Robert Michael Ballantyne
Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan
Chapter Twenty Seven.
In which Hopes and Fears rise and fall
“There is a tide in the affairs of men,” undoubtedly, and the tide in the affairs of Miles Milton and his comrades appeared to have reached low-water at this time, for, on the day mentioned in the last chapter, it began to turn, and continued for a considerable time to rise.
The first clear evidence of the change was the “blow-out” of beans and oil, coupled with the change of prison. The next was the sudden appearance of the beans-and-oil-man himself.
“Why, I do believe—it’s—it’s Moses,” exclaimed Molloy, as his old comrade entered the prison. “Give us your flipper. Man alive! but I’m right glad to see you. We thought you was—let’s have a look at your neck. No; nothing there. I knowed as that interpreter was a liar. But what brings you here, lad? What mischief have ’ee bin up to?”
“That’s what puzzles myself, Jack,” said Moses, shaking hands warmly with Miles. “I’ve done nothing that I know of except sell beans and oil. It’s true I burned ’em sometimes a bit, but they’d hardly put a fellow in jail for that—would they? However, I’m glad they’ve done it, whatever the reason, seeing that it has brought us three together again. But, I say,” continued Moses, while a look of anxiety came over his innocent face, “what can have become of our other comrades?”
“You may well ask that, lad. I’ve asked the same question of myself for many a day, but have never bin able to get from myself a satisfactory answer. I’m wery much afeared that we’ll never see ’em again.”
It seemed almost to be a spring-tide in the affairs of the trio at that time, for while the seaman was speaking—as if to rebuke his want of faith—the door opened and their comrade Armstrong walked in.
For a few moments they were all rendered speechless! Then Miles sprang up, seized his friend by both shoulders, and gazed into his face; it was a very thin and careworn face at that time, as if much of the bloom of youth had been wiped from it for ever.
“Willie! Am I dreaming?” exclaimed Miles.
“If you are, so must I be,” replied his friend, “for when I saw you last you had not taken to half-nakedness as a costume!”
“Come now,” retorted Miles, “you have not much to boast of in that way yourself.”
“There you are wrong, Miles, for I have to boast that I made my garment myself. True, it’s only a sack, but I cut the hole in the bottom of it for my head with my own hand, and stitched on the short sleeves with a packing-needle. But, I say, what’s been the matter with Molloy? Have they been working you too hard, Jack?”
“No, Willum, no, I can’t exactly say that, but they’ve bin hangin’ me too hard. I’ll tell ’ee all about it in coorse o’ time. Man alive! but they have took the flesh off your bones somehow; let’s see—no, your neck’s all right. Must have bin some other way.”
“The way was simple enough,” returned the other. “When they separated us all at first, they set me to the hardest work they could find—to dig, draw water, carry burdens that a horse might object to, sweep, and clean up; in fact, everything and anything, and they’ve kep’ us hard at it ever since. I say us, because Rattlin’ Bill Simkin was set to help me after the first day, an’ we’ve worked all along together. Poor Simkin, there ain’t much rattle in him now, except his bones. I don’t know why they sent me here and not him. And I can’t well make out whether I’m sent here for extra punishment or as a favour!”
“Have you seen or heard anything of Stevenson?” asked Moses.
“I saw him once, about a week ago, staggering under a great log—whether in connection with house-builders or not I can’t tell. It was only for a minute, and I got a tremendous cut across the back with a cane for merely trying to attract his attention.”
The tide, it will be seen, had been rising pretty fast that afternoon. It may be said to have come in with a rush, when, towards evening, the door of their prison once more opened and Simkin with Stevenson were ushered in together, both clothed alike in an extemporised sack-garment and short drawers, with this difference, that the one wore a species of felt hat, the other a fez.
They were still in the midst of delighted surprise at the turn events seemed to be taking, when two men entered bearing trays, on which were six smoking bowls of beans and oil!
“Hallo! Moses, your business follows you even to prison,” exclaimed Molloy.
“True, Jack, and I’ll follow my business up!” returned Moses, sitting down on the ground, which formed their convenient table, and going to work.
We need scarcely say that his comrades were not slow to follow his example.
The tide may be said to have reached at least half-flood, if not more, when, on the following morning, the captives were brought out and told by the interpreter that they were to accompany a body of troops which were about to quit the place under the command of Mohammed, the Mahdi’s cousin.
“Does the Mahdi accompany us?” Miles ventured to ask.
