The Boy Slaves

Instead of receiving kindness, the old sailor became the recipient of insults, not only from their tongues, – which he could not understand, – but by acts and gestures which were perfectly comprehensible to him.

While his ears were dinned by virulent speeches, – which, could he have comprehended them, would have told him how much he was despised for being an infidel, and not a follower of the true prophet, – while his eyes were well-nigh put out by dust thrown in his face, – accompanied by spiteful expectorations, – his body was belabored by sticks, his skin scratched and pricked with sharp thorns, his whiskers lugged almost to the dislocation of his jaws, and the hair of his head uprooted in fistfuls from his pericranium.

All this, too, amid screams and fiendish laughter, that resembled an orgie of furies.

These women – she-devils they better deserved to be called – were simply following out the teachings of their inhuman faith, – among religions, even that of Rome not excepted, the most inhuman that has ever cursed mankind. Had old Bill been a believer in their "Prophet," that false seer of the blood-stained sword, their treatment of him would have been directly the reverse. Instead of kicks and cuffs, hustlings and scratchings, he would have been made welcome to a share in such hospitality as they could have bestowed upon him. It was religion, not nature, made them act as they did. Their hardness of heart came not from God, but the Prophet. They were only carrying out the edicts of their "priests of a bloody faith."

In vain did the old man-o'-war's-man cry out "belay" and "avast." In vain did he "shiver his timbers," and appeal against their scurvy treatment, by looks, words, and gesture.

These seemed only to augment the mirth and spitefulness of his tormentors.

In this scene of cruelty there was one woman conspicuous among the rest. By her companions she was called Fatima. The old sailor, ignorant of Arabic feminine names, thought "it a misnomer," for of all his she-persecutors she was the leanest and scraggiest. Notwithstanding the poetical notions which the readers of Oriental romance might associate with her name, there was not much poetry about the personage who so assiduously assaulted Sailor Bill, – pulling his whiskers, slapping his cheeks, and every now and then spitting in his face!

She was something more than middle-aged, short, squat, and meagre; with the eye-teeth projecting on both sides, so as to hold up the upper lip, and exhibit all the others in their ivory whiteness, with an expression resembling that of the hyena. This is considered beauty, – a fashion in full vogue among her countrywomen, who cultivate it with great care, – though to the eyes of the old sailor it rendered the hag all the more hideous.

But the skinning of eye-teeth was not the only attempt at ornament made by this belle of the Desert. Strings of black beads hung over her wrinkled bosom; circlets of white bone were set in her hair; armlets and bangles adorned her wrists and ankles, and altogether did her costume and behavior betoken one distinguished among the crowd of his persecutors, – in short, their sultana or queen.

And such did she prove; for on the black sheik appropriating the old sailor as a stake fairly won in the game, and rescuing his newly-acquired property from the danger of being damaged, Fatima followed him to his tent with such demonstrations as showed her to be, if not the "favorite," certainly the head of the harem.

CHAPTER XXIV.

STARTING ON THE TRACK

As already said, the mirth of the three midshipmen was brought to a quick termination. It ended on the instant of Sailor Bill's disappearance behind the spur of the sand-hills. At the same instant all three came to a stop, and stood regarding one another with looks of uneasiness and apprehension.

All agreed that the maherry had made away with the old man-o'-war's-man. There could be no doubt about it. Bill's shouts, as he was hurried out of their hearing, proved that he was doing his best to bring to, and that the "ship of the desert" would not yield obedience to her helm.

They wondered a little why he had not slipped off, and let the animal go. They could not see why he should fear to drop down in the soft sand. He might have had a tumble, but nothing to do him any serious injury, – nothing to break a bone, or dislocate a joint. They supposed he had stuck to the saddle, from not wishing to abandon the maherry, and in hope of soon bringing it to a halt.

