Burning Sands

Stripped of its pious and flowery decorations, the proposition put forward by the Sheikh was of the simplest character. He proposed that the Englishman should act as judge and mediator between the two families, and should hold a court at which the whole trouble should be ventilated; and so insistent was he that Daniel was obliged to acquiesce.

“Praise be to God!” exclaimed the old man, when at length he had received the definite answer he desired; and with many pious ejaculations of gratitude he and his friends turned to enter the mosque, while Daniel passed out through the gateway into the rustling palm-grove beyond.

His way led him for four or five hundred yards through the shade of the thickly growing trees – a dusty shade, pierced by innumerable little shafts of sunlight; but presently he came out once more under the dazzling sky, and, bearing off to the left, mounted a rugged path which ascended the sloping side of a sandy hill, till, reaching the summit, it passed over level ground towards his house which stood upon a spur of rock overlooking the Oasis.

Two years ago, when he had come to reside at El Hamrân to make, for the Institute which had commissioned him, a study of the manners and customs of the Bedouin, he had here found the abandoned ruins of an ancient Coptic monastery, dating from the days when Christianity was still the religion of the Egyptians; and he had established himself in their shelter, and later had rebuilt some of the rooms, so that now his place of abode had come to be a much-loved desert home, where month after month was passed in quiet study, and the days slipped by in placid contentment.

From the windows of his rooms he could look down over the whole extent of the dreamy little Oasis, with its sun-baked palm-groves, some three miles in length and half a mile in breadth, its houses and tents, its dozen wells, its few acres of tilled ground, and its miniature mosque. All these lay in a kind of basin, surrounded by the cliffs and low hills of the vast desert; and from his vantage-point he could look over the swaying green sea of the massed palm-tops to the barren plateau around about, and on a clear day he could just discern, far away to the east, the first of the ranges of the hills which rose between his isolated home and the far-off valley of the Nile.

At the ruined gateway of his dwelling he was met by his three yellow dogs who had been with him since they were puppies, and were fairly well-mannered considering their low pariah breed; and while he was playing with them, his servant, Hussein, came out to tell him that his luncheon was served. Therewith he crossed the courtyard of the old monastery, with its shattered row of cells to right and left, and its still lofty walls of unbaked bricks, and entered the large refectory which he had caused to be roofed over with palm-beams and dried cornstalks spread in a loose thatch, and which now served as a kind of entrance hall to his apartments. Upon its plastered walls some of the ancient frescoes were still visible; and here and there a Coptic inscription in dim red paint recorded the names of pious sentiments of long forgotten monks; while over the ruined doorway there was an indistinct figure of St. Michael, the patron saint of the place, whose pale eyes and smudged lips seemed to look down on him with faded and vacant mirth.

A rebuilt doorway in the right-hand wall led into his whitewashed living room, at the northeast end of which two large casements framed the splendid view over the Oasis and the desert.

In a corner of the room, on a small table, a simple but not uninviting meal was spread upon a spotless tablecloth. Fresh poultry and eggs were always plentiful in the Oasis; and on the store-room shelves there was a large and varied supply of preserved foods, and even delicacies, which had been brought over some months ago in a train of camels from Cairo.

Daniel sat down to his meal with good appetite; and as he munched his food in silence his gaze travelled round the airy room and brought back to his heart a glow of pleasant contentment. After all, what could the outside world give him in exchange for the peace and comfort of his desert home? Here he had the intellectual companionship of his books and his work, the simple friendship of courteous, good-hearted men, who had come to regard him as a kind of teacher, and the devotion of three well-meaning, if somewhat degenerate, yellow dogs. Here the brilliant sun, and the splendid north wind, which blew continuously from the distant Mediterranean across the great intervening spaces of clean desert, brought vigour and health to his body and a kind of laughing enthusiasm to his brain. Here he could amuse himself by long rambling walks in the freedom of the empty desert, or, with his gun, could make exciting expeditions in search of gazelle. Here, on the flat roof at the top of one of the ancient towers of the monastery, he slept each night under the blazing stars, lying in his comfortable camp-bed, breathing the purest air in all the world, and gazing up into the vault of the heavens, till the calm sleep of a child descended upon him. And here from golden sunrise to golden sunset the days slipped by, each brought to perfection by that greatest of all human blessings, an untroubled mind.

