rang out, desecrating the silence and the beauty of the moonlit scene.
It was the maddest, most incredible business--that horrible laughter among the dead, from men about to die.
Certainly the Arabs must have thought us mad and certainly they were not far wrong. Anyhow, they knew we were awake and must have gathered that we were cheerful and defiant.
For Lejaune was justified of his madness, and no dawn attack came.
Whether the Touaregs regarded us as "The afflicted of Allah," and feared to rush the place, or whether they realised that there could be no element of surprise in the attack, I do not know, but it was never made.
And when the sun rose and they again lined the sand-hills and opened their heavy fire upon the fort, every embrasure was occupied by an apparently unkillable man, and every Arab who exposed himself paid the penalty.
But not all those who lined the walls of Zinderneuf were beyond scathe by Arab bullets. Now and then there would be a cry, an oath, a gurgling grunt or cough, and a man would stagger back and fall, or die where he crouched, a bullet through his brain.
And, in every case, Lejaune would prop and pose and arrange the body, dead or dying, in the embrasure whence it had fallen, and to the distant Arab eyes it must have seemed that the number of the defenders was undiminished.
As the morning wore on, Lejaune took a rifle, and, crouching beside each dead man in turn, fired several shots from each embrasure, adding to the illusion that the dead were alive, as well as to the volume of fire.
Later still, he set one man to each wall to do the same thing, to pass continually up and down, firing from behind the dead.
When the Arab fire again slackened and then ceased, toward midday, and our bugle blew the "Cease fire," I hardly dared to turn round.
With a sigh of relief, I saw Michael among the few who rose from their embrasures at the order "Stand easy."
It was a terribly tiny band. Of all those who had sprung from their beds with cries of joy, at the shout of "Aux armes!" yesterday morning, only Lejaune, St. André, Michael, Colonna, Marigny, Vogué, Moscowski, Gotto, Vaerren, and I were still alive.
The end was inevitable, unless relief came from Tokotu before the Arabs assaulted the place. All they had to do now, was to run in and climb. Ten men cannot hold back a thousand.
If we survived to see the arrival of a relieving force, it would be the dead who saved us, these dead who gave the impression of a numerous, fearless, ever-watchful garrison, who would cause an attack across open ground to wither beneath the blast of their rifles like grass beneath a flame.
"Half the men below, for soupe and coffee and half a litre of wine, Corporal St. André," ordered Lejaune. "Back as soon as you can--or if the 'Assembly' is blown . . ." and St. André took each alternate man.
Soon coffee and soupe were ready, although the cook was dead, and we sat at table as though in a dream, surrounded by the tidy beds of dead men.
"Last lap!" said Michael, as I gave him a cigarette. "Last cigarette! Last bowl of soupe! Last mug of coffee! Last swig of wine! Well, well! It's as good an end as any--if a bit early. . . . Look out for the letter, Johnny," and he patted the front of his sash.
"Oh, come off it," I growled. "Last nothing. The relief is half-way here by now."
"Hope so," replied Michael. "But I don't greatly care, old son. So long as you see about the letter for me."
"Why I, rather than you, Beau?" I asked. "Just as likely that you do my posting for me."
"Don't know, Johnny. Just feel it in my bones," he replied. "I feel I'm in for it and you're not, and thank the Lord for the latter, old chap," and he gave my arm a little squeeze above the elbow. (His little grip of my arm, and squeeze, had been one of my greatest rewards and pleasures, all my life.)
As we returned to the roof at the end of our meal, Michael held out his hand to me.
"Well, good-bye, dear old Johnny," he said. "I wish to God I hadn't dragged you into this--but I think you'll come out all right. Give my love to Dig."
I wrung his hand.
"Good-bye, Beau," I replied. "Or rather, au 'voir. . . . Of course, you didn't 'drag' me into this. I had as much right to assume the blame for the theft of the 'Blue Water' as you and Dig had. . . . And it's been a great lark. . . ."
He patted my shoulder as we clattered up the stairs.
Lejaune assigned one side of the roof to Michael and the opposite one to me. Vogué and Vaerren respectively were sent to the other two. Our orders were to patrol the wall and shoot from behind a dead man, if we saw an Arab.
St. André took Colonna, Marigny, Moscowski, and Gotto below.
Lejaune himself went up to the look-out platform with his field-glasses and swept the horizon in the direction of Tokotu. Apparently he saw no sign of help.
Nothing moved on the sand-hills on my side of the fort, and I watched them over the heads of my dead comrades. . . .
How much longer could this last?
Would the Touaregs draw off from this fort-with-an-inexhaustible-garrison?
Would the relief come in time? If not, would they be in time to avenge us? It would be amusing if the Arabs, having got into the fort, were caught in it by the Senegalese and mounted troops from Tokotu--a poetic justice--for not a man of them would escape!
Where did all the flies come from? . . . Horrible! . . .
St. André and his party returned to the roof, and now two men were posted to each wall, St. André and Lejaune remaining in the centre of the roof to support whichever side of the fort should need it most when the attack came.
When it did come, it was a repetition of the siege-tactics and attrition warfare, a desultory fire of sharpshooters, and most of it aimed at the dead.
Up and down his half of the wall, each of the defenders hurried, firing from a different embrasure each time.
The Arabs must have been completely deceived, for they came no nearer, and fired impartially at the silent corpse-guarded embrasures and at those from which our eight rifles cracked.
Glancing round, as I darted from one embrasure to another, I saw that both Lejaune and St. André were in the firing-line now, and that Lejanne had one wall of the fort to himself. There were only seven of us left. Michael was among them.
The Arab fire died down.
Lejaune himself picked up the bugle and sounded the "Cease fire." I saw that Vogué, Moscowski, and Marigny were dead and propped up in their places. St. André was dabbing his face with a rag, where a bullet had torn his cheek and ear.
Colonna, Gotto, and I were sent below to get food, and we spoke not a single word. When we returned, Michael, Vaerren, and St. André went down in their turn.
Lejaune walked up and down the roof, humming "C'est la reine Pomaré," to all appearance cool and unconcerned.
Not
