom. At other spots the slope is
so precipitous that beasts of burden can scarcely keep their foothold;
indeed, we were soon obliged to transfer ourselves from the camels to
horses accustomed to the rocks. At others, again, it follows the brink
of a yawning precipice, an ugly place to ride or turn rectangular
corners, which half-a-dozen men could hold against an army, and twice
it passes through tunnels, though whether these are natural I do not
know.    

Besides all these obstacles to an invader there were strong gates at
intervals, with towers near by where guards were stationed night and
day, and fosses or dry moats in front of them which could only be
crossed by means of drawbridges. So the reader will easily understand
how it came about that, whatever the cowardice of the Abati, though
they strove for generations, the Fung had as yet never been able to
recapture the ancient stronghold, which, or so it is said, in the
beginning these Abati won from them by means of an Oriental trick. 

Here I should add that, although there are two other roads to the
plains—that by which, in order to outflank the Fung, the camels were
let down when I started on my embassy to Egypt, and that to the north
where the great swamps lie—these are both of them equally, if not
more, impassable, at any rate to an enemy attacking from below.

A strange cavalcade we must have seemed as we crawled up this terrific
approach. First went a body of the Abati notables on horseback, forming
a long line of colour and glittering steel, who chattered as they rode,
for they seemed to have no idea of discipline. Next came a company of
horsemen armed with spears, or rather two companies in the centre of
which rode the Child of Kings, some of her courtiers and chief
officers, and ourselves, perhaps, as Quick suggested, because infantry
in the event of surprise would find it less easy to run away than those
who were mounted upon horses. Last of all rode more cavalry, the duty
of whose rear files it was to turn from time to time, and, after
inspection, to shout out that we were not pursued. 

It cannot be said that we who occupied the centre of the advance were a
cheerful band. Orme, although so far he had borne up, was evidently very
ill from the shock of the explosion, so much so that men had to be set
on each side of him to see that he did not fall from the saddle. Also
he was deeply depressed by the fact that honour had forced us to
abandon Higgs to what seemed a certain and probably a cruel death; and
if he felt thus, what was my own case, who left not only my friend, but
also my son, in the hands of savage heathens?

Maqueda’s face was not visible because of the thin spangled veil that
she wore, but there was something about her attitude suggestive of
shame and of despair. The droop of the head and even her back showed
this, as I, who rode a little behind and on side of her, could see. I
think, too, that she was anxious about Orme, for she turned toward him
several times as though studying his condition. Also I am sure that she
was indignant with Joshua and others of her officers, for when they
spoke to her she would not answer or take the slightest notice of them
beyond straightening herself in the saddle. As for the Prince himself,
his temper seemed to be much ruffled, although apparently he had 
overcome the hurt to his back which prevented him from accepting the 
Sultan’s challenge, for at a difficult spot in the road he dismounted
and ran along actively enough. At any rate, when his subordinates
addressed him he only answered them with muttered oaths, and his
attitude towards us Englishmen, especially Quick, was not amiable.
Indeed, if looks could have killed us I am sure that we should all have
been dead before ever we reached the Gate of Mur.    

This so-called gate was the upper mouth of the pass whence first we saw,
lying beneath us, the vast, mountain-ringed plain beyond. It was a
beautiful sight in the sunshine. Almost at our feet, half-hidden in
palms and other trees, lay the flat-roofed town itself, a place of
considerable extent, as every house of any consequence seemed to be set
in a garden, since here there was no need for cramping walls and
defensive works. Beyond it to the northward, farther than the eye could
reach, stretching down a gentle slope to the far-off shores of the
great lake of glistening water, were cultivated fields, and amongst them
 villas and, here and there, hamlets. 

Whatever might be the faults of the Abati, evidently they were skilled
husbandsmen, such as their reputed forefathers, the old inhabitants of
Judæa, must have been before them, for of that strain presumably some
trace was still present in their veins. However far he may have drifted
from such pursuits, originally the Jew was a tiller of the soil, and
here, where many of his other characteristics had evaporated under
pressure of circumstances—notably the fierce courage that Titus
knew—this taste remained to him, if only by tradition.

Indeed, having no other outlet for their energies and none with whom to
trade, the interests of the Abati were centred in the land. For and by
the land they lived and died, and, since the amount available was
limited by the mountain wall, he who had most land was great amongst
them, he who had little land was small, he who had no land was
practically a slave. Their law was in its essentials a law of the land;
their ambitions, their crimes, everything to do with them, were
concerned with the land, upon the produce of which they existed and
grew rich, some of them, by means of a system of barter. They had no 
coinage, their money being measures of corn or other produce, horses,
camels, acres of their equivalent of soil, and so forth. 

And yet, oddly enough, their country is the richest in gold and other
metals that I have ever heard of even in Africa—so rich that,
according to Higgs, the old Egyptians drew bullion from it to the value
of millions of pounds every year. This, indeed, I can well believe, for
I have seen the ancient mines which were worked, for the most part as
open quarries, still showing plenty of visible gold on the face of the
slopes. Yet to these alleged Jews this gold was of no account. Imagine
it; as Quick said, such a topsy-turvy state of things was enough to
make a mere Christian feel cold down the back and go to bed thinking
that the world must be coming to an end. 

