a horse than from a mule, would he not speak with still more from a camel?
Perhaps--but I felt that I could do more, somehow, in case of trouble, if I could dash at assailants with sword and revolver. I am a cavalry man and the arme blanche is my weapon. Cold steel and cut and thrust, for me, if I had to go down fighting. You can't charge and use your sword on a camel, so I compromised on the mule--but how I longed for my Arab charger and a few of my Spahis behind me! It would be a fight then, instead of a murder. . . .
It was a weird and not unimpressive scene. That sinister fort, silver and black; the frozen waves of the ocean of sand, an illimitable silver sea; the oasis a big, dark island upon it; the men, statues, inscrutable and still.
What would they do? Would my next words be my last? Would a double line of rifles rise and level themselves at my breast, or would that escouade, upon whom everything depended, move off like a machine and enter the fort?
As I faced the men, I was acutely interested, and yet felt like a spectator, impersonal and unafraid. I was about to witness a thrilling drama, depicting the fate of one Henri de Beaujolais, quite probably his death. I hoped he would play a worthy part on this moonlit stage. I hoped that, even more than I hoped to see him survive the play. I was calm. I was detached. . . ."
George Lawrence sighed and struck a match.
"I cast one more look at the glorious moon and took a deep breath. If this was my last order on parade, it should be worthily given, in a voice deep, clear, and firm. Above all firm. And as my mouth opened, and my lower jaw moved in the act of speech--I believe it dropped, George, and my mouth remained open.
For, from that enigmatical, brooding, fatal fort--there shot up a tongue of flame!
'Mon Dieu! Regardez!' cried the Sergeant-Major, and pointed. I believe every head turned, and in the perfect silence I heard him whisper, 'Spirits, ghosts, devils!'
That brought me to myself sharply. 'Yes, imbecile!' I said. 'They carry matches and indulge in arson! Quite noted incendiaries! Where is Rastignac?'
I asked that because it was perfectly obvious that someone was in the fort and had set fire to something highly inflammable. I had been in the place an hour or two before. There was certainly no sign of fire then, and this was a sudden rush of flame.
As I watched, another column of smoke and fire burst forth in a different place.
'He is tied up back there, mon Commandant,' replied Dufour.
'The forbidden crapaudine?' I asked.
'I told Corporal Brille to tie him to a tree,' was the reply.
Anyhow it could not be Rastignac's work, for he would not have entered the place, even had he been left at liberty and had an opportunity to do so.
'Send and see if he is still there--and make sure that everyone else is accounted for,' I ordered.
It was useless to detail a pompier squad to put the fire out. We don't have hose and hydrants in the desert, as you know. When a place burns, it burns. And, mon Dieu, how it burns in the dry heat of that rainless desert! The place would be gone, even if the men would enter it, by the time we had got our teaspoonfuls of water from the oasis. And, to tell you the truth, I did not care how soon, or how completely it did go!
This fire would be the funeral pyre of those brave men. It would keep my fools from their suicidal mutiny. It would purge the place of mystery. Incidentally it would save my life and military reputation, and the new fort that would arise in its place would not be the haunted, hated prison that this place would henceforth have been for those who had to garrison it.
I gave the order to face about, and then to stand at ease. The men should watch it burn, since nothing could be done to save it. Perhaps even they would realise that human agency is required for setting a building on fire--and, moreover, whoever was in there had got to come out or be cremated. They should see him come. . . . But who? Who? The words Who? and Why? filled my mind. . . .
All stood absolutely silent, spellbound.
Suddenly the spell was broken and back we came to earth, at an old familiar sound.
A rifle cracked, again and again. From the sound the firing was towards us.
The Arabs were upon us!
Far to the right and to the left, more shots were fired.
The fort blazing and the Arabs upon us!
Bullets whistled overhead and I saw one or two flashes from a distant sand-hill.
No one was hit, the fort being between us and the enemy. In less time than it takes to tell I had the men turned about and making for the oasis--au pas gymnastique--'at the double,' as you call it. There we should have cover and water, and if we could only hold the devils until they were nicely between us and St. André's Senegalese, we would avenge the garrison of that blazing fort.
They are grand soldiers, those Légionnaires, George. No better troops in our army. They are to other infantry what my Spahis are to other cavalry. It warmed one's heart to see them double, steady as on parade, back to the darkness of the oasis, every man select his cover and go to ground, his rifle loaded and levelled as he did so.
Our camel vedettes rode in soon after. Two of them had had a desperate fight, and two of them had seen rifle-flashes and fired at them, before returning to the oasis, thinking the Arabs had rushed the fort and burnt it.
In a few minutes from the first burst of fire, the whole place was still, silent, and apparently deserted. Nothing for an enemy to see but a burning fort, and a black brooding oasis, where nothing moved.
How I hoped they would swarm yelling round the fort, thinking to get us like bolted rabbits as we rushed out of it! It is not like the Arabs to make a night attack, but doubtless they had been hovering near, and the fire had brought them down on us.
Had they seen us outside the fort? If so, they would attack the oasis in the morning. If they had not seen us, anything might happen, and the oasis prove a guet-apens, with the burning or burnt-out fort in the bait of the trap.
What were they doing now? The firing had ceased entirely. Probably making their dispositions to rush us suddenly at dawn, from behind the nearest sand-hills. Their game would be to lull us into a sense of security throughout a peaceful night and come down upon us at daybreak, like a whirlwind, as we slept.
And what if our waiting rifles caught them at fifty yards, and the survivors turned to flee--on to the muzzles of those of the Senegalese? . . .
It was another impressive scene in that weird drama, George. A big fire, by moonlight, in the heart of the Sahara, a fire watched by silent, motionless men, breathlessly awaiting the arrival of other players on the stage.
After gazing into the moonlit distance until my eyes ached, expecting to see a great band of the blue-veiled mysterious Silent Ones suddenly swarm over a range of sand-hills, I bethought me of getting into communication with St. André.
I had ordered him to follow by a forced march, leaving a suitable garrison at Tokotu, when I dashed off with the 'always ready' emergency-detachment on camels, preceding by an hour or so the 'support' emergency-detachment on mules, with water, rations, and ammunition.
These
