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Title: The Dash for Khartoum
       A Tale of Nile Expedition

Author: George Alfred Henty

Illustrator: Joseph Nash
             John Schönberg

Release Date: July 2, 2007 [EBook #21986]

Language: English

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THE
DASH FOR KHARTOUM:

A TALE OF
THE NILE EXPEDITION.

BY

G. A. HENTY,

Author of "With Clive in India;" "True to the Old Flag;" "Bonnie Prince
Charlie;" "By Sheer Pluck;" "Facing Death;" "One of the 28th;" &c.


WITH TEN PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOSEPH NASH, R.I.
AND JOHN SCHÖNBERG.


LONDON:

BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED, 49 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND DUBLIN.




MR. HENTY'S HISTORICAL TALES.

_Crown 8vo, Cloth elegant, Olivine edges. Each Book is beautifully
Illustrated._


THE CAT OF BUBASTES: A Story of Ancient Egypt. 5_s._
THE YOUNG CARTHAGINIAN: A Story of the Times of Hannibal. 6_s._
FOR THE TEMPLE: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. 6_s._
BERIC THE BRITON: A Story of the Roman Invasion. 6_s._
THE LION OF ST. MARK: A Story of Venice in the 14th Century. 6_s._
THE LION OF THE NORTH: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus. 6_s._
THE DRAGON AND THE RAVEN: Or, The Days of King Alfred. 5_s._
IN FREEDOM'S CAUSE: A Story of Wallace and Bruce. 6_s._
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. 5_s._
BY PIKE AND DYKE: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. 6_s._
UNDER DRAKE'S FLAG: A Tale of the Spanish Main. 6_s._
ORANGE AND GREEN: A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick. 5_s._
BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. 6_s._
THE BRAVEST OF THE BRAVE: Or, With Peterborough in Spain. 5_s._
IN THE REIGN OF TERROR: The French Revolution. 5_s._
WITH WOLFE IN CANADA: Or, The Winning of a Continent. 6_s._
WITH CLIVE IN INDIA: Or, The Beginnings of an Empire. 6_s._
TRUE TO THE OLD FLAG: The American War of Independence. 6_s._
HELD FAST FOR ENGLAND: A Tale of the Siege of Gibraltar. 5_s._
ONE OF THE 28TH: A Story of Waterloo. 5_s._
IN GREEK WATERS: A Story of the Grecian War. 6_s._
THROUGH THE FRAY: A Story of the Luddite Riots. 6_s._
BY SHEER PLUCK: A Tale of the Ashanti War. 5_s._
FOR NAME AND FAME: Or, Through Afghan Passes. 5_s._
WITH LEE IN VIRGINIA: A Story of the American Civil War. 6_s._
THE DASH FOR KHARTOUM: A Tale of the Nile Expedition. 6_s._
CONDEMNED AS A NIHILIST: A Story of Escape from Siberia. 5_s._


LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED; GLASGOW AND EDINBURGH.




PREFACE.


MY DEAR LADS,

The story of the Nile Expedition is so recent that no word of
introduction is necessary to the historical portion of the tale. The
moral, such as it is, of the story of the two lads brought up as
brothers is--Never act in haste, for repentance is sure to follow. In
this case great anxiety and unhappiness were caused through a lad acting
as he believed for the best, but without consulting those who had every
right to a voice in the matter. That all came right in the end in no way
affects this excellent rule, for all might have gone wrong. We are often
misled by a generous impulse, more often perhaps than by an evil one,
but the consequences may be just as serious in the one case as the
other. When in trouble you should always go freely to your best friends
and natural advisers, and lay the case fully before them. It may be
that, if the trouble has arisen from your own fault, you will have to
bear their temporary displeasure, but this is a small thing in
comparison with the permanent injury that may arise from acting on your
own impulse. In most cases, cowardice lies at the bottom of concealment,
and cowardice is of all vices the most contemptible; while the fear of
the displeasure of a parent has ruined many a boy's life. Therefore,
when you are in serious trouble always go to your best friend, your
father, and lay the case frankly and honestly before him; for you may
be sure that present displeasure and even punishment are but small
things in comparison with the trouble that may arise from trying to get
out of the difficulty in other ways.

Yours sincerely,

G. A. HENTY




CONTENTS.


CHAP.                                     Page

     I.  MIXED!                             11

    II.  AT CHELTENHAM,                     27

   III.  GONE,                              47

    IV.  BACK AT SCHOOL,                    65

     V.  ENLISTED,                          84

    VI.  EGYPT,                             97

   VII.  EL-TEB,                           116

  VIII.  TAMANIEB,                         134

    IX.  THE CAMEL CORPS,                  144

     X.  AN UNEXPECTED MEETING,            165

    XI.  ABU KLEA,                         183

   XII.  METEMMEH,                         201

  XIII.  ABU KRU,                          218

   XIV.  A SLAVE,                          235

    XV.  BAD NEWS,                         253

   XVI.  IN DISGUISE,                      270

  XVII.  A RUNAWAY SLAVE,                  288

 XVIII.  THE ZAREBA,                       306

   XIX.  A LONG SEARCH,                    325

    XX.  FOUND!                            340

   XXI.  HOME!                             359




ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                           Page

"THE WOMAN PLACED HERSELF IN HIS WAY,"                       50

"EDGAR STRUCK HIM WITH ALL HIS STRENGTH,"                   102

"WITH A DESPERATE RUSH THEY REACHED THE SAILORS,"           123

TOWING THE BOATS UP THE NILE,                               163

AT THE WELLS OF GAKDUL,                                     184

"THE ARABS WITH WILD YELLS CHARGED UPON THE SQUARE,"        196

"GOOD-BYE, LAD, AND GOD BLESS YOU!"                         210

"A SHOT HAD PASSED THROUGH HER BOILER,"                     263

THE ARMY OF HICKS PASHA ON THE MARCH,                       342

"IT IS RUPERT'S VOICE, BUT IT CANNOT BE RUPERT!"            357

       *       *       *       *       *

Plan--Port of Suakim,                                       122

 "    Battle of El-teb, 29th Feb. 1884,                      "

 "    Battle of Abu Klea, 17th Jan. 1885,                   138

 "    Battle of Tamai, 13th Mar. 1884,                       "




THE DASH FOR KHARTOUM: A TALE OF THE NILE EXPEDITION.




CHAPTER I

MIXED!


In a room in the married non-commissioned officers' quarters in the
cantonments at Agra, a young woman was sitting looking thoughtfully at
two infants, who lay sleeping together on the outside of a bed with a
shawl thrown lightly over them. Jane Humphreys had been married about a
year. She was the daughter of the regimental sergeant-major, and had
been a spoilt child. She was good looking, and had, so the wives and
daughters of the other non-commissioned officers said, laid herself out
to catch one of the young officers of the regiment, and was bitterly
disappointed at the failure of her efforts.

The report may have been untrue, for Jane Farran was by no means popular
with the other women, taking far too much upon herself, as they
considered, upon the strength of her father's rank, and giving herself
airs as if she were better than those around her. There were girls in
the regiment just as good looking as she was without any of her airs and
tempers. Why should she set herself up above the rest?

When, however, Sergeant-major Farran died suddenly of sunstroke after a
heavy field-day, whatever plans and hopes his daughter may have
entertained came to an end. Her name and that of her mother were put
down among the women to be sent, with the next batch of invalids, home
to England, and she suddenly accepted the offer of marriage of young
Sergeant Humphreys, whose advances she had previously treated with
scorn. They were married six weeks later, on the day before her mother
was to go down by train with a party of invalids to Calcutta. The
universal opinion of the women in the regiment was that the sergeant had
got a bad bargain.

"No man of spirit," one of them said, "would have taken up with a girl
who only accepted him because she could not do any better. She has got
her temper written in her face, and a nice time of it he is likely to
have."

It may have been true that Jane Humphreys had during her father's
lifetime had her ambitions, but she was a clever woman and adapted
herself to her circumstances. If, as the sergeant-major's daughter, she
had given herself airs, and had thrown herself in the way of the young
officers, and had been light and flighty in her manner, all this was
changed as soon as she was married, and even the most censorious were
obliged to admit that she made Sergeant Humphreys a better wife than
they had expected. His home was admirably kept, the gay dresses that had
been somewhat beyond her station were cut up and altered, and she
dressed neatly and quietly.

She was handy with her fingers, her things always fitted her well, and
she gained the approbation of the officers' wives, who had previously
looked upon her with some disfavour as a forward young person. She made
every effort to get on good terms with the wives of the other
non-commissioned officers, and succeeded at last in overcoming the
prejudice which, as Jane Farran, she had excited. There was no doubt
that she was a clever woman, and it was equally beyond doubt that she
completely managed her husband. She was much his superior in education,
and possessing far greater abilities could twist him round her little
finger, although she did it so cleverly that he never suspected that he
was the victim of such an operation.

A month previous to the opening of the story she had been confined of a
boy, and two days later Mrs. Clinton, the wife of the captain of her
husband's company, also became a mother. Before the week was over Mrs.
Clinton was taken dangerously ill, and as it was impossible for her to
nurse her child, the surgeon of the regiment recommended that it should
be given into the charge of the sergeant's wife, as she, being a strong
and healthy young woman, could very well nurse it as well as her own. It
was a month after this that Sergeant Humphreys, returning to his
quarters, found his wife sitting by the side of the bed on which the two
infants were asleep.

"They are as alike as two peas," he said as he looked at them. "I am
sure I wonder, Jane, that you know which is which!"

Mrs. Humphreys' answer did not seem to the point. "Captain Clinton is a
rich man, is he not, John?"

"Yes; they say he came into a grand estate two years ago when his father
died, and that like enough he will leave the regiment when it goes home
next year."

"Then one of those babies will be a rich man, and the other--" and she
stopped.

"The other will, I hope, be a non-commissioned officer in the 30th Foot
one of these days," the sergeant said. Jane looked up at her husband.
There was no touch of envy or discontent in his voice. She was about to
speak but checked herself.

"Which is yours, John?" she asked a moment later, returning to his first
remark.

"I am sure I could not tell," he said with a laugh. "Babies are mostly
pretty much alike, and as these two are just the same age, and just the
same size, and have both got gray eyes and light coloured hair--if you
can call it hair,--and no noses to speak of, I don't see a pin's point
of difference."

A month later a small party were assembled in Captain Clinton's
bungalow. Mrs. Humphreys was standing with a baby in each arm. Mrs.
Clinton was lying upon a sofa crying bitterly. Captain Clinton was
walking up and down the room, hot and angry. The surgeon of the regiment
was standing grave and sympathetic by Mrs. Clinton. Sergeant Humphreys
was in the attitude of attention by the door, with an anxious troubled
expression on his face.

"What in the world is to be done, doctor?" Captain Clinton asked. "I
never heard of such a thing, it is a most serious business."

"I can quite see that," the doctor replied. "When Mrs. Humphreys came to
me and asked me to break the news to you, I told her at once that it was
a terrible business. I own that I do not see that she is altogether to
blame, but it is a most unfortunate occurrence. As I have just told you,
she had, when she put the children to bed, put your child in one of her
baby's night-gowns, as it happened there were none of your child's
clean. In the morning she took them out and laid them on a rug on the
ground before beginning to wash and dress them. She went out to the
canteen to get something for her husband's breakfast, and when she
returned she could not remember the order in which she had taken them
out of bed and laid them down, and could not distinguish her own child
from yours."

"You must remember, Mrs. Humphreys," Captain Clinton broke in; "think it
over, woman. You must remember how you laid them down."

"Indeed, I do not, sir; I have been thinking all the morning. I had
nursed them two or three times during the night, and of course had
changed their position then. I never thought about their having the same
night-gowns on. If I had, of course I should have been more careful, for
I have said to my husband over and over again that it was only by their
clothes that I should know them apart, for if they had been twins they
could not be more alike.

"This is downright maddening!" Captain Clinton exclaimed, pacing up and
down the room. "And is there no mark nor anything by which they can be
recognized? Why, bless me, woman, surely you as a mother ought to know
your own child!"

Mrs. Humphreys shook her head. "I have nursed them both, sir, and which
is mine and which is yours I could not say to save my life."

"Well, put the children down on that sofa," Captain Clinton said, "and
take yourself off for the present; you have done mischief enough for a
lifetime. I will let you know what we decide upon later on."

"Well, doctor, what on earth is to be done?" he asked after the door had
closed upon the sergeant and his wife. "What do you think had best be
done, Lucy?"

But Mrs. Clinton, who was but just recovering from her illness, was too
prostrated by this terrible blow to be able to offer any suggestion.

"It is a terrible business indeed, Clinton," the doctor said, "and I
feel for you most deeply. Of course the possibility of such a thing
never entered my mind when I recommended you to let Mrs. Humphreys act
as its foster-mother. It seemed at the time quite a providential
circumstance that she too should be just confined, and in a position to
take to your baby. The only possible suggestion I can offer is that you
should for a time bring up both boys as your own. At present they are
certainly wonderfully alike, but it is probable that as they grow up you
will see in one or other of them a likeness to yourself or your wife,
and that the other will take after its own parents. Of course these
likenesses do not always exist, but in nine cases out of ten some
resemblance can be traced between a boy and one or other of his
parents."

"That certainly seems feasible," Captain Clinton said in a tone of
relief. "What do you say, dear? It is only bringing up the two children
for a time till we are able to be certain which is our own. The other
will have had the advantage of a good education and so on, and of course
it will be our business to give him a good start in life."

"It will be awful having the two children, and not knowing which is our
own."

"It will be very unpleasant," Captain Clinton said soothingly; "but, you
see, in time you will come to care for them both just as if they had
been twins."

"That will be almost as bad," Mrs. Clinton cried feebly. "And suppose
one gets to love the wrong one best?"

"We won't suppose that, dear; but if we love them both equally, we will,
when we find out which is ours, treat the other as an adopted child and
complete his education, and start him in life as if he were so.
Fortunately the expense will be nothing to us."

"But this woman has a right to one of them."

"She does not deserve to have one," Captain Clinton said angrily; "but
of course we must make some arrangement with her. She is bound to do her
best to repair the terrible mischief her carelessness has caused. Well,
doctor, we will think it over for an hour or two, but certainly your
suggestion seems by far the best for us to adopt."

"The hussy!" the doctor said as he walked away to his quarters. "I am
more than half inclined to believe that she has done it on purpose. I
never liked the jade before she married, though I own that she has
turned out better than I expected. But I always thought her a designing
and artful young woman, and gave her credit for plenty of brains, and
what could suit her purpose better than this change of children? She
would see that in the first place she would get her own boy well brought
up, and perhaps provided for, with all sorts of chances of making money
out of the affair. It may have been an accident, of course, but if so,
it was a wonderfully fortunate one for her."

Such was the opinion among the women of the regiment when the news
became known, and Jane Humphreys was speedily made aware of the fact by
the change in their manner towards her. They had, however, but small
opportunity for demonstrating their opinion, for Mrs. Humphreys remained
shut up as much as possible in her room, and the one or two women who
were inclined to take a favourable view of the matter and so called upon
her, reported that she was completely prostrated by the occurrence.
Among the officers and their families the greatest commiseration was
felt for Captain Clinton and his wife, and the matter was discussed at
tiffin that day with great animation.

"Don't you think, doctor, that a woman must know her own child?" a young
ensign asked.

"Not at all, Arbuthnot; that is to say, not if you mean that she would
know it by any sort of maternal instinct. There is no such thing. She
has no more means of telling her own infant out of a dozen others of
similar complexion, age, and appearance, than she would have of picking
out her own pocket-handkerchief out of a dozen others of similar pattern
if they were all unmarked."

"But a sheep can pick out his own lamb among a hundred, doctor, and I am
sure they are alike as so many peas. Surely that must be maternal
instinct?"

"Not in the smallest degree, Arbuthnot. The sheep and other animals
possess in a very high degree a sense which is comparatively rudimentary
in human beings. I mean, of course, the sense of smell. A sheep knows
her lamb, and a cow knows her calf, neither by the sense of hearing or
by that of sight. She recognizes it solely and wholly by her sense of
smell, just as a dog can track its master's footsteps out of a thousand
by the same sense. The two babies are as alike as twins; and I am not
surprised that, if they really got mixed, this woman should not be able
to detect one from the other."

"It is an awful thing for Clinton," the major said. "Here he has got a
splendid estate, and he will never be certain whether his own son or a
stranger is going to inherit it after him. It is enough to make a man go
out of his mind."

"I don't see that that would be likely to mend matters," the doctor said
dryly; "in fact it would lessen the one chance that exists of ever
setting the matter straight. As I have told him, though these children
are very much alike at present--and indeed most babies are--it is
probable that as they grow up there will no longer be any resemblance
whatever, and that his own child will develop a likeness either to him
or Mrs. Clinton, while the other child will resemble the sergeant or his
wife."

"We must hope it will be so," the major said, "though there are lots of
fellows who don't resemble in the least either of their parents. But
what is Clinton going to do about it?"

"He has not settled yet. His wife was in no condition to discuss the
matter, poor lady! My suggestion was that he should bring up both the
children as if they were his own, until one or other of them develops
this likeness that I was speaking of."

"I suppose that is the best thing they can do, doctor; but it will be an
awful business if, as they grow up, no likeness to anybody can be
detected in either of them."

"Well, major, although at present it does seem an awful thing, it won't
seem so bad at the end, say, of twenty years. They will naturally by
that time be as fond of one as the other. The boys, in fact, will be
like twins; and I suppose the property can be divided in some such way
as it would be were they really in that relation to each other."

"But, you see, doctor," one of the captains said, "Mrs. Humphreys has to
be considered to a certain extent too. It is hard on Mrs. Clinton; but
if she gets both boys she is certain at any rate that one of them is her
son, and Mrs. Humphreys will, by that arrangement, have to lose her
child altogether. That seems to me pretty rough on her."

"Well, she brought it on herself," the doctor replied. "The whole thing
has arisen from her carelessness."

"Do you think it was carelessness, doctor?" the major asked.

"That is a matter on which I will give no opinion, major. It is one upon
which one man can form a judgment as well as another. The thing may very
well have happened in the way she describes; and again it may be a very
cunningly devised plot on her part. It is evident she had everything to
gain by such an accident. She would get her child taken off her hands,
educated, and provided for. She would calculate no doubt that she would
be their nurse, and would expect, in return for giving up her claim to
one or other of them, some very distinct monetary advantages. I do not
at all say that the affair was not an accident. Upon the contrary, I
admit that it was an accident which might very well happen under the
circumstances. What I do say is, nothing could have turned out better
for her."

Just as tiffin was finished, Captain Clinton's soldier-servant came into
the mess-room with the request that Dr. Parker should go across to his
master's bungalow. "Well, doctor," Captain Clinton said as he entered,
"in the first place I want you to go up and see my wife, and give her a
sedative or something, for she is terribly upset over this affair; and
in the next place I want to tell you that we have agreed to take your
advice in the matter, and to bring up the two children as our own until
we can make out which of the two is our child; then I want your advice
as to whether they can be weaned without any damage to their health. My
wife is determined upon that point. They shall not be brought up by Mrs.
Humphreys There is no other woman, is there, in the regiment with a
young baby?"

The doctor shook his head. "There are one or two with babies, but not
with babies young enough for her to take to these. It would certainly be
far better that they should have the natural nourishment, but I do not
say that they would necessarily suffer from being weaned. Still, you
see, Clinton, there is a question whether this woman will consent to
part with both the children."

"I quite see that, doctor, and of course I shall be ready to make any
money arrangements that will content her."

"I would see the husband, if I were you," the doctor said. "He is a
steady, well-conducted young fellow, and however this matter has come
about, I quite acquit him of having any share in it. I think you will
find it more easy to deal with him than his wife. Unfortunately, you
see, there is always a difficulty with adopted children. A father cannot
sell away his rights; he may agree to do so, but if he changes his mind
afterwards he can back out of his agreement. However he may bind himself
never to interfere with it, the fact remains that he has a legal right
to the custody of his child. And though Sergeant Humphreys might keep
any agreement he might make, the mother might give you no end of trouble
afterwards."

"I see all that, doctor, but of the two evils I think the one we propose
is the least. My wife says she could not bear to see this woman about
the children, and I have a good deal of the same feeling myself. At any
rate in her present state of health I wish to spare her all trouble and
anxiety as much as I can, and therefore it is better to buy this woman
off for the present, even though we may have to run the risk of trouble
with her afterwards. Anyhow, something must be done at once. The
children have both been squalling for the last hour, though I believe
that they have had some milk or something given to them. So I had better
send across for Humphreys, the sooner the matter is got over the
better."

The young sergeant presently appeared.

"Sit down, sergeant. I want to have a talk with you over this terribly
painful business. In one respect I quite understand that it is as
painful for you and Mrs. Humphreys as it is for us, but in other
respects you are much better off than I am. Not only do I not know
which is my child, but I do not know which is heir to my estate; which
is, as you will understand, a most serious matter."

"I can quite understand that, sir," the sergeant said quietly.

"The only plan that I can see," Captain Clinton went on, "is that for
the present I shall adopt both children, and shall bring them up as my
own. Probably in time one of them will grow up with some resemblance to
myself or Mrs. Clinton, and the other will show a likeness to you or
your wife. In that case I should propose to finish the education of your
boy, and then to provide for him by putting him into the army, or such
other profession as he may choose; for it would be very unfair after
bringing him up and educating him as my own to turn him adrift. Thus,
you see, in any case my adoption of him would be greatly to his benefit.
I can, of course, thoroughly understand that it will be very hard for
you and Mrs. Humphreys to give up your child. Very hard. And I am quite
ready to make any pecuniary arrangement with you and her that you may
think right. I may say that I do not think that it would be desirable
that Mrs. Humphreys should continue as their nurse. I want to consider
the boys as my own, and her presence would be constantly bringing up
unpleasant remembrances. In the second place I think that it would be
better for her that she should not act as their nurse. She would know
that one of them is her own, and the separation when it came would be
very much more painful than it would be at present. Of course I do not
expect an answer from you just at this moment. You will naturally wish
to talk it over with her, but I shall be glad if you will let us have an
answer as soon as you can, as it is necessary that we should obtain
another nurse without loss of time."

"What you say seems to me very fair, Captain Clinton," the sergeant
said. "I would give anything, sir, that this shouldn't have happened. I
would rather have shot myself first. I can answer for myself, sir, that
I accept your offer. Of course, I am sorry to lose the child; but a
baby is not much to a man till it gets to know him and begins to talk,
and it will be a satisfaction to know that he is in good hands, with a
far better look-out than I could have given him. I will see my wife,
sir, and let you know in half an hour."

"Do you think that she will consent, Humphreys?"

"I am sure she will," the sergeant said briefly, and then added, "There
is nothing else she could do," and saluting he went out of the room.

"He suspects his wife of having done it on purpose," Dr. Parker said,
speaking for the first time since the sergeant had entered the room. "I
don't say he knows it, but he suspects it. Did you notice how decidedly
he said that she would consent? And I fancy up to now she has had her
own way in everything."

"Well, what do they say?" Mrs. Humphreys asked as her husband entered
the door. He told her shortly the offer that had been made. She laughed
scornfully. "A likely thing that! So they are to have both children, and
I am not to be allowed even to see them; and they are to pick and choose
as to which they like to say is theirs, and we are to be shouldered out
of it altogether! It is just as bad for me not to know which is my boy
as it is for that woman; but they are to take the whole settlement of
things in their hands, my feelings to go for nothing. Of course you told
them that you would not let them do such a thing?"

"I did not tell them anything of the sort. I told them that I accepted
their proposal, and that I could answer for your accepting it too."

"Then you were never more wrong in your life, John Humphreys!" she said
angrily; "I won't consent to anything of the sort. Luck has thrown a
good thing in our hands, and I mean to make the most of it. We ought to
get enough out of this to make us comfortable for life if we work it
well. I did not think that you were such a soft!"

"Soft or not soft, it is going to be done as they propose," her husband
said doggedly. "It is burden enough as it is--we have lost our child.
Not that I care so very much about that; there will be time enough for
more, and children do not add to the comfort of close little quarters
like these. But whether we like it or not, we have lost the child. In
the next place we shall never hear the end of it in the regiment, and I
shall see if I cannot manage to get transferred to another. There will
be no standing the talk there will be."

"Let them talk!" his wife said scornfully. "What do we care about their
talk!"

"I care a great deal," he said. "And I tell you why, because I know what
they will say is true."

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly.

"I mean, Jane, that I know you mixed up those children on purpose."

"How dare you say so!" she exclaimed making a step forward as if she
would strike him.

"I will tell you why I say so. Because I went to the drawer this morning
before going to parade, and I saw some of Mrs. Clinton's baby's
night-gowns in it. Yes, I see they are all in the wash-tub now; but they
were there this morning, and when I heard you say you had put the child
into one of our baby's night-gowns because it had no clean ones of its
own, I knew that you were lying, and that you had done this on purpose."

The woman was silent a moment and then burst out, "You are a greater
fool than ever I thought you! I did tell a lie when I gave that reason
for putting the child into our baby's gown. When I took the two clean
ones out of the drawer I did not notice until I put them on that they
were both ours, and then I thought it was not worth while changing again
just as the child had got quiet and comfortable. Then when I found what
had happened in the morning, I had to make some excuse or other, and
that occurred to me as the best. When I came back I did put them all
into the wash-tub, clean and dirty, in case any one should come here to
see about them. What harm was there in that, I should like to know?"

"You have acknowledged you have told one lie over it; after that you may
say what you like, but you need not expect me to believe you."

"Well, why don't you go at once and tell them that you believe that I
changed the children on purpose?"

"Because in the first place I cannot prove it, and because in the second
case you are my wife, Jane. I took you for better or worse, and whatever
you have done it is not for me to round on you. Anyhow, I will do all I
can to set this matter straight, and the only way that I see it can be
set straight is by doing as Captain Clinton says--by letting him have
the two children until they grow up, and then see which of the two is
like them and which is like us. What do you want done? I suppose you
don't want to have the care of them both. I suppose you don't want to
get paid for letting them keep them both, and to have every man and
woman in the regiment asking the question, Who sold their child? What is
it you do want?"

"I want to go as their nurse."

"Well, then, you cannot do it. It is evident that Mrs. Clinton hates the
sight of you, and no wonder; and she won't have you at any price. You
had best be contented with what you have got."

"What have I got?" she asked sullenly.

"Well, you have got the trouble of the child off your hands, you have
got the knowledge that it will be well taken care of and provided for
and made a gentleman of. That ought to be a satisfaction to you anyhow."

"What is that when we might make a nice little fortune out of it?"

"I can see no way of making a fortune," he said, "unless you do know
which is which, and offer to tell them if they will pay you for it. In
which case, instead of making a fortune you would be likely to find
yourself inside a prison for years--and serve you right."

The woman was silent for some time, then she said, "Very well, then, I
will agree to their terms; but mind you, I will make money out of it
yet." And so Sergeant Humphreys went across to Captain Clinton's
bungalow and told him that his wife agreed to give up both children.

"It is by far the best thing for the little chap whichever he may be,
and you will be able to do a deal more for him than I ever could. My
wife did not quite see the matter at first, but she has come round to my
way of thinking. No, sir, we do not want to be paid," as Captain Clinton
was about to speak; "as long as I am fit for service we want nothing.
Some day, perhaps, when I get past service I may ask you to give me a
job as a lodge-keeper or some such post, where I can earn my living."

And so the matter was settled. One of the other officers' wives had
already lent her ayah to take care of the children until one could be
found for them.

The ready manner in which Sergeant Humphreys had done the only thing in
his power to obviate the effects of his wife's carelessness restored him
at once to the good opinion of his fellow sergeants and the men, as it
was generally allowed that he had done the right thing, and that no one
could do more. Opinion, however, was less favourable as to his wife. It
was soon evident to all who lived in the non-commissioned officers'
quarters that things were not going on well between Sergeant Humphreys
and his wife. There were frequent and violent quarrels. The sergeant was
often down at the canteen drinking more than was good for him.

One day Captain Clinton sent for him. "Sergeant, I am sorry to say that
I hear from the sergeant-major that you were drunk last night, and that
you have several times been the worse for liquor. It is not a formal
complaint, but I thought it better to talk to you. You have always been
a very steady man, and I should be sorry in the extreme if any thing
should happen which would cause you to be brought before the colonel. I
have no doubt this affair has troubled you greatly, and that it is
entirely owing to that that you have become unsettled. Try to pull
yourself round, man. You know that nobody attributes the slightest
shadow of blame to you in the matter."

"Thank you, sir. I was coming to see you if you hadn't sent for me, to
say that I wished to give up my stripes and return to the ranks. I know
I shall be degraded if I don't do it of my own free-will, and I would
rather go down than be sent down."

"But what will your wife do? It would be a great change to her,
Humphreys."

"My wife has made up her mind to go home, sir, and I think it is the
best thing she can do. She will never be comfortable in the regiment,
and to say the truth we are not comfortable together. She says that she
has friends in England she will go and stay with, and I think it is best
to let her go. I would rather cut my hand off than ask for any thing for
myself, but as I am sure that it is for the best that she should go, and
as I don't hear of any invalids or women going home at present, I should
be very much obliged if you would lend me twenty pounds. I have got
thirty laid by, and fifty will be enough to send her across by rail to
Bombay, pay her passage home, and leave her twenty pounds in hand when
she gets there. I will pay it off so much a month."

"You are welcome to twenty pounds without any talk of repayment,
Humphreys. But I wouldn't take any hasty step if I were you. If your
wife and you have had a quarrel she may change her mind in a day or two,
and think better of it."

"No, sir; I think we are pretty well agreed on the point that she had
best go home. People make mistakes sometimes, and I think we both made a
mistake when we got married. Anyhow, we have both agreed that it is
best to part for a time."

Accordingly three or four days later Mrs. Humphreys left Agra for
Bombay, and was seen no more in the regiment. Sergeant Humphreys gave up
his stripes and returned to the ranks, and for two years remained there.
After his wife had left him he gradually gave up the habit into which he
had fallen, and at the end of the two years again became a
non-commissioned officer. He was never heard to speak of his wife after
she left him, nor so far as his comrades knew did he ever receive a
letter from her. Soon after he had again got his stripes the regiment
returned to England, and a month later Captain Clinton sent in his
papers and retired from the service.




CHAPTER II.

AT CHELTENHAM.


"Everything packed and ready, boys?"

"Yes, father, I think so."

"The dog-cart will be at the door at eleven. Be sure and be ready in
time. It won't do to miss your train, you know. Well, you have had a
pleasant holiday this time, haven't you?"

"Very," both boys replied together.