“No. The Mahdi has gone to Khartoum,” returned the interpreter, who then walked away as if he objected to be further questioned.
The hopes which had been recently raised in the breasts of the captives to a rather high pitch were, however, somewhat reduced when they found that their supposed friend Mohammed treated them with cool indifference, did not even recognise them, and the disappointment was deepened still more when all of them, except Miles, were loaded with heavy burdens, and made to march among the baggage-animals as if they were mere beasts of burden. The savage warriors also treated them with great rudeness and contempt.
Miles soon found that he was destined to fill his old post of runner in front of Mohammed, his new master. This seemed to him unaccountable, for runners, he understood, were required only in towns and cities, not on a march. But the hardships attendant on the post, and the indignities to which he was subjected, at last convinced him that the Mahdi must have set the mind of his kinsman against him, and that he was now undergoing extra punishment as well as unique degradation.
The force that took the field on this occasion was a very considerable one—with what precise object in view was of course unknown to all except its chiefs, but the fact that it marched towards the frontiers of Egypt left no doubt in the mind of any one. It was a wild barbaric host, badly armed and worse drilled, but fired with a hatred of all Europeans and a burning sense of wrong.
“What think ye now, Miles?” asked Armstrong, as the captives sat grouped together in the midst of the host on the first night of their camping out in the desert.
“I think that everything seems to be going wrong,” answered Miles, in a desponding tone. “At first I thought that Mohammed was our friend, but he has treated me so badly that I can think so no longer.”
“Don’t you think he may be doing that to blind his followers as to his friendship?” said Moses; “for myself, I can’t help thinkin’ he must be grateful for what you did, Miles.”
“I only wish you had not touched my rifle that day,” said Rattling Bill, fiercely—being fatigued and out of temper—“for the blackguard would have bin in ‘Kingdom come’ by this time. There’s no gratitude in an Arab. I have no hope at all now.”
“My hope is in God,” said Stevenson.
“Well, mate, common-sense tells me that that should be our best ground of hope,” observed Molloy; “but common experience tells me that the Almighty often lets His own people come to grief.”
“God never lets ’em come to grief in the sense that you mean,” returned the marine. “If He kills His people, He takes them away from the evil to come, and death is but a door-way into glory. If he sends grief and suffering, it is that they may at last reach a higher state of joy.”
“Pooh! according to that view, nothing can go wrong with them that you call His people,” said Simkin, with contempt.
“Right you are, comrade,” rejoined Stevenson; “nothing can go wrong with us; nothing can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our lord; and you may be one of ‘us’ this minute if you will accept God’s offer of free salvation in Christ.”
Silence followed, for Simkin was too angry, as well as worn out, to give his mind seriously to anything at that time, and the others were more or less uncertain as to the truth of what was advanced.
Sleep, profound and dreamless, soon banished these and all other subjects from their minds. Blessed sleep! so aptly as well as beautifully styled, “Tired Nature’s sweet restorer.” That great host of dusky warriors—some unquestionably devout, many cruel and relentless, not a few, probably, indifferent to everything except self, and all bent on the extermination of their white-skinned foes,—lay down beside their weapons, and shared in that rest which is sent alike to the just and to the unjust, through the grand impartiality, forbearance, and love of a God whom many people apparently believe to be a “respecter of persons!”
A few days later the little army came to the edge of a range of hills, beyond which lay the plains of the vast Nubian desert. At night they encamped at the base of the hill-country, through which they had been travelling, and the captives were directed to take up their position in front of an old ruined hut, where masses of broken stones and rubbish made the ground unsuitable for camping on.
“Just like them!” growled Simkin, looking about for a fairly level spot. “There’s not a place big enough for a dog to lie on!”
Supper made Rattling Bill a little more amiable, though not much more forgiving to his foes. A three-quarters moon soon afterwards shed a faint light on the host, which, except the sentries, was sound asleep.
Towards midnight a solitary figure moved slowly towards the place where the captives lay and awakened Miles, who sat up, stared, winked, and rubbed his eyes two or three times before he could bring himself to believe that his visitor was no other than the chief of the host—Mohammed!
“Rise. Com. I speak small Engleesh.”
Miles rose at once and followed the chief into the ruined hut.
“Clear de ground,” he said, pointing to the centre of the floor.
