Light That Failed — Chapter 15 Pt 2
George and a horde of yelling amateur assistants had loaded up the mules, and the narrow-gauge armoured train, plated with three-eighths inch boiler-plate till it looked like one long coffin, stood ready to start.
Two bogie trucks running before the locomotive were completely covered in with plating, except that the leading one was pierced in front for the muzzle of a machine-gun, and the second at either side for lateral fire.
The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber in which a score of artillerymen were rioting.
“Whitechapel—last train!
Ah, I see yer kissin’ in the first class there!
” somebody shouted, just as Dick was clambering into the forward truck.
“Lordy!
’Ere’s a real live passenger for the Kew, Tanai, Acton, and Ealin’ train.
_Echo_, sir.
Speshul edition!
_Star_, sir.
”—“Shall I get you a foot-warmer?
” said another.
“Thanks.
I’ll pay my footing,” said Dick, and relations of the most amiable were established ere silence came with the arrival of the subaltern, and the train jolted out over the rough track.
“This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy in the open,” said Dick, from his place in the corner.
“Oh, but he’s still unimpressed.
There he goes!
” said the subaltern, as a bullet struck the outside of the truck.
“We always have at least one demonstration against the night-train.
Generally they attack the rear-truck, where my junior commands.
He gets all the fun of the fair.
” “Not to-night though!
Listen!
” said Dick.
A flight of heavy-handed bullets was succeeded by yelling and shouts.
The children of the desert valued their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark.
“Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?
” the subaltern asked of the engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers.
“I should think so!
This is my section of the line.
They’ll be playing old Harry with my permanent way if we don’t stop ’em.
” “Right O!
” “_Hrrmph!
_” said the machine gun through all its five noses as the subaltern drew the lever home.
The empty cartridges clashed on the floor and the smoke blew back through the truck.
There was indiscriminate firing at the rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness without and unlimited howling.
Dick stretched himself on the floor, wild with delight at the sounds and the smells.
“God is very good—I never thought I’d hear this again.
Give ’em hell, men.
Oh, give ’em hell!
” he cried.
The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a party went out to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades.
The children of the desert had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and twenty minutes were lost in clearing it away.
Then the slow progress recommenced, to be varied with more shots, more shoutings, the steady clack and kick of the machine guns, and a final difficulty with a half-lifted rail ere the train came under the protection of the roaring camp at Tanai-el-Hassan.
“Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her through,” said the subaltern, unshipping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun.
“It was a lark, though.
I only wish it had lasted twice as long.
How superb it must have looked from outside!
” said Dick, sighing regretfully.
“It palls after the first few nights.
By the way, when you’ve settled about your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent.
I’m Bennil of the Gunners—in the artillery lines—and mind you don’t fall over my tent-ropes in the dark.
” But it was all dark to Dick.
He could only smell the camels, the hay-bales, the cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the tents as he stood, where he had dropped from the train, shouting for George.
There was a sound of light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of the rear trucks, with squealing and grunting.
George was unloading the mules.
The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick’s ear; a cold wind of the desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and dirty—so dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands.
That was a hopeless job; he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to count over the many times that he had waited in strange or remote places for trains or camels, mules or horses, to carry him to his business.
In those days he could see—few men more clearly—and the spectacle of an armed camp at dinner under the stars was an ever fresh pleasure to the eye.
There was colour, light, and motion, without which no man has much pleasure in living.
This night there remained for him only one more journey through the darkness that never lifts to tell a man how far he has travelled.
Then he would grip Torpenhow’s hand again—Torpenhow, who was alive and strong, and lived in the midst of the action that had once made the reputation of a man called Dick Heldar: not in the least to be confused with the blind, bewildered vagabond who seemed to answer to the same name.
Yes, he would find Torpenhow, and come as near to the old life as might be.