"It has been awfully jolly," one went on, "and that trip in Brittany was
certainly the best thing we have done, though we have always enjoyed our
holidays. It is ever so much nicer going to out-of-the-way sort of
places, and stopping at jolly little inns without any crowd and fuss,
than being in those great Swiss hotels as we were last year, where every
one was English, and one had to be in at regular times and almost fight
to get something to eat. I hope next year you will be able to take us to
Norway, as you were saying yesterday. I should think it would be just
the same sort of thing as Brittany, only, of course, different sort of
scenery, and different language and different people. Madge, you will
have to set to and get up Norse to act as our interpreter."

"You are very lazy boys. I had to do all the talking in Brittany. You
are supposed to have learnt French longer than I have."

"Oh, yes; supposed. Nobody cares about their French lessons. They make
no difference in your place in the school, and so no one takes the
trouble to grind at them. Well, come along, let us take a turn round the
place for an hour before we start." And the two boys and Madge, who was
a year their junior, went out through the French window into the garden.

Captain Clinton walked to the window and looked after them. They were
lads any father might be proud of, straight, well-built, handsome
English lads of about sixteen. Rupert was somewhat taller than Edgar,
while the latter had slightly the advantage in breadth of shoulders.
Beyond the fact that both had brown hair and gray eyes there was no
marked likeness between them, and their school-fellows often wondered
that there should not be more similarity between twins. Both had
pleasant open faces, and they were equally popular among their
school-fellows. As to which was the cleverest, there were no means of
ascertaining; for although both were at Cheltenham together, one was on
the modern and the other on the classical side, Captain Clinton having
made this arrangement purposely in order that there should be no rivalry
between them, and the unpleasantness that sometimes arises when two
brothers are at the same school, and one is more clever than the other,
was thereby obviated. Rupert was the more lively of the two, and
generally did the largest share of talking when they were together; but
Edgar, although he talked less, had the more lively sense of humour, and
the laughter that broke out in the garden was caused by some quiet
remark of his. Captain Clinton turned sharply round upon hearing a sigh
from his wife.

"Well, Lucy, I know what you are thinking: another holiday over, and we
are no nearer to the truth. I own that our plan has failed so far, for I
can't see in either of the boys a shadow of resemblance either to you or
myself. Some people profess to see likenesses. Mr. Tomline remarked
yesterday that he should have known Rupert anywhere as my son, but then
Colonel Wilson said the day before that Edgar had got just your
expression. I don't see a scrap of likeness either way, and I begin to
think, dear, that I don't want to see it."

"No, I don't want to see it either, Percy; I love one as well as the
other. Still I should like to know which is our own."

"I used to think so too, Lucy; but I have been doubting for some time
about it, and now I am quite sure that I don't want to know. They are
both fine lads, and, as you say, we love one just as well as the other.
Parental instinct, you see, goes for nothing. I should like to know that
one of them was my son, but on the other hand I should be very sorry to
know that the other wasn't. I think, dear, that it is much better as it
is. We have got two sons instead of one; and after all, the idea that
there would be a great satisfaction in the real one inheriting all our
landed property has very little in it. There is plenty for them both,
and each of them will be just as happy on three thousand a year as he
would on six.

"As matters stand now, I have divided the property as nearly as possible
equally between them. Madge, of course, will have her share; and I have
left it in my will that they shall draw lots which shall have the part
with the house and park on it, while the other is to have a sum of money
sufficient to build an equally good house on his share of the estate. We
can only hope that chance will be wiser than we, and will give the old
house to the right boy. However, whether our son or our adopted son,
whichever be which, gets it, does not concern me greatly. There is
enough for our son to hold a good position and be comfortable and happy.
Beyond this I do not trouble. At any rate the grievance, if there is a
grievance, is a sentimental one; while it would be a matter of real
grief to me should either of them, after having always looked upon us as
his parents, come to know that he does not belong to us, and that he has
been all along in a false position, and has been in fact but an
interloper here. That would be terribly hard for him--so hard that I
have ceased to wish that the matter should ever be cleared up, and to
dread rather than hope that I should discover an unmistakable likeness
to either of us in one or other of them."

"You are right, Percy; and henceforth I will worry no more about it. It
would be hard, dreadfully hard, on either of them to know that he was
not our son; and henceforth I will, like you, try to give up wishing
that I could tell which is which. I hope they will never get to know
that there is any doubt about it."

"I am afraid we can hardly hope that," Captain Clinton said. "There are
too many people who know the story. Of course it was talked about at
every station in India at the time, and I know that even about here it
is generally known. No, it will be better some day or other to tell it
them ourselves, making, of course, light of the matter, and letting them
see that we regard them equally as our sons, and love and care for them
alike, and that even if we now knew the truth it could make no
difference in our feelings towards them. It is much better they should
learn it from us than from anyone else."

At eleven o'clock the dog-cart came to the door. The boys were ready.
Captain Clinton drove them to the station four miles away, and in two
hours after leaving home they arrived at Cheltenham with a large number
of their school-fellows, some of whom had been in the train when they
entered it, while others had joined them at Gloucester. At Cheltenham
there was a scramble for vehicles, and they were soon at the
boarding-house of Mr. River-Smith, which had the reputation of being the
most comfortable of the Cheltenham boarding-houses.

There was a din of voices through the house, and in the pleasure of
meeting again and of exchanging accounts of how the holidays had been
spent, the few lingering regrets that school-time had come round again
completely vanished. Then there was a discussion as to the football
prospects and who would get their house colours in place of those who
had gone, and whether River-Smith's was likely to retain the position it
had won by its victories over other houses in the previous season; and
the general opinion was that their chances were not good.

"You see," Skinner, the captain of the team, said to a party gathered in
the senior boys' study, "Harrison and White will be better than last
year, but Wade will of course be a great loss; his weight and strength
told tremendously in a scrimmage. Hart was a capital half-back too, and
there was no better goal-keeper in the college than Wilson. We have not
got any one to take their places, and there are four other vacancies in
the team, and in each case those who have left were a lot bigger and
stronger than any of the young ones we have got to choose from. I don't
know who they will be yet, and must wait for the trial matches before we
decide; but I think there is plenty of good material to choose from, and
we shall be nearly all up to last year's mark, except in point of
weight--there is a terrible falling off there, and we have no one who
can fill the place of Wade. He was as strong as a bull; yes, he is an
awful loss to us! There was not a fellow in the college who could go
through a grease as he could. You remember last year how he rolled those
fellows of Bishop's over and carried the ball right through them, and
then kicked the deciding goal? That was grand! Why don't some of you
fellows grow up like him?" And he looked round reproachfully at his
listeners. "Over thirteen stone Wade was, and there is not one of you
above eleven and a half--anyhow, not more than a few pounds."

"Why don't you set us an example?" Edgar Clinton asked; and there was a
laugh, for the captain of the team was all wire and muscle and could not
turn ten stone.

"I am not one of that kind," he said; "but there is Wordsworth, who is
pretty near six feet in length, and who, if he gave his mind to it and
would but eat his food quietly instead of bolting it, might put some
flesh on those spindle-shanks of his and fill himself out till he got
pretty near to Wade's weight. A fellow ought to do something for his
house, and I call it a mere waste of bone when a fellow doesn't put some
flesh on him."

"I can run," Wordsworth said apologetically.

"Yes, you can run when you get the ball," Skinner said in a tone of
disgust; "but if a fellow half your height runs up against you, over you
go. You must lay yourself out for pudding, Wordsworth. With that, and
eating your food more slowly, you really might get to be of some use to
the house."

Wordsworth grumbled something about his having done his share last year.

"It all depends what you think your share is," Skinner said severely.
"You did your best, I have no doubt, and you certainly got a good many
goals, but that arose largely from the fact that there was nothing
tangible in you. You see, you were something like a jointed
walking-stick, and, naturally, it puzzled fellows. You have grown wider
a bit since then, and must therefore try to make yourself useful in some
other line. What we want is weight, and the sooner you put weight on the
better. I see Easton has not come yet."

"He never comes until the evening train," another said. "He always
declares it has something to do with cross lines not fitting in."

"It takes him so long," Skinner growled, "to fold up his things without
a crease, to scent his pocket-handkerchief, and to get his hair to his
satisfaction, that you may be quite sure he cannot make an early start.
As he is not here, and all the rest that are left out of last year's
team are, it is a good opportunity to talk him over. I did not like
having him in the team last year, though he certainly did better than
some. What do you think? Ought we to have him this year or not? I have
been thinking a lot about it."

"I don't care for him," Scudamore said, "but I am bound to say he does
put off all that finicking nonsense when he gets his football jersey on,
and plays a good, hard game, and does not seem to mind in the least how
muddy or dirty he gets. I should certainly put him in again, Skinner, if
I were you."

There was a murmur of assent from three or four of the others.

"Well, I suppose he ought to play," Skinner said; "but it does rile me
to see him come sauntering up as if it was quite an accident that he was
there, and talk in that drawling, affected sort of way."

"It is riling," another said; "but besides that I do not think there is
much to complain about him, and his making an ass of himself at other
times does not affect us so long as he plays well in the team."

"No, I do not know that it does, but all the same it is a nuisance when
one fellow keeps himself to himself and never seems to go in for
anything. I do not suppose Easton means to give himself airs, but there
is nothing sociable about him."

"I think he is a kind-hearted fellow," Edgar Clinton said, speaking,
however, with less decision than usual, as became one who was not yet in
the first form. "When young Jackson twisted his ankle so badly last term
at the junior high jump, I know he used to go up and sit with him, and
read with him for an hour at a time pretty near every day. I used often
to wish I could manage to get up to him, but somehow I never could spare
time; but Easton did, though he was in the college four and was working
pretty hard too. I have known two or three other things he has done on
the quiet. I don't care for his way of dressing nor for his drawling way
of talking, in fact, I don't care for him at all personally; but he is a
good-natured fellow in spite of his nonsense."

"Well, then, we must try him again," Skinner said, "and see how he does
in the trial matches. There is no certainty about him, that is what I
hate; one day he plays up and does uncommonly well, then the next day he
does not seem to take a bit of interest in the game."

"I have noticed several times," Scudamore said, "that Easton's play
depends very much on the state of the game: if we are getting the best
of it he seems to think that there is no occasion to exert himself, but
if the game is going against us he pulls himself together and goes into
it with all his might."

"He does that," Skinner agreed; "that is what riles me in the fellow. He
can play a ripping good game when he likes, but then he does not always
like. However, as I said, we will give him another trial."

Half an hour later the subject of the conversation arrived. He was in
the first form on the classical side, and was going up at the next
examination for Sandhurst. Easton was one of the monitors, but seldom
asserted his authority or put himself out in any way to perform the
duties of the office. He was dressed with scrupulous care, and no one
from his appearance would have said that he had just come off a railway
journey. He nodded all round in a careless way as he came in, and there
was none of the boisterous friendliness that had marked the meeting of
most of the others.

"Affected ass!" Skinner growled to Rupert who was next to him.

"You are a prejudiced beggar, Skinner," Rupert laughed. "You know very
well he is not an ass, and I am not at all sure he is affected. I
suppose it is the way he has been brought up. There is no saying what
you might have been yourself if you had had nurses and people about you
who always insisted on your turning out spick-and-span. Well, Easton,
what have you been doing with yourself since we saw you last?"

"I have been on the Continent most of the time," Easton said, in the
quiet, deliberate tone that was so annoying to Skinner. "Spent most of
the time in Germany: had a week at Munich, and the same time in Dresden
doing the picture-gallery."

"That must have been a treat," Skinner said sarcastically.

"Yes, it was very pleasant. The worst of it is, standing about so long
makes one's feet ache."

"I wonder you did not have a bath-chair, Easton; delicate people go
about in them, you know."

"It would be a very pleasant way, Skinner, only I don't think I could
bring myself to it."

There was a laugh at his taking Skinner's suggestion seriously.

"What have you been doing, Skinner?"

"I have been up in Scotland climbing hills, and getting myself in good
condition for football," Skinner replied shortly.

"Ah, football? Yes, I suppose we shall be playing football this term."

There was another laugh, excited principally by the angry growl with
which Skinner greeted this indifference to what was to him the principal
feature of the year.

"I shouldn't mind football," Easton went on, after looking round as if
unable to understand what the others were laughing at, "if it wasn't for
the dirt. Of course it is annoying to be kicked in the shins and to be
squeezed horribly in the greases, but it is the dirt I object to most.
If one could but get one's flannels and jerseys properly washed every
time it would not matter so much, but it is disgusting to have to put on
things that look as if they had been rolled in mud."

"I wonder you play at all, Easton," Skinner said angrily.

"Well, I wonder myself sometimes," Easton said placidly. "I suppose it
is a relic of our original savage nature, when men did not mind dirt,
and lived by hunting and fighting and that sort of thing."

"And had never learned the nuisance of stiff shirts and collars, and
never heard of such a thing as a tailor, and did not part their hair in
the middle, Easton, and had never used soap," Skinner broke in.

"No; it must have been beastly," Easton said gravely. "I am very glad
that I did not live in those days."

"Ah, you would have suffered horribly if you had, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I don't know, Skinner; I suppose I should have done as other
people did. If one does not know the comfort of a wash and a clean
shirt, one would not miss it, you see. I have sometimes thought--"

"Oh, never mind what you thought," Skinner broke in out of all patience.
"Come, let us go for a walk; it is no use stopping here all this fine
afternoon. Let us take a good long spin. I can see half you fellows are
out of condition altogether, and the sooner we begin work the better.
Will you come, Easton? After lolling about looking at pictures a
twelve-mile spin will do you good."

"Thank you, Skinner; I don't know that I want any good done to me. I
should not mind a walk, if it is to be a walk; but a walk with you
generally means rushing across ploughed fields and jumping into ditches,
and getting one's self hot and uncomfortable, and splashing one's self
from head to foot. It is bad enough in flannels, but it is downright
misery in one's ordinary clothes. But I don't mind a game at rackets, if
anyone is disposed for it."

"I will play you," Mossop said. "I want to get my hand in before the
racket matches come off."

So they went and put on their flannels and racket shoes, while the rest
of the party started for a long walk with Skinner.

"I am glad he has not come," the football captain said as they started;
"he drives me out of all patience."

"I don't think you have much to drive out of you, Skinner," Rupert
Clinton laughed. "I believe Easton puts about half of it on, on purpose
to excite you. I am sure just now I saw a little amusement in his face
when he was talking so gravely."

"He will find he has got in the wrong box," Skinner said angrily, "if he
tries to chaff me."

A quiet smile was exchanged among the others, for Easton was tall and
well built and had the reputation of being the best boxer in the school;
and although Skinner was tough and wiry, he would have stood no chance
in an encounter with him.

"Well, how did you get on, Mossop?" Scudamore asked as they sat down to
tea.

"Easton beat me every game. I had no idea that he was so good. He says
he does not intend to play for the racket, but if he did he would have a
first-rate chance. I was in the last ties last year and I ought to have
a good chance this, but either I am altogether out of practice or he is
wonderfully good. I was asking him, and he said in his lazy way that
they had got a decent racket-court at his place, and that he had been
knocking the balls about a bit since he came home."

"If he is good enough to win," Pinkerton, the captain of the house,
said, "he ought to play for the honour of the house. He has never played
in any matches here before. I did not know he played at all."

"That is the way with Easton," Edgar Clinton said; "he is good all
round, only he never takes trouble to show it. He could have been in the
college cricket eleven last year if he liked, only he said he could not
spare the time. Though Skinner doesn't think so, I believe he is one of
the best in our football team; when he chooses to exert himself he is
out and out the best chess player in the house; and I suppose he is safe
to pass in high for Sandhurst."

"He is a queer fellow," Pinkerton said, "one never knows what he can do
and what he can't. At the last exam Glover said that the papers he sent
in were far and away the best, but that he had only done the difficult
questions and hadn't sent in any answers at all to the easy ones, so
that instead of coming in first he was five or six down the list. I
believe myself he did not want to beat me, because if he had he would
have been head of the house, and that would have been altogether too
much trouble for him. Glover wanted him to go up for the last Indian
Civil, and told him he was sure that he could get in if he tried, but
Easton said he wasn't fond of heat and had no fancy for India."

"I suppose he was afraid to take the starch out of his collars," Edgar
laughed. "Ah! here he is; late as usual."

Easton strolled quietly in and took his place, looking annoyingly fresh
and clean by the side of those who had accompanied Skinner on his walk,
and who, in spite of vigorous use of clothes brushes, showed signs of
cross-country running.

"Have you had a pleasant walk?" he asked calmly.

"Very pleasant," Skinner said, in a tone that defied contradiction. "A
delightful walk; just the thing for getting a little into condition."

There was a murmur of assent among the boys who had accompanied him, but
there was no great heartiness in the sound; for indeed Skinner had
pressed them all to a much higher rate of speed than was pleasant in
their ordinary clothes, although they would not have minded it in
flannels.

"You all look as if you had enjoyed it," Easton said, regarding them one
by one with an air of innocent approval; "warmed yourselves up a bit, I
should say. I remark a general disappearance of collars, and Rupert
Clinton's face is scratched as if he had been having a contest with some
old lady's cat."

"I went head-foremost into a hedge," Rupert laughed. "My foot slipped in
the mud just as I was taking off, and I took a regular header into it."

"And what is the matter with your hand, Wordsworth?"

"A beast of a dog bit me. We were going across a field, and the brute
came out from a farmhouse. My wind had gone, and I happened to be last
and he made at me. Some fool has written in a book that if you keep your
eyes fixed upon a dog he will never bite you. I fixed my eye on him like
a gimlet but it did not act, and he came right at me and sprang at me
and knocked me down and got my hand in his mouth, and I don't know what
would have happened if Skinner hadn't pulled a stick out of the hedge,
and rushed back and hit him such a lick across the back that he went off
yelping. Then the farmer let fly with a double-barrelled gun from his
garden; but luckily we were pretty well out of reach, though two or
three shots hit Scudamore on the cheek and ear and pretty nearly drew
blood. He wanted to go back to fight the farmer, but as the fellow would
have reloaded by the time he got there, and there was the dog into the
bargain, we lugged him off."

"Quite an adventurous afternoon," Easton said in a tone of cordial
admiration, which elicited a growl from Skinner.

"You wish you had been with us, don't you?" he said, with what was meant
to be a sneer.

"No, rackets was quite hard work enough for me; and I don't see much fun
in either taking a header into a hedge, being bitten by a farmer's dog,
or being peppered by the man himself. Still, no doubt these things are
pleasant for those who like them. What has become of Templar?"

"He fell into a ditch," Wordsworth said; "and he just was in a state. He
had to go up to the matron for a change of clothes. He will be here in a
minute, I expect."

"Quite a catalogue of adventures. If I had known beforehand that there
was going to be so much excitement I might have been tempted to go with
you. I am afraid, Mossop, I have kept you out of quite a good thing."

"There, shut up Easton!" Pinkerton said, for he saw that Skinner was at
the point of explosion; "let us have peace and quiet this first night.
You have got the best of it, there is no doubt. Skinner would admit
that."

"No I wouldn't," Skinner interrupted.

"Never mind whether you would or not, Skinner, it clearly is so. Now,
let us change the conversation. For my part I cannot make out why one
fellow cannot enjoy football and that sort of thing, and another like to
lie on his back in the shade, without squabbling over it. If Skinner
had his own way he would never sit quiet a minute, if Easton had his he
would never exert himself to walk across the room. It is a matter of
taste. I like half and half, but I do not want to interfere with either
of your fancies. Now, it is about time to set to work. I expect there
are a good many holiday tasks not perfect."

There was a chorus of assent, and the senior boys went off to their
private studies, and the juniors to the large study, where they worked
under the eye of the house-master.

Skinner's mournful anticipations as to the effect of the want of weight
in the football team were speedily verified. The trial matches were
almost all lost, the team being fairly borne down by the superior weight
of their opponents. There was general exasperation at these disasters,
for River-Smith's House had for some years stood high, and to be beaten
in match after match was trying indeed. Skinner took the matter terribly
to heart, and was in a chronic state of disgust and fury. As Easton
observed to Edgar Clinton:

"Skinner is becoming positively dangerous. He is like a Scotch terrier
with a sore ear, and snaps at every one who comes near him."

"Still it is annoying," Edgar, who thoroughly sympathized with Skinner,
said.

"Well, yes, it is annoying. I am annoyed myself, and it takes a good
deal to annoy me. I think we ought to do some thing."

"Well, it seems to me that we have been doing all we can," Edgar said.
"I am sure you have, for it was only yesterday Skinner was holding you
up as an example to some of us. He said, 'You ought all to be ashamed of
yourselves. Why, look at that lazy beggar Easton, he works as hard as
the whole lot of you put together. If it was not for him I should say we
had better chuck it altogether.'"

"I observe that Skinner has been a little more civil to me lately,"
Easton said. "Yes, I do my best. I object to the whole thing, but if
one does play one does not like being beaten. I think we had better have
a talk over the matter together."

"But we are always talking over the matter," Edgar objected. "All the
fellows who had a chance of turning out well have been tried, and I am
sure we play up well together. Every one says that we are beaten just
because we cannot stand their rushes."

That afternoon the house was badly beaten by the Greenites in the trial
match, and as there was a special rivalry between Green's and
River-Smith's the disgust not only of the members of the team but of the
whole house was very great. Seven of the seniors met after tea in
Skinner's study to discuss the situation.

"I don't see any thing to be done," Skinner said, after various possible
changes in the team had been discussed; "it is not play we want, it is
weight. The Greenites must average at least a stone and a half heavier
than we do. I have nothing to say against the playing. We simply cannot
stand against them; we go down like nine-pins. No, I suppose we shall
lose every match this season. But I don't see any use in talking any
more about it. I suppose no one has anything further to suggest."

"Well, yes, I have a few words to say," Easton, who had been sitting on
the table and had hitherto not opened his lips, remarked in a quiet
voice.

"Well, say away."

"It seems to me," Easton went on without paying any regard to the
snappishness of Skinner's tone, "that though we cannot make ourselves
any heavier, weight is not after all the only thing. I think we might
make up for it by last. When fellows are going to row a race they don't
content themselves with practice, they set to and train hard. It seems
to me that if we were to go into strict training and get ourselves
thoroughly fit, it ought to make a lot of difference. We might lose
goals in the first half of the play, but if we were in good training we
ought to get a pull in the second half. By playing up all we knew at
first, and pumping them as much as possible, training ought to tell. I
know, Skinner, you always said we ought to keep ourselves in good
condition; but I mean more than that, I mean strict training--getting up
early and going for a three or four mile run every morning, taking
another run in the afternoon, cutting off pudding and all that sort of
thing, and going in for it heart and soul. It is no use training unless
one does a thing thoroughly."

"Well, one could but try," Skinner said. "There is no reason why one
shouldn't train for football just as one does for rowing or running. You
are the last fellow I should have expected to hear such a proposal from,
Easton, but if you are ready to do it I am sure every one else will be."

There was a cordial exclamation of assent from the others.

"Well, of course it will be a horrible nuisance," Easton said
regretfully; "but if one does go in for a thing of this sort it seems to
me that it must be done thoroughly. And besides, it is very annoying
just at the ticklish point of a game, when you would give anything to be
able to catch the fellow ahead of you with the ball, to find that your
lungs have given out, and that you haven't a cupful of wind left."

"I believe, Easton, that you are a downright humbug," Scudamore said;
"and that while you pretend to hate anything like exertion, you are just
as fond of it as Skinner is."

"Well, at any rate," Skinner broke in, "we will try Easton's suggestion.
From to-night the team shall go into strict training. I will see
River-Smith now and get leave for us to go out at six o'clock every
morning. We will settle about the afternoon work afterwards. Of course
pudding must be given up, and there must be no buying cakes or things of
that sort. New bread and potatoes must be given up, and we must all
agree never to touch anything to drink between meals. We will try the
thing thoroughly. It will be a month before we play our next match with
Green's. If we can but beat them I do not care so much about the
others. There are two or three houses we should have no chance with if
we were to train as fine as a university eight."

The rest of the team were at once informed of the determination that had
been arrived at. Had it emanated only from Skinner several of the
members might have protested against the hardship of going into training
for football, but the fact that Easton had proposed it weighed with them
all. If he was ready to take such trouble over the matter no one else
could reasonably object, and the consequence was that, although not
without a good deal of grumbling at being got up before daylight, the
whole team turned out in their flannels and two thick jerseys punctually
at six o'clock.

"Here is an egg and half cupful of milk for each of you," Skinner said
as they gathered below. "Look sharp and beat up your egg with the milk.
Here is a mouthful of biscuit for each. River-Smith said he did not like
our going out without taking something before we started, and Cornish,
who rowed in the trials at Cambridge, told me that egg and milk was the
best thing to take."

Five minutes later, comforted by the egg and milk, the party started.

"We don't want to go at racing speed," Skinner said; "merely a good
steady trot to make the lungs play. We don't want to pull ourselves down
in weight. I don't think, after the last month's work, we have any fat
among us. What we want is wind and last. To-morrow we will turn out with
the heaviest boots we have got instead of running shoes. When we can run
four miles in them, we ought to be able to keep up pretty fairly through
the hardest game of football."

There was a good deal of lagging behind towards the last part of the
run, a fact that Skinner pointed out triumphantly as a proof of want of
condition, but after a wash and change of clothes all the party agreed
that they felt better for the run.

Mr. River-Smith was as much concerned as the boys at the defeats of the
house at football, and when they sat down to breakfast the members of
the team found that a mutton-chop was provided for each of them. Strict
orders had been issued that nothing was to be said outside the house of
the football team going into training; and as, for the afternoon's
exercise, it was only necessary that every member of the team should
take part in football practice, and play up to the utmost, the matter
remained a secret. In the first two or three matches played the training
made no apparent difference.

"You must not be disheartened at that," Mr. Cornish, who was the
"housemaster," told them. "Fellows always get weak when they first begin
to train. You will find the benefit presently."

And this was the case. They won the fourth match, which was against a
comparatively weak team. This, however, encouraged them, and they were
victorious in the next two contests, although in the second their
opponents were considered a strong team, and their victory had been
regarded as certain.

The improvement in the River-Smithites' team became a topic of
conversation in the college, and there were rumours that they had put
themselves into regular training, and that some one had seen them come
in in a body at seven in the morning after having been for a run. The
challenge cup matches were now at hand, and as it happened they were
drawn to meet the Greenites, and the match was regarded with special
interest throughout the school. The rivalry between the two houses was
notorious, and although the Greenites scoffed at the idea of their being
defeated by a team they had before so easily beaten, the great
improvement the latter had made gave promise that the struggle would be
an exceptionally severe one. Skinner had for some days before looked
after the team with extreme vigilance, scarcely letting one of them out
of his sight, lest they might eat forbidden things, or in other ways
transgress the rules laid down.

"We may not win," he admitted, as they talked over the prospect on the
evening before the match, "but at any rate they will have all their work
cut out to beat us. I know they are very confident, and of course their
weight is tremendously in their favour. Now, mind, we must press them as
hard as we can for the first half the game, and never leave them for a
single moment. They are sure to get savage when they find they have not
got it all their own way, and that will help to pump them. We shall have
more left in us the second half than they will, and then will be our
chance."

These tactics were followed out, and from the first the game was played
with exceptional spirit on both sides; and as the Greenites failed, even
by the most determined rushes, to carry the ball into their opponents'
goal, the game became, as Skinner had predicted, more and more savage.

The sympathies of the school were for the most part with River-Smith's,
and the loud shouts of applause and encouragement with which their
gallant defence of their goal was greeted, added to the irritation of
the Greenites. When the half-play was called neither party had scored a
point, and as they changed sides it was evident that the tremendous pace
had told upon both parties.

"Now is our time," Skinner said to his team; "they are more done than we
are, and our training will tell more and more every minute. Keep it up
hard, and when we see a chance make a big rush and carry it down to
their end."

But the Greenites were equally determined, and in spite of the efforts
of their opponents, kept the ball at their end of the field. Then
Skinner got it and made a rush. One of the heaviest of the Greenites
charged down upon them at full speed, but was encountered by Easton
before he reached him, and the two rolled over together. The
River-Smithites backed up their leader well, and he was more than
half-way down the ground before the Greenites had arrested his progress.
Then there was a close scrimmage, and for a time the mass swayed
backwards and forwards. But here weight counted for more than wind, and
the Greenites were pushing their opponents back when the ball rolled out
from the mass.

Edgar Clinton picked it up, and was off with it in a moment, dodging
through those who attempted to check his course. He was down near the
Greenites' goal before two of them threw themselves upon him together;
but his friends were close behind, and after a desperate scrimmage the
ball was driven behind the Greenite goal. Some loose play followed, and
a Greenite who had the ball threw it forward to one of his own team, who
caught it and started running. The River-Smithites shouted "Dead ball!"
"Dead ball!" and claimed the point; but the holder of the ball, without
heeding the shouts, ran right through followed by the rest of his team,
and touched down behind the River-Smith goal. The ball was then brought
out and a goal kicked. All this time the River-Smithites had not moved
from behind the Greenite goal, but had remained there awaiting the
result of their appeal to the umpire, who now at once decided in their
favour. Not satisfied with this the Greenites appealed to the referee,
who confirmed the decision of the umpire. Too angry to be reasonable,
the captain refused to continue the game, and called upon his team to
leave the field. They were going, when the derisive shouts of the
lookers-on caused them again to alter their intentions, and the game was
renewed.

There were ten minutes yet remaining, and for that time the game was
played with a fury that caused it to be long memorable in the annals of
Cheltenham football. But weight and strength could not prevail over the
superior last and coolness of the defenders of the River-Smith goal.
Every attempt was beaten off, every rush met, and as no point had been
added to the score when time was called, the umpire decided that the
game had been won by the River-Smithites by one touch down to nothing.
The captain of the Greenites appealed from the umpire's and referee's
decision to the football committee of the college, who gave it against
him, and he then appealed to the Rugby Union, who decided that the
umpire's decision was perfectly right, and the victory thus remained
beyond further contention with the River-Smithites.




CHAPTER III.

GONE.


"Bravo, Clinton! Well done, indeed!" so shouted one of the big boys, and
a score of others joined in in chorus.

"Which is Clinton?" a woman who was standing looking on at the game
asked one of the younger boys.

The boy looked up at the questioner. She was a woman of about forty
years old, quietly dressed in black with a gloss of newness on it.

"I will point him out to you directly. They are all mixed up again now."

"There are two of them, are there not?" the woman asked.

"Yes, that's the other; there--that one who has just picked up the ball
and is running with it; there, that's the other, the one who is just
charging the fellow who is trying to stop his brother."

"Well done!" he shouted, as Edgar's opponent rolled over.

The woman asked no more questions until the match was over, but stood
looking on intently as the players came off the ground. Rupert and Edgar
were together, laughing and talking in high spirits; for each had kicked
a goal, and the town boys had been beaten by four goals to one. The boy
to whom she had been speaking had long before strolled away to another
part of the field, but she turned to another as the Clintons approached.

"Those are the Clintons, are they not?" she asked.