He rose from the table, and, lighting his pipe, sank luxuriously into a deck-chair, a book of the poems of Hafiz in his hand, a cup of Turkish coffee by his side, his feet resting crossed upon a wooden stool, and the cry of the hawks and the drone of the bees making music in his ears.

The barking of the dogs outside, followed by a knock at the door, aroused him; and his servant entered the room. “Sir,” he said, “a soldier of the Frontier Patrol has ridden in from El Homra, bringing a letter for your Excellency.”

Daniel threw down his book, and, making a broad gesture with his hands, looked up at the smiling Hussein with a frowning pretence of anger.

“Curses upon his father!” he thundered. “Will his confounded masters never leave me in peace? Bring him in to me.”

A few moments later a smart, khaki-clad negro was shown into the room, who saluted in military fashion, and produced a sealed envelope from the breast pocket of his tunic.

Daniel saw at a glance that the letter was from Lord Blair, as he had expected. He opened it with misgiving, and read it through without any apparent change of expression, though it was noticeable that the pipe in his mouth was allowed to go out. Then he slowly folded the sheets, and, thrusting them into his pocket, rose from his chair.

“I cannot give you my answer until tomorrow morning,” he said to the messenger. “Go now and look after your camel, while Hussein prepares food for you; and in the morning you may carry back my reply.”

As soon as he was alone once more, he pulled the letter from his pocket, and spreading it out upon the window-sill, stood bending over it, with wrinkled brows and brooding eyes, his elbows resting upon the sill and his head in his hands.

MY DEAR DANIEL,

You will be surprised to hear from me again so soon, and you will, I dare say, think me something of a nuisance. I am sorry to say that a sad calamity has befallen us. Poor young Rupert Helsingham was accidentally drowned in the Nile not many days after you returned to the desert; and we have all been very much cut up, especially my daughter, Muriel, in whose presence the tragedy occurred. You will recollect that Helsingham held the position here of Oriental Secretary; and it now falls to me to fill the vacancy. I have therefore decided greatly to extend the functions of the post and to offer it to you; and I shall esteem myself fortunate if you decide to accept it. As I am very anxious to increase by every means the respect in which the holder of the position should be held by the native population, I would propose to recommend you to His Majesty’s Government for early elevation to Knighthood, an honour which your scholarly attainments and your services to the Residency fully deserve. I trust, my dear Daniel, that you will give me the reply that I desire; and I am sure you will know what a personal pleasure it will be both to me and to my daughter to have you at the Residency.

Yours very sincerely,

BLAIR.

After reading through the letter two or three times, he stood for some minutes staring before him with unseeing eyes. His first impulse had been to reject the invitation on the instant, for he detested officialdom and all its ways; and the thought of connecting himself with the social life of the Residency was horrifying. But now, against his inclinations, he obliged himself to consider the proposition with an open mind.

To some extent it might be said that his work in the Oasis was finished: his notebooks contained an enormous mass of information. Yet he was loth to consider that his task was accomplished. El Hamrân and its inhabitants, and especially the saintly and benevolent Sheikh Ali, had become very dear to him; and the detachment from the world made an appeal to his nature which was very strong. His occasional journeys to Cairo were always disturbing to the peace of his mind; and how then could he expect to be happy in close daily contact with all that produced unrest?

There was this girl Muriel Blair, who, against his reason, had made some sort of impression upon him which was hard to eradicate. He had tried his best, even to the point of rudeness, to ignore her; and yet he had found himself interested in her welfare, and, on his return journey to the Oasis, he had given more thought to her than he supposed she deserved. And now he had to confess that Lord Blair’s reference to her in his letter had aroused the response it was intended to arouse.

During the whole afternoon he turned the matter over in his mind, and at sunset he went out for a rambling walk into the desert behind his house; nor did he return until his mind was made up.

As he entered his gateway in the gathering darkness, he was met by the Sheikh, who had come to discuss further the subject which he had opened that morning.

Daniel led him into his lamp-lit sitting-room, and bade him be seated; but when the old man began to discuss the merits of his case and those of his enemy, his host held up his hand.