Our hero obeyed, and, when the loose rubbish was cleared away, the moonbeams, shining through the ruined roof, fell on a ring bolt. Being ordered to pull it, he raised a cover or trap-door, and discovered beneath what appeared to be a cellar.
“Now,” said Mohammed, “listen: you an’ friends go down—all. I shut door and cover up—rubsh. When we all go ’way, com out and go home. See, yonder is home.”
He pointed to the north-eastward, where a glowing star seemed to hang over the margin of the great level desert.
“You are generous—you are kind!” exclaimed Miles, with a burst of enthusiasm.
“Me grateful,” said Mohammed, extending his hand in European fashion, which Miles grasped warmly. “Go, wake you comerads. Tell what me say, and com quick!”
Miles was much too well-disciplined a soldier to hesitate, though he would have liked much to suggest that some of the troops might, before starting, take a fancy to explore the ruin, and to ask how long they should remain in the cellar before venturing out. Quietly awaking all his comrades, and drawing their surprised heads together, he whispered his tale in their wondering ears. After that they were quite prepared to act, and accompanied him noiselessly into the ruin.
“Is the cellar deep?” asked Miles, as he was about to descend.
“No; not deep.”
“But what about grub—whittles, meat, an’ water—you know,” said Molloy, with difficulty accommodating his words to a foreigner. “We’ll starve if we go adrift on the desert with nothin’ to eat or drink.”
“Here—food,” said Mohammed, unslinging a well-filled haversack from his shoulders and transferring it to those of the sailor. “Stop there,” he continued, pointing to the cellar, “till you hears guns—shoot—noise. I have make prep’rations! After that, silence. Then, com out, an’ go home.” Once again he pointed towards the glowing star in the north-east.
“Mohammed,” exclaimed Molloy, becoming suddenly impressed with the generous nature of the Arab’s action, “I don’t know as you’re a descendant o’ the Prophet, but I do know that you’re a brick. Give us your flipper before we part!”
With a grave expression of kindliness and humour the chief shook hands with the seaman. Then the captives all descended into the hole, which was not more than four feet deep, after which the Arab shut the trap, covered it as before with a little rubbish, and went away.
“Suppose he has bolted the door!” suggested Moses.
“Hold your tongue, man, and listen for the signal,” said Miles.
“I forget what he said the signal was to be,” observed Simkin.
“Guns—shoot—noise—after that silence!” said Armstrong. “It’s a queer signal.”
“But not difficult to recognise when we hear it,” remarked Miles.
The time seemed tremendously long as they sat there listening—the cellar was too low for them to stand—and they began to fancy that all kinds of horrible shapes and faces appeared in the intense darkness around them. When they listened intensely, kept silent, and held their breath, their hearts took to beating the drums of their ears, and when a sudden breath or sigh escaped it seemed as if some African monster were approaching from the surrounding gloom.
“Is that you, Simkin, that’s breathin’ like a grampus?” asked Molloy, after a long pause.
“I was just goin’ to ask you to stop snorin’,” retorted the soldier.
“Hush! There’s a shot!”
It was indeed a distant shot, followed immediately by several more. Then a rattle of musketry followed—nearer at hand.
Instantly, as if the earth had just given birth to them, the host of dusky warriors sprang up with yells of surprise and defiance, and, spear in hand, rushed in the direction of the firing. For a few minutes the listeners in the cellar heard as it had been a mighty torrent surging past the ruined hut. Gradually the force of the rush began to abate, while the yells and firing became more distant; at last all sounds ceased, and the listeners were again oppressed by the beating on the drums of their ears.
“They’re all gone—every mother’s son,” said Molloy at last, breaking the oppressive silence.
“That’s so,” said Rattling Bill; “up wi’ the trap, Miles. You’re under it, ain’t you? I’m suffocating in this hole.”
“I’m not under it. Molloy came down last,” said Miles.
“What if we can’t find it?” suggested Stevenson.
“Horrible!” said Moses, in a hoarse whisper, “and this may be a huge cavern, with miles of space around us, instead of a small cellar!”
“Here it is!” cried the sailor, making a heave with his broad back. “I say—it won’t move! Ah, I wasn’t rightly under it. Yo! heave-o!” Up went the door with a crash, and the soft moonlight streamed in upon them.
A few seconds more and they stood outside the hut—apparently the only living beings in all that region, which had been so full of human life but a few minutes before.
“Now we must lose no time in getting away from this place, and covering as much of the desert as we can during the night,” said Miles, “for it strikes me that we’ll have to lie quiet during the day, for fear of being seen and chased.”