"Yes, and a good sort they are," the boy said heartily.

She stood looking at them intently until they had passed her, then
walked away with her eyes bent on the ground, and made her way to a
small lodging she had taken in the town. For several days she placed
herself so that she could see the boys on their way to and fro between
River-Smith's and the college, and watched them at football.

"I wonder who that woman is," Rupert said one day to his brother. "I
constantly see her about, and she always seems to be staring at me."

"I thought she stared at me too," Edgar said. "I am sure I do not know
her. I don't think I have ever seen her face before."

"She asked me whether you were Clinton the other day when you were
playing football. It was just after you had made a run with the ball,
and some one shouted, 'Well done, Clinton!' And she asked me which was
Clinton, and whether there were not two of them. And of course I pointed
you both out," a youngster said who was walking with them.

"That is rum, too," Rupert said. "I wonder who the woman is, Edgar, and
what interest she can have in us."

"If she has any interest, Rupert, I suppose she will stop staring some
day and speak. Perhaps it is some old servant, though I don't remember
her. Well, it is no odds any way."

Jane Humphreys was much puzzled as to what step she should take first.
During all these years she had waited she had always expected that she
should have known which was her own child as soon as she set eyes on the
boys, and was surprised and disappointed to find that even after a
week's stay at Cheltenham, and examining their faces as closely as she
could, she had not the slightest idea which was which. She had imagined
that she should not only know, but feel an affection for the boy who was
her own, and she had fully intended to place him in the position of
Captain Clinton's heir, trusting to receive the promise of a large sum
from him when he should come into possession.

Now it seemed to her that she cared no more for one than for the other,
and that her best plan therefore was to place in the position of heir
whichever of them was most likely to suit her purpose. But here, again,
she was in a difficulty. If they resembled each other in no other point,
they both looked thoroughly manly, straightforward, and honest lads,
neither of whom would be likely to entertain any dishonourable
proposition. Her intention had been to say to her son, "You are not
really the twin brother, as you suppose, of the other. Captain and Mrs.
Clinton do not know which of you two is their child." She wondered
whether they already knew as much as that. Probably they did. So many
people had known of that affair at Agra, that Captain Clinton had
probably told them himself. She would tell the boy, "I am the only
person in the world who can clear up the mystery. I have the key to it
in my hand, and can place either you or the other in the position of
sole heir to the estate. I shall expect to be paid a handsome sum from
the one I put into possession. Remember, on one hand I can give you a
splendid property, on the other I can show you to have been from the
first a usurper of things you had no right to--an interloper and a
fraud."

It had seemed to her a simple matter before she came down to Cheltenham.
Surely no boy in his senses would hesitate a moment in accepting her
offer. It had always been a fixed thing in her mind that this would be
so, but now she felt that it was not so certain as she before imagined.
She hesitated whether she should not defer it until the boys came of
age, and the one she chose could sign a legal document; but she was
anxious to leave England, and go right away to America or Australia.
Besides, if she had the promise she could enforce its fulfilment. Which
boy should she select? She changed her mind several times, and at last
determined that she would leave it to chance, and would choose the one
whom she next met.

It chanced that Edgar was the first she encountered after having taken
this resolution, and it happened that he was walking by himself, having
remained in the class-room a few minutes after the rest of the boys had
left, to speak to the master respecting a difficult passage in a lesson.
The woman placed herself in his way.

"Well, what is it?" he said. "You have been hanging about for the last
week. What is it you want?"

"I want to speak to you about something very important."

"Oh, nonsense!" he said. "There is nothing important you can have to
tell me."

"Yes, there is; something of the greatest importance. You do not suppose
that I should have been here for a week waiting to tell it to you, if it
was not."

"Well, I suppose you think it important," he said; "so fire away."

"I cannot tell you now," she said; "it is too long a story. Could you
spare me half an hour, young sir? You will not be sorry for it
afterwards, I promise you."

Edgar looked impatiently at his watch. He had nothing particular to do
at the moment, and his curiosity was excited. "I can spare it you now,"
he said.

"I am staying at this address," she said, handing him a piece of paper.
"It is not five minutes' walk from here. I will go on, if you will
follow me."

"All right," Edgar said, looking at the paper; "though I expect it is
some fooling or other." She walked away rapidly, and he sauntered after
her. She was standing with the door open when he arrived, and he
followed her into a small parlour. He threw himself down into a chair.

"Now, fire away," he said; "and be as quick as you can."

"Before I begin," she said quietly, "will you tell me if you know
anything relating to the circumstances of your birth?"

[Illustration: "THE WOMAN PLACED HERSELF IN HIS WAY."]

He looked at her in astonishment. "No," he said. "What in the world
should I know about the circumstances of my birth?"

"You know that you were born at Agra in India?"

"Of course I know that."

"And your father, Captain Clinton, has never spoken to you about the
circumstances?"

Edgar shook his head. "No; I only know that I was born there."

"I should have thought that he would have told you the story," she said;
"for there were many knew of it, and you would be sure to hear it sooner
or later."

"I do not want to hear of it," he said, leaping to his feet. "If there
was anything my father wanted me to know he would tell it to me at once.
You do not suppose I want to hear it from anyone else?"

He was making for the door, when she said, "Then you do not know that
you are not his son?"

He stopped abruptly. "Don't know I am not his son!" he repeated. "You
must be mad."

"I am not mad at all," she said. "You are not his son. Not any relation
in the world to him. Sit down again and I will tell you the story."

He mechanically obeyed, feeling overwhelmed with the news he had heard.
Then as she told him how the children had become mixed, and how Captain
Clinton had decided to bring them up together until he should be able to
discover by some likeness to himself or wife which was his son, Edgar
listened to the story with a terrible feeling of oppression stealing
over him. He could not doubt that she was speaking the truth, for if it
were false it could be contradicted at once. There were circumstances
too which seemed to confirm it. He recalled now, that often in their
younger days his father and mother had asked casual visitors if they saw
any likeness between either of the children to them; and he specially
remembered how closely Colonel Winterbottom, who had been major in his
father's regiment, had scrutinized them both, and how he had said, "No,
Clinton, for the life of me I cannot see that one is more like you and
your wife than the other." And now this woman had told him that he was
not their son; and he understood that she must be this sergeant's wife,
and that if he was not Captain Clinton's son she must be his mother.

"You are Mrs. Humphreys, I suppose?" he said in a hard, dry voice when
she had ceased speaking.

"I am your mother," she said. He moved as if struck with sudden pain as
she spoke, but said nothing.

"I sacrificed myself for your sake," she went on after a pause. "I had
them both, and it seemed to me hard that my boy should grow up to be a
boy of the regiment, with nothing better to look forward to than to
enlist in it some day, while the other, no better in any respect than
him, should grow up to be a rich man, with everything the heart could
desire, and I determined that he should have an equal chance with the
other. I knew that perhaps some day they might find out which was which
by a likeness, but that was not certain, and at any rate you would get a
good education and be well brought up, and you were sure to be provided
for, and when the time should come, if there was still doubt, I could
give you the chance of either having the half or all just as you chose.
It was terrible for me to give you up altogether, but I did it for your
good. I suffered horribly, and the women of the regiment turned against
me. Your father treated me badly, and I had to leave him and come home
to England. But my comfort has all along been that I had succeeded; that
you were being brought up as a gentleman, and were happy and well cared
for."

Edgar sat silent for some time. "How do you know," he asked suddenly,
"that it is Rupert and not I who is the real son?"

"One of the infants," she said, "had a tiny mole no bigger than a pin's
head on his shoulder, and I was sure that I would always know them apart
from that."

"Yes, Rupert has a mark like that," Edgar admitted, for he had noticed
it only a short time before.

"Yes," the woman said quietly. "Mrs. Clinton's child had that mark. It
was very, very small and scarcely noticeable, but as I washed and
dressed them when babies, I noticed it."

"Well, what next?" Edgar asked roughly.

"As I said, my boy,"--Edgar winced as she spoke--"it is for you to
choose whether you will have half or all the property. If I hold my
tongue you will go on as you are now, and they will never know which is
their son. If you like to have it all, to be the heir of that grand
place and everything else, I have only to go and say that my boy had a
mole on his shoulder. There is nothing I would not do to make you
happy."

"And I suppose," Edgar said quietly, "you will want some money for
yourself?"

"I do not wish to make any bargain, if that is what you mean," she said
in an indignant tone. "I know, of course, that you can give me no money
now. I suppose that in either case you would wish to help a mother who
has done so much for you. I don't expect gratitude at present. Naturally
you are upset about what I have told you. Some day when you grow to be a
man you will appreciate better than you can now what I have done for
you, and what you have gained by it."

Edgar sat silent for a minute or two, and then he rose quietly and said,
"I will think it all over. You shall have my answer in a day or two,"
and without another word left the room and sauntered off.

"What is the matter, Edgar?" Rupert asked two hours later. "I have been
looking for you everywhere, and young Johnson has only just said that
you told him to tell me you were feeling very seedy, and were going to
lie down for a bit."

"I have got a frightful headache, Rupert," Edgar, who was lying with
his face to the wall, said. "I am too bad to talk, old fellow; let me
alone. I daresay I shall be all right when I have had a night's sleep.
Tell River-Smith, will you, that I am seedy, and cannot come down to
tea. I do not want the doctor or anything of that sort, but if I am not
all right in the morning, I will see him."

Rupert went out quietly. It was something new Edgar's being like this,
he never remembered him having a bad headache before. "I expect," he
said to himself, "he got hurt in one of those scrimmages yesterday,
although he did not say anything about it. I do hope that he is not
going to be ill. The examinations are on next week, it will be a
frightful nuisance for him to miss them." He went into Edgar's dormitory
again the last thing. He opened the door very quietly in case he should
be asleep.

"I am not asleep," Edgar said; "I am rather better now. Good-night,
Rupert," and he held out his hand. Rupert was surprised at the action,
but took his hand and pressed it.

"Good-night, Edgar. I do hope that you will be all right in the
morning."

"Good-night, old fellow. God bless you!" and there was almost a sob in
the lad's voice.

Rupert went out surprised and uneasy. "Edgar must be worse than he
says," he thought to himself. "It is rum of him saying good-night in
that way. I have never known him do such a thing before. I wish now that
I had asked River-Smith to send round for the doctor. I daresay Edgar
would not have liked it, but it would have been best; but he seemed so
anxious to be quiet and get off to sleep, that I did not think of it."

The first thing in the morning Rupert went to his brother's dormitory to
see how he was. He tapped at the door, but there was no answer. Thinking
that his brother was asleep, he turned the handle and went in. An
exclamation of surprise broke from him. Edgar was not there and the bed
had not been slept in, but was just as he had seen it when Edgar was
lying on the outside. On the table was a letter directed to himself. He
tore it open.

"My dear Rupert," it began, "a horrible thing has happened, and I shall
be off to-night. I have learned that I am not your brother at all, but
that I was fraudulently put in that position. I have been writing this
afternoon to father and mother. Oh! Rupert, to think that it is the last
time I can call them so. They will tell you the whole business. I am
writing this by the light of the lamp in the passage, and you will all
be up in a few minutes, so I have no time to say more. I shall post the
other letter to-night. Good-bye, Rupert! Good-bye, dear old fellow! We
have been happy together, haven't we? and I hope you will always be so.
Perhaps some day when I have made myself a name--for I have no right to
call myself Clinton, and I won't call myself by my real name--I may see
you again. I have taken the note, but I know that you won't grudge it
me."

Rupert read the letter through two or three times, then ran down as he
was, in his night-shirt and trousers, and passed in to the master's part
of the private house. "Robert," he said to the man-servant whom he met
in the passage, "is Mr. River-Smith dressed yet?"

"He is not finished dressing yet, Master Clinton; at least he has not
come out of his room. But I expect he is pretty near dressed."

"Will you ask him to come out to me at once, please?" Rupert said. "It
is a most serious business, or you may be sure I should not ask."

The man asked no questions, for he saw by Rupert's face that this must
be something quite out of the ordinary way. "Just step into this room
and I will fetch him," he said.

In a minute the master came in. "What is it, Clinton,--nothing serious
the matter, I hope?"

"Yes, sir, I am afraid it is something very serious. My brother was not
well yesterday evening. He said that he had a frightful headache, but he
thought it would be all right in the morning, and he went and lay down
on his bed. I thought that he was strange in his manner when I went in
to say good-night to him; and when I went in this morning, sir, the bed
hadn't been slept in and he was gone, and he has left me this note, and
it is evident, as you will see, that he is altogether off his head. You
see, he fancies that he is not my brother."

The master had listened with the gravest concern, and now glanced
hastily through the letter.

"'Tis strange indeed," he said. "There is no possibility, of course,
that there is anything in this idea of his?"

"No, sir, of course not. How could there be?"

"That I cannot say, Clinton. Anyhow the matter is most serious. Of
course he could not have taken any clothes with him?"

"No, sir; at least he cannot have got any beyond what he stands in. I
should think the matron would not have given him any out, especially as
he must have told her that he was ill, or he could not have got into the
dormitory."

"I had better see her first, Clinton; it is always well to be quite sure
of one's ground. You go up and dress while I make the inquiries."

Rupert returned to the dormitory, finished dressing, and then ran down
again. "He has taken no clothes with him, Clinton. The matron says that
he went to her in the afternoon and said that he had a splitting
headache, and wanted to be quite quiet and undisturbed. She offered to
send for the doctor, but he said that he expected that he should be all
right in the morning, but that if he wasn't of course the doctor could
see him then. So she unlocked the door of the dormitory and let him in.
I asked her if he had his boots on. She said no; he was going up in
them, contrary to rule, when she reminded him of it, and he took them
off and put them in the rack in the wood-closet. I have seen the
boot-boy, and he says he noticed when he went there this morning early
to clean them, No. 6 rack was empty. So your brother must have come
down, after he had gone up to the dormitory, and got his boots.

"Now let us ask a few questions of the servants." He rang the bell, and
sent for some of the servants. "Which of you were down first this
morning?" he asked.

"I was down first, sir," one of the girls said.

"Did you find anything unusual?"

"Yes, sir. One of the windows downstairs, looking into the yard, was
open, though I know I closed it and put up the shutters last night; and
John says the door of the yard has been unbolted too, and that the lock
had been forced."

The master went out, walked across the yard, and examined the lock.

"There would be no difficulty in opening that on this side," he said to
Rupert; "it could be done with a strong pocket-knife easily enough."

"What is to be done, sir?" Rupert asked anxiously. "Shall I telegraph to
my father?"

"I think you had better go and see him, Clinton. Your brother probably
did not leave the house until twelve o'clock, though he may have gone at
eleven. But whether eleven or twelve it makes no difference. No doubt he
posted the letter he speaks of the first thing on leaving; but, you see,
it is a cross post to your place, and the letter could not anyhow have
got there for delivery this morning. You can hardly explain it all by
telegram; and I think, as I said, it is better that you should go
yourself. I will have breakfast put for you in my study, and I will have
a fly at the door. You will be able to catch the eight-o'clock train
into Gloucester, and you should be home by eleven."

"You do not think anything could have happened to him?" Rupert asked
anxiously.

"No, I do not think that there is any fear of that, Clinton. You see, he
has got a fixed idea in his head; he has evidently acted with
deliberation. Besides, you see in his letter to you he says he shall not
see you until he has made a name for himself. I tell you frankly,
Clinton, that my own impression is that your brother is not mad, but
that he has--of course I do not know how, or attempt to explain it--but
that he has in some way got the idea that he is not your brother. Has he
been quite himself lately?"

"Quite, sir; I have seen nothing unusual about him at all."

"Did he seem bright and well yesterday morning?"

"Just the same as usual, sir. I was quite surprised when, just at
tea-time, I found that he had gone to lie down with the headache."

"Did he get any letter yesterday?"

"No, sir; we neither of us had any letter, in the morning anyhow. He may
have received one in the afternoon, for anything I know."

"I will go and ask Robert," the master said; "he always takes the
letters from the letter-bag."

"No, Clinton," he went on when he returned; "there were only three
letters for the boys in the afternoon mail, and neither of them was for
him. He cannot have seen anyone, can he, who could have told him any
story that would serve as a foundation for this idea?"

Then an idea flashed across Rupert. "Well, sir, a rather curious thing
has happened in the last few days. There has been a woman about here,
and it appears she asked one of the boys which were the Clintons; and we
have seen her every time we have been out, and we both noticed that she
has stared at us in a very strange way. I don't know that that can
possibly have anything to do with it. She may have spoken to Edgar
yesterday. Of course I cannot say."

"Well, I must be going now. I have told Robert to put your breakfast in
my study, and to send the boy for a fly."

"What will you say to the boys, sir?" Rupert asked anxiously.

"There will be no occasion to say anything for a day or two beyond the
fact that you are obliged to go home suddenly. I shall only say Clinton,
but it will naturally be supposed that I mean both of you. If it gets
out that you have gone alone, which it may do, although I shall give
strict orders to the contrary, I shall of course mention that we fear
that your brother got his head hurt in that football match, and that he
has taken up some strange ideas and has gone off. But it is hardly
likely that the matter will leak out in any way until you return, or I
hear from you. I think you can make yourself quite easy on that score."

It was half-past eleven when Rupert Clinton reached home. On the way he
had thought over how he had best break the news quietly to his father,
and he got out of the trap that had driven him from the station at the
lodge, and made a long circuit so as to reach the stable without being
seen from the front windows of the house. He went at once to the old
coachman, who was a great ally of the boys. The man uttered an
exclamation of astonishment at seeing him.

"Why, Master Rupert, I thought that you were not coming home for another
fortnight. Well, you have given me a start!"

"Look here, Fellows, I have come to see my father about a serious
matter, and I want to see him before I see my mother."

"Nothing the matter with Master Edgar, I hope, sir?"

"Yes, it is about him; but I will tell you presently, Fellows, I don't
want to lose a minute now. Please go into the house and get my father to
come out at once to the stables. Make any excuse you like to bring him
out, and as you come along you can tell him I am here."

In five minutes Captain Clinton hurried into the saddle-room, where
Rupert was standing. He was pale and agitated.

"What is the matter, Rupert,--has anything happened to Edgar? I know
that it must be something very serious or you would never come like
this."

"It is serious, father, very serious;" and he told him what had
happened, and handed him the letter that Edgar had left. "You see he has
evidently gone out of his mind, father."

Captain Clinton ran his eye over the letter and gave an exclamation of
surprise and grief, then he stood for a minute covering his face with
his hand. When he removed it Rupert saw that his eyes were filled with
tears. "Poor boy!" he murmured, "I see that we have made a terrible
mistake, although we did it for the best."

"A mistake, father! Why, is it possible, can it be true that--"

"That Edgar is not your brother, my boy? Yes, it is certain that he is
not your brother, though whether he or you is our son we know not."

Rupert stood speechless with astonishment. "One of us not your son!" he
said at last in a broken voice. "Oh, father, how can that be?"

"It happened thus, Rupert," Captain Clinton said, and then told him the
story of the confusion that had arisen between the children. He then
went on: "You see, Rupert, we hoped, your mother and I, at first that we
should find out as you grew up, by the likeness one of you might develop
to your mother or myself, which was our child; but for some years now,
my boy, I have feared rather than hoped to discover a likeness, and have
been glad that neither of you took after either of us, as far as we
could see. We loved you equally, and could not bear the thought of
losing either of you. We had two sons instead of one, that was all; and
had one been proved to be ours, we should have lost the other. We
intended to tell you in a short time how the matter stood, and that
while one was our adopted son and the other our own, we neither knew nor
cared which was which, loving you both equally and regarding you both as
our own. Indeed we should never have told you about it, had it not been
that as the story of the confusion at your birth was known to a great
many men who were at that time in India, it was almost sure to come to
your ears sooner or later. Had we ever dreamt that it would come like
this, of course we should have told you long ago. But how can Edgar have
learnt it? Still more, how can anyone have been able to tell him--what
even we do not know--that he is not our son?"

"You will know when the letter arrives by the next post, father. But now
I have heard the story, I think it must have been told him by a woman;"
and he related how they had been watched by a woman who was a stranger
to them.

"What was she like, Rupert?"

Rupert described her as well as he was able.

"I have no doubt that it was Mrs. Humphreys, Rupert; she would be about
the age you describe, and, allowing for the seventeen years that have
passed since I have seen her, like her in appearance. But we had better
go in to your mother now, she must be told. I will go in first and break
it to her. Of course there is nothing else that can be done until we get
Edgar's letter. I will send a man off on horseback to the post-office,
we shall get it an hour earlier than if we wait for the postman to bring
it."

It was half an hour before Captain Clinton came out from the
drawing-room and called Rupert in. The boy had been telling the news to
Madge, having asked his father if he should do so. She had been terribly
distressed, and Rupert himself had completely broken down.

"You can come in now, both of you," Captain Clinton said. "Of course,
your mother is dreadfully upset, so try and keep up for her sake."

Mrs. Clinton embraced Rupert in silence, she was too affected for
speech.

"Do you think," she said after a time in broken tones, "Edgar can have
gone with this woman?"

"I don't know, mother; I have not been able to think about it. I should
not think he could. I know if it had been me I should have hated her
even if she was my mother, for coming after all this time to rob me of
your love and father's. I should run away as he has done, I daresay,
though I don't know about that; but I would not have gone with her."

"I cannot make out how she could have known which was which," Captain
Clinton said, walking up and down the room; "we have never seen any
likeness in either of you to ourselves, but it is possible she may have
seen a likeness in Edgar to her husband. By the way," he said suddenly,
"I must send off a telegram to River-Smith; he, of course, will be most
anxious." He took a telegram form from his desk, and after a minute's
hesitation wrote: "No anxiety as to Edgar's mind can account for his
conduct--will write fully to-morrow after I have received his
letter--shall keep Rupert here some days." Then putting it in an
envelope, he rang the bell and directed the servant to give it to one of
the grooms with orders to ride with it at once to the nearest telegraph
station.

"Now, Rupert, the best thing you and Madge can do is to go out for a
walk. You can know nothing more until the letter arrives, and it will be
better for you to be moving about than to be sitting here quietly. Your
mother had best lie down until the letter comes; it cannot be here until
five o'clock."

Madge and Rupert as they walked talked the matter over in every possible
light, the only conclusion at which they arrived being that whoever
might be Edgar's father and mother they would always regard him as their
brother, and should love him just the same as before.

"I cannot think why he ran away!" Madge exclaimed over and over again.
"I am sure I should not run away if I found that I wasn't father and
mother's real daughter. They have been everything to me, and I could not
love them a bit less if I did know that I was their adopted child
instead of being their real one."

"No, certainly not," Rupert agreed; "but then, you see, Madge, Edgar may
have thought that he had been adopted, not as childless people sometimes
adopt children, but because they could not help adopting him."

"But that wasn't his fault, Rupert."

"No, that wasn't his fault; but I can understand him feeling that it
made a great difference. Oh, I wonder what he is doing! I expect he went
up to London by the night mail; he would have caught that at Glo'ster.
But what could he do when he got there?"

"Oh, I am not thinking about that!" the girl said. "I am thinking what
he must feel when he knows father and mother are not his father and
mother, and that you and I are not his brother and sister. It must be
awful, Rupert."

"It must be awful," Rupert agreed. "I do not know what I should have
done had it been me, and you know it might just as well have been me as
Edgar. I wish it were five o'clock!"

The afternoon seemed indeed endless to them all. For the last half-hour
Rupert and Madge sat at the window gazing across the park for the first
sight of the horseman, and at last they exclaimed simultaneously, "There
he comes!"

Captain Clinton, who had been sitting by the sofa holding his wife's
hand in his, rose. "I will go and meet him," he said. "Rupert and Madge,
you had better go into the library until I call you. I must read it over
first to your mother."

Without a word they went into the other room, and from the window
watched Captain Clinton as he walked quickly down the drive to meet the
groom. They saw him take the letter, and, as the man rode on towards the
stables, open it and stand reading it.

"It is very bad," Madge said almost in a whisper, as she saw her father
drop his hand despondently to his side, and then with bent head walk
towards the house. Not another word was spoken until Captain Clinton
opened the door and called them. Madge had been crying silently, and the
tears were running fast down Rupert's cheeks as he sat looking out on to
the park.

"You had better read the letter here," Captain Clinton said. "I may tell
you what I did not mention before, that there was a strong opinion
among many at the time, that the confusion between the children arose,
not from accident, as was said, but was deliberate, and this letter
confirms that view. This is what has hit Edgar so hard."

The letter was as follows:--

"My dearest father, for I cannot call you anything else, I have just
heard about my birth from a woman who calls herself my mother, and who,
I suppose, has a right to do so, though certainly I shall never call her
or think of her so. She has told me about her child and yours getting
mixed, and how you brought both up in hopes of finding out some day
which was which.

"Rupert and I had noticed for some days a woman looking at us, and she
met me this afternoon and said she had some thing of extreme importance
to tell me. I went with her and she told me the story, and said that I
was her son and not yours. I asked her how she knew me from Rupert, and
she said that one of us had a small mole on the shoulder. I knew that
Rupert had a tiny mole there, and she said that that was the mark by
which she knew your son from hers.

"Then, father, she told me that she had done it all on purpose, and had
sacrificed herself in order that I might benefit from it. This was all
horrible! And then she actually proposed that I should not only keep
silent about this, but offered to come forward and declare that it was
her son who had the mole on his shoulder, so that I might get the whole
and Rupert none. I don't want to say what I felt. I only told her I
would think it over. I have been thinking it over, and I am going away.
My dear father and mother, for I shall always think of you so, I thank
you for all your love and kindness, which I have received through a
horrible fraud. If it had all been an accident, and you had found out
for yourselves by the likeness that Rupert was your son, I do not think
that I should have minded, at least nothing like so much. I should, of
course, have been very grieved that you were not my father and mother,
and that Rupert and Madge were not my brother and sister; but it would
have been nobody's fault, and I am sure that you would all still have
loved me. But to know that it has been a wicked fraud, that I have been
an impostor palmed upon you, that there has been a plot and conspiracy
to rob you, and that I have a mother who not only did this, but who
could propose to me to go on deceiving you, and even to join in a fresh
fraud and to swindle Rupert, is so awful that there is nothing for me to
do but to go away.

"I feel sure you will all be sorry, and that though I am not your son
you would go on treating me as if I were a younger brother of Rupert's.
But I could not bear it, father. I could not accept anything from you,
for I should feel that it was the result of this wicked fraud, that it
was what this woman, I cannot call her mother, had schemed for me to
get. Some day when I have made my way, and when all this may not hurt me
so horribly as it seems to do now, I will come and see you all if you
will let me, to thank you all for the love and kindness that should
never have been mine. But that will not be till I am in a position when
I can want nothing, for I feel now that were I dying of hunger I could
not accept a crust from your hands, for if I did so I should feel I was
a party to this abominable fraud. God bless you, dearest father and
mother and Rupert and Madge!--Your unhappy Edgar."




CHAPTER IV.

BACK AT SCHOOL.


It was a long time after they had, with many breaks, read Edgar's letter
to the end before Rupert and Madge could compose themselves sufficiently
to accompany their father into the drawing-room. They again broke down
when they met their mother; and it was not until Captain Clinton said,
"Come, we must all pull ourselves together and see what is to be done,
and talk the whole matter over calmly," that by a great effort they
recovered their composure. "Now, in the first place, we must try to find
Edgar. He has got twenty-four hours' start of us, but that is not very
much. I suppose you think, Rupert, that there is no doubt that he went
up to town by the night train."

"I have no doubt that he got away in time to do so, father; but of
course he might have gone by the down train, which passes through
Gloucester somewhere about the same time."

"I do not think it likely that he did that, Rupert. I should say he was
sure to go to London; that is almost always the goal people make for,
unless it is in the case of boys who want to go to sea, when they would
make for Liverpool or some other port. But I don't think Edgar was
likely to do that. I don't think he had any special fancy for the sea;
so we may assume that he has gone to London. What money had he?"

"He had that five-pound note you sent three days ago, father, to clear
off any ticks we had, and to pay our journey home. That is what he meant
when he said, 'I have taken the note, but I know you won't grudge it
me.' I think he had about a pound left--that is about what I had--and I
know when the note came he said that the money he had was enough to last
him to the end of the term. So he would have the five-pound note
untouched when he got to London, and if driven to it he could get, I
should think, six or seven pounds for his watch and chain."

"That would give him enough to keep him some little time. If he had been
a couple of years older I should say that he would probably enlist at
once, as you had both made up your minds to go into the army. But
although lads do enlist under the proper age, no recruiting officer or
doctor would pass him as being eighteen. The first thing to do will be
to advertise for him--in the first place to advertise offering a reward
for information as to his whereabouts, and in the second place
advertising to him direct, begging him to come home."

"But he would never come, father," Rupert said, looking at the letter,
which Captain Clinton still held in his hand.

"It would depend how we advertised. Suppose I were to say, 'Statement of
woman not believed; we are in as much doubt as before.'"

The others looked up in intense surprise.

"Oh, father, how could you say that?" Rupert exclaimed. "Oh, if we could
but say so! I should be quite, quite content to know that either of us
might be her son--that would not matter so much if we felt that you
loved us both equally; but how could you say so?"

"Because, Rupert," Captain Clinton said gravely, "I still think there is
great ground for doubt."

"Do you really, father? Oh, I am pleased! I think--yes, I am sure that I
could bear now to know that Edgar is your real son, and not I. It would
be so different to learn it from your lips, to know that you all love me
still, instead of hearing it in the dreadful way Edgar did. But how do
you doubt, father? It seemed to me from reading the letter so certain."

"Do you really doubt, Percy?" Mrs. Clinton asked.

"I do indeed, Lucy; and I will give you my reasons. In the first place,
this woman left India a few weeks after the affair. She certainly could
not have seen the children until we returned to England, and, so far as
we know, has never seen them since. If she has seen them, she never can
have spoken to them or come in any sort of contact with them, therefore
she cannot possibly have known which is which. When she saw them at
Cheltenham, and Rupert says that she was there more than a week, she met
them upon every possible occasion and stared hard at them. It is
evident, therefore, that she was for all that time doubtful. No doubt
she was doing what we used to do, trying to detect a resemblance. Now,
if we in all these years with the boys, constantly watching their ways
and listening to their voices, could detect no resemblance, it is
extremely improbable that she was able to do so from merely seeing them
a score of times walking in the streets. I do not say that it is
impossible she could have done so; I only say it is extremely
improbable; and I think it much more likely that, finding she could see
no resemblance whatever, she determined to speak to the first whom she
might happen to find alone."

"But there is the mark, father," Rupert said.

"Yes, there is the mark," Mrs. Clinton repeated.

"I did not know you had a mark, Rupert. I wonder we never noticed it,
Lucy."