“I would first ask your advice upon my own affairs,” he said. “My heart is sad tonight, my father.”

“Let me share your sorrow,” the Sheikh replied, with simple sincerity.

“My father,” said Daniel, “you have told me that long years ago you resided for some years in Cairo and other great cities.”

The Sheikh nodded his head. “It is so,” he replied.

“Were you happy there?”

“My son, I was young.”

“I mean,” said Daniel, “do you believe that happiness is to be found in cities?”

The old man raised his hand and moved it from side to side. “No,” he answered, “not happiness – only pleasure. Why do you ask?”

“Because I received a letter today…”

“I saw the messenger,” said the Sheikh.

“I have been offered a position of some importance in Cairo. My friends want me to leave El Hamrân, and to live in Egypt.”

Sheikh Ali uttered an exclamation of distress. “What is your reply?” he asked.

“Advise me, my father,” Daniel answered.

The Sheikh leant forward and silently examined his red leather shoes. For some moments no word was spoken. At length he looked up, and his hand stroked his white beard. “What use is it for me to advise you?” he said. “Your decision is already made. You will leave us; but it is not the glory of office which attracts you, nor yet the call of your duty which bids you depart.”

“What then is it?” Daniel asked.

“My friend,” he answered, after a pause, “no son of Adam, having strength and vitality such as yours, and enjoying the springtime of life, can remain a dervish, an ascetic. It is true that you care little for the world, that you do not desire fine clothes, nor wealth, nor possessions. Yet you are man, and man looks for his mate. You go to choose for yourself a wife.”

Daniel smiled. “You are mistaken,” he answered. “I shall not marry for some years to come.”

The Sheikh shook his head. “No man knows the secrets of his own heart,” he replied, “yet his friend may read them like a book written in a fair hand. I say again, you go to choose for yourself a wife.”

The ready denial was checked upon Daniel’s lips. For a moment he paused, and it seemed to him that a sidelight had been flashed upon the workings of his brain: then he dismissed the thought as being something very nearly fantastic.

“No,” he said, “I am going because I believe it to be my duty. My country needs me.”

The Sheikh made a gesture which seemed to indicate the uselessness of argument. “It is not good for a man to live alone,” he answered, with a sigh. “Some day, perhaps, you will return to us, bringing with you your wife.”

Daniel smiled again, but there was sadness in his face. “El Hamrân is my wife,” he said. “When I go, my heart will remain here.”

“When will your Excellency leave?” the Sheikh asked, becoming suddenly a man of action.

“In a few days” the other answered; “as soon as this matter of feud is set to rights.” And therewith he turned the conversation into that channel.

In the night as he lay upon his bed upon the tower-top, gazing up into the immensity of the heavens, he repeated to himself, almost with derision, the words of the Sheikh: “You go to choose for yourself a wife.” It was absurd, and yet somehow the thought made a way for itself amongst the crowded places of his mind. To choose for himself a wife…!

“Good Lord!” he muttered; “what a horrible idea!”

CHAPTER XII – THE HELPMATE

Daniel was drying himself after his bath early next morning when Hussein came to tell him that the soldier of the Frontier Patrol craved permission to ask whether the reply was ready, as he was anxious to start back as early as possible, so as not to delay the messenger who wished to leave for Cairo at noon.

He therefore fastened a towel around his waist, and, striding into the adjoining room, scribbled his answer on a half-sheet of paper.

“Excuse scrawl,” he wrote, “but am having my bath, and the messenger, whom I’ve kept all night, can’t wait any longer. All right, I’ll turn up within a week or so and take on the job you so flatteringly offer. No knighthood, please. D. L.”

He thrust the sheet into an envelope, and with a broad smile addressed it: “The Rt. Hon. The Earl Blair of Hartlestone, G.C.B., G.C.M.G., etc.; His Britannic Majesty’s High Commissioner and Minister Plenipotentiary.” He felt that, since he was now to be a respectable member of society, he ought to accustom himself at once to the world’s accepted ways, even though they seemed to him to belong to the realm of comic opera. High-sounding titles always made him laugh. He could not explain it: it was just a clear sense of actuality, a looking at things as they are and not as ceremony presents them.