Afterwards he would forget everything: Bessie, who had wrecked the Melancolia and so nearly wrecked his life; Beeton, who lived in a strange unreal city full of tin-tacks and gas-plugs and matters that no men needed; that irrational being who had offered him love and loyalty for nothing, but had not signed her name; and most of all Maisie, who, from her own point of view, was undeniably right in all she did, but oh, at this distance, so tantalisingly fair.
George’s hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation.
“And what now?
” said George.
“Oh yes of course.
What now?
Take me to the camel-men.
Take me to where the scouts sit when they come in from the desert.
They sit by their camels, and the camels eat grain out of a black blanket held up at the corners, and the men eat by their side just like camels.
Take me there!
” The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick stumbled many times over the stumps of scrub.
The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick knew they would.
The light of the dung-fires flickered on their bearded faces, and the camels bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest.
It was no part of Dick’s policy to go into the desert with a convoy of supplies.
That would lead to impertinent questions, and since a blind non-combatant is not needed at the front, he would probably be forced to return to Suakin.
He must go up alone, and go immediately.
“Now for one last bluff—the biggest of all,” he said.
“Peace be with you, brethren!
” The watchful George steered him to the circle of the nearest fire.
The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, and the camels, scenting a European, looked sideways curiously like brooding hens, half ready to get to their feet.
“A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line to-night,” said Dick.
“A Mulaid?
” said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that he knew.
“A Bisharin,” returned Dick, with perfect gravity.
“A Bisharin without saddle-galls.
Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.
” Two or three minutes passed.
Then—“We be knee-haltered for the night.
There is no going out from the camp.
” “Not for money?
” “H’m!
Ah!
English money?
” Another depressing interval of silence.
“How much?
” “Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my journey’s end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik here, to be paid when the driver returns.
” This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick’s behalf.
“For scarcely one night’s journey—fifty pounds.
Land and wells and good trees and wives to make a man content for the rest of his days.
Who speaks?
” said Dick.
“I,” said a voice.
“I will go—but there is no going from the camp.
” “Fool!
I know that a camel can break his knee-halter, and the sentries do not fire if one goes in chase.
Twenty-five pounds and another twenty-five pounds.
But the beast must be a good Bisharin; I will take no baggage-camel.
” Then the bargaining began, and at the end of half an hour the first deposit was paid over to the sheik, who talked in low tones to the driver.
Dick heard the latter say: “A little way out only.
Any baggage-beast will serve.
Am I a fool to waste my cattle for a blind man?
” “And though I cannot see’—Dick lifted his voice a little—“yet I carry that which has six eyes, and the driver will sit before me.
If we do not reach the English troops in the dawn he will be dead.
” “But where, in God’s name, are the troops?
” “Unless thou knowest let another man ride.
Dost thou know?
Remember it will be life or death to thee.
” “I know,” said the driver, sullenly.
“Stand back from my beast.
I am going to slip him.
” “Not so swiftly.
George, hold the camel’s head a moment.
I want to feel his cheek.
” The hands wandered over the hide till they found the branded half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built riding-camel.
“That is well.
Cut this one loose.
Remember no blessing of God comes on those who try to cheat the blind.
” The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver’s discomfiture.
He had intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt.
“Stand back!
” one shouted, lashing the Biharin under the belly with a quirt.
Dick obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his hand,—and a cry went up, “Illaha!
Aho!
He is loose.
” With a roar and a grunt the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged forward toward the desert, his driver following with shouts and lamentation.
George caught Dick’s arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels.
“What’s the row now?
” he cried.
“Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,” Dick answered, after the manner of a common soldier.
“Go on, and take care your throat’s not cut outside—you and your dromedary’s. ” The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, and his driver had called him back and made him kneel down.
“Mount first,” said Dick.
Then climbing into the second seat and gently screwing the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion’s back, “Go on in God’s name, and swiftly.
Good-bye, George.
Remember me to Madame, and have a good time with your girl.
Get forward, child of the Pit!