This was just what he had done, for the first three or four hundred yards. After that he would only have been too well satisfied to separate from the camel, and let it go its way. But then he was among the rough, jaggy rocks through which the path led, and then dismounting was no longer to be thought of, without also thinking of danger, considering that the camel was nearly ten feet in height, and going at a pitching pace of ten miles to the hour. To have forsaken his saddle at that moment would have been to risk the breaking of his neck.

From where they stood looking after him, the mids could not make out the character of the ground. Under the light of the moon, the surface seemed all of a piece, – all a bed of smooth soft sand! For this reason were they perplexed by his behavior.

There was that in the incident to make them apprehensive. The maherry would not have gone off at such a gait, without some powerful motive to impel it. Up to that moment it had shown no particular penchant for rapid travelling, but had been going, under their guidance, with a steady, sober docility. Something must have attracted it towards the interior. What could that something be, if not the knowledge that its home, or its companions, were to be found in this direction?

This was the conjecture that came simultaneously into the minds of all three, – as is known, the correct one.

There could be no doubt that their companion had been carried towards an encampment; for no other kind of settlement could be thought of in such a place. It was even a wonder that this could exist in the midst of a dreary, wild expanse of pure sand, like that surrounding them. Perhaps, thought they, there may be "land" towards the interior of the country, – a spot of firm soil, with vegetation upon it; in short, an oasis.

After their first surprise had partially subsided, they took counsel as to their course. Should they stay where they were, and wait for Bill's return? Or should they follow, in the hope of overtaking him?

Perhaps he might not return. If carried into a camp of barbarous savages, it was not likely that he would. He would be seized and held captive to a dead certainty. But surely he would not be such a simpleton, as to allow the maherry to transport him into the midst of his enemies.

Again sprang up their surprise at his not having made an effort to dismount.

For some ten or fifteen minutes the midshipmen stood hesitating, – their eyes all the while bent on the moonlit opening, through which the maherry had disappeared. There were no signs of anything in the pass, – at least anything like either a camel or a sailor. Only the bright beams of the moon glittering upon crystals of purest sand.

They thought they heard sounds, – the cries of quadrupeds mingling with the voices of men. There were voices, too, of shriller intonation, that might have proceeded from the throats of women.

Colin was confident he heard such. He was not contradicted by his companions, who simply said, they could not be sure that they heard anything.

But for the constant roar of the breakers, – rolling up almost to the spot upon which they stood, – they would have declared themselves differently; for at that moment there was a chorus being carried on at no great distance, in a variety of most unmusical sounds, – comprising the bark of the dog, the neigh of the horse, the snorting scream of the dromedary, the bleat of the sheep, and the sharper cry of its near kindred the goat, – along with the equally wild and scarce more articulate utterances of savage men, women, and children.

Colin was convinced that he heard all these sounds, and declared that they could only proceed from some encampment. His companions, knowing that the young Scotchman was sharp-eared, made no attempt to question his belief; but, on the contrary, gave ready credence to it.

Under any circumstances it seemed of no use to remain where they were. If Bill did not return, they were bound in honor to go after him; and, if possible, find out what had become of him. If, on the other hand, he should be coming back, they must meet him somewhere in the pass, – through which the camel had carried him off – since there was no other by which he might conveniently get back to them.

This point determined, the three mids, setting their faces for the interior of the country, started off towards the break between the sand-hills.

CHAPTER XXV.

BILL TO BE ABANDONED

They proceeded with caution, – Colin even more than his companions. The young Englishman was not so distrustful of the "natives," whoever they might be, as the son of Scotia; and as for O'Connor, he still persisted in the belief that there would be little, if any, danger in meeting with men, and, in his arguments, still continued to urge seeking such an encounter as the best course they could pursue.

"Besides," said Terence, "Coly says he hears the voices of women and children. Sure no human creature that's got a woman and child in his company would be such a cruel brute as you make out this desert Ethiopian to be? Sailors' stories, to gratify the melodramatic ears of Moll and Poll and Sue! Bah! if there be an encampment, let's go straight into it, and demand hospitality of them. Sure they must be Arabs; and sure you've heard enough of Arab hospitality?"