They spoke together in whispers for a few minutes, deciding the course they meant to pursue. Then Molloy shouldered the provision bag, Miles grasped his official lance—the only weapon they had among them,—and off they set on their journey across the desert, like a ship entering on an unknown sea, without the smallest idea of how far they were from the frontier of Egypt, and but a vague notion of the direction in which they ought to go.
Chapter Twenty Eight
A Horrible Situation.
All that night our fugitives walked steadily in the direction of their guiding-star, until the dawn of day began to absorb its light. Then they selected a couple of prominent bushes on the horizon, and, by keeping these always in their relative positions, were enabled to shape their course in what they believed to be the right direction. By repeating the process continuously they were enabled to advance in a fairly straight line.
Molloy, as we have said, carried the provision bag, and, although it was a very heavy one, he refused to let his comrades relieve him of it until breakfast-time. Then it was discovered that inside of the large bag there were rolled tight up four smaller bags with shoulder-straps to them.
“A knowin’ feller that Mohammed is,” said Jack Molloy, as he handed a bag to each; “he understands how to manage things. Let’s see what sort o’ grub he has. Corn-cakes, I do believe, an’ dates, or some sort o’ dried fruit, an’—water-bottles! well, that is a comfort. Now then, boys, go ahead. We can’t afford to waste time over our meals.”
The others so thoroughly agreed with their friend on this point that they began to eat forthwith, almost in silence. Then, the provisions having been distributed, they resumed their march, which was almost a forced one, so anxious were they to get as far away as possible from the Arab army.
Coming to a large mimosa bush in the course of the morning they halted and sat down to rest a little, and hold what the sailor called a “palaver.”
“You see, boys,” he said, “it’ll be of no manner of use our scuddin’ away before the wind under a press o’ canvas like this, without some settled plan—”
“Ain’t our plan to git away from the Arabs as fast as we can?” said Moses Pyne, who sat on a stone at the sailor’s feet.
“Yes, Moses, but that’s only part of it,” returned Molloy. “We must keep away as well as get away—an’ that won’t be quite so easy, for the country is swarmin’ wi’ the dark-skinned rascals, as the many tracks we have already passed shows us. If we was to fall in wi’ a band of ’em—even a small one—we would be took again for sartin’, for we’ve got nothin’ to fight wi’ but our fists.”
“These would offer but poor resistance to bullet and steel,” said Armstrong, “and that lance you’re so fond of, Miles, wouldn’t be worth much.”
“Not much,” admitted Miles, surveying the badge of his late office, “but better than nothing.”
“What if the Arabs should change their course and fall in with us again?” asked Moses.
“No fear o’ that, seein’ that Mohammed himself gave us our sailin’ orders, an’ laid our course for us; but it would never do to fall in wi’ other bands, so I proposes that we cast anchor where we are, for there’s pretty good holdin’ ground among them bushes, keep quiet all day, an’ travel only at night. I’ve got the krect bearin’s just now, so w’en the stars come out we’ll be able to fix on one layin’ in the right direction, and clap on all sail, slow and aloft—stu’n s’ls, sky-scrapers, an’ all the rest on it.”
“A good plan, Jack,” said Armstrong, “but what if it should come cloudy and blot out the stars?”
“Besides,” added Miles, “you forget that men of the desert are skilled in observing signs and in following tracks. Should any of them pass near this little clump of bushes, and observe our footsteps going towards it, they will at once come to see if we are still here.”
Molloy put his head on one side and looked perplexed for a moment.
“Never mind. Let ’em come,” he said, with a sudden look of sagacity, “we’ll circumwent ’em. There’s nothin’ like circumwention w’en you’ve got into a fix. See here. We’ll dig a hole in a sandbank big enough to hold us all, an’ we’ll cut a big bush an’ stick it in front of the hole so as they’ll never see it. We can keep a bright look-out, you know, an’ if anything heaves in sight on the horizon, down we go into the hole, stick up the bush, an there you are—all safe under hatches till the enemy clears off.”
“But they will trace our footsteps up to the hole or the bush,” said Miles, “and wonder why they can trace them no further. What then?”
Again the seaman fell into perplexed meditation, out of which he emerged with a beaming smile.