” A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly broken by the creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet.
Dick adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace, girthed his belt tighter, and felt the darkness slide past.
For an hour he was conscious only of the sense of rapid progress.
“A good camel,” he said at last.
“He was never underfed.
He is my own and clean bred,” the driver replied.
“Go on.
” His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor of his thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy.
In the half doze it seemed that he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett’s. He had committed some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked him up in his bedroom.
But he could never repeat more than the first two lines of the hymn— When Israel of the Lord beloved Out of the land of bondage came.
He said them over and over thousands of times.
The driver turned in the saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and ending the ride.
Dick roused, struck him over the head with the butt, and stormed himself wide awake.
Somebody hidden in a clump of camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled up rising ground.
A shot was fired, and the silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep.
Dick could think no longer.
He was too tired and stiff and cramped to do more than nod uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and punching the driver with the pistol.
“Is there a moon?
” he asked drowsily.
“She is near her setting.
” “I wish that I could see her.
Halt the camel.
At least let me hear the desert talk.
” The man obeyed.
Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind.
It rattled the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased.
A
handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench and crumbled softly to the bottom.
“Go on.
The night is very cold.
” Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour before the light lengthens itself into many eternities.
It seemed to Dick that he had never since the beginning of original darkness done anything at all save jolt through the air.
Once in a thousand years he would finger the nailheads on the saddle-front and count them all carefully.
Centuries later he would shift his revolver from his right hand to his left and allow the eased arm to drop down at his side.
From the safe distance of London he was watching himself thus employed,—watching critically.
Yet whenever he put out his hand to the canvas that he might paint the tawny yellow desert under the glare of the sinking moon, the black shadow of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that hand held a revolver and the arm was numbed from wrist to collar-bone.
Moreover, he was in the dark, and could see no canvas of any kind whatever.
The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air.
“I smell the dawn,” he whispered.
“It is here, and yonder are the troops.
Have I done well?
” The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind the pungent reek of camels in the square.
“Go on.
We must get there swiftly.
Go on.
” “They are moving in their camp.
There is so much dust that I cannot see what they do.
” “Am I in better case?
Go forward.
” They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the bubbling of the beasts and the hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the day.
Two or three shots were fired.
“Is that at us?
Surely they can see that I am English,” Dick spoke angrily.
“Nay, it is from the desert,” the driver answered, cowering in his saddle.
“Go forward, my child!
Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an hour ago.
” The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind multiplied.
The children of the desert had arranged that most uncomfortable of surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops, and were getting their distance by snap-shots at the only moving object without the square.
“What luck!
What stupendous and imperial luck!
” said Dick.
“It’s “just before the battle, mother.
” Oh, God has been most good to me!
Only’—the agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an instant—“Maisie...
” “Allahu!
We are in,” said the man, as he drove into the rearguard and the camel knelt.
“Who the deuce are you?
Despatches or what?
What’s the strength of the enemy behind that ridge?
How did you get through?
” asked a dozen voices.
For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt, and shouted from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice, “Torpenhow!
Ohe, Torp!
Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how.
” A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe moved very swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, began to fire at the puffs of smoke from the hillocks around.
Gradually the scattered white cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked white that hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before they turned over wave-like and glided into the valleys.
The soldiers in the square were coughing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed their view, and they edged forward to get beyond it.
A wounded camel leaped to its feet and roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt.
Some one had cut its throat to prevent confusion.
Then came the thick sob of a man receiving his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and redoubled firing.
There was no time to ask any questions.
“Get down, man!
Get down behind the camel!
” “No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle.
” Dick turned his face to Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but, miscalculating the distance, knocked it off.
Torpenhow saw that his hair was gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old man.
“Come down, you damned fool!
Dickie, come off!
” And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways from the Bisharin’s saddle at Torpenhow’s feet.
His luck had held to the last, even to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet through his head.
Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick’s body in his arms.
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