"More than's true, Terry," rejoined the young Englishman. "More than's true, I fear."

"You may well say that," said Colin, confirmingly. "From what I've heard and read, – ay, and from something I've seen while up the Mediterranean, – a more beggarly hospitality than that called Arab don't exist on the face of the earth. It's all well enough, so long as you are one of themselves, and, like them, a believer in their pretended prophet. Beyond that, an Arab has got no more hospitality than a hyena. You're both fond of talking about skin-flint Scotchmen."

"True," interrupted Terence, who, even in that serious situation, could not resist such a fine opportunity for displaying his Irish humor. "I never think of a Scotchman without thinking of his skin. 'God bless the gude Duke of Argyle!'"

"Shame, Terence!" interrupted Harry Blount; "our situation is too serious for jesting."

"He – all of us – may find it so before long," continued Colin, preserving his temper unruffled. "If that yelling crowd – that I can now hear plainer than ever – should come upon us, we'll have something else to think of than jokes about 'gude Duke o' Argyle.' Hush! Do you hear that? Does it convince you that men and women are near? There are scores of both kinds."

Colin had come to a stop, the others imitating his example. They were now more distant from the breakers, – whose roar was somewhat deadened by the intervention of a sand-spur. In consequence, the other sounds were heard more distinctly. They could no longer be mistaken, – even by the incredulous O'Connor.

There were voices of men, women, and children, – cries and calls of quadrupeds, – each according to its own kind, all mingled together in what might have been taken for some nocturnal saturnalia of the Desert.

The crisis was that in which Sailor Bill had become a subject of dispute between the two sheiks, – in which not only their respective followers of the biped kind appeared to take part, but also every quadruped in the camp, – dogs and dromedaries, horses, goats, and sheep, – as if each had an interest in the ownership of the old man-o'-war's-man.

The grotesque chorus was succeeded by an interval of silence, uninterrupted and profound. This was while the two sheiks were playing their game of "helga," – the "chequers" of the Saära, with Sailor Bill as their stake.

During this tranquil interlude, the three midshipmen had advanced through the rock-strewn ravine, had crept cautiously inside the ridges that encircled the camp, and concealed by the sparse bushes of mimosa, and favored by the light of a full moon, had approached near enough to take note of what was passing among the tents.

What they saw there, and then, was confirmatory of the theory of the young Scotchman; and convinced not only Harry Blount, but Terence O'Connor, that the stories of Arab hospitality were not only untrue, but diametrically opposed to the truth.

There was old Bill before their faces, stripped to the shirt, – to the "buff," – surrounded by a circle of short, squat women, dark-skinned, with black hair, and eyes sparkling in the moonlight, who were torturing him with tongue and touch, – who pinched and spat upon him, – who looked altogether like a band of infernal Furies collected around some innocent victim that had fallen among them, and giving full play to their fiendish instincts!

Although they were witnesses to the subsequent rescue of Bill by the black sheik, – and the momentary release of the old sailor from his tormentors, – it did not increase their confidence in the crew who occupied the encampment.

From the way in which the old salt appeared to be treated, they could tell that he was regarded by the hosts into whose hands he had fallen, not as a guest, but simply as a "piece of goods," – just like any other waif of the wreck that had been washed on that inhospitable shore.

In whispers the three mids made known their thoughts to one another. Harry Blount no longer doubted the truth of Colin's statements; and O'Connor had become equally converted from his incredulity. The conduct of the women towards the unfortunate castaway – which all three witnessed – told like the tongue of a trumpet. It was cruel beyond question. What, when exercised, must be that of their men?

To think of leaving their old comrade in such keeping was not a pleasant reflection. It was like their abandoning him upon the sand-spit, – to the threatening engulfment of the tide. Even worse: for the angry breakers seemed less spiteful than the hags who surrounded him in the Arab camp.

Still, what could the boys do? Three midshipmen, – armed only with their tiny dirks, – what chance would they have among so many? There were scores of these sinewy sons of the Desert, – without counting the shrewish women, – each armed with gun and scimitar, any one of whom ought to have been more than a match for a "mid." It would have been sheer folly to have attempted a rescue. Despair only could have sanctioned such a course.