"It is a very tiny one, father. I never noticed it myself--indeed I can
hardly see it before a glass, for it is rather at the back of the
shoulder--until Edgar noticed it one day. It is not larger than the head
of a good-sized pin. It is a little dark-brown mole. Perhaps it was
smaller and lighter when I was a baby; but it must have been there then,
or she would not have known about it."

"That is so, Rupert; but the mere fact that it is there does not in any
way prove that you are our son. Just see what Edgar says about it in his
letter. Remember the woman could not have known which of you boys had
the mark; and that she did not know, that is to say, that she had not
recognized the likeness, appears from Edgar's letter. This is what he
says: 'She said that one of us had a small mole on the shoulder. I knew
that Rupert had a tiny mole there; and she said that was the mark by
which she knew your son from hers.' Suppose Edgar had replied, 'Yes, I
have such a mark on my shoulder,' might she not have said, that is the
mark by which I can distinguish my son from that of Captain Clinton?"

The others were silent. Then Mrs. Clinton said, "You know, Percy, I do
not wish to prove that one more than the other of the boys is ours; but
naturally the woman would wish to benefit her own boy, and if it had
been her own boy who had the mark, why should she not have told Edgar
that she had made a mistake, and that it was Rupert who was her son?"

"I do not suppose, Lucy, that she cared in the slightest which was her
son; her main object, of course, was to extort money. Edgar does not say
anything at all about that; and of course at first she would try and
make out that she was ready to sacrifice herself for him, and would
scarcely say that she expected him to make her a handsome allowance when
he came into the property, but I have no doubt that was her motive.
Well, you see, she had already begun with Edgar. Suppose she said that
she had made a mistake, and Rupert was her son. Edgar would have gone in
and told him, and would probably have telegraphed to me, so that I could
get to Rupert before this woman saw him, and she would have known then
that her story would have been upset altogether. No court of law would
attach any weight to what she might say. She would have to stand
confessed as having been concerned in a gross fraud, and with having
lied at first; and unless she was in a position to produce corroborative
evidence to prove that her child had this mark, her word would go for
nothing.

"Now, I feel sure that she could produce no such evidence. The mark was
almost an invisible one, for it was never afterwards noticed. Had she
shown it to any of the women of her acquaintance, they would have come
forward when the change of children took place, and have pointed out
that the children could be easily distinguished, inasmuch as my child
had a peculiar mark. I feel sure that even her husband knew nothing
about this mark, for I don't believe he was a party to the fraud. He was
terribly upset by the whole business, and took to drink afterwards.
There were continual quarrels between his wife and himself, and she left
him and went to England. I believe if he could have pointed out which
was my child and which was his own, he would have done so.

"Certainly, I myself should have attached little or no weight to this
woman's story if she had come here with it. I should have turned her out
of the house, and have told her to go to a court if she dare and claim
the custody of her son. She must have known the weakness of her own
position, and as I say, having once opened the matter to Edgar, she
determined to stick to it, knowing that a boy taken thus on a sudden
would be likely to believe her, whereas if she said that you were her
son she would find you already prepared and probably have to confront me
too. So you see, Rupert, I can truthfully advertise--'Woman's story not
believed; we are in as much doubt as before; both are regarded by us as
our sons.'"

"I am glad, father!" Rupert exclaimed excitedly. "Oh! if Edgar had but
written to you first, instead of going straight away."

"It would have been better," Captain Clinton said, "but I cannot blame
him. I think it was natural that he should go as he did. He would have
thought that had he written to me it would have seemed as if he wanted
something from me, and anything would have seemed better to him than
that. However, we must set about doing something at once. I shall go by
the nine o'clock local to Swindon, and on by the night mail to town.
Then I shall set a detective at work. He may find out from the porters
if anyone noticed a lad arrive by the night mail this morning, and shall
draw up carefully-worded advertisements. I shall write to Mr.
River-Smith before I start. What would you like, Rupert--to go back
to-morrow, or to stay away until the end of the term? If you take my
advice, you will go back; it would be a pity for you to miss your
examinations."

"I don't think I could get through the examinations, father, with this
on my mind; besides, what should I say to the fellows about Edgar's
going away? You see, if we find him before next term begins, we need say
nothing about it."

"You would have to account for his having run away, Rupert, anyhow. I
think you had better go back, my boy, and tell the facts of the story.
There is not the slightest discredit in it, and it would be better for
Edgar himself that it should be known that he went under the influence
of a mistake than that all sorts of reasons should be assigned for his
absence. There will, of course, be no occasion to go into full details.
You would tell the story of the confusion that arose as to the children,
and say that Edgar had received some information which led him
erroneously to conclude that the problem was solved, and that he was not
my son, and that therefore he had run away so as to avoid receiving any
further benefits from the mistake that had been made."

"Perhaps that would be best, father. Indeed I don't know what I should
do if I were to stop here now with nothing to do but to worry about
him."

"I am sure it will be best, Rupert. I will tell your master you will
return to-morrow afternoon."

Captain Clinton went up to town by the night mail, and in the morning
went to a private detective's office. After giving particulars of
Edgar's age and appearance he went on: "As he had no luggage with him,
and there was nothing particular about his personal appearance, I
consider it altogether useless to search for him in London; but I think
it possible that he may try to enlist."

"Sixteen is too young for them to take him, unless he looks a good deal
older than he is."

"Yes, I quite see that. At the same time that is the only thing that
occurs to us as likely for him to try."

"Not likely to take to the sea, sir?"

"Not at all likely from what we know of his fancies. Still he might do
that for a couple of years with a view to enlisting afterwards."

"How about going to the States or Canada?"

"That again is quite possible."

"Had he money with him, sir?"

"He had about five pounds in his pocket, and a gold watch and chain
that he had only had a few months, and could, I should think, get seven
or eight pounds for; but I do not see what he could do to get his living
if he went abroad."

"No, sir; but then young gents always have a sort of fancy that they can
get on well out there, and if they do not mind what they turn to I fancy
that most of them can. Is he in any trouble, sir? You will excuse my
asking, but a young chap who gets into trouble generally acts in a
different sort of way to one who has gone out what we may call
venturesome."

"No, he has got into no trouble," Captain Clinton said. "He has gone
away under a misunderstanding, but there is nothing whatever to make him
wish to conceal himself beyond the fact that he will do all he can to
prevent my tracing him at present. Here are half a dozen of his photos.
If you want more I can get them struck off."

"I could do with another half-dozen," the man said. "I will send them
down to men who act with me at Southampton, Hull, Liverpool, Glasgow,
and Plymouth, and will send two or three abroad. He might cross over to
Bremen or Hamburg, a good many go that way now. I will look after the
recruiting offices here myself; but as he is only sixteen, and as you
say does not look older, I do not think there is a chance of his trying
that. No recruiting sergeant would take him up. No, sir; I should say
that if he has no friends he can go to, the chances are he will try to
ship for the States or Canada. But what are we to do if we find him?"

Captain Clinton had not thought of this.

"Of course," the man went on, "if you gave an authority for me to send
down to each of my agents, they could take steps to stop him."

"No," Captain Clinton said after a pause, during which he had been
thinking that as he could not swear that Edgar was his son, he was in
fact powerless in the matter. "No, I do not wish that done. I have no
idea whatever of coercing him. I want, if possible, to see him and
converse with him before he goes. If that is not possible, and if he is
not found until just as the ship is sailing, then I want your agent to
wire to me the name of the steamer in which he goes and the port to
which it sails. Then if there is a faster steamer going, I might be
there as soon as he is; if not, I should wish you to telegraph to a
private detective firm across the water, which I suppose you could do,
to have somebody to meet the steamer as she came in, and without his
knowing it to keep him under his eye until I arrive."

"I could manage all that, sir, easily enough. I will send off four of
the photographs at once to the ports and the others as soon as I get
them, and will go down with the other photograph to the recruiting
office and arrange with one of the sergeants engaged there to let me
know if he turns up, and will send a man down to the docks to watch the
ships there. I will send off the other photos directly I get them."

There was nothing else for Captain Clinton to do, but before he returned
home he wrote out a series of advertisements and left them at the
offices of the principal papers. They ran as follows:--"If E.C., who
left Cheltenham suddenly, will return home he will find that he has
acted under a misapprehension. The woman's story was untrustworthy. He
is still regarded as a son by P.C. and L.C." Having done this he drove
to Paddington, and went down by an afternoon train.

Rupert arrived at Cheltenham just as the others had sat down to tea.

"Hullo, Clinton! Back again, eh? Glad to see you."

Rupert nodded a reply to the greeting. His heart was too full to speak,
and he dropped into the seat he was accustomed to use, the others moving
up closely to make room for him. A significant glance passed between the
boys. They saw that Edgar was not with him, and guessed that there was
something wrong. There had been a good deal of wonder among them at the
Clintons' sudden disappearance, and although several of the boys had
seen Rupert go into his brother's dormitory none had seen Edgar, and
somehow or other it leaked out that Rupert had started in a cab to the
station alone. There had been a good deal of quiet talk among the
seniors about it. All agreed that there was something strange about the
matter, especially as Robert, when questioned on the subject, had
replied that Mr. River-Smith's orders were that he was to say nothing
about it. As a precautionary measure orders were given to the juniors
that no word about the Clintons' absence was to be said outside the
house.

After tea was over Rupert went up to Pinkerton.

"Pinkerton, I should like to have a talk with you and Easton and two or
three others--Skinner, and Mossop, and Templer--yes, and Scudamore."

"Just as you like, Clinton. Of course if you like to tell us anything we
shall be glad to hear it, but we all know that your brother was not the
sort of fellow to get into any dishonourable sort of scrape, and I can
promise you we shall ask no questions if you would rather keep the
matter altogether to yourself."

"No, I would rather tell you," Rupert said. "I know none of you would
think that Edgar would have done anything wrong, but all sorts of
stories are certain to go about, and I would rather that the truth of
the matter were known. You are the six head fellows of the house, and
when I have told you the story you can do as you like about its going
further."

"Well, if you go up to my study," Pinkerton said, "I will bring the
others up."

In three or four minutes the party were gathered there.

"Look here, Clinton," Easton said, "Pinkerton says he has told you that
we are all sure that, whatever this is all about, your brother has done
nothing he or you need be ashamed about. I should like to say the same
thing, and if it is painful for you to tell it do not say anything about
it. We shall be quite content to know that he has left, if he has
left--although I hope we shall see him again next term for some good
reason or other."

"No, I would rather tell it," Rupert said. "It is a curious story, and a
very unpleasant one for us, but there is nothing at all for us to be
ashamed about." And he went on to tell them the whole story, ending with
"You see, whether Edgar or I am the son of Captain Clinton, or of this
sergeant and his scheming wife, is more than we can say."

"It does not matter a bit to us," Easton said, breaking the silence of
surprise with which they had listened to the story. "We like you and
your brother for yourselves, and it does not matter a rap to us, nor as
far as I can see to anyone else, who your fathers and mothers were."

"I call it horribly hard lines for you both," Skinner put in; "deuced
hard lines, especially for your brother."

Pinkerton said: "By what you say Captain Clinton and his wife don't care
now which is their real son; one is real and the other adopted, and as
they regard you in the same light they don't even want to know which is
which. Well, now you know that, it seems to me you are all right anyhow.
You see your brother didn't know that, and when this woman told him she
was his mother, and that the whole thing had been a preconcerted plot on
her part, I can quite understand his going straight away. I think we
should all have done the same if we had had the same story told to us,
and had seen we were intended to be parties to a fraud of that sort.
Well, I am glad you told us, but I do not think there is any occasion
for the story to go further."

"Certainly not," Easton agreed, "it would do no good whatever; and of
course it would never be kept in the house, but would come to be the
talk of the whole school. All that need be said is that Clinton has told
us the reason of his brother leaving so suddenly, that we are all of
opinion that he acted perfectly rightly in doing so, and that nothing
more is to be said about the matter. We will each give Clinton our word
of honour not to give the slightest hint to anyone about it, or to say
that it is a curious story or anything of that sort, but just to stick
to it that we have heard all about it and are perfectly satisfied."

"That will certainly be the best plan," Pinkerton agreed; "but I think
it would be as well for us to say he has left for family reasons, and
that it is nothing in any way connected with himself, and that we hope
that he will be back again next term."

"Yes, we might say that," Easton agreed; "family reasons mean all sorts
of things, and anyone can take their choice out of them. Well, Clinton,
I shouldn't worry over this more than you can help. I daresay Edgar will
be found in a day or two. At any rate you may be sure that no harm has
come to him, or is likely to come to him. If he emigrates, or anything
of that sort, he is pretty safe to make his way, and I am sure that
whatever he is doing he will always be a gentleman and a good fellow."

"That he will," Mossop said cordially. "I hope we should all have done
as he has under the same circumstances, but it would be a big temptation
to some fellows to have the alternative of a good fortune and a nice
estate on one side, and of going out into the world and making your own
living how you can on the other."

There was a chorus of assent.

"Yes," Easton said, "it is very easy to say 'Do what is right and never
mind what comes of it;' but we should all find it very hard to follow it
in practice if we had a choice like that before us. Well, you tell your
brother when you hear of him, Clinton, that we all think better of him
than before, and that whether he is a sergeant's son or a captain's we
shall welcome him heartily back, and be proud to shake his hand."

And so it was settled, and to the great disappointment of the rest of
the house no clue was forthcoming as to the cause of Edgar Clinton
leaving so suddenly; but as the monitors and seniors all seemed
perfectly satisfied with what they had heard, it was evident to the
others that whatever the cause might be he was not to blame in the
matter.

During the short time that remained of the term Rupert got on better
than he had expected. While the examination was going on Easton invited
him to do his work in his private study, gave him his advice as to the
passages likely to be set, and coached him up in difficult points, and
he came out higher in his form than he had expected to do.

Three days before the school broke up Easton said: "Clinton, I have had
a letter from my father this morning, and he will be very glad if you
will come down to spend the holidays at our place. And so shall I. There
is very good hunting round us. My father has plenty of horses in his
stables, and I expect we shall be rather gay, for my brother comes of
age in the week after Christmas, and there is going to be a ball and so
on. I don't know how you feel about it, but I should say that it would
be better for you than being at home where everything will call your
brother to your mind, and your being there will make it worse for the
others."

"I am very much obliged to you, Easton; I should like it very much. I
will write off to the governor at once and hear what he says. They might
like to have me home, and possibly I might be useful in the search for
Edgar. As I have told you, I feel sure that he has enlisted. He would be
certain to change his name, and it would be no use anyone who did not
know him going to look at the recruits."

"But we agreed, Clinton, that no one would enlist him at his age, and he
is altogether too old to go as a band-boy."

"Yes, I know that; and that is what worries me more than anything. Still
I cannot help thinking that he will try some how to get into the army.
If he can't, I believe he will do anything he can to get a living until
they enlist him."

"I don't think he can anyhow pass as eighteen, Clinton. If it was for
anything else he might get up with false moustache or something; but
you see he has got to pass a strict examination by a surgeon. I have
heard that lots of fellows do enlist under age, but then some fellows
look a good bit older than they are. I don't believe any doctor would be
humbugged into believing that Edgar is anything like eighteen."

"Well, I will write to my father this afternoon and hear what he says.
If he thinks I cannot do any good and they don't want me at home, I
shall be very pleased to come to you."

Captain Clinton's letter came by return of post. He said that he was
very pleased Rupert had had an invitation that would keep him away. "We
have received no news whatever of Edgar, and I don't think that it would
be of any use for you to join in the search for him. There is no saying
where he may have gone or what he may be doing. I agree with you that he
will most likely take any job that offers to keep him until he can
enlist. Arrangements have been made with one of the staff sergeants at
the head-quarters of recruiting in London to let us know if any young
fellow answering to Edgar's description comes up to be medically
examined. So we shall catch him if he presents himself there.
Unfortunately there are such a number of recruiting depôts all over the
country, that there is no saying where he may try to enlist--that is, if
he does try. However, at present there is certainly nothing you can do.
I should like to have you home, and your mother says she should like you
too, but I do think that for her sake it is better you should not come.
As long as you are away there is nothing to recall at every moment the
fact that Edgar has gone, whereas if you were here his absence would be
constantly be before her. She is quite ill with anxiety, and Dr.
Wilkinson agrees with me that change is most desirable. I am sure she
would not hear of going away if you were at home; it would give her a
good excuse for staying here; but when she hears that you are not coming
I think I may be able to persuade her to listen to Wilkinson's opinion,
and in that case I shall take her and Madge down to Nice at once. If I
can get her there by Christmas so much the better, for Christmas at home
would be terribly trying to us all. Once we are there, we can wander
about for two or three months in Italy or Spain, or across to Algeria or
Egypt--anything to distract her mind."

Accordingly Rupert accepted Easton's invitation, and went with him to
his father's in Leicestershire. Had it not been for the uncertainty
about Edgar he would have enjoyed his holidays greatly. Although he had
always joined to a certain extent in the chaff of his school-fellows at
Easton's care about his dress and little peculiarities of manner, he had
never shared in Skinner's prejudices against him, and always said that
he could do anything well that he chose to turn his hand to, and had
appreciated his readiness to do a kindness to anyone who really needed
it. It had been his turn now, and the friendly companionship of the
elder boy had been of the greatest value to him. Easton had never said
much in the way of sympathy, which indeed would have jarred Rupert's
feelings, but his kindness had said more than words could do; and
Rupert, as he looked back, felt ashamed at the thought that he had often
joined in a laugh about him.

At home the points that had seemed peculiar at school were unnoticeable.
The scrupulous attention to dress that had there been in strong contrast
to the general carelessness of the others in that respect, seemed but
natural in his own house, where there were a good many guests staying.
Rupert and Edgar had always been more particular at home than at school;
but Easton was the same, indeed Rupert thought that he was if anything
less particular now than he had been at River-Smith's.

A week after Christmas Rupert received a letter from his father, written
at Nice, saying that a letter from Edgar had been forwarded on from
home, and giving the brief words in which the lad said that he was well,
and that they might be under no uneasiness respecting him. "This does
not tell us much," Captain Clinton went on, "but we are very pleased,
inasmuch as it seems that Edgar does not mean altogether to drop out of
our sight, but will, we hope, write from time to time to let us know
that at any rate he is well. The letter has the London post-mark, but of
course that shows nothing; it may have been written anywhere and sent to
anyone--perhaps to a waiter at an hotel at which he stopped in London,
and with whom he had arranged to post any letters that he might inclose
to him. The letter has greatly cheered your mother, who, in spite of all
I could say, has hitherto had a dread that Edgar in his distress might
have done something rash. I have never thought so for an instant. I
trust that my two boys are not only too well principled, but too brave
to act a coward's part, whatever might befall them. Your mother, of
course, agreed with me in theory; but while she admitted that Edgar
would never if in his senses do such a thing, urged that his distress
might be so great that he would not be responsible for what he was
doing. Happily this morbid idea has been dissipated by the arrival of
the letter, and I have great hopes now that she will rouse herself, and
will shake off the state of silent brooding which has been causing me so
much anxiety. It was but this morning that we received the letter, and
already she looks brighter and more like herself than she has done since
you brought us the news of Edgar's disappearance."

This news enabled Rupert to enjoy the remainder of the holidays much
more than he had done the first fortnight. He and Edgar had both been
accustomed to ride since they had been children, and had in their
Christmas holidays for years accompanied their father to the hunting
field, at first upon ponies, but the previous winter on two light-weight
carrying horses he had bought specially for them. Mr. Easton had several
hunters, and Rupert, who was well mounted, thoroughly enjoyed the
hunting, and returned to school with his nerves braced up, ready for
work.

"I won't say anything against Easton again," Skinner said when he heard
from Rupert how pleasant his holidays had been made for him. "I noticed
how he took to you and made things smooth for you the last ten days of
the term, and I fully meant to tell him that I was sorry I had not
understood him better before; only, in the first place, I never happened
to have a good opportunity, and in the second place I don't know that I
ever tried to make one. However, I shall tell him now. It is not a
pleasant thing to be obliged to own that you have behaved badly, but it
is a good deal more unpleasant to feel it and not have the pluck to say
so."

Accordingly the next time Easton came into the senior study, Skinner
went up to him and said:

"Easton, I want to tell you that I am uncommonly sorry that I have set
myself against you because you have been more particular about your
dress and things than the rest of us, and because you did not seem as
keen as we were about football and things. I know that I have behaved
like an ass, and I should like to be friends now if you will let me."

"Certainly I will, Skinner," Easton said, taking the hand he held out.
"I don't know that it was altogether your fault. My people at home are
rather particular about our being tidy and that sort of thing, and when
I came here and some of you rather made fun of me about it, I think that
I stuck to it all the more because it annoyed you. I shall be going up
for Sandhurst this term, and I am very glad to be on good terms with all
you fellows before I leave; so don't let us say anything more about it."

And with another shake of the hands their agreement to be friends was
ratified.

The term between Christmas and Easter was always the dullest of the
year. The house matches at football were over. Although a game was
sometimes played, there was but a languid interest in it. Paper-chases
were the leading incident in the term, and there was a general looking
forward to spring weather, when cricket could begin and the teams
commence practice for the matches of the following term.

Easton was going up in the summer for the examination for the line. He
was not troubling himself specially about it; and indeed his getting in
was regarded as a certainty, for Mr. Southley had said that he would be
safe for the Indian Civil if he chose to try, and considered it a great
pity that he was going up for so comparatively an easy competition as
that for the line. He occasionally went for a walk with Rupert, and
while chatting with him frequently about Edgar, was continually urging
him not to let his thoughts dwell too much upon it, but to stick to his
work.

The watch at the various ports had long since been given up, for had
Edgar intended to emigrate he would certainly have done so very shortly
after his arrival in London, as his means would not have permitted him
to make any stay there.

"I think it is very thoughtful of Edgar," Easton said one day when
Rupert told him that he had heard from his father that another letter
had arrived. "So many fellows when they run away or emigrate, or
anything of that sort, drop writing altogether, and do not seem to give
a thought to the anxiety those at home are feeling for them. He is
evidently determined that he will go his own way and accept no help from
your people, and under the circumstances I can quite enter into his
feelings; but, you see, he does not wish them to be anxious or troubled
about him, and I don't think there is anything for you to worry about,
Clinton. He may be having a hardish time of it; still he is no doubt
getting his living somehow or other, and I don't know that it will do
him any harm.

"I think he is the sort of fellow to make his way in whatever line he
takes up, and though what he has learnt here may not be of much use to
him at the start, his having had a good education is sure to be of
advantage to him afterwards. A fellow who could hold his own in a tussle
such as we had with the Greenites last term can be trusted to make a
good fight in anything. At any rate it is of no use your worrying
yourself about him. You see, you will be going up in a year's time for
your examination for the line, and you will have to stick to it pretty
steadily if you are to get through at the first trial. It won't help
matters your worrying about him, and wherever he is and whatever he is
doing he is sure to keep his eye on the lists, and he will feel just as
much pleasure in seeing your name there as he would have done if he had
been here with you. So I should say, work steadily and play steadily.
You have a good chance of being in the college boat next term; that and
shooting will give you enough to do.

"It is no use sticking to it too hard. I was telling Skinner yesterday
he will regularly addle his brain if he keeps on grinding as he is doing
now. But it is of no use talking to Skinner; when his mind is set on a
thing he can think of nothing else. Last term it was football, now it is
reading. It must be an awful nuisance to be as energetic as he is. I
cannot see why he should not take life comfortably."

"He would say," Rupert laughed, "he cannot see why he should do things
by fits and starts as you do, Easton."

"Ah! but I do not do it on principle," Easton argued. "I am all for
taking it quietly, only sometimes one gets stirred up and has to throw
one's self into a thing. One does it, you know, but one feels it a
nuisance--an unfair wear and tear of the system."

"Your system does not seem to suffer seriously, Easton."

"No; but it might if one were called upon to do these things often. But
it is time for us to turn back, or we shall be late for tea."




CHAPTER V.

ENLISTED.


Edgar had found but little difficulty in getting out from the house. He
had timed himself so as to arrive at the station just before the train
left for Gloucester, and taking his ticket, had slipped into an empty
carriage. At Gloucester there was half an hour to wait before the
up-train came in. This time he got into a carriage with several other
people. He did not want to spend the night thinking, and as long as his
fellow-passengers talked he resolutely kept his attention fixed on what
they were saying. Then when one after the other composed themselves for
a sleep, he sat with his eyes closed, thinking over his school-days. He
had already, while he lay tossing on his bed, thought over the
revelation he had heard from every point of view. He had exhausted the
subject, and would not allow his thoughts to return to it.

He now fought the football match of the Greenites over again in fancy.
It seemed to him that it was an event that had taken place a long time
back, quite in the dim distance, and he was wondering vaguely over this
when he too fell asleep, and did not wake up until the train arrived at
Paddington. It was with a feeling of satisfaction that he stepped out on
to the platform. Now there was something to do. It was too early yet to
see about lodgings. He went to a little coffee-house that was already
open for the use of the workmen, had some breakfast there, and then
walked about for two or three hours until London was astir, leaving his
things at the coffee-house. Then he went to a pawnbroker's and pawned
his watch and chain. Then, having fetched his things from the
coffee-house, he went into the Edgware Road and took an omnibus down to
Victoria and then walked on across Vauxhall Bridge, and set to work to
look for lodgings.

He was not long in finding a bed-room to let, and here he installed
himself. He was convinced Captain Clinton would have a vigilant search
made for him, but he thought that he was now fairly safe, however sharp
the detectives might be in their hunt for him. He felt deeply the sorrow
there would be at home, for he knew that up to now he and Rupert had
been loved equally, and that even the discovery that he had had no right
to the care and kindness he had received would make no great difference
in their feeling towards him. Had the change of children been really the
result of accident, he would not have acted as he had done.

He himself had had no hand in the fraud, but were he to accept anything
now from Captain Clinton he felt that he would be an accessary to it.
Had not his mother, his own mother, proposed that he should take part in
the plot, that he should go on deceiving them, and even that he should
rob Rupert altogether of his inheritance? It was too horrible to think
of. There was nothing for it that he could see but for him to go out
utterly from their lives, and to fight his way alone until he could, at
any rate, show them that he needed nothing and would accept nothing. He
was dimly conscious himself that he was acting unkindly and unfairly to
them, and that after all they had done for him they had a right to have
a say as to his future; but at present his pride was too hurt, he was
too sore and humiliated to listen to the whisper of conscience, and his
sole thought was to hide himself and to make his own way in the world.

Lest his resolution should be shaken he carefully abstained from a
perusal of the papers, lest his eye might fall upon an advertisement
begging him to return. His mind was made up that he would enlist. He
knew that at present he could not do so as a private, but he thought
that he might be accepted as a trumpeter. He thought it probable that
they would guess that such was his intention, and would have given a
description of him at the recruiting offices. It was for this reason
that he determined to live as long as he could upon his money before
trying to enlist, as if some time elapsed he would be less likely to be
recognized as answering the description that might be given by Captain
Clinton than if he made the attempt at once. From Vauxhall he often
crossed to West minster, and soon struck up an acquaintance with some of
the recruiting sergeants.

"Want to enlist, eh?" one of them said.

"I am thinking of entering as a trumpeter."

"Well, you might do that. There are plenty of younger lads than you are
trumpeters in the cavalry. I will look at the list and see what
regiments have vacancies; but I doubt whether they will take you without
a letter from your father saying that you are enlisting with his
consent."

"I have no father that I know of," Edgar said.

"Well, then, it is likely they will want a certificate from a clergyman
or your schoolmaster as to character; and I expect," the sergeant said
shrewdly, "you would have a difficulty in getting such a paper."

Edgar nodded.

"Well, lad, if you have quite made up your mind about it, my advice
would be, do not try here. In London they are a lot more particular than
they are down in the country, and I should say you are a good deal more
likely to rub through at Aldershot or Canterbury than you would be here.
They are more particular here. You see, they have no great interest in
filling up the ranks of a regiment, while when you go to the regiment
itself, the doctors and officers and all of them like seeing it up to
its full strength, so their interest is to pass a recruit if they can. I
have known scores and hundreds of men rejected here tramp down to
Aldershot, or take the train if they had money enough in their pockets
to pay the fare, and get passed without a shadow of difficulty."

"I would rather not enlist for the next month or two," Edgar said;
"there might be somebody asking after me."

"If you will take my advice, lad, you will go back to your friends.
There are many young fellows run away from home, but most of them are
precious sorry for it afterwards."

"I am not likely to be sorry for it, sergeant, and if I am I shall not
go back. Do you think I could find anyone who would give me lessons on
the trumpet?"

"I should say that there would not be any difficulty about that. There
is nothing you cannot have in London if you have got money to pay for
it. If you were to go up to the Albany Barracks and get hold of the
trumpet-major, he would tell you who would teach you. He would not do it
himself, I daresay, but some of the trumpeters would be glad to give you
an hour a day if you can pay for it. Of course it would save you a lot
of trouble afterwards if you could sound the trumpet before you joined."

Edgar took the advice, and found a trumpeter in the Blues who agreed to
go out with him for an hour every day on to Primrose Hill, and there
teach him to sound the trumpet. He accordingly gave up his room at
Vauxhall, and moved across to the north side of Regent's Park. For six
weeks he worked for an hour a day with his instructor, who, upon his
depositing a pound with him as a guarantee for its return, borrowed a
trumpet for him, and with this Edgar would start of a morning, and
walking seven or eight miles into the country, spend hours in eliciting
the most mournful and startling sounds from the instrument.

At the end of the six weeks his money was nearly gone, although he had
lived most economically, and accordingly, after returning the trumpet to
his instructor, who, although he had been by no means chary of abuse
while the lessons were going on, now admitted that he had got on
first-rate, he went down to Aldershot, where his friend the recruiting
sergeant had told him that they were short of a trumpeter or two in the
1st Hussars.

It was as well that Edgar had allowed the two months to pass before
endeavouring to enlist, for after a month had been vainly spent in the
search for him, Rupert had suggested to his father that although too
young to enlist in the ranks Edgar might have tried to go in as a
trumpeter, and inquiries had been made at all the recruiting depôts
whether a lad answering to his description had so enlisted. The sergeant
had given him a note to a sergeant of his acquaintance in the Hussars.

"I put it pretty strong, young un," his friend had said when he gave him
the note; "mind you stick to what I say."

The sergeant had indeed--incited partly perhaps by a liking for the lad,
partly by a desire to return an equivalent for the sovereign with which
Edgar had presented him--drawn somewhat upon his imagination. "I have
known the young chap for a very long time," he said; "his father and
mother died years ago, and though I am no relation to him he looks upon
me as his guardian as it were. He has learned the trumpet a bit, and
will soon be able to sound all the calls. He will make a smart young
soldier, and will, I expect, take his place in the ranks as soon as he
is old enough. Do the best you can for him, and keep an eye on him."

"I will take you round to the trumpet-major," the sergeant said; "he had
better go with you to the adjutant. You know what Sergeant M'Bride says
in this letter?"