“Why, then, my lad, we’ll bamboozle ’em. There’s nothin’ like bamboozlement w’en circumwention fails. Putt the two together an’ they’re like a hurricane in the tropics, carries all before it! We’ll bamboozle ’em by runnin’ for an hour or two all over the place, so as no mortal man seein’ our footprints will be able to tell where we comed from, or what we’ve bin a-doin’ of.”
“You don’t know the men of the desert, Jack,” rejoined Miles, with a laugh. “They’d just walk in a circle round the place where you propose to run about and bamboozle them, till they found where our tracks entered this bit of bush. Then, as they’d see no tracks leaving it, of course they’d know that we were still there. D’you see?”
“That’s a puzzler for you, Jack,” remarked Moses, as he watched the perplexed expression looming up again like a cloud on the sailor’s face.
“By no manner o’ means,” retorted Molloy, with sudden gravity. “I sees my way quite clear out o’ that. You remember the broad track, not half a mile off from where we now sit?”
“Yes; made I suppose by a pretty big band o’ some sort crossin’ the desert,” said Moses.
“Well, lad, arter runnin’ about in the bush to bamboozle of ’em, as aforesaid, we’ll march back to that track on the sou’-west’ard—as it may be—an’ then do the same on the nor’-west’ard—so to speak—an’ so lead ’em to suppose we was a small party as broke off, or was sent off, from the main body to reconnoitre the bit o’ bush, an’ had rejoined the main body further on. That’s what I call circumwentin’, d’ee see?”
While this palaver was going on, Stevenson and Bill Simkin were standing a short way off taking observation of something in the far distance. In a few minutes they ran towards their comrades with the information that a band of men were visible on the horizon, moving, they thought, in an opposite direction to their line of march.
“It may be so,” said Miles, after a brief survey, “but we can’t be sure. We must put part of your plan in force anyhow, Jack Molloy. Away into the scrub all of you, and stoop as you go.”
In saying this, our hero, almost unintentionally, took command of the little party, which at once tacitly accorded him the position. Leading them—as every leader ought—he proceeded to the centre of the clump of bushes, where, finding a natural hollow or hole in the sand, at the root of a mimosa bush, three of them went down on hands and knees to scoop it out deeper, while the others cut branches with Molloy’s clasp-knife.
Using flat stones, chips of wood, and hands as shovels, they managed to dig out a hole big enough to conceal them all, the opening to which was easily covered by a mass of branches.
It is doubtful whether this ingenious contrivance would have availed them, if “men of the desert” had passed that way, but fortune favoured them. The band, whether friends or foes, passed far off to the westward, leaving them to enjoy their place of fancied security.
To pass the first day there was not difficult. The novelty of the position was great; the interest of the thing immense. Indefinite hopes of the future were strong, and they had plenty to say and speculate about during the passing hours. When night came, preparation was made for departure. The provision bags were slung, a moderate sip of water indulged in, and they set forth, after a very brief prayer by Stevenson, that God would guide them safely on their way. There was no formality in that prayer. The marine did not ask his comrades to kneel or to agree with him. He offered it aloud, in a few seconds, in the name of Jesus, leaving his hearers to join him or not as they pleased.
“See that you lay your course fair now, Molloy,” said Miles, as they sallied out upon the darkening plain.
“Trust me, lad, I’ve taken my bearin’s.”
It was very dark the first part of the night, as the moon did not rise till late, but there was quite enough light to enable them to proceed with caution, though not enough to prevent their taking an occasional bush or stump for an advancing foe. All went well, however, until dawn the following morning, when they began to look about for a suitable clump of bushes in which to conceal themselves. No such spot could they find.
“Never mind, lads,” said the inexhaustible Molloy, “we’ll just go on till we find a place. We’re pretty tough just now, that’s one comfort.”
They were indeed so tough that they went the whole of that day, with only one or two brief halts to feed. Towards evening, however, they began to feel wearied, and, with one consent, determined to encamp on a slight eminence a short way in advance, the sides of which were covered with low scrub.
As they approached the spot an unpleasant odour reached them. It became worse as they advanced. At last, on arriving, they found to their surprise and horror that the spot had been a recent battle-field, and was strewn with corpses and broken weapons. Some days must have elapsed since the fight which strewed them there, for the bodies had been all stripped, and many of them were partially buried, while others had been hauled half out of their graves by those scavengers of the desert, hyenas and vultures.
“Impossible to halt here,” said Armstrong. “I never witness a sight like this that it does not force on me the madness of warfare! What territorial gain can make up for these lost lives—the flower of the manhood of both parties?”
