Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/703

. 12, 1863.] probably, six inches above the ground for miles around me, save, perhaps, the carcase of some unlucky camel festering in the hot sun! Not a sign to furnish me with a clue to the west. Had it not been so close to mid-day, my own figure and the sandy plain might have afforded a capital impromptu sun-dial; but the orb was too much in the zenith, and I made but a useless gnomon. Suddenly the horse neighs, nearly jerking me out of my seat, and scaring me fearfully in the dread silence. Then he turns his head round towards me, and the large full eyes seem to interrogate me uneasily. Fear is catching, and I am fast becoming uneasy also, if not positively alarmed. What if we are really lost in this pathless waste of sand and scrub? Could I but tell how to shape a course we might soon reach one or other of the low ranges of sand-hills which skirt the Suez desert. But should we fail to hit the rising ground, our strength might be exhausted, and escape still more uncertain. Oh! for one breath of air! A moistened finger, when held aloft, sometimes gives a clue, by its cool side, to the direction of the wind; but my throat and lips are parched, and I begin to experience the sensation of extreme thirst. There are no pebbles, but I have bullets in the stock of my carbine, and one of them gives some relief, and, what is still better, helps me to an idea. What if I draw the charge and flash off a pinch of powder? The smoke must go somewhere, and the reverse of its course ought to be northerly if my friends on the Red Sea are making any “way.” The Arab starts, but does not break away, and the little white cloud ascends for a second, and then meeting an upper current is borne slowly away from us. I determine to follow the opposite direction, feeling sure that if we could steer northward we must ere long reach the hills on which were still standing the old deserted stations of the telegraph formerly in use between Cairo and Suez. So I concentrated into one short cheering speech all that remained to me of confidence and hope, and patting the glossy head which had sought my own with instinctive desire of companionship, I once more got into the saddle, and started off at a brisk trot.

We speedily cleared the grass, and in a short time I saw rising ground far ahead of us. But a long and trying interval elapsed before I made out either of the old wooden towers; not, indeed, until we were nearly close upon one, for sight had been sorely taxed in the glare and my own anxiety. The rickety affair was soon gained, and tying the Arab to one of its sun-cracked timbers, in a minute I had reached the top, and was eagerly peering round for No. 5 Station, which I hoped to find very near it. There it was, sure enough, and just below me as it were, but with its mud walls and roof so assimilated in colour to the surrounding sand that it took me some time to recognise it. To mount the now willing horse and gain the station was the work of a few minutes. Then I roused the sleepy old bawaub or doorkeeper, and, clutching his goolah, drained from it the most welcome draught that I ever remember to have tasted. Never did juice of princely grape or humble “malt” confer such unalloyed satisfaction as that pint of tepid, highly-flavoured Nile-water! Then the bonnie Arab and I dined together off horse-beans and tank-water, and, exhausted by the combined effects of heat, fatigue, and excitement, laid ourselves down side by side on the same bed of straw, to sleep.

But not for long. My own safety confirmed, I remembered Selim and my carpet-bag. Had the old bawaub seen aught of them? Not he. Then perhaps he thought it possible that the dromedary might have bolted with Selim, and Selim with the bag? The old fellow thought it extremely likely, and evidently wondered at my simplicity in presupposing any other contingency. Had the overland travellers passed Suez-ward? They had not. Under these circumstances, and becoming really uneasy about my valuables, I despatched the old man, whose eyes—if more ancient—could read long distances better than mine, to reconnoitre from the summit of the telegraph, in the vague hope of descrying the absentees. A nine-piastre piece put vigour into his wasted legs, and as he hobbled off I lay down to sleep once more.

Sleep, however, came not; for the carpet-bag I have before-mentioned, was the depository of nearly all my worldly possessions, and contained not only a round sum in English gold, but certain papers of value. Hence my anxiety and self-reproach that I should so readily have entrusted it to a stranger. The only ground for reassurance lay in the hope that I might be known to the man as being connected with Waghorn & Co., in which case my property would be respected; so I took a long pull at the bawaub’s cocoanut-pipe, and was busily cogitating amidst its potent fumes, when I was startled by a loud knock at the great wooden door of the stable, of which I had put up the bar at the old man’s departure. There were no key-holes to peep through, but as a knock at a desert-door is comparatively of rare occurrence, I may be pardoned if I confess that I hesitated to open it until I had taken a good look through the aperture at the bottom. The sight I thus witnessed was by no means reassuring, for I counted at a rough estimate as many as two score of hoofs, revealing the presence of something like a dozen mounted Bedaweens. As these wanderers of the desert—albeit, generally honest—do not always respect the law of meum and tuum, I loosened the bolt, and, making a virtue of necessity, met my surprised guests with a finished salaam, backed with my entire repertory of courteous Arab phrases. As the visit of my new friends was rather to Waghorn’s beans and tanks than to the old bawaub, I deemed it politic thus to receive them, and by offering such refreshment as the stable afforded, ingratiate myself with these often very rough customers. My procedure was eminently successful. We drank healths and long shadows to each other in the dirty water, and passed the fragrant “gibel” from one to the other whilst the horses crunched the beans. In fact, we soon established a confidence so mutual that I was induced to impart to them my anxiety about Selim. Then I had to give full particulars as to the fellàh’s dress, and the colour of his turban and dromedary, with the direction he might be supposed to be taking, &c. And, as a last resource, I ventured on a slight allusion to the bag, and dwelt upon the fact of