Now that his mind was made up, and Lord Blair’s invitation accepted, he felt no longer troubled; and, his reply having been dispatched, he set about packing his belongings and rounding off his affairs with the greatest equanimity.

To his great regret, however, he failed to bring the matter of the feud to a successful conclusion. The chief members of the family opposed to Sheikh Ali would not be reconciled; and all that Daniel’s eloquence and persuasion could accomplish was an agreement to maintain the status quo during the Sheikh’s lifetime. But as the old man was already bending under the weight of years, and as his hopes were concentrated upon the succession of his son, Ibrahîm, this compromise was not very satisfactory.

Daniel’s departure was the cause of much regret in the Oasis, for he had come to be regarded by the inhabitants as a loyal and helpful friend, one who was full of wisdom and benevolence, and who could doctor both their souls and their bodies. But in the case of Sheikh Ali the parting was the occasion of deep sorrow; and the old man endeavoured on these last days to pour into his ears all the good advice he could command.

“This is my parting gift,” said Daniel to him, when at length the hour of setting out had arrived. “I give you my promise that when you go to rest with your fathers, I will support with all my might the candidature of your son, Ibrahîm, for the office of Sheikh.”

The old man spread his arms wide. “God be praised!” he cried. “Now am I at peace, my dear.”

A crowd of natives followed his caravan for some distance, the men firing their guns in the air and shouting words of encouragement and blessing to him; and when at last the desert hills had swallowed him, he felt that he had set behind him a phase of his life the happiness of which he could never hope to enjoy again.

The journey was accomplished at a moderate speed, and on the fifth morning, soon after sunrise, they sighted the Pyramids in the distance ahead of them, backed by the green belt of the Nile valley. The early sun now struck full in their eyes; and Daniel, turning down the brim of his hat, did not often look far in advance of his camel’s nose until he was within some two miles of the Pyramids.

As he jogged along at the head of his caravan, his three yellow dogs trotting after him, his thoughts began to be coloured by a gentle excitement; and, for the first time, the future seemed to him to hold a variety of interesting possibilities.

After all, he said to himself, a man should rise above his surroundings; and indeed his philosophy would be proved a mere pretence if his happiness were dependent upon circumstances. Why should he dread the restlessness of Cairene life? If there were to be unease it would arise from within, not from without; and the citadel of his soul, of his individuality, would hardly be a fortress worth holding if the clamour of the world outside should be able to arouse an answering and traitorous disturbance within. Even in Cairo he would remain master of himself: one can be free anywhere.

“One can be free anywhere” … Why, those were the words used by Muriel Blair when he had first met her; and he had laughed at them. Well, certainly she had not appeared to be very free as she sat there in the moonlight, with the diamonds sparkling around her throat. She did not know what freedom was: she was a product of the social conventions. He wondered whether she had taken his advice and had endeavoured to break loose from them.

He was aroused from his reverie by the sound of horses’ hoofs, and, looking up, he saw a man and two women approaching him at a fast trot. Behind them were the Pyramids, and in the far distance the minarets and domes of the great city rose into the splendour of the sunlight from above the opalescent mist of the morning, backed by the shadows of the eastern hills. The air now in the first days of December was cool and sharp; and there was a sparkle in the sunshine which only this time of day enjoys.

The picture was exquisite, and for a moment his eyes rested upon it entranced. Then he turned his attention to the three figures coming towards him, and, with sudden excitement, he recognized the foremost of the three as Lady Muriel.

She reined in her horse and waved her hand. “I guessed it was you,” she cried.

Without waiting for his camel to kneel, Daniel slid from the high saddle and dropped to the ground.

“Why, what are you doing out here at this time of day?” he asked her, as, leading his camel behind him, he hastened to her side and grasped her hand. “I’m mighty glad to see you.”

She turned to her companions, Mr. and Mrs. Benifett Bindane, and introduced them to Daniel. She had been spending the night at Mena House Hotel, she explained, where the Bindanes were staying, and the fresh morning air having aroused her before sunrise, she had had an early breakfast and had come out for a canter over the desert.