“But what are we to do?” objected Molloy. “Men must defend their rights!”
“Not necessarily so,” said Stevenson. “Men have to learn to bear and forbear.”
“I have learned to take advantage of what luck throws in my way,” said Rattling Bill, picking up a rifle which must have escaped the observation of the plunderers who had followed the army.
The body of the poor fellow who had owned it was found concealed under a bush not far off. He was an English soldier, and a very brief inspection showed that the battle had been fought by a party of British and Egyptian troops against the Soudanese.
It seemed as if the plunderers had on this occasion been scared from their horrible work before completing it, for after a careful search they found rifles with bayonets, and pouches full of ammunition, more than sufficient to arm the whole party.
“There are uniforms enough, too, to fit us all out,” said Simkin, as they were about to leave the scene of slaughter.
“No dead men’s clo’es for me,” said Moses Pyne, with a shrug of disgust.
Jack Molloy declared that he had become so used to loose cotton drawers, and an easy-fittin’ sack, that for his part he had no desire to go back to civilised costume! and as the rest were of much the same opinion, no change was made in the habiliments of the party, except that each appropriated a pair of boots, and Miles exchanged his green tippet for a flannel shirt and a pith helmet. He also took a revolver, with some difficulty, from the dead hand of a soldier, and stuck it in his belt.
Thus improved in circumstances, they gladly quitted the ghastly scene, and made for a bushy hillock a few hundred yards in advance.
On the way they were arrested by the sound of distant firing.
“Mohammed must have met our countrymen!” exclaimed Molloy, with excited looks, as they halted to listen.
“It may be so, but there are other bands about besides his,” said Miles. “What’s that? a cheer?”
“Ay, a British cheer in the far distance, replied to by yells of defiance.” Molloy echoed the cheer in spite of his better judgment.
“Let’s run an’ jine ’em!” he exclaimed.
“Come along, then!” cried Miles, with the ardour of inexperienced youth.
“Stop! are ye mad?” cried Stevenson. “Don’t it stand to reason that the enemy must be between us an’ Suakim? and that’s the same as sayin’ they’re between us an’ our friends. Moreover, the cheerin’ proves that our side must be gettin’ the best of it, an’ are drivin’ the enemy this way, so all we’ve got to do is to hide on that hillock an’ bide our time.”
“Right you are, comrade,” cried Rattling Bill, examining his cartridges, and asserting with an oath that nothing would afford him greater pleasure than a good hand-to-hand fight with the black, (and something worse), scoundrels.
“Don’t swear at your enemies, Simkin,” said the marine quietly; “but when you get the chance fire low!”
Agreeing with Stevenson’s advice to “bide their time,” the little band was soon on the top of the hillock, and took up the best position for defending the place, also for observing the fight, which, they could now see, was drawing gradually nearer to them.
They were not kept waiting long, for the natives were in full flight, hotly pursued by the English and Indian cavalry. A slight breeze blowing from the north carried not only the noise, but soon the smoke of the combat towards them. As they drew nearer a large detachment of native spearmen was seen to make for the hillock, evidently intending to make a stand there.
“Now comes our turn,” said Armstrong, examining the lock of his rifle to see that all was right.
“‘England expec’s every man,’ etceterer,” said Molloy, with a glance at Miles. “Capting, you may as well let us know your plans, so as we may work together.”
Miles was not long in making up his mind.
“You’ll fire at first by command,” he said quickly, but decidedly; “then down on your faces flat, and load. After that wait for orders. When it comes to the push—as it’s sure to do at last—we’ll stand back to back and do our best. God help us to do it well! Don’t hurry, boys—especially in square. Let every shot tell.”
He had barely concluded this brief address when the yelling savages reached the hillock. Miles could even see the gleaming of their teeth and eyes, and the blood of the slightly wounded coursing down their black skins as they rushed panting towards the place where he and his little party were crouching. Then he gave the word: “Ready—present!”
The smoke, fire, and death to the leading men, which belched from the bushes, did not check the rush for more than a moment. And even that check was the result of surprise more than fear. A party of those Arabs who were armed with rifles instantly replied, but the bullets passed harmlessly over the prostrate men.
Again the voice of Miles was heard: “Ready—present!” and again the leading men of the enemy fell, but the rushing host only divided, and swept round the hillock, so as to take it on both sides at once.