"No, I don't know exactly what he says. He told me he would introduce me
to you, and that you would, he was sure, do your best to put me
through."

"Well, you had better hear what he does say. It is always awkward to
have misunderstandings. He says you have lost your father and mother;
you understand that?"

"That's right," Edgar said quietly.

"And that he has known you for a very long time?"

Edgar nodded.

"It seems to me a very long time," he added.

"And that though he is no actual relation of yours he considers he
stands in the light of your guardian. That is important, you know."

"I will remember that," Edgar said. "There is certainly no one as far as
I know who has a better right than Sergeant M'Bride to advise me, or
give me permission to enlist."

"Well, you stick to that and you are all right. Now, come along."

"I wonder who the young chap is," the sergeant said to himself as they
crossed the barrack yard. "As to what M'Bride said, we know all about
that; I have been on the recruiting staff myself. But I think the young
un was speaking the truth. He has lost his father and mother, he has
known M'Bride for some time, and he has got no one who has any right to
interfere with him. Rum, too. The boy is a gentleman all over, though he
has rigged himself out in those clothes. Well, we are short of
trumpeters, and I don't suppose the adjutant will inquire very closely."

The trumpet-major was quite willing to do his share of the business. He
was glad to fill up one of the vacancies, especially as it seemed that
the new-comer would soon be able to take his place in the ranks; and
after asking a few questions he went across with him to the adjutant.
The latter looked at Edgar critically.

"Smart young fellow," he said to himself. "Got into some scrape at home,
I suppose, and run away. Of course he has some got-up lie ready. Well,
sergeant, what is it?"

"Lad wishes to enlist as a trumpeter, sir. Here is a letter from his
next friend, Sergeant M'Bride of the 18th Hussars. Lad's father and
mother dead. M'Bride stands in place of guardian."

"A likely story," the adjutant muttered to himself. "What is your name,
lad?"

"I enlist as Edward Smith," Edgar said, "age sixteen."

"Parents dead?"

"I lost them when I was a child, sir."

"Who were they?"

"My father was a sergeant in the 30th Foot, sir."

The adjutant was watching him narrowly.

"Either he is telling the truth," he said to himself, "or he is one of
the calmest young liars I have ever come across."

"And there is no one who has any legal right to control you or to object
to your enlisting?"

"No one, sir."

"You cannot play, I suppose?"

"I have been learning the trumpet for some little time, sir, and can
sound a few of the calls."

"Well, I suppose that will do, sergeant. You had better take him across
to the doctor. If he passes him put him up for the night, and bring him
here to-morrow at twelve o'clock to be sworn in."

"Rather a tough case that," he said to himself as the trumpet-major left
with the young recruit. "There is not a doubt the boy is lying, and yet
I could have declared he was speaking the truth. Of course he may be the
son of a non-commissioned officer, and have been brought up and educated
by someone. He looks a gentleman all over, and speaks like one. Well, it
is no business of mine;" and the adjutant gave the matter no further
thought.

The next day Edgar was sworn in. The colonel, hearing from the adjutant
that he had questioned the boy, and that there was no impediment to his
enlisting, passed him without a remark, and Edgar was at once taken to
the regimental tailor and measured for his uniform, and half an hour
later was marched out with four or five of the other trumpeters beyond
the confines of the camp, and was there set to work at the calls. His
work was by no means light. He was at once sent into the riding-school,
and he found it a very different thing to satisfy the riding-master and
his sergeants than it had been to learn to sit a horse at home. However,
his previous practice in that way rendered the work much easier for him
than it would otherwise have been, and he was not very long in passing
out from the squad of recruits. Then he had two or three hours a day of
practice with the trumpet, an hour a day at gymnastics, and in the
afternoon two hours of school. The last item was, however, but child's
play, and as soon as the instructor saw that the lad could without
difficulty take a first-class, he employed him in aiding to teach
others.

The evening was the only time he had to himself; then, if he chose to
take the trouble to dress, he could go out into the town or stroll
through the camp or take a walk. If disinclined for this there was the
cavalry canteen, with a large concert-room attached, where
entertainments were given by music-hall singers brought down from
London. The trumpeters and bandsmen had a barrack-room to themselves.
Edgar, who had a healthy appetite, found the food of a very different
description to that to which he had been accustomed. Although up at six
o'clock in the morning, even in the winter, as it was, there was nothing
to eat until eight. Then there was a mug of a weak fluid called tea, and
an allowance of bread. The dinner, which was at one, consisted of an
amount of meat scarcely sufficient for a growing boy; for although had
the allowance consisted entirely of flesh, it would have been ample, it
was so largely reduced by the amount of bone and fat that the meat was
reduced to a minimum. However, when eked out with potatoes and bread it
sufficed well enough.

Tea at six consisted, like breakfast, of a mug of tea and bread. Edgar
found, however, that the Spartan breakfasts and teas could be
supplemented by additions purchased at the canteen. Here pennyworths of
butter, cheese, bacon, an egg, a herring, and many similar luxuries were
obtainable, and two pence of his pay was invariably spent on breakfast,
a penny sufficing for the addition to his tea.

He found that he soon got on well with his comrades. It was like going
to a fresh school. There was at first a good deal of rough chaff, but as
soon as it was found that he could take this good-temperedly, and that
if pushed beyond a fair limit he was not only ready to fight but was
able to use his fists with much more science than any of the other
trumpeters, he was soon left alone, and indeed became a favourite with
the bandsmen. Two months after he joined he was appointed to a troop. He
found, however, that he did not have to accompany them generally on
parade. The regiment, like all others at home, was very short of its
complement of horses, and only one trumpeter to each squadron was
mounted. Edgar, however, cared little for this. He considered his first
two years' work as merely a probation which had to be gone through
before he could take his place in the ranks as a trooper.

He found his pay sufficient for his needs. Although he had in the old
days been in the habit of drinking beer, he had made a resolution to
abstain from it altogether on joining the regiment. He determined to
gain his stripes at the earliest possible opportunity, and knew well
enough, from what he had heard Captain Clinton say, that drink was the
curse of the army, and that men, although naturally sober and steady,
were sometimes led into it, and thereby lost all chance of ever rising.
He had never smoked, and it was no privation to him to abstain from
tobacco, and he had therefore the whole of his pay, after the usual
deduction for stoppages, at his disposal for food, and had always a
little in his pocket to lend to any comrade who had the bad luck to be
put on heavy stoppages by the loss of some of his necessaries.

In this respect he himself suffered somewhat heavily at first.
Accustomed at school to leave his things carelessly about without the
slightest doubt as to their safety, he was astonished and shocked to
find that a very much laxer code of morality prevailed in the army, and
that any necessaries left about instantly disappeared. The first week
after joining he lost nearly half the articles that had been served out
to him, and was for some months on heavy stoppages of pay to replace
them. The lesson, however, had its effect, and he quickly learnt to keep
a sharp look-out over his things. He was soon dismissed from school,
obtaining his first-class at the examination, which took place two
months after he joined, and this gave him time to attend the
fencing-school, and to give more time to gymnastics.

When once accustomed to his work he found his life an easy and pleasant
one, and had far more time at his disposal than had been the case at
school. He resolutely avoided dwelling on the past, and whenever he
found himself thinking of what had so long been home, he took up a book,
or went out for a walk, or engaged in some occupation that served to
distract his thoughts. He missed the games. Football was occasionally
played, but there was no observance of rules, and after trying it once
or twice he gave it up in disgust. He often joined in a game at fives,
and practised running and jumping, so as to be able to take part in the
regimental sports in the spring.

When Easter had passed and the weather became bright and pleasant he
often took long walks alone, for it was seldom he could find anyone
willing to accompany him. He had learnt drawing at Cheltenham, and as he
found that it would be useful for him when he obtained the rank of a
non-commissioned officer to make sketches and maps to send in with
reports of any country reconnoitred, he accustomed himself to do this on
his walks, jotting down the features of the country, noticing the spots
where roads came in, the width of the bridges across the canals and the
nature of their banks, and taking sketches of what appeared to him
positions that would be occupied to check a pursuing force, or to be
taken up by an advanced one.

At this time, too, he joined a class for signalling, and found it highly
interesting, and before the end of the summer could send a message or
read one with flags or flash-lights. As soon as the summer really began
he took to cricket, and here he speedily attracted the attention of the
officers. He had been the best bowler in the second eleven, and would
have been in the first the next season at Cheltenham. But it was some
little time before his proficiency as a bowler became known, although
it was soon seen that his batting was far above the average.

"That youngster handles his bat well, Moffat," one of the lieutenants
said to the captain, who was the most energetic cricketer among the
officers, and who with one or two of the sergeants generally made up the
team when the regimental eleven played against that of another corps.

"Yes, he plays in good form, doesn't he? Who is the young fellow at the
wicket now, sergeant?"

"He is trumpeter of D troop, sir. He only joined three months ago, but
he could play a bit when he came, and got posted to a troop before two
others who joined four or five months before him."

"The man who is bowling now is not up to much, sergeant. Suppose you
take the ball for an over or two; I should like to see how that young
fellow would stand up to your bowling."

The sergeant, who was one of the regimental bowlers, took the ball.
Edgar, who had been driving the previous bowler in all directions, at
once played carefully, and for an over or two contented himself with
blocking the balls, then one came a little wide and he cut it to leg for
four.

Captain Moffat took off his coat and waistcoat and took the end facing
the sergeant, and began to bowl some slow twisting balls, that were in
strong contrast to the fast delivery of the sergeant. Edgar felt now
that he was being tried, and played very cautiously. There were no runs
to be made off such bowling until the bowler became careless or tired.
At last a ball came rather farther than usual. Edgar stepped out to meet
it, and drove it nearly straight forward and scored four, and it was not
until his score ran up to thirty that he was at last caught.

"You will do, Smith," Captain Moffat said approvingly. "Where did you
learn to play cricket?"

"I learned at school, sir."

"Ah! well, they taught you that well if they taught you nothing else.
You go on practising, and I will give you a chance to play for the
regiment the first time that there is a vacancy."

Two or three matches were played before the chance came. Then Sergeant
Stokes, the bowler, hurt his hand the day before they were going to play
the Rifle Brigade, which was considered the strongest team in camp.

"This is an unlucky business, sergeant," Captain Moffat said to him as
they were talking over next day's play. "I thought if we had luck we
might make a good fight with the Rifles. Bowling is never our strongest
point, and now you are out of it we shall make a very poor show. Are
there any of the men outside the eleven who show any bowling talent?"

The sergeant shook his head.

"Not one of them, sir. I hoped Corporal Holland would have made a
bowler, but he seems to have gone off rather than come on. No; we must
trust to the bowlers we have got. There are four or five of them who are
not bad, though except yourself, sir, there is nothing, so to speak, to
depend on."

"You cannot depend on me, sergeant; there is no certainty about my
bowling. Sometimes I do pretty fairly, at other times I get hit all over
the field. No; my proper place is wicket-keeping. I should never leave
that if we had two or three bowlers we could depend upon. Well, we must
go in for run making.

"I do not think that we can do better than put on that young trumpeter
till you can play again. I have watched him several times at practice,
and he always keeps his wickets up well, and hits freely whenever he
gets a chance."

"Very well, sir. I will warn him that he will be wanted to-morrow. There
can be no harm in trying him for once anyhow."

There was some little surprise among the men who played cricket at
hearing that Trumpeter Smith was to play in the eleven against the
Rifles, and some little grumbling among those who had hoped to be the
next choice. However, all agreed that he was a very likely youngster.
The Hussars won the toss, and went in first. The bowling of the Rifles
was deadly, and the ten wickets fell for fifty-two runs. Edgar was the
last to go in, and did not receive a single ball, his partner succumbing
to the very first ball bowled after Edgar had gone out to the wicket.
Then the Rifles went in, and the loss of the Hussars' fast bowler soon
made itself felt. Two of the best bats of the Rifles were at the wicket,
and in spite of several changes of bowling, seventy-four runs were
scored without a separation being made. Captain Moffat looked round the
field despairingly. He had tried all the men on whom he had any
dependence. His own bowling had been very severely punished, and he had
retired when thirty runs had been scored and was reluctant to take the
ball again. As he was standing undecided after an over in which twelve
runs had been scored, his eye fell on Edgar as he ran lightly across to
take up his place on the opposite side.

"Smith!" Edgar ran up to him. "Do you bowl at all?"

"I have not bowled this season, sir, but I used to bowl pretty fairly."

"Very well, then, take the ball at this end after the next over. I am
going to try Smith at this end," he said to the young lieutenant who was
long-stop.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, there is one thing, he cannot make a
worse mess of it than we are making already."

When the over was concluded, Edgar took the ball. The year that had
elapsed since he had last played, and the gymnastics and hard exercise,
had strengthened his muscles greatly, and as he tossed the ball from
hand to hand while the field took their places he felt that he was more
master of it than he had been before. He had then been a remarkably fast
bowler for his age, and would have been in the eleven had it not
happened that it already possessed three unusually good bowlers.

The first ball he sent up was a comparatively slow one; he wanted to
try his hand. It was dead on the wicket, and was blocked; then he drew
his breath, and sent the next ball in with all his force. A shout rose
from the Hussars as two of the wickets went flying into the air. Another
player came out, but at the fourth ball of the over his middle stump was
levelled.

"What do you think of that, Langley?" Captain Moffat asked the long-stop
as they walked together to the other end. "We have found a treasure. He
bowls about as fast as any one I have ever seen, and every ball is dead
on the wicket."

"He is first-class," the lieutenant, who was an old Etonian, said. "I
wonder where he learnt to play cricket?"

The wickets fell fast, and the innings concluded for 98, Edgar taking
seven wickets for twelve runs. Captain Moffat put him in third in the
second innings, and he scored twenty-four before he was caught out, the
total score of the innings amounting to 126. The Rifles had therefore
eighty-one runs to get to win. They only succeeded in making
seventy-six, eight of them being either bowled out by Edgar or caught
off his bowling. After this he took his place regularly in the Hussar
team, and it was generally acknowledged that it was owing to his bowling
that the regiment that season stood at the head of the Aldershot teams.




CHAPTER VI.

EGYPT.


Naturally his prowess at cricket made Trumpeter Smith a popular figure
in the regiment, and even at the officers' mess his name was frequently
mentioned, and many guesses were ventured as to who he was and what
school he came from.

That he was a gentleman by birth nobody doubted. There was nothing
unusual in that, for all the cavalry regiments contain a considerable
number of gentlemen in their ranks; men of this class generally
enlisting in the cavalry in preference to the other arms of the service.
It was, however, unusual for one to enlist at Edgar's age. Many young
men, after having failed to gain a commission by competition, enlist in
hopes of working up to one through the ranks. Another class are the men
who having got into scrapes of one kind or another, run through their
money, and tired out their friends, finally enlist as the only thing
open to them.

The first class are among the steadiest men in the regiment, and
speedily work their way up among the non-commissioned officers. The
second class are, on the other hand, among the wildest and least
reputable men in the ranks. They are good men in a campaign where pluck
and endurance and high spirits are most valuable, but among the worst
and most troublesome when there is little to do and time hangs heavily
on hand.

There were two of the sergeants who had failed in the examination for
commissions, and were hoping some day to obtain them. One had been five
years in the regiment, the other three. Their attention had first been
called to Edgar by his getting a first-class in the examination, which
at once stamped him as having had an education greatly superior to that
of the majority of recruits. His position in the regimental cricket team
further attracted their attention, and they took an opportunity to speak
to him when it happened they were walking together and met Edgar
returning from an afternoon's ramble across the country.

"Well, Smith, how do you like soldiering?"

"I like it very well; I don't think that there is anything to complain
of at all."

"It is better than grinding away at Latin and Greek and mathematics, and
that sort of thing," the younger of the two sergeants said with a smile.

"There are advantages both ways, sergeant."

"So there are, lad. Of the two I like drill better than grinding at
books, worse luck; if I had been fond of books I should not be wearing
these stripes. I asked the band-master if you were learning an
instrument. He said you were not. So I suppose you mean to give up your
trumpet and join the ranks as soon as you get to eighteen?"

"Yes. I should not care about being in the band."

"Your cricket is not a bad thing for you," the elder of the two men
said. "It brings you into notice, and will help you to get your stripes
earlier than you otherwise would do; as a man who does his regiment
credit either as a good shot or as a cricketer or in the sports is sure
to attract notice, and to be pushed on if he is steady and a smart
soldier. If you won't mind my giving you a bit of advice, I should say
don't try to push yourself forward. Sometimes young fellows spoil their
chances by doing so. Some of the old non-commissioned officers feel a
bit jealous when they see a youngster likely to make his way up, and you
know they can make it very hot for a fellow if they like. So be careful
not to give them a chance. Even if you are blown up when you do not
deserve it, it is better to hold your tongue than to kick against it.
Cheeking a non-commissioned officer never pays."

"Thank you, sergeant," Edgar said quietly; "I am much obliged to you for
your advice."

"An uncommonly good style of young fellow," Sergeant Netherton, who was
the son of a colonel in the army, and had been educated at Harrow, said
to his companion. "Comes from a good school, I should say. Must have got
into some baddish scrape, or he never would be here at his age."

"It does not quite follow," the other replied. "His father may have died
or burst up somehow, and seeing nothing before him but a place at a
clerk's desk or enlisting he may have taken this alternative; and not a
bad choice either. For, putting aside altogether the chance of getting a
commission, which is a pretty slight one, there is no pleasanter life
for a steady, well-conducted young fellow who has had a fair education
than the army. He is sure of getting his stripes in a couple of years
after enlisting. A non-commissioned officer has enough pay to live
comfortably; he has no care or anxiety of any sort; he has more time to
himself than a man in any other sort of business. There are no end of
staff appointments open to him if he writes a good hand, and does not
mind clerk work. If he goes in for long service he has every chance of
being regimental sergeant-major before he has done, and can leave the
service with a pension sufficient to keep him in a quiet way."

"Yes, that is all very well, Summers, but he cannot marry. That is to
say, if he has, as we are supposing, been born and educated as a
gentleman, he cannot marry the sort of woman he would like as a wife."

"No, there is that drawback," the other laughed. "But then, you see, if
he had been obliged to take a small clerkship leading to nothing, he
could hardly invite a young countess to share it with him."

As Edgar walked back to barracks he thought over the advice that had
been given him, and recognized its value. He knew that the chances of
his ever obtaining a commission were exceedingly small, and that even
young men whose fathers were officers of high standing and considerable
influence seldom obtain a commission under six or seven years' service,
and that the majority of commissions from the ranks are given to old
non-commissioned officers who were made quarter-masters or pay-masters.
He had not entered the service, as had the two non-commissioned officers
with whom he had been speaking, for the express purpose of gaining a
commission, but simply because he had always had a fancy for soldiering,
and because it seemed at the time he left Cheltenham the only thing open
to him.

He had resolved from the first that he would regularly put by a portion
of his pay, so that he could at any time purchase his discharge if he
wished to, should he see any opening in which he could embark by the
time he reached the age of three or four and twenty. He would have
gained experience, and might then, if he liked, emigrate to one of the
colonies. He resolved that when winter came he would go into one of the
regimental workshops and learn a trade, either saddlery or farriery,
which would enable him to earn his living for a time abroad until he saw
something better to do. At school Edgar had held his place rather by
steady work than by natural talent. Rupert was the more clever of the
two, but Edgar's dogged perseverance had placed him in a more advanced
position on the modern side than Rupert held on the classical, and in
whatever position he might find himself his perseverance, power of work,
and strong common sense were likely to carry him through.

Edgar was conscious himself that he had acted hastily and wrongly in
leaving Cheltenham as he had done, and yet he felt that if again placed
in the same circumstances he should do the same. Captain Clinton had
certainly a right to have a voice in his future, and yet he felt so
keenly the dishonour of the fraud in which he had been an unconscious
accomplice, that he could not have brought himself to accept any
assistance at Captain Clinton's hands. Still he knew that those at
home--for he still thought of it as home--would be feeling much anxiety
about him, and once a month he wrote a short letter to Captain Clinton
saying that he was well and was keeping himself comfortably. These
letters he gave in charge of comrades going up for a day's leave to
London to post there for him.

One day Edgar had gone with a dozen others to bathe in the canal. After
doing so they had returned to barracks, and he had gone for a walk by
himself. On his return he was walking along a lane at a distance of
about a mile from the town, when he heard a scream. He at once started
off at the top of his speed, and at a turn of the lane he came upon a
group of two tramps and two frightened ladies. One of these was in the
act of handing over her purse to a tramp, while the second man was
holding the other by the wrist, and was endeavouring to tear off her
watch and chain, which she was struggling to retain. Just as Edgar
turned the corner he struck her on the face, and she fell backward on to
the bank.

Another moment and Edgar was up to them. The tramp turned with a savage
oath. Edgar, who was carrying his riding-whip, struck him with it with
all his strength across the eyes, and the man staggered back with a
shriek of pain. The other stood on the defensive, but he was no match
for Edgar, who was in hard exercise, and in regular practice with the
gloves, and whose blood was thoroughly up. The fight lasted but a
minute, at the end of which time the tramp was lying in the road roaring
for mercy, and shouting to his comrade to come to his assistance.

The latter, however, was stamping with pain, and was still unable to use
his eyes.

Edgar turned to the ladies. "If you will kindly walk on to the town," he
said, "and send the first man you meet here to me, I will take care of
these two fellows until he arrives, and then we will hand them over to
the police. Do not be alarmed," he went on, seeing that they hesitated,
"I think they have had enough of it."

[Illustration: "EDGAR STRUCK HIM WITH ALL HIS STRENGTH."]

The ladies hurried off, and before going many hundred yards came upon
three infantry men, who, when they heard what had happened, set off at a
run to Edgar's assistance. They arrived just in time. The man on the
ground had recovered his feet, and he and his companion had attacked
Edgar with fury, and it needed all the latter's skill and activity to
defend himself. As soon as the soldiers arrived upon the scene the
combat ceased. As a measure of precaution the tramps were first knocked
down; they were then dragged on to their feet and conducted by their
captors into Aldershot, where they were lodged at the police station.
They were followed by the two ladies, who after sending on the
soldiers had waited until their return with the tramps. They waited
outside the police station until a constable came out and asked them to
sign the charge sheet, which they did. Edgar now looked at them fairly
for the first time, and recognized one of them as being the wife of the
major of his corps.

"You belong to my husband's regiment," she said as they came out from
the police station. "What is your name?"

"Smith, madam. I am a trumpeter in D troop."

"Oh, yes! I remember your face now. I have often seen you in the cricket
field. Miss Pearson and myself are greatly indebted to you. I should not
mind so much being robbed of my purse, but I prize my watch very highly
as it was a present from my father. Major Horsley will see you and thank
you when he hears what you have done."

"I do not want any thanks," Edgar said; "it is a pleasure to punish such
ruffians."

Half an hour later Major Horsley came across to Edgar's quarters, and
the sergeant called the lad down.

"I am greatly indebted to you, Smith," he said, as Edgar saluted,
"greatly indebted to you. You have behaved most gallantly, and have
saved my wife from the loss of her watch and chain that she greatly
valued, and perhaps from serious ill-treatment from those ruffians; as
it was, one of them struck her a very severe blow on the face. I know
enough of you, lad, to feel that I cannot offer you money for the
service that you have rendered me; but be assured that I shall not
forget it, and that when it is in my power to do you a good turn I will
do so."

"Thank you, sir," Edgar said. "I am very glad to have been of service."

The major nodded kindly. Edgar saluted and turned away, well pleased at
having made a friend who would have it in his power to be so useful to
him, and still more pleased that the major had not offered him money as
a reward for what he had done. An hour later he was sent for to the
orderly-room, where the colonel in the presence of several of the
officers thanked him for his gallant conduct.

"You are a credit to the regiment, Smith; and you may be sure that I
shall keep my eye on you," he concluded.

The next day the tramps were brought up before the local magistrates and
committed for trial for highway robbery with violence, and a month later
they were brought up at the assizes at Winchester and sentenced to five
years' penal servitude. Edgar gained a great deal of credit in the
regiment from the affair, and came to be known by the nickname of "The
Bantam." There were, of course, some men who were jealous of the young
trumpeter's popularity, and two or three of the non-commissioned
officers especially felt aggrieved at the notice taken of him. One of
these was the corporal in charge of the barrack-room occupied by Edgar,
for he had, since he had been regularly appointed to a troop, left the
quarters he first occupied with the band for those allotted to troop D.

Corporals, however, have but little power in a barrack-room. They are in
a sort of transitional state between a private and a sergeant, and are
liable for even a comparatively small fault to be sent down again into
the ranks. This being the case, they seldom venture to make themselves
obnoxious to the men who were but lately their comrades, and may be
their comrades again before a week is out. Corporal North, however, lost
no opportunity of making himself disagreeable in a small way to Edgar.
More than that he could not venture upon, for the men would at once have
taken the lad's part.

The regiment had been for some little time first on the list for foreign
service, and there was no surprise when the news ran round the
barrack-rooms that the order had come to prepare for embarkation. It was
supposed that as a matter of course India would be their destination;
but it was soon known that the regiment was for the present to be
stationed in Egypt. Most of the men would rather have gone direct to
India, where soldiers are better off and better cared for than
elsewhere. Edgar, however, was pleased at the thought of seeing
something of Egypt, and it seemed to him, too, that there was a chance
of active service there.

"It seems to me," he said, talking it over with several of his chums,
"that sooner or later we must have some fighting in Egypt. I cannot
understand how it is that some of the regiments there have not long ago
been sent down to Suakim. We have smashed up the Egyptian army, and it
seems to me that as we are really masters of the place we are bound to
protect the natives from these savage tribes who are attacking them down
on the Red Sea and up in the Soudan. The Egyptians always managed them
well enough until we disbanded their army. If Hicks Pasha had had, as he
asked for, an English regiment or two with him, he would never have been
smashed up by the Mahdi's people; and it seems to me awful that the
garrisons of Sinkat and Tokar should be deserted when we have a lot of
troops lying idle at Cairo, while Baker is trying in vain to get up a
native force to march to their relief. I wish, instead of going to
Egypt, we were going straight down to Suakim to help him. There is one
thing, if Baker fails and Sinkat and Tokar fall into the hands of the
natives, there will be such indignation that government will have to do
something. So I think there is a very good chance of our seeing some
active service there, which will be a thousand times better than
sweltering in hot barracks in Cairo."

"Right you are, Smith," one of the others said. "I don't go in for
reading the papers, and I don't know anything about the chaps in Egypt;
but if there is going to be a row, I say let us have our share in it. We
are pretty well up in the pursuing drill; it would be a change to do it
with somebody to pursue. Anyhow, wherever it is it will be a good job to
get out of Aldershot, with its parades and its drills and its Long
Valley, and the whole blooming lot of it."

Three days later the order came, and the regiment proceeded by rail to
Southampton; they embarked as soon as they arrived there, and the
transport started on the following morning. The weather was fine, and
the voyage a pleasant one. They had but little to do, for they had left
their horses behind them, as they were to take over the horses of the
regiment they were going to relieve. The steamer was a fast one, and in
twelve days after sailing they reached Alexandria. They were met when
they arrived there by terrible news. General Baker's force had marched
to the relief of Tokar, but on the way had been attacked by the natives
and utterly defeated, half the force being killed; and the whole would
have been annihilated had they not reached the sea-shore, where the guns
of the vessels which had brought them down from Suakim checked the
pursuit of the enemy. Sinkat had fallen.

The news had arrived only on the previous day, and the greatest
excitement prevailed. The regiment at once proceeded to Cairo by train
and took over the barracks and horses from the small detachment that had
been left in charge of them, the main body of the regiment having
crossed them on their journey from Alexandria, as they were to proceed
to India in the same steamer that had brought out the Hussars. They were
scarcely settled in their quarters before they heard that, now that it
was too late, an expedition was to be sent down to Suakim. Two English
regiments would have saved Baker's force from destruction, and would
have rescued the garrisons of Sinkat and Tokar; now a large force would
have to be employed. Some time would, of course, be needed for the
organization of the expedition, and in the meantime the Hussars had
plenty of opportunity for investigating Cairo.

To Edgar the town was delightful, with its bazaar and its varied
population, and he and some of his comrades were never tired of
wandering about examining the shops with their curious contents, their
bright-coloured scarves, their wonderful pipes, their gaudy brasswork,
and their oriental stuffs and carpets. But the population were even more
amusing, with the mixture of Egyptians, Arabs, and Negroes clad in every
variety of garb: from the Egyptian functionary in his neat blue uniform
and fez, and the portly merchant in his oriental robes, to the Arabs
muffled up in cotton cloths with turban and bernous, the lightly-clad
Fellah, and the women shrouded in dark blue cottons with their faces
almost entirely hidden by the yashmack. It needed some dexterity to
avoid the strings of loaded camels that made their way through the
narrow streets, the porters carrying heavy weights hanging from the
centre of a thick bamboo pole resting on the shoulders of two or four
men, and the diminutive donkeys with their high saddles, on the top of
which were perched men who looked far more capable of carrying the
donkeys than the donkeys of supporting their weight.

The men soon discovered that spirits were cheap in Cairo, and the result
was a considerable addition to the number brought up at the orderly-room
for drunkenness. Among these, to Edgar's satisfaction, was Corporal
North, who was at once sent back to the ranks and sentenced to a week in
the cells. On the day he came out Edgar went up to him.

"Now look here, North. You have made it pretty hot for me while you were
corporal. If I had given you any cause for it I should bear no malice,
but it has been simply persecution. As long as you were corporal I had
to grin and bear it, but now that you are in the ranks we can settle
matters; so I challenge you to meet me in the riding-school after we are
dismissed from parade to-day."

"That will suit me exactly," North said. "You want a licking badly,
young fellow, and now you will get it."

"Well, if I were you I would say nothing about it until it is over,"
Edgar replied; "for, you see, it is quite possible that it may be the
other way."

As several of the men had heard the conversation there was a
considerable gathering in the riding-school after they were dismissed
from parade. The sympathies of the men were strongly with Edgar; but
most of them thought that he was hardly a match for North, who had
fought several times before he had got his stripes, and was a
well-built young fellow of two-and-twenty.

The fight lasted upwards of an hour. North had some knowledge of boxing,
but in this respect Edgar was his superior. He was far stronger and
longer in the reach, while Edgar was the more active. In the early part
of the fight the advantage lay all with the soldier, and Edgar was
terribly knocked about, so much so that the general opinion was that he
had better give in and say that he had had enough; but Edgar laughed at
the suggestion.

"We have only begun yet," he said to the man who was acting as his
second; "last tells in the long run. I have seen that before now, and I
have double the last he has."

This was the fact. Edgar had been constantly at hard work since he
joined the regiment, while North had had a comparatively easy time of it
since he became a corporal. He had, too, spent no small portion of his
pay in drink, and although he was seldom absolutely drunk, had had more
than one narrow escape of his condition being observed on his return to
barracks in the evening. As the fight went on, then, want of condition
told upon him. Edgar, who had at one time seemed weak, gradually
recovered his strength, while North became exhausted by the exertions he
had made in the early part of the fight.