In a whispered consultation it was determined otherwise. The old sailor must be abandoned to his fate, just as he had been left upon the sand-spit. His youthful companions could only breathe a prayer in his behalf, and express a hope that, as upon the latter occasion, some providential chance should turn up in his favor, and he might again be permitted to rejoin them.

After communicating this hope to one another, all three turned their faces shoreward, determined to put as much space between themselves and the Arab encampment as night and circumstances would permit.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A CAUTIOUS RETREAT

The ravine, up which the maherry had carried the old man-o'-war's-man, ran perpendicularly to the trending of the seashore, and almost in a direct line from the beach to the valley, in which was the Arab encampment. It could not, however, be said to debouch into this valley. Across its mouth the sand-drift had formed a barrier, like a huge "snow-wreath," uniting the two parallel ridges that formed the sides of the ravine itself. This "mouth-piece" was not so high as either of the flanking ridges; though it was nearly a hundred feet above the level of the beach on one side, and the valley on the other. Its crest, viewed en profile, exhibited a saddle-shaped curve, the concavity turned upward.

Through the centre of this saddle of sand, and transversely, the camel had carried Bill; and over the same track the three midshipmen had gone in search of him.

They had seen the Arab tents from the summit of the "pass"; and had it been daylight, need have gone no nearer to note what was being there done. Even by the moonlight, they had been able to make out the forms of the horses, camels, men, and women; but not with sufficient distinctness to satisfy them as to what was going on.

For this reason had they descended into the valley, – creeping cautiously down the slope of the sand-wreath, and with equal caution advancing from boulder to bush, and bush to boulder.

On taking the back track to regain the beach, they still observed caution, – though perhaps not to such a degree as when approaching the camp. Their desire to put space between themselves and the barbarous denizens of the Desert, – of whose barbarity they had now obtained both ocular and auricular proof, – had very naturally deprived them of that prudent coolness which the occasion required. For all that, they did not retreat with reckless rashness; and all three arrived at the bottom of the sloping sand-ridge, without having any reason to think they had been observed.

But the most perilous point was yet to be passed. Against the face of the acclivity, there was not much danger of their being seen. The moon was shining on the other side. That which they had to ascend was in shadow, – dark enough to obscure the outlines of their bodies to an eye looking in that direction, from such a distance as the camp. It was not while toiling up the slope that they dreaded detection, but at the moment when they must cross the saddle-shaped summit of the pass. Then, the moon being low down in the sky, directly in front of their faces, while the camp, still lower, was right behind their backs, it was not difficult to tell that their bodies would be exactly aligned between the luminary of night and the sparkling eyes of the Arabs, and that their figures would be exhibited in conspicuous outline.

It had been much the same way on their entrance to the oasis; but then they were not so well posted up in the peril of their position. They now wondered at their not having been observed while advancing; but that could be rationally accounted for, on the supposition that the Bedouins had been, at the time, too busy over old Bill to take heed of anything beyond the limits of their encampment.

It was different now. There was quiet in the camp, though both male and female figures could be seen stirring among the tents. The saturnalia that succeeded the castaway had come to a close. A comparative peacefulness reigned throughout the valley; but in this very tranquillity lay the danger which our adventurers dreaded.

With nothing else to attract their attention, the occupants of the encampments would be turning their eyes in every direction. If any of them should look westward at a given moment, – that is, while the three mids should be "in the saddle," – the latter could not fail to be discovered.

What was to be done? There was no other way leading forth from the valley. It was on all sides encircled by steep ridges of sand, – not so steep as to hinder them from being scaled; but on every side, except that on which they had entered, and by which they were about to make their exit, the moon was shining in resplendent brilliance. A cat could not have crawled up anywhere, without being seen from the tents, – even had she been of the hue of the sand itself.