“I spotted you a long way off,” she said. “I knew you by your hat, if it is a hat.” Somehow she did not feel so shy of him as at their meeting at the Residency.

“I guess I’m going to shock you all in Cairo with that hat,” he laughed. “It’s an old friend, and old friends are best.”

“Am I an old friend?” she asked.

“Pretty old,” he answered. “I’ve known you for four years, you must remember.”

She told him that her father was not expecting his arrival for some days, and that she feared no room had yet been prepared for him.

“But I’m not going to stay in the house,” he answered quickly. “You didn’t think I’d come and live in the town, did you?”

Muriel felt somewhat relieved. Even if the feelings of ease in his society which at the moment she was experiencing were to last, she had no particular wish to have him always about the house, nor present at every meal.

“Well, where are you going to live?” she asked.

He glanced around him. They were standing upon a level area of hard sand, in the shadow of a spur of rock which formed the head of a low ridge. The broken surface of the desert was spread out to their gaze to north, east and west; but the rocks shut off the view towards the south. The caravan had strayed considerably from the beaten track; and the sand hereabouts was smooth and unmarked, except by their own footprints and by those of the desert larks which were now singing high overhead.

“Where am I going to live?” he repeated, suddenly coming to a decision, in his impulsive way. “Why right here where we stand. It shall be my home: just where I shook hands with you.”

Muriel glanced at him, wondering whether his words contained any deep significance; but, by his smiling face, she judged that they did not.

He looked about him with interest. “It couldn’t be bettered,” he exclaimed. “It’s a good mile-and-a-half back from the Pyramids, and well out of the way of people. I’ll ride in to Mena House on my camel every morning, and take the tram into Cairo from there.”

Mr. Bindane stared at him open-mouthed.

“Rather far away, isn’t it?” he commented. “A bit lonely at nights.”

Daniel laughed. “I suppose there’s something wrong with me,” he answered. “I’m always happiest alone.”

Kate Bindane picked up her reins. “I think that’s the bird, Benifett, my love,” she remarked, “in fact the screeching peacock.”

Her husband looked blankly at her.

“‘The bird’,” Kate explained; “a theatrical term indicating peremptory dismissal.”

By this time the train of camels was within fifty yards of them; and Daniel called out to his men to halt. His servant Hussein came forward, and took charge of his camel.

“I’ll pitch my camp at once,” he said to Muriel. “Then I can go and announce myself to your father this afternoon.”

Acting on an impulse, a desire to establish friendly relations at the outset, Muriel dismounted from her horse. “Do let me stay and help you,” she suggested.

“Sure,” said Daniel. He called to one of his men to hold her horse.

Muriel turned and explained the situation to her friend Kate.

“The man’s practically going to live with us,” she whispered: “I’d better make friends.”

“Oh, rot!” said Kate. “He’s a picturesque lunatic, and you’re a bit mad yourself, and it’s a lovely day, and you’ve got nothing to do, and you know you look a dream in that riding kit.” She turned to her husband. “Come along, Benifett; her ladyship’s going to spend the day with the gent from the Wild West.”

Muriel laughed. “I’ll ride back to the hotel soon,” she said.

“No hurry, old sport,” replied Kate; and, after a few polite remarks to Daniel, she and her pliant husband trotted away.

Muriel at once began to survey the surroundings. She clambered up the sand drift to the top of the spur of rock, and there, in the fresh morning breeze, she stood with her hand shading her eyes, gazing over the undulating spaces of the desert. She felt like a child beginning a holiday at the seaside and investigating the possibilities of the sands.

The brisk morning air, the brilliant sunshine, the blue sky in which a few little puffs of white cloud were floating, the golden desert with its patches of strongly contrasted shadow, the distant green of the Nile valley, the far-away minarets of the city, the singing of the larks, the excited barkings of the three dogs, and the shouts of the camel-men: these sights and sounds seemed to be full of vivid life.

The shadow of her recent sorrow was quite removed from her mind; and though her furious attempts at gaiety of late had been sadly unsuccessful, this morning she felt that the world still contained wonderful possibilities of adventure, and it must be admitted that her fidelity to the memory of Rupert Helsingham was already indeterminate.