Edgar now took the offensive, and at the end of an hour and a quarter's
fighting North was no longer able to come up to time, and a loud shout
from the lookers-on proclaimed that Edgar was the victor. He went across
to North and held out his hand.

"Let us shake hands, North," he said; "it has been a good tough fight. I
owe you no malice now, and if you get your stripes again, as I daresay
you will, I hope it will be a lesson to you not to drop unfairly upon
anyone you may take a dislike to."

North took the hand held out to him.

"You have licked me fairly, Smith," he said. "I did not think you had
it in you; but I don't think you would have thrashed me if I had been in
as good a condition as you are."

"Very likely not," Edgar laughed. "Well, next time we fight I hope it
will be against the Arabs, and not against each other."

This fight greatly added to Edgar's reputation in the regiment. North
was not a popular character and had always been considered a bully, and
the pluck with which Edgar had continued the fight was thoroughly
appreciated. Neither of the combatants were able to take their place in
the ranks for some days after the fight, being obliged to obtain an
order from the surgeon dispensing them from appearing on parade, though
they still did stable duty and inner guards. Through the surgeon the
matter came to the ears of the officers, who, by quiet inquiry from the
sergeants, learnt the particulars of the fight.

"Your friend Trumpeter Smith is reported as unfit for duty, my dear,"
Major Horsley said to his wife.

"Is he! I am sorry for that," the lady said. "Is there anything we can
do for him in the way of sending him some soup, or anything of that
sort? He is not seriously ill, I hope?"

"I am afraid he is beyond your skill, Emma," Major Horsley said; and
then, seeing that his wife looked seriously grieved, went on, "don't be
alarmed, he has only been fighting again."

"Oh! is that all? I was afraid it was fever, or something of that sort.
Who has he been fighting with? He doesn't look quarrelsome at all."

"He has been fighting with a man named North, who was a corporal in his
troop, and who, as I hear, has been persecuting him a good deal. The
fellow got drunk the other day and was reduced to the ranks, and young
Smith lost no time in challenging him to fight. I hear most of the men
thought he was a fool for doing so, for North is five years older than
he is, and a stiff-built young fellow too. I hear that it was a very
hard fight, and lasted nearly an hour and a half. After the first
half-hour it seemed to every one that Smith would have to give in, for
the other man had all the best of it, knocking him down every round; but
he stuck to it, and at last North was so beaten he could not come up to
time. The sergeant says both of them are terribly knocked about, Smith
worst. He can hardly see out of his eyes, and it will be fully a week
before either of them can take their places in the ranks. I hear it was
the longest fight that there has been in the regiment for years, and the
sergeant-major tells me the men are quite enthusiastic over the pluck
with which the young one fought. You see, he is not seventeen yet, and
for a lad of that age to stand up against a man--and one too who, as I
hear, is accustomed to use his fists--is a feather in his cap. It will
do him good in the regiment. I have no doubt some of the men are rather
jealous of the position he gained from his play at cricket, and from
that affair of yours."

"It was very mean of them, then," Mrs. Horsley said warmly.

"Perhaps so, my dear; but favourites are not often popular. Anyhow, this
will do him good, and will give him a better standing in the regiment
than even his cricket could do; and, at any rate, those who don't like
him are likely after this to keep their opinion to themselves."

"I wish we could do something for him, Robert. You see, we have never
done anything yet."

"I shall have a chance of giving him a helping hand some day," the major
replied, "and you may be sure that when the opportunity comes I shall do
what I can. I have not forgotten what I owe him, I can tell you."

The opportunity came sooner than the major had expected. In a short time
it became known that four squadrons of the 10th Hussars and one squadron
of the 1st were to accompany the expedition, and the greatest excitement
prevailed in the corps as to which troops should be chosen. Two days
later Edgar was delighted to hear that the A and D troops had been
named for the service.

"Why have they chosen the D troop, Robert?" Mrs. Horsley asked her
husband.

"Partly, my dear, because Atkinson is the senior captain."

"Oh, yes! I forgot that. And what is the other reason?"

"Well, Emma, that reason is known only to myself, but I do not mind your
knowing it; but you must not whisper it to anyone."

"What is it?" his wife asked curiously.

"Because, my dear, Trumpeter Smith belongs to that troop, and I thought
I would give him the chance of distinguishing himself. Someday, when it
comes to a question of promotion, it will count in his favour that he
has seen active service."

"Oh, I am glad, Robert! It was very good of you to think of it. I wish
that he could know that you thought of him."

"That he certainly cannot know," the major said decidedly. "It would be
a nice thing for it to be known by anyone that the arrangements as to
which troop should go on service had been influenced by my desire to do
a good turn to a trumpeter. The other reason is a good and sufficient
one. Atkinson, as senior captain, has almost a right to the first chance
that offers. He is pretty sure to get brevet rank if there is any hard
fighting."

At this moment there was a knock at the door and an orderly entered, and
saluting handed a note to Major Horsley. He glanced through it, and an
expression of pleasure crossed his face.

"My compliments to the colonel. I will come across and see him at once."

"What is it, Robert?" his wife asked as the door closed behind the
soldier.

"Well, my dear, it is news that I own gives me great pleasure, but which
I am afraid you won't like."

"Not that you are to go with the detachment, Robert?"

"Yes, Emma, that is it;" and he handed her the note.

"My dear Horsley, I have just received orders from the general that a
field-officer is to go in command of the squadron. As senior major, you
have, of course, the right to the chance. I congratulate you."

Mrs. Horsley turned a little pale as she read it, and her lip quivered
as she said, "Well, Robert, no doubt you are glad of the opportunity,
and as a soldier's wife I will not say anything to damp your pleasure.
It is natural that you should wish to go. If I were a man I should wish
so too. Anyhow, it will only last a very short time. You said you
thought that they would be back again in a month, and surely there can
be no very great danger in a fight with these savages."

"The smallest amount in the world, Emma. It is not like Baker's force,
which was composed of these cowardly Egyptians; and it is ridiculous to
suppose that these wild tribesmen, brave as they may be, can stand
against British troops armed with breech-loaders. I am afraid that all
our share of the business will be to do a little scouting before the
fight begins, and a little pursuing practice afterwards, so there will
be really no occasion whatever for you to be at all uneasy, child; and I
must own that I am extremely glad of the opportunity of taking part in
this little expedition against these fanatics. Well, I must go across
and see the colonel."

Mrs. Horsley indulged in a quiet cry while he was away, for although she
did not apprehend any real danger, the thought that her husband was
going to run some risk of his life for the first time since she married
him was a trial. However, she looked bright and cheerful when he
returned, and at once set to work to pack up the kit required for the
expedition.

The next morning the detachment of the 1st Hussars, eighty strong,
marched down to the station with one hundred men of the 10th Hussars.
They took train for Suez. Here they found another two hundred and
twenty-eight men of the 10th who had come on by an earlier train, and
the work of embarking the horses on board the steamer that was to take
them down to Suakim at once began. It was continued until nightfall and
recommenced again at daybreak, for the operation of getting horses on
board a ship and slinging them down into the hold is necessarily a slow
one; but by mid-day all was concluded, the baggage on board, and the
troops in readiness for a start.

It was just sunset when the vessel steamed away from the wharf, the
troops on board joining in a hearty cheer as she started. The ship was
far more crowded than would have been the case had she been starting for
a long voyage; but the run down to Suakim was so short that she was
packed as full as she could hold, having in addition to the troops a
number of mules for the transport. Every one was in high spirits. The
change was a most welcome one after the monotony of barrack life in
Egypt, and moreover all were burning to avenge the destruction of
Baker's force and the massacre of the brave little garrison of Sinkat.

The voyage was a pleasant one. After passing out of the Gulf of Suez,
with the lofty and rugged mountain of Sinai with its red rocks and
patches of verdure rising almost from the water's edge, they entirely
lost sight of land on the left. On the right, however, ran a range of
steep hills, which became bolder and loftier as they made their way
south. When night again fell the engines were slowed down, for it was
not deemed advisable to arrive off Suakim before daylight, as the coast
of the neighbourhood abounded with reefs, and the entrance to the
harbour was intricate and difficult. As soon as day broke the engines
were again put at full speed, and in an hour the masts of the shipping
lying in the port could be made out. As they neared the port a small
launch was seen coming out. An officer soon came on board.

"You are to go down the coast to Trinkitat," he said to the captain.
"The transports have gone down there, that is to be the base of
operations."

The officers clustered round the new-comer to learn the news.

"You have been more lucky than the 19th," he said. "The _Neva_ ran
ashore on a shoal eighteen or nineteen miles away and has become a total
wreck. Several steamers went out at once to help her, and got out the
men and horses. A good deal of the baggage was lost, and fifty transport
mules, which there was no time to take out before she went to pieces. It
was a very close thing, and it was very lucky that aid came two or three
hours after she struck. There has been trouble with the black regiments.
The scoundrels mutinied as soon as they got on shore, and announced
their intention of joining the rebels; so the marines have been kept
here for the defence of the place, instead of going with the expedition.
I am sorry to say that Tokar has fallen."

A groan broke from his hearers.

"It is a bad business," he went on; "but happily there has been no
repetition of the Sinkat massacre. We heard the news yesterday morning.
It was brought by five soldiers who made their way down the coast. They
reported that the civil governor of the town had entered into
negotiations with the enemy, and had agreed to surrender on the promise
that the lives of the garrison should be spared. In the afternoon two of
our spies came back and confirmed the intelligence. It seems that they
could have held out some time longer, and that the governor has behaved
like a traitor. They were annoyed by a distant fire from six Krupp guns
taken at the defeat of Baker's force, and worked by some black
artillerymen captured at the same time. The fire did no material harm,
but it seems to have frightened what little courage was left among the
officials, and the governor and a hundred and fifty of the townsmen went
out and arranged the surrender, although they knew perfectly well that
in a very few days help would arrive. There is one thing, the surrender
will enable General Graham to choose his own time, and to wait until all
the troops are up, instead of pushing forward, as he might otherwise
have done, directly he thought he had men enough, to save Tokar."

In another five minutes the officer had taken his place in the launch
and was steaming back into Suakim, and the transport was making her way
south. By noon she was anchored off the landing-place, a low beach with
a flat country extending behind it. The shore was alive with troops, and
numbers of boats were plying backwards and forwards. The work of
disembarking the horses began immediately, and the greater part of them
were on shore before night. There they found the Black Watch, Gordon
Highlanders, Irish Fusiliers, 19th Hussars, and the Mounted Infantry, a
corps of one hundred and twenty-six strong.

Edgar greatly enjoyed the bustle and excitement, and the troops were all
in the highest spirits. The first comers were eagerly questioned. They
said that during the day the 19th and Mounted Infantry had made a
reconnaissance across a lagoon which lay between the beach and the
country behind. The enemy had been seen there in force, but they retired
at once upon seeing the cavalry advance. It was expected that by the
following morning some of the infantry would cross the lagoon and occupy
a battery which General Baker had thrown up there to cover his landing,
for Trinkitat had been the spot from which he too had advanced to
relieve Tokar, and the scene of the conflict in which his force had been
destroyed would probably be crossed by the British in their advance.

No tents had been taken or were needed, for even in February the heat
upon the shores of the Red Sea is very great; and as the evening went on
the buzz of talk and laughter died out, and the troops lay down and
slept under the starry sky.




CHAPTER VII.

EL-TEB.


The next morning the Gordon Highlanders and Irish Fusiliers, accompanied
by a squadron of Hussars and the Mounted Infantry, with a couple of
small guns, crossed the lagoon and occupied the intrenchment. The
cavalry went a little distance out; but the enemy were seen in
considerable numbers, and as there might be a large force concealed
among the low sand-hills, no attempt was made to attack them, as it was
undesirable to bring on serious fighting until the whole force were in
readiness to advance. In the evening the cavalry recrossed the lagoon,
as there was no water obtainable on the other side, and the animals had
to depend upon the supply landed from the steamers. All day the work of
disembarkation had been going on, and in spite of the heat of the
blazing sun, the men had worked enthusiastically in getting the horses
and stores on shore.

The next day the Naval Brigade, one hundred and fifteen strong, all
picked men from the crews of the gun-boats, with ten officers, landed.
The troops on the beach were most anxious to advance, but as those
beyond the lagoon had to depend entirely upon food and water carried
across to them, it was unadvisable to push a larger body of men forward,
especially as the natives had clearly no intentions of attacking them,
contenting themselves by keeping up a distant fire.

"I expect the beggars are gathering their forces just as we are
gathering ours," one of the Hussars said, as they sat round a fire they
had lighted with some drift-wood picked up on shore. The heat was in no
way required, but the light was cheerful, and the smoke kept away
troublesome insects.

"They reckon," another said, "upon falling upon us on the march as they
did upon Baker's men, but they will find they have got into the wrong
box."

"General Baker came down himself in the steamboat which arrived this
afternoon. I heard one of the officers say so," Edgar put in. "It will
be a satisfaction to him to see these fellows well licked on nearly the
same ground where they cut up his force."

"Ah! I expect Baker would give his right hand to lead the cavalry in the
charge. What a splendid officer he is! There is not a man in the army
can handle cavalry as he can; and wouldn't the 10th fight with their old
colonel at their head!"

There was a general chorus of assent.

"How splendidly he fought in Turkey!" another trooper said. "I am told
the Turks he led would have done anything for him, and had just the same
confidence in him our chaps used to have. If he had been in command of
the whole army, instead of those rotten old pashas, the Russians would
have found it a very different job. I wonder when we are going on. Now
we have got all the stores ashore it will be precious slow work being
stuck on this beach."

"We are waiting for the 65th," a sergeant said. "I hear the _Serapis_
was expected this morning. It is great luck for them getting a fight
without any trouble at all. How pleased they must have been when they
heard at Aden that they were to be stopped on their way up, to have a
share in the affair!"

"Yes, I call that a first-rate piece of luck," another agreed, "to have
a good fight and then go straight home, while we have got nothing to
look forward to afterwards but garrison duty in Cairo. I would rather be
going on to India fifty times."

"Like enough we may see some service there," the sergeant said. "If this
Mahdi fellow comes down, which they say he means to do, to invade Egypt,
you may be sure we shall all have to go up to stop him."

"I don't call it 'fighting' against these savages," one of the troopers
said. "What chance have they got against regular troops?"

"I don't know, Johnson. The Zulus were savages, and they made a pretty
tough fight against us. I suppose you don't want anything much harder
than that? These fellows have been every bit as brave as the Zulus. They
cut Hicks Pasha's army into mincemeat, and they have licked two Egyptian
armies down in this neighbourhood. If you think this is going to be no
harder work than a field-day at Aldershot, I think you are likely to
find you are mistaken."

"You don't suppose, sergeant, that these naked beggars are going to
stand for a moment against a charge of eight hundred cavalry?"

"It did not seem as if naked savages could stand infantry armed with
breech-loaders, but you see the Zulus did. It does not seem possible
these Arabs can stand for a moment against our charge; but, you see, we
do not understand these fellows. One knows what regular infantry can do
against cavalry, and it may be we shall find that these Arabs are not to
be ridden over as easily as we think. When you have got to reckon with
men who don't care the snap of a finger whether they are killed or not,
you never can count upon an easy victory however badly they may be
armed, and however undisciplined they may be.

"There is nine o'clock," he broke off, as the bells on board the
gun-boats rang out twice. A moment later a bugle sounded "lights out,"
and the call was repeated by the buglers and trumpeters of the various
corps, and a few minutes later the men stretched themselves out on the
sand, and silence reigned in the camp. The next morning Admiral Hewett
sent on shore eight seven-pounder guns from the fleet, to take the place
of the same number of little camel-guns, which had been found to be of
no real utility. At noon the smoke of a steamer was made out in the
distance, and a few hours later the _Serapis_, whose engines had gone
wrong, arrived with the 65th, who were landed at once, and
immediately crossed the lagoon to the intrenchment, and it was known
that the advance would at once begin.

[Illustration: PORT OF SUAKIM]

[Illustration: BATTLE OF EL TEB.

20TH. FEB. 1884.]

In addition to the guns sent on shore from the fleet the artillery had
ten brass mountain-guns and four Krupps; the Naval Brigade had with them
two nine-pounders, three Gatlings, and three Gardners. The troops were
divided into two brigades, the first consisting of 610 men of the
Rifles, 751 Gordon Highlanders, and 334 of the Irish regiment; the
second brigade of 761 Royal Highlanders, 500 of the 65th, 361 Royal
Marine Artillery and Infantry, and 100 Royal Engineers. There were 600
camels for the transport, 350 mules and 100 camels for the ambulance
corps, while the camel battery was composed of 80 camels and 100 men.

In the course of the afternoon Major Harvey and Lieutenant-colonel
Burnaby rode out two miles beyond the intrenchment and planted a white
flag with a letter attached to the flagstaff, calling upon the enemy to
retire and allow us to pass on to Tokar without opposition. They were
fired at by the Arabs, and as the flag disappeared a short time after
the officers had returned, there was no doubt that the letter would
arrive at its destination. Before nightfall the whole of the force, with
the exception of one hundred and fifty men left to defend the stores on
the beach, had crossed the lagoon. Three hundred men were to remain in
the intrenchment, when the rest marched, to defend the transport animals
and stores left there against any attacks. Bivouac fires were lighted,
and round these the troops sat smoking and chatting until the bugle-call
ordered all to lie down in their ranks. They were bivouacked in the
order in which they were to advance.

The formation was to be a sort of square, of which the Gordon
Highlanders were to form the front face, the Royal Highlanders the rear
line, the Irish Fusiliers the right face with the Rifles inside them;
the 65th were on the outside of the left face, the Marines being inside
them. The whole square was about 250 yards long by 150 deep. Between
the Marines and Rifles in the centre were stationed the transport
animals with the reserve ammunition and hospital appliances. The camel
battery with the seven-pounders was to remain in reserve in the centre
of the square, while the sailors with the six marine-guns were placed at
the left front of the square, next to the Gordon Highlanders.

The bivouac fires were kept up all night, as it was considered probable
that the enemy, who occasionally fired from a distance, might attempt an
attack upon the sleeping force. The night, however, passed quietly, but
towards morning rain fell heavily, soaking the troops as they lay, and
there was a general feeling of gladness when the reveille called them to
their feet. Fresh fuel was thrown on to the fires, and the men tried as
best they could to dry themselves. The kettles were boiled and breakfast
eaten, and the cavalry recrossed the lagoon to the beach to give their
horses water at the tanks there. They then rejoined the infantry. Their
place was to be in the rear of the square, but two squadrons were to
move in extended order as scouts a mile in front of it and on both
flanks.

Their orders were that if attacked they were not to charge the enemy,
but to open right and left and to retire at once and rejoin the main
body in the rear of the square, so as to allow a clear space for the
sweep of the infantry fire. The infantry were to fire only in volleys on
word of command, and were not to open fire until within three hundred
yards of the enemy.

Moving out from the camp the force was halted on open ground and a brief
inspection made to see that all was in order, and soon after eight
o'clock the advance began in earnest.

As soon as they moved forward the enemy could be seen retiring,
evidently bent upon pursuing the same tactics that they had done upon
the occasion of the advance of Baker Pasha's force from the same
halting-place a month before. The officers with their glasses could make
them out swarming along a slight ridge of ground in the neighbourhood of
the wells; their flags extended along a front a mile in length, and
guns could be made out in position. As the column advanced the enemy
cleared off from the rising ground, but whether they had retired behind
the ridge, and were there waiting in readiness to pour out to the
attack, or whether they were moving round to fall upon the flank of the
column, was uncertain. As the column neared the position it could be
seen that a breastwork had been thrown up, and that the position of the
guns had been well chosen, and the enemy could now be made out crowded
among the bushes on the ridge.

It was now ten o'clock, the column was advancing briskly to the martial
music of the pipes of the Royal Highlanders, the cavalry scouts had
moved away from the front, and the square was within five hundred yards
of the ridge. They were not, however, advancing directly against it, but
were moving in a line almost parallel to its face, as General Graham had
determined to pass it and then attack in flank, as it was evident that
there would be serious loss in a front attack upon a position so
strongly held and fortified. It was a trying moment, for all expected
that the silence, so far preserved by the enemy, would be broken by the
roar of cannon and the discharge of musketry, and that it would be
followed by the tremendous rush that had proved fatal to Baker's force.

But the square kept its way for some distance across the face before the
enemy opened fire. They had doubtless expected that a direct attack
would be made upon their position, and the passage of the troops without
the slightest attention to themselves surprised and disconcerted them.
But at last they perceived that they must take the offensive, and
suddenly a hot fire of musketry broke out from bush and earthwork, while
the Krupp guns, manned by the soldiers who had formed part of the Tokar
garrison, opened fire. The distance was but four hundred yards, and
several of the men fell out from their places in the ranks wounded, but
the greater part of the shot and bullets flew overhead.

No reply to the fire was made by the square, but its direction was
changed a little more to the right so as to take it somewhat farther
from the face of the enemy's position. The artillery now opened fire
upon the guns of the enemy, but the square kept on its course steadily,
while a storm of bullets and fragments of shrapnel-shell flew around
them. The enemy's gunners proved that their training had been good. They
worked their guns quickly and their aim was accurate. General Baker, who
was acting as head of the intelligence department, was struck in the
face by a ball from one of the shrapnel-shells. This imbedded itself so
deeply in his jaw that it could not be got out by the surgeons until
after the conclusion of the fight. But the gallant officer, having had
his face bandaged up, remounted his horse, and continued his duties
throughout the day.

Upon getting to a position at the end of the ridge held by the enemy the
men were ordered to lie down, while the artillery continued their fire
against the enemy's batteries. At a quarter to twelve the Arab guns
ceased to fire, and the men were ordered to their feet again, and with
loud cheers continued the advance. The square moved on until well in
rear of the enemy's position, and then marched straight towards it.
Owing to this change in the direction of its march the left flank of the
square now became its front, and it was the 65th with the Naval Brigade
on one flank and the Royal Highlanders on the other, who were nearest to
the enemy.

Fast and thick the flashes of musketry broke out from the bushes; but as
the square approached the fire ceased, and then groups of black forms
sprang to their feet, and with loud yells rushed towards the square,
waving their spears and swords. It seemed incredible that these little
groups of ten or twelve men each should intend to assail the solid lines
of the British, but as fresh parties every moment sprang up and charged
down, the order was given to fire. A flash of flame ran along the face
of the great square, and then a continuous roar told that the
breech-loading rifles were at work, while the machine-guns of the
sailors added their rattle to the din of the musketry.

[Illustration: "WITH A DESPERATE RUSH THEY REACHED THE SAILORS."]

As if utterly heedless of death the Arabs rushed forward through the
leaden storm, but were mowed down like grass before it. Not one of these
intrepid warriors reached the face of the square, not one turned to fly;
but of those who left their shelter to attack the square, every man fell
with his face to the foe. Without halting for a moment the square kept
on its way until the front line reached the bushes. Then with a wild
yell a swarm of Arabs sprang to their feet, with so sudden and desperate
a rush that they reached the sailors, and for a minute a hand-to-hand
struggle took place--bayonet against spear. But the wild courage of the
natives was of no avail against the steady discipline of the sailors.
The assailants were swept away, and the square moved on.

But the ground was now so broken with bush and rock that the even line
could no longer be preserved. From every bush, and from rifle-pits dug
among them, and from behind rough intrenchments, parties of Arabs leapt
to their feet and hurled themselves in vain upon the British bayonets.
As the front of the square reached the ridge that had formed the Arab
position the fight was most desperate, the enemy throwing themselves
furiously on its flanks; and the Royal Highlanders and the sailors had
to fight hard to win their way through them. But at last the ridge was
won.

Two of the enemy's Krupp guns were captured, and as soon as the square
had been formed up again in order these were turned against the position
the Arabs had now taken up in rear of their first line of defence. In
the centre of the position they now occupied was a brick building, where
an engine for pumping up water for irrigation purposes had formerly
stood. The Arabs had loopholed the walls and surrounded the building
with rifle-pits. Here they made a desperate resistance, until at last
the doors were burst in and the building stormed. Several mud huts were
defended with equal obstinacy, and many of our men were wounded by Arabs
who lay feigning death in the rifle-pits, and then when the first line
of troops had passed leaped out and rushed in among them, cutting and
slashing until bayoneted or shot down.

While the 65th were winning this position the Gordon Highlanders carried
the village, while the Royal Highlanders captured the redoubt at the
extreme right of the position the enemy had first held. The enemy now
had been driven from their last line and fled in all directions, at a
speed that rendered pursuit by the infantry impossible.

During the early portion of the battle the cavalry had been kept in the
rear, out of the range of the enemy's fire, and the men had nothing to
do but to sit quiet on their horses and watch the attack of the infantry
square upon the enemy's position, fretting and fuming not a little that
they were unable to take their part in what was evidently a desperate
struggle. But at last bodies of the Arabs were seen streaming out from
the position, and General Stewart, who was in command of the cavalry
division, gave the order, and, wheeling far round to the right of the
infantry, led them against a large body of Arabs in the plain beyond the
ridge.

The enemy did not await their attack, but fled, hotly pursued by the
first and second lines for some distance. The order to cease pursuing
was sounded, when it was seen that the third line, composed of a hundred
men, were attacked by a body of Arabs who had advanced from the left,
and the main body wheeled round and advanced to assist them. But the
ground between was already occupied by the Arabs; these as the cavalry
advanced threw themselves down among the tufted hillocks and mounds
which covered the whole plain. The horses in their course leaped the
hillocks, swerving at the sight of the dark figures lying among them.

The Arabs sprang instantly to their feet in the intervals between the
horsemen and hurled their spears at them, or as they lay thrust them
into the horses, and as these fell sprang upon the riders and cut them
down. At the same moment a small body of mounted Arabs dashed into the
fray. Most of them were cut down, but some made their way through the
line, and turning the instant they did so fell upon the rear of the
charging squadron. Colonel Barrow who commanded it fell, but it still
pressed forward, the opposition becoming every moment more severe.
General Stewart led the second line to the assistance of the first, but
these too were desperately opposed, and had to fight hard before they
could reach them. One of the general's orderlies was killed and two
others wounded. Major Slade of the 10th Hussars, Lieutenant Freeman of
the 19th, and Lieutenant Probyn fell, and twenty men were killed and as
many wounded before the enemy retired.

Colonel Webster's squadron, which made several brilliant charges at the
enemy, now joined the rest of the cavalry. But the Arabs were
momentarily reinforced, and after what had been seen of the desperation
with which they fought it was deemed imprudent to pursue them further.

With the exception of the losses sustained by the cavalry the total loss
at the battle of El-Teb was small, amounting to only thirty killed and
one hundred and forty-two wounded. One infantry officer was killed, one
mortally wounded, and one severely so, while many received slight
wounds. The loss of the Arabs exceeded two thousand.

Edgar's squadron was among the first line when the charge was made to
the assistance of Colonel Webster's squadron. He was in the rear rank
and could not well see what was passing in front, and he was astounded
upon seeing men spring up apparently from the earth and furiously attack
the horsemen with spear and sword. He himself had a very narrow escape.
His horse swerved as it leapt a low bush, and almost simultaneously a
native sprang to his feet and lunged at him with his spear.
Instinctively he threw himself forward on the neck of his horse, and as
he did so felt the spear graze his back below the shoulders. The next
moment his horse had taken him beyond the Arab's reach; but at that
instant he heard a cry and saw Corporal North's horse fall with him,
pierced by a spear thrust given by a native lying on the ground.

Before the corporal could rise the Arab was upon him with his sword, and
struck him down with a sweeping cut upon the shoulder. Edgar had wheeled
his horse round instantly, and before the blow was repeated was within
striking distance of the man and his sword fell upon the uplifted wrist.
Dropping his sword the Arab sprang upon the horse and strove to tear
Edgar from the saddle, while at the same instant the Arab who had first
thrust at him ran up. Fortunately he came up at the side on which his
comrade was clinging to Edgar, and was therefore unable to use his spear
against him; but after a moment's hesitation he plunged it into the
horse, which reared high in the air and then fell. Edgar had at the
moment rid himself of the man who was grasping him, by shortening his
sword and plunging it into his body, and as the horse reared he drew his
feet from the stirrups and dropped off over his tail, coming down upon
his feet just as the animal rolled over dead.

The other Arab rushed at him with his spear. Edgar cut at it with his
sword and severed the iron head from the staff, and then springing
forward ran the Arab through before he could take to his sword. But
several others were running up, and Edgar felt that his case was
desperate. By this time the corporal, though badly wounded, had freed
himself from his fallen horse, and drawing his carbine from the bucket
shot the Arab nearest to him. The others, however, came on without a
pause. Edgar and his wounded companion made a desperate defence; but
both received several sword-cuts, and Edgar felt the end was at hand,
when with a roar like thunder the second line burst down upon them, and
the Arabs were instantly cut down.

"Take those two men up behind you!" an officer shouted.

Two of the troopers reined in their horses and assisted Edgar and his
companion to climb up behind them, and then riding at full speed soon
regained the line. In another minute the trumpet sounded for a halt.
Edgar and his companion now slipped from the horses and joined their own
squadron. The corporal was scarce able to stand, and Edgar was not in a
better plight. Major Horsley rode up to them.

"Not badly wounded, I hope?" he asked. "It is a miracle your getting in
when once dismounted."

"I think I am pretty nearly done for, sir," the corporal said. "But I
wish to report that Trumpeter Smith has saved my life by coming back to
my assistance when my horse was stabbed and fell with me. He killed the
two men who attacked me, and so gave me time to free myself and to aid
him in making a fight of it until the second line came up." As Corporal
North concluded he fell insensible from loss of blood.

At that moment the surgeon came up. "Are we going to charge again,
major? because if so, these men, with the others badly wounded, had
better be sent across at once to the infantry. There are too many of
these Arab scoundrels about for them to be left behind here. But if we
are not going to charge I will give their wounds a first dressing at
once."

"I don't know," the major said. "I will ride to the general and ask him,
and speak to him about the wounded. Sergeant Meekings, if the order
comes to charge before I return, tell off a trooper to take up each man
too badly wounded to ride, and let them carry them straight across to
the infantry."

After giving this order he rode rapidly away, but returned in two or
three minutes. "We are not going to charge again, doctor," he said;
"they are mustering too strongly for us to attempt it. The general says
he will halt where we are until the worst cases of the wounded are
attended to. Here, two of you men, dismount and assist the surgeon."

"Get their jackets off, lads," the doctor said. "Take this corporal
first; he is the worst case."

The other wounded men were now brought up, and their wounds were all
bandaged. Those who could sit a horse then mounted behind other
troopers, while a number of soldiers were ordered to dismount and to lay
the others upon blankets and carry them in.