To return, the prince Joshua, who appeared to be generalissimo of the
army, in what was evidently a set phrase, exhorted the guards at the
last gates to be brave and, if need were, deal with the heathen as some
one or other dealt with Og, King of Bashan, and other unlucky persons
of a different faith. In reply he received their earnest
congratulations upon his escape from the frightful dangers of our
journey. 

These formalities concluded, casting off the iron discipline of war, we
descended a joyous mob, or rather the Abati did, to partake of the
delights of peace. Really, conquerors returning from some desperate
adventure could not have been more warmly greeted. As we entered the
suburbs of the town, women, some of them very handsome, ran out and
embraced their lords or lovers, holding up babies for them to kiss, and
a little farther on children appeared, throwing roses and pomegranate
flowers before their triumphant feet. And all this because these
gallant men had ridden to the bottom of a pass and back again! 

“Heavens! Doctor,” exclaimed the sardonic Quick, after taking note
of these demonstrations, “Heavens! what a hero I feel myself to be.
And to think that when I got back from the war with them Boers, after
being left for dead on Spion Kop with a bullet through my lung and
mentioned in a dispatch—yes, I, Sergeant Quick, mentioned in a
dispatch by the biggest ass of a general as ever I clapped eyes on, for
a job that I won’t detail, no one in my native village ever took no
note of me, although I had written to the parish clerk, who happens to
be my brother-in-law, and told him the train I was coming by. I tell
you, Doctor, no one so much as stood me a pint of beer, let alone
wine,” and he pointed to a lady who was proffering that beverage to
some one whom she admired. 

“And as for chucking their arms round my neck and kissing me,” and
he indicated another episode, “all my old mother said—she was alive
then—was that she ‘hoped I’d done fooling about furrin’
parts as I called soldiering, and come home to live respectable, better
late than never.’ Well, Doctor, circumstances alter cases, or blood
and climate do, which is the same thing, and I didn’t miss what I
never expected, why should I when others like the Captain there, who
had done so much more, fared worse? But, Lord! these Abati are a
sickening lot, and I wish we were clear of them. Old Barung’s the boy
for me.” 

Passing down the main street of this charming town of Mur, accompanied
by these joyous demonstrators, we came at last to its central square, a
large, open space where, in the moist and genial climate, for the high
surrounding mountains attracted plentiful showers of rain, trees and
flowers grew luxuriantly. At the head of this square stood a long, low
building with white-washed walls and gilded domes, backed by the
towering cliff, but at a little distance from it, and surrounded by
double walls with a moat of water between them, dug for purposes of
defence. 

This was the palace, which on my previous visit I had only entered once
or twice when I was received by the Child of Kings in formal audience.
Round the rest of this square, each placed in its own garden, were the
houses of the great nobles and officials, and at its western end, among
other public buildings, a synagogue or temple which looked like a model
of that built by Solomon in Jerusalem, from the description of which it
had indeed been copied, though, of course, upon a small scale.

At the gate of the palace we halted, and Joshua, riding up, asked
Maqueda sulkily whether he should conduct “the Gentiles,” for that
was his polite description of us, to the lodging for pilgrims in the
western town. 

“No, my uncle,” answered Maqueda; “these foreign lords will
be housed in the guest-wing of the palace.”

“In the guest-wing of the palace? It is not usual,” gobbled Joshua,
swelling himself out like a great turkey cock. “Remember, O niece,
that you are still unmarried. I do not yet dwell in the palace to
protect you.” 

“So I found out in the plain yonder,” she replied; “still, I
managed to protect myself. Now, I pray you, no words. I think it
necessary that these my guests should be where their goods already are,
in the safest place in Mur. You, my uncle, as you told us, are badly
hurt, by which accident you were prevented from accepting the challenge
of the Sultan of the Fung. Go, then, and rest; I will send the court
physician to you at once. Good-night, my uncle; when you are recovered
we will meet again, for we have much that we must discuss. Nay, nay,
you are most kind, but I will not detain you another minute. Seek your
bed, my uncle, and forget not to thank God for your escape from many 
perils.” 

At this polite mockery Joshua turned perfectly pale with rage, like the
turkey cock when his wattles fade from scarlet into white. Before he
could make any answer, however, Maqueda had vanished under the archway,
so his only resource was to curse us, and especially Quick, who had
caused him to fall from his horse. Unfortunately the Sergeant
understood quite enough Arabic to be aware of the tenor of his remarks,
which he resented and returned: 

“Shut it, Porpoise,” he said, “and keep your eyes where
Nature put ’em, or they’ll fall out.”

“What says the Gentile?” spluttered Joshua, whereon Orme, waking up
from one of his fits of lethargy, replied in Arabic:

“He says that he prays you, O Prince of princes, to close your noble
mouth and to keep your high-bred eyes within their sockets lest you
should lose them”; at which words those who were listening broke into
a fit of laughter, for one redeeming characteristic among the Abati was
that they had a sense of humour.

After this I do not quite know what happened for Orme showed signs of
fainting, and I had to attend to him. When I looked round again the
gates were shut and we were being conducted toward the guest-wing of
the palace by a number of gaily dressed attendants.

They took us to our rooms—cool, lofty chambers ornamente

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