A hurried consultation, held between the trio of adventurers, convinced them that there was nothing to be gained by turning back, – nothing by going to the right or the left. There was no other way – no help for it – but to scale the ridge in front, and "cut" as quickly as possible across the hollow of the "saddle."

There was one other way; or at least a deviation from the course which had thus recommended itself. It was to wait for the going down of the moon, before they should attempt the "crossing." This prudent project originated in the brain of the young Scotchman; and it might have been well if his companions had adopted the idea. But they would not. What they had seen of Saäran civilization had inspired them with a keen disgust for it; and they were only too eager to escape from its proximity. The punishment inflicted upon poor Bill had made a painful impression upon them; and they had no desire to become the victims of a similar chastisement.

Colin did not urge his counsels. He had been as much impressed by what he had seen as his companions, and was quite as desirous as they to give the Bedouins a "wide berth." Withdrawing his opposition, therefore, he acceded to the original design; and, without further ado, all three commenced crawling up the slope.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A QUEER QUADRUPED

Half way up, they halted, though not to take breath. Strong-limbed, long-winded lads like them – who could have "swarmed" in two minutes to the main truck of a man-o'-war – needed no such indulgence as that. Instead of one hundred feet of sloping sand, any one of them could have scaled Snowdon without stopping to look back.

Their halt had been made from a different motive. It was sudden and simultaneous, – all three having stopped at the same time, and without any previous interchange of speech. The same cause had brought them to that abrupt cessation in their climbing; and as they stood side by side, aligned upon one another, the eyes of all three were turned on the same object.

It was an animal, – a quadruped. It could not be anything else if belonging to a sublunary world; and to this it appeared to belong. A strange creature notwithstanding; and one which none of the three remembered to have met before. The remembrance of something like it flitted across their brains, seen upon the shelves of a museum; but not enough of resemblance to give a clue for its identification.

The quadruped in question was not bigger than a "San Bernard," a "Newfoundland," or a mastiff: but seen as it was, it loomed larger than any of the three. Like these creatures, it was canine in shape – lupine we should rather say – but of an exceedingly grotesque and ungainly figure. A huge square head seemed set without neck upon its shoulders; while its fore limbs – out of all proportion longer than the hind ones – gave to the spinal column a sharp downward slant towards the tail. The latter appendage, short and "bunchy," ended abruptly, as if either cut or "driven in," – adding to the uncouth appearance of the animal. A stiff hedge of hard bristles upon the back continued its chevaux de frise along the short, thick neck, till it ended between two erect tufted ears. Such was the shape of the beast that had suddenly presented itself to the eyes of our adventurers.

They had a good opportunity of observing its outlines. It was on the ridge towards the crest of which they were advancing. The moon was shining beyond. Every turn of its head or body – every motion made by its limbs – was conspicuously revealed against the luminous background of the sky.

It was neither standing, nor at rest in any way. Head, limbs, and body were all in motion, – constantly changing, not only their relative attitudes to one another, but their absolute situation in regard to surrounding objects.

And yet the change was anything but arbitrary. The relative movements made by the members of the animal's body, as well as the absolute alterations of position, were all in obedience to strictly natural laws, – all repetitions of the same manoeuvre, worked with a monotony that seemed mechanical.

The creature was pacing to and fro, like a well-trained sentry, – its "round" being the curved crest of the sand-ridge, from which it did not deviate to the licence of an inch. Backward and forward did it traverse the saddle in a longitudinal direction, – now poised upon the pommel, – now sinking downward into the seat, and then rising to the level of the coup, – now turning in the opposite direction, and retracing in long, uncouth strides, the path over which it appeared to have been passing since the earliest hour of its existence!

Independent of the surprise which the presence of this animal had created, there was something in its aspect calculated to cause terror. Perhaps, had the mids known what kind of creature it was, or been in any way apprized of its real character, they would have paid less regard to its presence. Certainly not so much as they did: for, instead of advancing upon it, and making their way over the crest of the ridge, they stopped in their track, and held a whispered consultation as to what they should do.