Edgar was one of these. He had received one cut on the top of his head,
and his helmet had alone saved his skull from being cleft. He had
another gash on the right cheek. His side was laid open with a
spear-thrust, the weapon having fortunately glanced from his ribs, and
he had another sword-cut on the hip. He was unable to walk from loss of
blood, but he felt that none of his wounds were very serious; and the
surgeon said to him cheerfully, "You will do, lad. Your wounds are ugly
to look at, but they are not serious. You will be on horseback again in
another ten days."

Major Horsley had not spoken to him, but he had given him a little nod
of satisfaction when the corporal gave his report. The cavalry moved
across at a walk towards the wells of El-Teb, the wounded being carried
between the lines, as there was no saying how many Arabs might be
lurking among the bushes. On reaching the wells they were taken to the
field hospital, which had already been organized. There their wounds
were more carefully examined and re-dressed; and after a drink of
lime-juice and water, with a little brandy in it, Edgar soon dropped off
to sleep. In the morning Major Horsley and Captain Atkinson came round
to see how the men of their regiment were getting on. The surgeon's
report was favourable except in the case of Corporal North.

"I think he will pull round, major; but I am sure he will never be fit
for service again. That wound on the shoulder, which he tells me is the
first he got, has cut clean through the collar-bone and penetrated
almost to the upper rib. I doubt whether he will ever have the use of
his arm again; but that I cannot say. Anyhow, it will be long before it
is fit for hard work. Trumpeter Smith? There is nothing serious the
matter with him, but he has had a marvellous escape. If his helmet had
not saved his head, the blow would have cleft right through his skull;
if the wound in his cheek had been a couple of inches higher, it would
have opened the temporal artery; and if the spear had penetrated instead
of gliding off his ribs, that alone would have been sufficient to have
done his business. As it is, he is not much the worse except for loss of
blood, and with luck will be fit to take his place again in the ranks in
a fortnight."

"I am glad to hear so good an account of you, Smith," the major said as
he went up to his bedside. "I have reported your conduct to General
Stewart, and your name will be sent in among those recommended for the
Victoria Cross. Mind, I don't say that you will get it, lad, I don't
think you will; for so many men distinguished themselves yesterday in
that hand-to-hand fight that the names sent in will be very much larger
than the number of crosses given. Still, your having been recommended
will count in your favour when the time comes." So saying, with a kindly
nod he moved on to the next bed.

At nine o'clock the force moved out towards Tokar, half the Gordon
Highlanders being left at El-Teb for the protection of the hospital and
stores, and with orders to find and bury the Europeans that had fallen.
During the day many of the Egyptian garrison of Tokar came into the camp
from the surrounding villages. In the afternoon a mounted orderly
brought in the news that the force had met with no resistance whatever
on their way. Several parties of the enemy had been seen, but these fled
as soon as they saw the troops advancing. In Tokar seventy of the
Egyptian garrison were found in a half-starved condition. While their
comrades had consented to join the Arabs they had steadily refused to do
so, and had been very badly treated in consequence by them and by the
inhabitants of the town. The arrival of the troops was hailed with great
joy. The inhabitants had had a terrible time during the occupation of
the place by the Arabs, and the whole population were preparing to
accompany the troops on their march back to the coast. The cavalry had
ridden out to Debbah, where the camp of the force besieging Tokar had
been established.

In the afternoon Edgar was so far recovered that he was able to sit up.
His wounds were sore and painful, and the strapping of plaster in which
they were enveloped rendered him very stiff and uncomfortable. But, as
he said to another soldier, he had been just as stiff and sore after a
football match, and felt confident that in a few days he should be as
well as ever.

The next evening the force returned from Tokar, and Edgar and the other
troopers who were well enough to go outside the hospital tent to see
them come in were amused at their appearance, for they had before
starting armed themselves with spears taken from the fallen Arabs; for
the fight on the previous day had shown them that their swords were of
little avail against the tactics of the Arabs in throwing themselves
flat upon the ground, and that spears were much better suited for
warfare against savages. They were accompanied by the greater portion of
the population of Tokar, who were to be conveyed in the ships up to
Suakim. The cavalry had found that the Arabs had left the camp at Debbah
before they arrived.

The expedition there was, however, by no means useless, for they found
an immense quantity of rifles and ammunition, together with a Gatling
and mountain gun, all of which had been captured by the Arabs at the
rout of Baker Pasha's army, or at the destruction of the force under
Colonel Moncrieff some months before. The guns captured in the
intrenchments made up the complete number of those that had fallen into
the hands of the natives on those two occasions, and so left them
without artillery. The work of burying the dead had been carried on by
the force left in camp, and by the aid of those who now returned was
completed in a short time.

No less than a thousand Arabs were found to have fallen in and around
their intrenchments, and numbers must have got away only to die
subsequently from their wounds. It was learned from prisoners that
Osman Digma had not himself been present at the battle, but had sent a
thousand men to reinforce those engaged in the siege of Tokar.

The force now moved down to Trinkitat with three hundred men of the
garrison of Tokar who had rejoined them, and four or five hundred men,
women, and children from that town. The re-embarkation was speedily
effected, and a few hours later the ships entered Suakim harbour.

It was found that the natives of that town had received the news of the
victory of El-Teb with absolute incredulity, but the arrival of the
Tokar fugitives convinced them that the Arabs had really been defeated.
One of the prisoners taken at Sinkat came in a day or two later, having
made his escape from Osman Digma's camp. He reported that the news of
the battle of El-Teb had arrived there before he left, and that it had
been given out that seven thousand of the English had been killed, and
that it was only nightfall that saved them all from destruction.

The first step of Admiral Hewett and General Graham on their arrival at
Suakim was to issue a proclamation calling upon all the tribesmen to
leave Osman Digma and to come in and make their submission, promising
protection and pardon to all who surrendered. This proclamation was
backed by a letter by the Sheik Morghani, who was held in the highest
estimation for his holiness. He told them that God had sent the English
to destroy them because they had forsaken the old religion for a new
one, and entreated them to come in and make their peace.

A fortnight had now passed since the fight at El-Teb. Edgar, who had
remained on board the hospital-ship, had made rapid progress towards
convalescence, and was now reported by the surgeons as fit to return to
duty, which he was most anxious to do, as it was daily expected that the
force would move out against Osman Digma, who was at Tamai, a place
sixteen miles to the south-west of Suakim. The troops had been
disembarked, and he was delighted when he was again able to join his
squadron. Spies came and went daily, and they were unanimous in saying
that Osman would fight another battle. The news that El-Teb was a
disastrous defeat was by this time known, but his explanation that the
misfortunes were solely due to his orders having been disobeyed,
perfectly satisfied his followers, and their belief that he was
invincible was wholly unshaken.

The most fanatical of the coast tribes still held to him, and on the 9th
of March twenty-one of their sheiks sent in a defiant reply to the
proclamation, saying that the ten thousand men they commanded would meet
us in the field. It was therefore evident that the struggle to come
would be much more serious and determined than that of El-Teb.

Edgar received quite an ovation upon rejoining his troop. The manner in
which he had defended his wounded comrade had awakened their lively
admiration, the more so since the man for whom he had so imperilled his
life had but lately been his personal antagonist.

"Well, young un, you are getting on," a sergeant said to him. "I won't
say you are getting all the luck, for luck has nothing to do with it
this time, anyhow. You are doing well, Smith, and it won't be many
months before you are in our mess, and it needs no prophet to see that
you have every chance of going higher if you keep on as you began. Here
you are only about seventeen years old, and you have made a big mark in
the regiment already. You have got the major and the rest of the
officers on your side from that affair at Aldershot, then the fact that
you are the best cricketer in the regiment counts for a lot, and now you
have got wounded and have been recommended for the Victoria Cross.

"If you don't mount up after all that it will be your own fault. You
have every advantage. The fact that you have been a gentleman is in your
favour, for naturally men are picked out for promotion who are best
fitted for the position of officers; and your having been able to take
a first-class certificate in the school in itself brings you into
notice. Be careful with your self, lad. I know you don't drink, so I
need not warn you about that. Don't get cocky. I don't think you will,
for you haven't done so at present, and the notice you have had from
your cricket and that Aldershot affair would have turned a good many
lads' heads. But it is a thing to be careful about. You know there are a
good many old soldiers who are inclined to feel a little jealous when
they see a young fellow pushing forward, but if they see he is quiet,
and gives himself no airs and is pleasant with every one, they get over
it in time; and in your case every one will acknowledge that you deserve
all the luck that may fall to you. So be careful on that head, Smith.

"You will find very little jealousy among us sergeants when you once get
into our mess, for there are very few of us who have any idea whatever
of ever getting a commission, or would take one if it were offered. A
sensible man knows when he is well off, and except for a man who has had
the education you have had one is much more comfortable as a sergeant,
and better off too, than one would be as an officer. When one is with
other men one wants to do as they do, and an officer who has got to live
on his pay finds it hard work and painful work. Of course most men
promoted from the ranks--I mean my class of men--get quarter-masterships,
but there is no great pull in that. Quarter-masters are neither one
thing nor the other. The officers may try to put him at his ease, but
his ways are not their ways; and I have known many a quarter-master who,
if he had his choice, would gladly come back to the sergeant's mess
again."

"Thank you for your advice, sergeant," Edgar said quietly. "I will
follow it to the best of my power. I don't think there is anything to be
cocky about; for the thing at Aldershot was pure luck, and so it was the
other day. I happened to be next to North when his horse fell, and of
course I turned round to help him without thinking who he was or
anything about him. It was just instinct, and it hasn't done him any
good after all, for I hear he is not likely to live many days."




CHAPTER VIII

TAMANIEB.


"Are you sure you feel fit for active work again, Smith?" Major Horsley
said as he met Edgar in camp.

"Yes, sir," the lad said saluting. "I am a little stiff, and it hurts me
if I move suddenly, but I am sure I should not feel it if we were
engaged again."

"Well, do not do anything rash, lad; these fellows are not to be trifled
with." That, indeed, was the general opinion in camp. The men were ready
and eager for another fight with the enemy, but there was little of the
light-hearted gaiety with which the contest had been anticipated before
they had met the Arabs at El-Teb. The idea that savages, however brave,
could cope with British troops with breech-loaders had then seemed
absurd; but the extraordinary bravery with which the Arabs had fought,
the recklessness with which they threw away their lives, and the
determination with which they had charged through a fire in which it
seemed impossible that any human being could live, had created a feeling
of respect. There was nothing contemptible about these foes, and it was
expected that not only would the force be very much larger than that met
at El-Teb, but as it would be composed of Osman Digma's best men, and
would be fighting under his eye, the battle would be much more hardly
contested than before. The cavalry were particularly impressed with the
formidable nature of these strange foemen. While they would have hurled
themselves fearlessly against far superior forces of the best cavalry of
Europe, they felt that here their discipline and mastery of their
horses went for little. They could charge through any number of the
enemy, but the danger lay not in the charge but after it. The Arab
tactics of throwing themselves down only to stab the horses as they rode
over them, and then rising up cutting and thrusting in their midst, were
strange and bewildering to them.

"I am game to charge a dozen squadrons of cavalry one after the other,"
a trooper said as they sat round the fire on the night of the 9th of
March, "and if we had orders to go at a square of infantry I should be
ready to go, although I might not like the job; but as for these
slippery black beggars, the less we have to do with them the better I
shall be pleased. You go at them, and you think you have got it all your
own way, and then before you can say knife there they are yelling and
shouting and sticking those ugly spears into you and your horses, and
dancing round until you don't fairly know what you are up to. There
ain't nothing natural or decent about it."

There was a general murmur of assent.

"We shall know more about their ways next time," another said. "But
lancers would be the best for this sort of work. There is no getting at
these beggars on the ground with our swords, for the horses will always
leap over a body, and so you cannot reach them with your swords; but a
lance would do the business well. I don't care much for lances for
regular work, but for this sort of fighting there is no doubt they are
the real thing. Well, there is one thing, if we get among the niggers
this time we know what we have got to deal with, and up or down there
will be no mercy shown."

On the 10th the Royal Highlanders marched out six miles towards Tamai
and formed an encampment there, defending it with bushes interlaced with
wire, this kind of defence being known among the natives as a zareba.
The next afternoon the rest of the infantry marched out and joined them.
Next morning the cavalry moved out, and in the afternoon the whole force
started, the cavalry thrown out ahead. A few shots were exchanged with
parties of the enemy, but there was no serious fighting. The march was
slow, for the ground was thickly covered with bushes, through which the
troops with the ambulance and commissariat camels moved but slowly. The
sailors had very hard work dragging their guns through the deep sand,
and it took four hours before they reached a spot suitable for
encampment, within two miles of the enemy's position.

The spot selected for the halt was a space free from bushes, and large
enough to afford room for the encampment and to leave a clear margin of
some fifty yards wide between it and the bushes. As soon as the column
halted the cavalry and part of the infantry took up their position as
outposts to prevent a surprise on the part of the enemy, and the rest
set to work to cut down bushes and drag them across the sand to form a
fresh zareba. When this was completed the cavalry trotted back to the
post held on the previous night, as they would be useless in case of a
night attack, and their horses might suffer from a distant fire of the
enemy.

Inside the zareba the greatest vigilance was observed. Fully ten
thousand determined enemies lay but a short distance away, and might
creep up through the bushes and make a sudden onslaught at any time. The
moon was full, and its light would show any object advancing across the
open space. Had it not been for this the general would not have been
justified in encamping at so short a distance from the enemy. The march
had been a short one, but the heat had been great and the dust terrible,
and the troops threw themselves down on the ground exhausted when the
work of constructing the zareba was completed; but after a short rest
they took up their posts in readiness to repel an attack.

During the early part of the night all remained under arms. But
Commander Rolfe of the Royal Navy crept out at the rear of the camp,
gained the bushes, and crawled among them until he came within sight of
the enemy. He saw them in great numbers sitting round their fires or
stretched upon the ground, and returned to camp with the news that
whatever might be the case later on, certainly no attack was meditated
at present. The greater part of the troops were thereupon allowed to lie
down and get what sleep they could.

The cavalry felt much anxiety respecting those they had left behind
them; but the moon was sufficiently bright to permit signals to be
flashed to them from the camp, and they learnt to their satisfaction
that all was quiet.

Soon after one o'clock in the morning the stillness round the zareba was
suddenly broken. A roar of musketry burst from the bushes all round, and
it was evident that the enemy were assembled there in great force. The
troops were ordered to lie down; and fortunately here, as at El-Teb, the
Arab fire was far too high, and the storm of bullets swept for the most
part overhead. Many of the camels, mules, and horses were, however, hit,
but only one man was killed and an officer and two men wounded. Grasping
their rifles the troops lay ready to spring to their feet and repel the
attack should it be made; but the hours passed on slowly without the
expected movement taking place, and there was a general feeling of
relief when morning at last broke. As the Arabs continued their fire, a
nine-pounder and Gatling gun were brought into play upon the bushes, and
the fire of the enemy soon died out and they fell back to their camp.

The troops now had breakfast, and soon after they had finished the
cavalry arrived from the other zareba. At eight o'clock the Mounted
Infantry moved out, accompanied by a party of Abyssinian scouts. They
had gone but a short distance when a very heavy fire was opened upon
them, and the officer in command sent back to the general to say that
there was a broad ravine stretching across the country a few hundred
yards ahead, although hidden by the bushes from observation until
closely approached, and that this ravine was held by the enemy in great
force. The infantry now moved out from the zareba, formed in two
squares. The second brigade, composed of the Royal Highlanders, the
65th, and the Marines, led the way. It was commanded by General Davis,
and in its centre rode General Graham with his staff.

As soon as this had marched out the first brigade followed, taking its
place in echelon a hundred yards on its right rear, so that its fire
commanded its right flank and protected it from an attack in the rear.
It consisted of the 89th, 75th, and 60th Rifles, under General Buller.
The camels and baggage animals remained under a guard at the zareba.

The Mounted Infantry and Abyssinians fell back as the first brigade
advanced, and as soon as they had moved clear of the face of the square
the machine-guns at its angles opened fire. The enemy's fire soon
ceased, and the brigade again advanced. But the Arabs had simply thrown
themselves down and had not retreated, and their fire broke out again as
soon as that of the machine-guns ceased.

General Graham now gave the order for the Highlanders, who formed the
front face of the square, to charge. With a cheer they went forward at
the double, and sweeping the enemy before them soon reached the head of
the ravine. The result of the order was, however, that the square was
broken up. Its front face had moved on at a run, while the flanks and
rear had continued their march at the same pace as before, and there was
consequently a wide gap between the 65th on the right flank and the
Highlanders in front. Orders were given to the 65th to hurry up; but as
they did so, masses of the enemy were seen coming on at a run and making
for the gap in the square.

[Illustration: BATTLE OF ABU KLEA

JANUARY 17TH 1885]

[Illustration: BATTLE OF TAMAI.

13TH MARCH 1885.]

The right companies of the 65th tried to form up to meet them, while
Lieutenant Graham, R.N., with the men of the Naval Brigade working the
three machine-guns under his command, threw himself into the gap. But
the yells of the enemy and the roar of musketry rendered it impossible
for the men to hear the orders given, and before the 65th had formed
up the enemy were close at hand. Their fire and that of the Gatlings
mowed down the Arabs in hundreds, but the wild mob charged on. Some
hurled themselves on to the 65th, others poured like a wave over the
little group of sailors, while the rest, dashing through the gap, flung
themselves on the rear of the 42d.

The sergeants, whose place is in rear of the men, were cut down almost
to a man; and the rear rank, facing round, were at once engaged in a
desperate hand-to-hand fight with the natives. All was now confusion.
Fresh masses of the enemy poured down with exulting shouts, and in a
confused crowd the brigade retreated. Had not help been at hand they
would probably have met with the same fate that befell Baker's force,
and none would have reached Suakim to tell the news of the massacre. The
sailors, in vain trying to drag off their guns, were almost all killed,
and the guns fell into the hands of the enemy.

But a check was given to the advance of the Arabs by the cavalry, who
had moved forward to the left of the square. The officer in command saw
that were he to charge across the broken ground his little force would
be lost among the throng of Arabs. He therefore dismounted them, and
they poured volley after volley with their carbines into the thick of
the enemy. In the meantime General Buller's square was advancing. It had
been attacked as desperately as had that of General Davis; but it was
well handled, and its formation had not been broken up by any order such
as that which had destroyed the formation of the other brigade. So
steady and terrible a fire was opened upon the advancing enemy that not
one of the assailants reached the face of the square; and having
repulsed the attacks, it advanced rapidly to the relief of the shattered
brigade ahead, pouring incessant volleys into the ranks of the Arabs as
they swept down to its assault.

Thus, as they advanced, the first brigade cleared the right face of the
second from its foes, and as soon as they came up with the retreating
force these halted and reformed their ranks Both brigades were now
formed in line, and advanced steadily towards the ravine. Upon their way
they came upon the abandoned guns, which the enemy had in vain tried to
carry off. Sweeping the Arabs before them, the British force reached the
edge of the ravine. It was filled by the flying Arabs, and into these a
terrible fire was poured by the musketry and guns until the Arabs had
gained the opposite side and were concealed among the bushes. The
fighting was now over, although the enemy still maintained a distant
fire. It was necessary, however, to keep the troops together, for
numbers of the Arabs still lay hidden among the bushes, leaping up and
flinging themselves desperately upon any who approached them.

The scene of the conflict was terrible. A hundred and twenty of the
British lay dead, of whom more than half belonged to the 42d. Three
naval officers and ten sailors were killed, while a large number of
officers and men of the 42d and 65th were seriously wounded. The
slaughter among the natives had been very great--no less than four
thousand of them strewing the ground in all directions. The British
wounded were sent back to the zareba, and the force again advanced.
Crossing the ravine they made towards three villages in its rear. Here
was Osman Digma's camp, and the Arabs mustering in strength again opened
a heavy fire. They were, however, unable to withstand the British guns
and the heavy volleys of the infantry, and the troops advanced into the
camp.

It was found filled with property of all kinds; for the Arabs had
removed nothing, making perfectly sure that they should be able to repel
the English advance. Bags of money, bundles of clothing, Korans, great
quantities of grain, and plunder of all kinds were found in the huts.
Osman Digma himself had taken no part whatever in the fight. He had
looked on from a distant eminence, and when he saw the repulse of the
Arab attack and the flight of his men he at once made off.

The next day the cavalry went on to a village two or three miles
distant. Here they found a great quantity of ammunition for Krupp
cannon and other loot, which had been captured from the forces of Baker
and Moncrieff. The village was burnt and the ammunition blown up.

The next day the force started on its return march, after burning and
destroying Osman's camp and the three adjoining villages. No attempt was
made to pursue Osman Digma or his Arabs. The country beyond was steep
and mountainous, and there would have been no chance whatever of
overtaking and capturing him, while the troops might have been attacked
in difficult positions and have suffered heavily.

It was supposed that after the two crushing defeats that had been
inflicted on the enemy, and the proof so afforded of the falsehood of
Osman Digma's pretensions, the tribesmen would no longer believe in him,
and that his authority would have been altogether destroyed. The
expectation was not, however, justified by events, for two years later
the Arabs again mustered under him in such formidable numbers, that
another expedition was necessary to protect Suakim against the gathering
of fanatics reassembled under Osman's banner.

The cavalry had suffered no loss during the operations, and as they had
had some share in the fighting, and had materially aided the shattered
brigade by their fire upon the Arabs, they were not ill satisfied that
they had not been called upon to take a more prominent part in the
operations.

But little time was lost at Suakim. The greater part of the troops were
at once embarked on the transports and taken up to Suez, a small body
only being left to protect the town should the Arabs again gather in
force. The policy was a short-sighted one. Had a protectorate been
established over the country to the foot of the hills, and a force
sufficient to maintain it left there, the great bulk of the tribesmen
would have willingly given in their allegiance, and no further hostile
movement upon the part of Osman Digma would have been possible; but the
fact that we hastened away after fighting, and afforded no protection
whatever to the friendly natives, effectually deterred others from
throwing in their lot with us, and enabled Osman Digma gradually to
restore his power and influence among them.

Short though the campaign had been it had the effect of causing some
inflammation in Edgar's wounds, and as soon as the expedition returned
to the coast the surgeon ordered him into hospital, and it was six weeks
before he again took his place in the ranks. By this time the regiment
was re-united at Cairo, and there was for some months nothing to break
the even tenor of their way.

Long ere this Edgar had learnt that his recommendation for the Victoria
Cross had not been acceded to. This, however, was no surprise, for after
what he had heard from Major Horsley he had entertained but little hope
that he would be among the favoured recipients of the cross.

"Never mind, Ned," a comrade said to him when the list was published and
his name was found to be absent. "It is not always those that most
deserve the cross who get it. We know that you ought to have had it, if
any fellow ever did, and we shall think just as much of you as if you
had got it on your breast."

In spite of the heat cricket matches were got up at Cairo, and the
Hussars distinguished themselves here as they had done at Aldershot. The
chief topic of interest, however, was the question of the safety of
Khartoum, and especially that of General Gordon. He had been sent out by
the British government in hopes that the great influence he possessed
among the natives might enable him to put a stop to the disorder that
prevailed in the Soudan. At the time that he had been in the service of
the Egyptian government he had ruled so wisely and well in the Soudan
that his prestige among the natives was enormous. He had suppressed
slave-trading and restored order throughout the wide province, and by
mingling mercy with justice he was at once admired and feared even by
those whose profits had been annihilated by the abolition of the
slave-trade.

But although Gordon had been rapturously received by the inhabitants of
Khartoum, the tribes of the Soudan had not rallied, as it was hoped they
would do, in opposition to the Mahdi, whose armies had gradually
advanced and had besieged the city. General Gordon with the troops there
had made expeditions up the river in the steamers, and brought in
provisions for the besieged town; he had fought several battles with the
Mahdists, in which he had not always been successful, and it was known
that unless help arrived the city must finally surrender. Many letters
had been received from him asking urgently for aid, but weeks and months
passed, and the government who had sent him out were unable to make up
their minds to incur the cost necessary for the despatch of so distant
an expedition.

In Cairo public feeling ran very high, and among the troops there the
indignation at this base desertion of one of England's noblest soldiers
was intense and general. At last the news came that public feeling in
England had become so strong that government could no longer resist it,
and that orders had been issued to prepare an expedition with all haste.
A number of flat-boats were to be built for conveying the troops up the
Nile. Canadian boatmen had been sent for to aid in the navigation of the
river. Camels were to be purchased in Egypt, a mounted infantry corps
organized, and stores of all kinds hastily collected.

People who knew the river shook their heads, and said that the decision
had been delayed too long. The Nile would have fallen to a point so low
that it would be difficult if not impossible to pass up the cataracts,
and long before help could reach Khartoum the city and its noble
governor would have fallen into the hands of the Mahdi.

There was much disgust among the troops when it was known that many of
them would remain in Lower Egypt, and that of the cavalry especially but
a very small force would be taken, while three regiments mounted on
camels, two of them consisting of cavalry men from England, would take
part in the expedition.

Some of the soldiers, however, looked at the matter more
philosophically. "We have had our share," they argued, "and if the
Mahdi's men fight as well as Osman Digma's we are quite willing that
others should have their whack. There will be no end of hard work, and
what fighting they get won't be all one way. Sand and heat, and
preserved meat and dirty water out of wells, are not very pleasant when
you have to stick to them for months together. Like enough, too, there
will be another rumpus down at Suakim while the expedition is away, and
then those who are left here now will get some more of it."

But although these arguments were loudly uttered, there was no doubt
that there was considerable soreness, and that the men felt the hardship
of favoured troops from England being employed in their stead in a
service that, if dangerous, was likely to offer abundant opportunities
for the display of courage and for gaining credit and honour.




CHAPTER IX.

THE CAMEL CORPS.


"Trumpeter Smith! Trumpeter Smith!" The shout ran through the arched
corridor of the barracks, and a soldier putting his head through one of
the windows repeated the cry at the top of his voice, for Trumpeter
Smith was not in his barrack-room. Edgar, in fact, was walking on the
shady side of the great court-yard chatting with two other troopers when
his name was shouted.

"Hullo! What is it?"

"You are to go to Major Horsley's quarters."

Edgar buttoned up his jacket, ran to the washing-place, plunged his head
and hands in water and hastily dried them, smoothed down his hair with
his pocket-comb at a piece of looking-glass that had been stuck up
against the wall above the basins, and adjusting his cap to the correct
angle made his way to Major Horsley's quarters, wondering much what he
could be wanted for, but supposing that he was to be sent on some
message into the town.

The soldier-servant showed him into the room where Major Horsley and his
wife were sitting.

After a word or two of kindly greeting from the lady, Major Horsley went
on: "I told you a long time back, Smith, that I should not forget the
service you did my wife and her sister, and that I would do you a good
turn if I ever got the chance. Is there anything you particularly want
at present?"

"No, sir, except that I have been thinking that I should be glad to give
up my trumpet. I am just eighteen now, and it would be better for me, I
think, to take my regular place in the ranks. I should be more likely to
be promoted there than I am as a trumpeter."

"Yes, you would be sergeant in a very short time, Smith; after your
behaviour at El-Teb you would be sure of your stripes as soon as you
were eligible for them. But I should not advise you to give up your
trumpet just at the present moment."

"Very well, sir," Edgar said, somewhat surprised.

"But there is something else you are wishing for, is there not? I fancy
every officer and man in the regiment is wishing for it."

"To go up the Nile, sir?" Edgar said eagerly. "Yes; I do wish that,
indeed. Is there any chance of the regiment going, sir?"

"No, I am sorry to say there is not," the major said.

"And a very good thing too, Richard," his wife put in.

"I do not think so at all. It is the hardest thing ever heard of that
the regiments here that have had all the heat and hard work, and
everything else of this beastly place, are to be left behind, while
fellows from England go on. Well, Smith," he went on, turning to Edgar,
"I am glad to say I have been able to do you a good turn. When I was in
the orderly-room just now a letter came to the colonel from the general,
saying that a trumpeter of the Heavy Camel Corps is down with sunstroke
and will not be able to go, and requesting him to detail a trumpeter to
take his place. I at once seized the opportunity and begged that you
might be chosen, saying that I owed you a good turn for your plucky
conduct at Aldershot. The adjutant, I am glad to say, backed me up,
saying that you have done a lot of credit to the regiment with your
cricket, and that the affair at El-Teb alone ought to single you out
when there was a chance like this going. The colonel rather thought that
you were too young, but we urged that as you had stood the climate at
Suakim you could stand it anywhere on the face of the globe. So you are
to go, and the whole regiment will envy you."

"I am obliged to you indeed, sir," Edgar said in delight. "I do not know
how to thank you, sir."

"I do not want any thanks, Smith, for a service that has cost me
nothing. Now you are to go straight to Sergeant Edmonds. I have sent him
a note already, and he is to set the tailors at work at once to rig you
out in the karkee uniform. We cannot get you the helmet they are fitted
out with. But no doubt they have got a spare one or two; probably they
will let you have the helmet of the man whose place you are to take. You
will be in orders to-morrow morning, and I have asked Edmonds to get
your things all finished by that time. Come in and say good-bye before
you start in the morning."

There was no slight feeling of envy when Edgar's good fortune became
known, and the other trumpeters were unanimous in declaring that it was
a shame his being chosen.

"Well, you see, you could not all go," the trumpet-major said, "and if
Smith had not been chosen it would have been long odds against each of
you."

"But he is the last joined of the lot," one of the men urged.

"He can blow a trumpet as well as any of you," the sergeant said, "and
that is what he is wanted for. I think that it is natural enough the
colonel should give him the pull. The officers think a good deal of a
fellow who helped the regiment to win a dozen matches at cricket, and
who carried off the long-distance running prize at Aldershot; besides,
he behaved uncommonly well in that fight, and has as good a right to the
V.C. as any man there. I think that a fellow like that ought to have the
pull if only one is to get it, and I am sure the whole regiment will be
of opinion that he has deserved the chance he has got."

By the next morning the suit of karkee was ready, and Edgar was sent for
early to the orderly-room and officially informed by the colonel that he
had been detailed for service in the Heavy Camel Corps.

"I need not tell you, Smith, to behave yourself well--to be a credit to
the regiment. I should not have chosen you for the service unless I felt
perfectly confident that you would do that. I hope that you will come
back again safe and sound with the regiment. Good-bye, lad!"

Edgar saluted and left the room. Several of the officers followed him
out and bade him a cheery farewell, for he was a general favourite. All
knew that he was a gentleman, and hoped that he would some day win a
commission. He then accompanied Major Horsley to his quarters, and there
the officer and his wife both shook hands with him warmly.

"You will be a sergeant three months after you come back," Major Horsley
said; "and your having been on this Nile expedition, and your conduct at
El-Teb, will help you on when the time comes, and I hope you will be one
of us before many years are over."

Edgar then went up to his barrack-room to say good-bye to his friends,
and took off his smart Hussar uniform and put on the karkee suit, amid
much laughter and friendly chaff at the change in his appearance. The
adjutant had ordered a trooper to accompany him to the camp of the Camel
Corps, which was pitched close by the Pyramids, and to bring back his
horse. He therefore mounted and rode out of the barracks, amid many a
friendly farewell from his comrades. He rode with his companion into the
town and down to the river, crossed in a ferry-boat, and then rode on to
the camp. Inquiring for the adjutant's tent Edgar dismounted and walked
up to that officer, and presented a note from the colonel.

The officer glanced at it. "Oh, you have come to accompany us!" he said.
"You look very young for the work, lad; but I suppose your colonel would
not have chosen you unless he thought you could stand it. I see you have
got our uniform, but you want a helmet. We can manage that for you.
Sergeant Jepherson, see if Trumpeter Johnson's helmet will fit this man;
he is going with us in his place. Fit him out with water-bottle and
accoutrements, and tell him off to a tent."

The helmet fitted fairly, and only needed a little padding to suit
Edgar, who, after putting it on, ran out to where his comrade was
waiting for him and fastened his own head-gear to the pummel of his
saddle.

"Good-bye, young un!" the trooper said. "Hold your own with these
heavies for the honour of the regiment. They mean well, you know, so
don't be too hard upon them."

Edgar laughed as he shook the man by the hand, and as he rode off turned
to look at the scene around him.

There were two camps at a short distance from each other, that of the
Heavy Camel Corps to which he now belonged, composed of men of the 1st
and 2d Life Guards, Blues, Bays, 4th and 5th Dragoon Guards, Royals,
Scots Greys, 5th and 16th Lancers. The other was the Guards Corps,
composed of men of the three regiments of foot guards. Edgar's first
feeling as he looked at the men who were standing about or lying in the
shade of the little triangular Indian mountain-service tents, was that
he had suddenly grown smaller. He was fully up to the average height of
the men of his own regiment, but he felt small indeed by the side of the
big men of the heavy cavalry regiments.

"This way, lad," the sergeant into whose charge he had been given, said.
"What is your name?"

"I am down as Ned Smith."

The sergeant smiled at the answer, for no inconsiderable number of men
enlist under false names. He led the way through the little tents until
he stopped before one where a tall soldier was lying at full length on
the sand. "Willcox, this man has come to take the place of Trumpeter
Johnson. He is detached for duty with us from the Hussars. He will, of
course, share your tent."

"All right, sergeant! I will put him up to the ropes. What's your name,
mate?"

"I go as Ned Smith," Edgar said.

"So you are going in for being a heavy at present."

"I don't care whether I am a heavy or a light, so that I can go up the
river."

"Have you been out here long?"

"About a year; we were through the fighting at Suakim, you know. It was
pretty hot down there, I can tell you."

"It is hot enough here for me--a good deal too hot, in fact; and as for
the dust, it is awful!"

"Yes, it is pretty dusty out here," Edgar agreed; "and of course, with
these little tents, the wind and dust sweep right through them. Over
there in Cairo we have comfortable barracks, and as we keep close during
the day we don't feel the heat. Besides, it is getting cooler now. In
August it was really hot for a bit even there."

"Where are we going to get these camels, do you know?"

"Up the river at Assouan, I believe; but I don't know very much about
it. It was only yesterday afternoon I got orders that I was to go with
you, to take the place of one of your men who had fallen sick, so I have
not paid much attention as to what was going on. It has been rather a
sore subject with us, you see. It did seem very hard that the regiments
here that have stood the heat and dust of this climate all along should
be left behind now that there is something exciting to do, and that
fresh troops from England should go up."

"Well, I should not like it myself, lad. Still I am precious glad I got
the chance. I am one of the 5th Dragoon Guards, and you know we don't
take a turn of foreign service--though why we shouldn't I am sure I
don't know--and we are precious glad to get a change from Aldershot and
Birmingham and Brighton, and all those home stations. You are a lot
younger than any of us here. The orders were that no one under
twenty-two was to come."

"So I heard; but of course as we are out here, and we have got
accustomed to it, age makes no difference."

"What do they send us out here for?"

"There are no barracks empty in the town, no open spaces where you could
be comfortably encamped nearer. Besides, this gives you the chance of
seeing the Pyramids."

"It is a big lump of stone, isn't it?" Willcox said, staring at the
Great Pyramid. "The chaps who built that must have been very hard up for
a job. When I first saw it I was downright disappointed. Of course I had
heard a lot about it, and when we got here it wasn't half as big as I
expected. After we had pitched our tents and got straight, two or three
of us thought we would climb up to the top, as we had half an hour to
spare. Just as we set off one of the officers came along and said,
'Where are you going, lads?' and I said, 'The cooks won't have tea ready
for half an hour, sir, so we thought we would just get up to the top and
look round.' And he said, 'If you do you will be late for tea.'

"Well, it didn't seem to us as if it would take more than five minutes
to get to the top and as much to get down again, so off we went. But
directly we began to climb we found the job was not as easy as we had
expected. It looked to us as if there was but a hundred steps to go up;
but each step turned out to be about five feet high, and we hadn't got
up above twenty of them when the trumpet sounded, and we pretty near
broke our necks in coming down again. After that I got more respect for
that lump of stone. Most of the officers went up next day, and a few of
us did manage it, but I wasn't one of them. I did try again; but I
concluded that if I wanted to go up the Nile, and to be of any good when
I got there, I had best give it up, for there would not be anything left
of me to speak of by the time I got to the top. Then those Arab fellows
got round, and shrieked and jabbered and wanted to pull us up; and the
way they go up and down those stones is wonderful. But of course they
have no weight to carry. No, I never should try that job again, not if
we were to be camped here for the next ten years."

"I have been up to the top," Edgar said; "but it is certainly a hard
pull, and there is nothing much to see when you do get there--only so
much more sand in all directions. The view from the great mosque at
Cairo is much finer. Do you have much drill?"

"Morning and evening we work away pretty stiff. It is infantry drill we
have. They say we are not going to fight on the camels, but only to be
carried along by them and to get off and fight if we see the enemy, and
as we are all new to each other there is a good bit of work to be done
to get us down to work as one battalion. We and the 4th make a troop
together. We have drill in the afternoon, too, for a bit. Of a morning
those that like can go across and have a look at the town. I went
yesterday. Rum old place, isn't it? The rummiest thing is the way those
little donkeys get about with a fat chap perched on the top of a saddle
two feet above them. Never saw such mokes in my life. They ain't bigger
than good-sized dogs some of them, and yet they go along with fifteen
or sixteen stone on their backs as if they did not feel it. Those and
the camels pleased me most. Rum beasts those camels. I can't think what
it must feel like to be stuck up on top of them, and if one does fall
off it must be like coming off a church. Have you tried one?"

"No. I have never been on a camel. Of course we always have had our
horses."

"Why didn't they get us horses?"

"I don't know. They could have bought a couple of thousand, no doubt, if
they had tried; besides, they could have got some from the Egyptian
cavalry. But if they had they would never have sent out you and the
Guards; though the horses would have done very well to carry light
cavalry. I fancy the idea is that in the first place we have to go long
distances without water. Camels can stand thirst for three or four days
together, and each camel can carry water for its rider. Then, too, we
may perhaps march sometimes, and the camels could carry water and food.
So, you see, they will be useful both ways."

"Well, I suppose it is all right," Willcox said; "and as you say, if
they had gone in for horses they could not have carried us heavies. I am
precious glad to come. So are we all; though why they wanted to bring us
and the Guards--the biggest and heaviest men they could pick out in the
army--on a job like this, is more than I can say."

"It is more than anyone can say, I should think," Edgar said; and indeed
no reason has ever been assigned for the singular choice of the heaviest
men that could be collected in the service for duty on a campaign such
as this was to be, and for which light, active, wiry men were especially
suitable.

"There is the dinner call."

"What troop are we in?" Edgar asked, seizing his trumpet, and on
learning at once gave the troop call.

"We are in messes of eight," Willcox replied. "We and the three tents to
the right have one mess. It is our turn to go over and get the grub."

Accordingly Willcox and Edgar went across to the field-kitchen and
received the rations for their mess, consisting of beef and
vegetables--the bread for the day had been served out early. Returning
to the tents the rations were divided between the party of eight, and
Edgar was introduced by Willcox to his new messmates.

"Your regiment was at Aldershot with us eighteen months ago."

"Yes; but I did not know any of your men. I was over one or two evenings
at your canteen, which was by a long way the best in the camp."

"Yes, we used to have some good singing there and no mistake," one of
the men said.

"The Long Valley is not bad in the way of dust, but this place beats it
hollow," another put in.

"This is a cleaner dust," Edgar said. "The Long Valley dust blackened
one; this does not seem to have any dirt in it. As far as the uniforms
go there is not much difference, but one doesn't feel so grimy after a
charge over this Egyptian sand as one did in the Long Valley."

"We played you fellows at cricket, I remember," the man said. "I was in
our eleven. You beat us, for you had a youngster we could not stand up
against, he was a beggar to bowl."

Edgar laughed. "I rather think I am the fellow," he said, "Trumpeter
Smith."

"It was Trumpeter Smith, sure enough. Well, you can bowl and no mistake,
young un. It is rum meeting out here like this. And how have you been
getting on since? You fellows were in the thick of it at El-Teb, I saw;
and got cut up a bit by those niggers, didn't you?"

"That we did," Edgar replied. "I am not sorry that we are going to fight
as infantry this time, for I can tell you it is not pleasant charging
among fellows who throw themselves down and hamstring your horse or
drive a spear into him as he passes over them; and once down it is
likely to go pretty hard with you."

"The infantry had it pretty hot too at Tamanieb?"

"Yes, they got into one of our squares, and I don't think many of our
fellows would have ever got away if it had not been that Buller's square
came up to their assistance. Still, I don't suppose that will ever
happen again. If the infantry stand firm and shoot straight they ought
never to be broken, while that cavalry business was a thing nothing
could guard against. The best horseman in the world may go down if a
fellow shams dead and then suddenly stabs your horse."

"There is no doubt the beggars can fight," Willcox said; "and I expect
we shall get some tough work before we get to Khartoum. I only hope they
won't catch us suddenly before we have time to get off those camels.
Fancy being stuck up on one of those long-legged beasts with half a
dozen niggers making a cock-shy of you with their spears."

"I don't think that will happen," Edgar replied. "We shall have the 19th
to act as scouts, and as there will be no woods or thick scrub, from
what I have heard of the country, as there was on the plains round
Suakim, we ought not to be surprised."

"This meat is horribly tough," Willcox remarked. "It strikes me they
ought to have examined every one's mouth before they sent them out, and
to have chosen men with good sets of grinders, for I am sure they will
want them for this stuff."

"The meat is tough out here. You see, it won't keep and has to be cooked
pretty nearly warm, but it is better by a long way than that tinned meat
which is all we shall get, I expect, when we once start."

"When are we going to start?"

"In a few days, I should think. The boats are being taken up fast, and I
believe a lot of the Canadians went up yesterday. There are two or three
infantry regiments up there ready to go on as soon as the boats for them
get up; and as most of the camels are up there too, I should think they
will push us up as soon as they can, as I suppose we are intended to go
ahead of the boats and clear the banks."

Then they began to talk about the route, and Edgar, who had studied the
maps and knew all that was known on the subject of the journey, drew on
the sand the course of the Nile with its windings and turnings.

"You see the river makes a tremendous bend here," he said, "round by
Berber. The general idea is that when we get to this spot, where there
is a place called Ambukol, if there is news that Gordon is hard pressed
and cannot hold out long, a column will march across this neck to
Metemmeh, where there are some of Gordon's steamers. I expect that is
the work that will fall to the Camel Corps, and that it is specially for
this that we have been got up. You see, the rest of the journey is along
the water side, and horses would have done just as well as camels, and
would be much more useful, for, of course, the infantry will do the main
fighting, and the cavalry are only wanted for scouting and pursuit.
Camels are no good for either one work or the other, for nothing will
persuade the beggars to move out of their regular pace, which is just
about two and three-quarter miles an hour. If they did not intend to cut
across this neck, I don't see what they wanted more than the boats with
the infantry and a regiment or two of light cavalry on these country
horses, which are wonderfully hardy and can stand work that would knock
English horses to pieces in no time."

"Well, then, all that I can say is," Willcox put in, "that it is very
lucky for us that the river makes that big twist, other wise we might be
all kicking our heels at Aldershot or the Curragh, or in some garrison
town. But I thought camels were fast beasts. I am sure I have seen
pictures of Arabs riding about in the desert at a tremendous pace."

"There are some sort of camels called riding camels that are faster than
the others, and there are dromedaries, which can trot as fast as a horse
and keep it up for a long time; but the riding camels and dromedaries
are both scarce and expensive, and you may be sure we shall not have
many of them with us."

"They are beastly ill-tempered looking brutes," Willcox said. "When I
was walking in the streets there the other day a string of them came
along, and they grumbled and growled like wild beasts, and one showed
his teeth and made as if he was going right at me. If I had not jumped
into a shop I believe he would have had my ear off."

"They can bite, and bite very hard too; but it is very seldom they do,
though they do make a wonderful pretence of being fierce. They call them
the patient camel, but from what I have seen of them I should say that
they are the most impatient, grumbling beasts in creation. It makes no
difference what you do for them--whether you load them or unload them,
or tell them to get up or lie down, or to go on or stop--they always
seem equally disgusted, and grumble and growl as if what you wanted them
to do was the hardest thing in the world. Still, they can do a
tremendous lot of work, and keep on any number of hours, and I don't
know what the people of this country would do without them."

In the afternoon Edgar paraded with his troop and fell into the usual
routine of duty. As he had had a year's campaigning in Egypt he was
regarded as an authority, and after three or four days was as much at
home with the troop as he had been in his own regiment. He found these
big men very pleasant and cheery companions. All had been picked for the
service as being men of exemplary character; they were in high spirits
at the prospect of the expedition before them, and were like a party of
great school-boys out on a holiday. They took to Edgar kindly;
belonging, as he did, to the light cavalry, they regarded him as a sort
of guest among them, and from his being so much younger and smaller than
themselves they looked upon him as a boy, and he quickly got the
nickname of "The Kid."

Many questions were asked him as to the fighting powers of the wild
natives.

"How they could break right into a square beats me altogether," one of
the big troopers said. "They always tell us that cavalry have no chance
nowadays of breaking into a square, for they would all be shot down by
the breech-loaders before they could reach it, and yet these niggers,
with nothing but spears, manage to do it. I cannot make head or tail of
it; no more I can of you chaps getting cut up by them."

"You will understand it when you see it," Edgar said. "They run pretty
nearly as fast as a horse can gallop, and they don't seem to fear death
in the slightest, for they believe that if they are killed they go
straight to heaven. It seems to me that savages must be braver than
civilized soldiers. It was the same thing with the Zulus, you know, they
came right down on our men at Isandula, and the fire of the
breech-loaders did not stop them in the slightest."

"No more it would stop us, young un, if we got orders to charge. It did
not at Balaclava."

"No, that is true enough," Edgar agreed; "but then we have got
discipline. The order is given, and the whole regiment goes off
together; one could not hold back if one would. But that is a different
thing from rushing forward each man on his own account, as they did
against us, and running up to what seemed certain death. I know the
feeling among our fellows was that they would not have believed it had
they not seen it."

"Well, I hope we shall get a chance of seeing it," the man said, "only I
hope that we shall not be atop of them camels when they try it. I have
been looking at the beasts over there in the city, and there does not
seem to me to be any go about them. Beastly-tempered brutes! I don't
believe you could get a charge out of them if you tried ever so much."

"No, I don't think you could," Edgar laughed. "But, you see, we are
intended to fight on foot. We shall be like the old dragoons, who used
their horses only to carry them to the place where they were to fight."

"No chance of any loot?" another put in.

"No chance in the world. At the best of times they wear a sort of dirty
cotton sheet round their shoulders, but when they go into battle they
leave that behind them, and fight only in their loin-cloths."

"I have heard," an old soldier said, "from some of our chaps who fought
in the Indian mutiny, that they often found a lot of money and jewels
and things in those loin-cloths of the sepoys."

"Ah, that was because they had been plundering treasuries and capturing
booty of all sorts. But I do not suppose many of these Arabs ever saw a
gold coin in their lives. They don't see many silver ones. What wealth
they have is in sheep and cattle and horses, and with these they barter
for such things as they require. No; if you are fighting out here for a
year you will get nothing except a few worthless charms, of no value
whatever except as curios."

"Well, I wish they would let us be off," another said. "I am sick
already of these sands and that big lump of stone. I hear the boats are
going up every day, and if they do not move us soon the infantry will be
there before us."

"I think we shall travel a good deal faster than they do when we are
once off," Edgar said. "They will have rapids and all sorts of
difficulties to contend with, while we shall go on steadily,
five-and-twenty miles a day perhaps. You may be sure we shall be well in
front when the time for work comes. They would never go to the expense
of sending you all out, and mounting you on camels, and then keep you
behind."

"Have you heard the news, lads?" a sergeant asked, joining the group.

"No! What is it?"

"We are to strike tents at four o'clock this afternoon, march down to
the river, embark in a steamer, and start to-night."

"Hooray!" the men shouted. "That is the best news we have had since we
landed."

In a short time most of the men were at work giving a final polish to
their arms. By four o'clock the tents were levelled and rolled up, the
baggage was packed and sent forward on camels, and the regiment was
formed up awaiting the orders to march. The heat of the day had somewhat
abated, but the march, short as it was, was a trying one, from the
clouds of light sand that rose from beneath the feet of the column, and
the men were heartily glad when they embarked, two troops on board the
steamer and the rest on large flats which she was to tow up the stream.
Kits and belts were taken off, and the men made themselves as
comfortable as the crowded state of the flats would permit. The officers
were on board the steamer. As they started a loud cheer broke from the
men. They were fairly off at last. There was no thought of the dangers
and difficulties before them. It was enough for them that they were
fairly on their way up the Nile to relieve, as they hoped, Khartoum, and
to rescue Gordon.

"If this is campaigning I don't care how much we have of it," the
soldier who was sitting next to Edgar said, looking up at the deep blue
sky studded with stars. "This suits me down to the ground."

"You had better make the most of it," Edgar laughed, "it won't last
long; and you will have nothing like it again. I own that, at any rate
until we reach the highest point to which the boats can go, I think the
infantry have got the best of it. Of course they will have hard work in
hauling the boats past the rapids, and they will have some rowing to do
when the wind is too light for the sails to carry them up, but I would
rather sit in a boat and row than sit on the back of a camel."

"But the boats will go all the way, won't they?"

"It is not known yet. It is possible that when we get to a place named
Korti, where the river makes a tremendous bend, some of us may cross the
desert to Metemmeh, where Gordon's steamers will meet us. If we do I
expect that will be the work of the three Camel Corps, and all the boats
will go right round the river and join us there; that is, if they can
get up the cataracts. I know the Egyptians say the water will be too low
for the boats to go up. That may be true enough as to the native boats,
but ours draw so little water that I believe there must always be depth
enough for them, for there is always a good lot of water coming down
here even at the driest season."

The regiment was disembarked at Assouan, and the next day four companies
went up in two steamers to Wady Halfa, a hundred and eighty miles higher
up the river. Edgar's troop formed part of the detachment. They had
expected to see a place of some size, but found that it consisted only
of a few mud huts and some sheds of the unfinished railway. Here for
some days the men practised infantry drill and received their equipments
and saddles, and then they were marched to the camel depot a mile away.

The soldiers were immensely amused at the sight of their chargers. These
animals had been collected from all parts of Egypt, from Aden and
Arabia. As soon as the proper number had been received and told off to
the men, the work of fitting on the saddles commenced. This was by no
means easy, as the camel humps differed greatly from each other, and a
good deal of padding and altering was necessary before the saddles were
comfortably fitted. When the men mounted they formed in line, and found
that the animals were docile and obedient to the rein, and manoeuvred
together without difficulty. Several days were spent in learning to sit
the animals, and there were many spills, but as the sand was deep no
harm came of them, and they caused great amusement to all except the
victims themselves.

The greatest difficulty was the mounting and dismounting, both of which
performances had to be done when the camel was kneeling. In order to
make him kneel it was necessary to tug at the head-rope, at the same
time making a sound like clearing the throat. Then the rope was pulled
at until his head was brought round to his shoulder. This prevented him
from getting up again. The rifle, which was slung in a bucket on one
side behind the rider, was found to render it impossible to get the leg
over, and it consequently became necessary for the man to mount with his
rifle in his hand, and to drop it into the bucket afterwards. As the
camel always rose and lay down with great suddenness, men were, until
accustomed to it, constantly pitched over his head.

"I never want to see a camel again," Edgar grumbled, after one or two
days' exercise diversified by numerous falls; "they are the most
discontented beasts I ever saw."

"I don't mind their growling," a trooper said; "it is the twistiness of
the brutes I hate. When you are looking after a horse you know what he
can do and where he can reach you. Of course if you get behind him he
can kick, but when you are standing beside him all that you have got to
look after is his head, and he cannot bring that round to bite very far.
These brutes can reach all over the place; they can kick at you any way.
They can scratch their ears with their hind legs, and even rub the top
of their humps with it if they are disposed, or scratch themselves under
the chin. Their necks are the same, they can twist them anywhere. They
can bite the root of their tails, and lay their heads back and give them
a rub on the top of their humps. There is no safety with them at all;
and when they come at you growling and roaring with their mouths open
and showing their teeth it is enough to scare you."

"It is fortunate that their hoofs are soft and spongy, so that they
cannot hurt like the kick of a horse," Edgar said.

"Spongy, be blowed!" the trooper replied. "Mine kicked me in the chest
yesterday and I went flying about ten yards, and the breath was knocked
out of my body for a quarter of an hour."

"That was bad, no doubt," Edgar laughed; "but if it had been a horse you
would be in the hospital-tent now with some of your ribs broken, if you
hadn't been smashed up altogether."

"They are up to all sorts of tricks," the trooper went on, looking
savagely at his growling camel. "There was Rogers, this morning, he was
just passing a camel who was kneeling down. Well, who would think that a
kneeling camel could do anything except with his head. Rogers swore that
he did not go within four yards of him, and the brute suddenly shot out
his hind leg and caught him on the knee and cut him clean over, and he
thought for some time that his leg was broken. Blow all camels, I say!"

As the camels were not to be used for fighting from, in the presence of
an enemy the troopers were to dismount and fight on foot. When down the
camels were to be knee haltered, one of the fore-legs being doubled up
and strapped, which prevented the animal from rising. Each camel
received about five pounds of grain night and morning, and the whole
were taken down to the river every other day to drink. The conduct of
many of them was exasperating in the extreme to their riders. When taken
down into the stream they would stand and look about in an aimless way
as if wondering what on earth they had been brought there for, and would
be sometimes ten minutes or a quarter of an hour before the idea seemed
to occur to them that they might as well have a drink.

Once on the march they went steadily and well, obeying the slightest
motion of the halter, and keeping up their regular pace without
intermission from the time they started until they were ordered to halt.

After a week's drill and practice the men became accustomed to the ways
of their animals, and were glad when the order came for them to start.
By this time the leading regiments of the infantry had begun to go up in
their boats. These were broad, flat crafts, which had been specially
built in England for the purpose. Each carried twelve men and three
months' supply of provisions and stores for them. They were provided
with sails and oars, and as the direction of the wind was up the
river the sails were of great assistance.

[Illustration: TOWING THE BOATS UP THE NILE.]

As the cavalry passed the Great Cataract they had an opportunity of
seeing the process of getting the boats up. The rush of waters was
tremendous, and it seemed well-nigh impossible to force the boats
against them. It would indeed have been impossible to row them, and they
were dragged up by tow-ropes by the united strength of the troops and a
large number of natives. At times, in spite of all the efforts of the
men at the ropes, the boats made no progress whatever, while if the
steersman allowed the stream for a moment to take the boat's head it
would be whirled round and carried down to the foot of the rapid, when
the work had to be recommenced.

The troopers thought, as they watched the exertions of the infantry,
that, rough as was the action of the camels, they had decidedly the best
of it, but such was not their opinion on the following day when, as they
were jogging wearily along, several of the boats passed them running
before a strong wind, with the soldiers on board reclining in
comfortable positions in the bottom or on the thwarts. Again their
opinions changed when, the wind having dropped, they saw the men
labouring at the oars in the blazing sun.

"There are pulls both ways," one of the troopers said philosophically,
"and take it all round I don't know which has got the best of it. If
there are many of these cataracts I should say we are best off, and they
say there are lots of them between this and Khartoum."

"I think we have got the best of it, certainly," Edgar said; "for if it
comes to leaving the river and pushing on we are sure to be in it."

The journey from Wady Halfa to Dongola was 235 miles. The day's march
was generally about twenty miles, the halting-places being made at spots
previously settled upon, where there were depots of provisions formed
for them. The start was made about five o'clock in the morning. For the
first two hours the men walked, leading their camels; then when the sun
became hot they mounted and rode the rest of the distance. At first they
found the monotonous motion very trying, but became accustomed to it in
time, and would even go off to sleep in the saddles, with the result,
however, that they were probably shot off if the camel came upon a
sudden irregularity of the ground.

In the cool of the evening the men bathed in the river, and the officers
often went out in search of game, which was found, however, to be very
scarce. There were many regrets among the men that they had brought no
fish-hooks or lines with them, for these would have furnished not only
amusement during their halts, but might have afforded a welcome change
to the monotony of their diet.

The country bordering the Nile was composed of low rocky hills and hard
gravel, with occasional tufts of dry grass and scrub. Sometimes the
troops marched four abreast, at other times they had to go in single
file across the rocky ground. The fun of the camel-riding very soon
passed off, and the men found the marches extremely dull and monotonous,
and were heartily glad when they got to Dongola.

Here the rest of the regiment joined them. Marching twenty miles up the
river they crossed the Nile in boats, and another day's march took them
to Shabadud; and after a stay there of some days, drilling with other
corps, they moved on to Korti, four days' march. The site chosen for the
camp delighted the men. Groves of palms grew along the steep banks of
the river; beyond were fields of grass and broad patches of cultivated
land. Here they were to wait until the rest of the mounted troops came
up, and a portion, at any rate, of the infantry arrived in the boats.




CHAPTER X.

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.


"It is a nice place for a camp, isn't it, youngster?"

"Very nice, sergeant; but it will soon be spoiled with all these troops
arriving. It is very pretty now with that grove of palm-trees, and the
low green bushes that hide the sand, and the river with all the boats
with white sails. I have just been counting them, there are thirty-two
in sight. But when we get three or four regiments here they will soon
cut down the scrub and spoil its appearance altogether."

"That is so, lad; troops make a pretty clear sweep of everything where
they settle down."

Edgar had taken a good deal to Sergeant Bowen, who had shown him many
little kindnesses on the way up. He was an older man than most of those
engaged in the expedition, and Edgar judged him to be thirty-two or
thirty-three years old. He was a fine, tall, soldierly-looking fellow,
and had served in various parts of the world.

"Let us sit down," the sergeant said; "this bush will give us a little
shade. How long have you been in the army, lad?"

"Better than two years. Directly the campaign is over I shall give up my
trumpet, and hope I shall get my stripes soon."

"How old are you--nineteen?"

"Not for some months yet, sergeant."

"Hope to get your commission some day?" the sergeant said. "I suppose
that is what you entered the army for."

"Yes, partly, sergeant; partly because I saw no other way of keeping
myself."

"But what are your friends doing?"

"I have not any friends; at least none that I care to apply to," Edgar
answered shortly.

"No friends, lad? That is bad. But I do not want to know your story if
you do not choose to tell it. It is easy to see that you have had a good
education. Keep steady, lad, and you will get on. I might have been a
quarter-master years ago if it hadn't been for that. Drink and other
things have kept me down; but when I was twenty I was a smart young
fellow. Ah! that is a long time back."

"Why, one would think that you were an old man, sergeant," Edgar said,
and smiled.

"Older than you would think by a good bit. How old do you take me to
be?"

"Something past thirty."

"A good deal past that. I am just forty, though they don't know it, or I
should not be here."

"Why, then, if you enlisted when you were my age, sergeant, you must
have done over twenty years' service."

"It's twenty-two since I first enlisted. I served eight years in the
infantry. I don't know why I am telling you this, but somehow I have
taken a fancy to you. I was uncomfortable in the regiment. It does not
matter why. I got my stripes twice, and had to give them up or I should
have been put back for drinking. Then I left the regiment without asking
leave. I was three or four years knocking about at home; but I had no
trade and found it hard to get work, so at last I enlisted again. I was
thirty then, but looked years younger than I was. Of course I had shaved
off my moustache and put on a smock-frock when I went to enlist, and I
gave my age as twenty-two. No one questioned it. I chose the cavalry
this time, because I knew that if I entered an infantry regiment again
they would spot me as an old soldier at once; but as it was all new in
the cavalry I managed to pass it off, and now I have had ten years'
service, the last six of them as sergeant. And as I gave up drink years
ago I have a good character in the regiment, and when a steady
non-commissioned officer was wanted for this business I had the luck to
be chosen. Officers coming, lad!"

They rose to their feet and saluted as three officers passed. They were
talking eagerly together, and returned the salute mechanically without
glancing at the two soldiers.

"It is a rum chance, Clinton, our meeting here. I ran against Skinner at
Assouan quite accidentally. I had seen his name in the list of the
officers of the Marines going up; but we met quite by chance, and only
forgathered here yesterday, and now here you are turning up as one of
Stewart's A.D.C.'s. Who would have thought that we three should meet
here, when we have never seen each other since we left Cheltenham?"

The sergeant stood looking after them with an air of interest till their
voices died away. Then he turned to his companion.

"Hullo, lad, what is the matter? Are you ill?"

"No, I am all right," Edgar said huskily.

"Nonsense! Your colour has all gone, and you are shaking like a leaf.
What! did you know any of those officers?"

"I knew them all once," Edgar said. "We were at school together. I did
not know that any of them were out here. I would not have them recognize
me for anything."

"Oh, that is it! I thought you must have run away from school; got into
some scrape, I suppose. Well, my lad, as you have made your bed you must
lie in it. But it is not likely that any of them would know you even if
they ran up against you. Two years' service under this sun changes a lad
of your age wonderfully. By the way, one of them called the other
Clinton; do you happen to know whether he is the son of a Captain
Clinton--Captain Percy Clinton?"

"Yes, he is."

"He was captain of my company when I was a young sergeant. Well, well,
time flies fast, to be sure. Do you know whether this young fellow has a
brother, and, if so, what he is doing?"

"No, he has no brother," Edgar said shortly.

"There were two of them," the sergeant said positively. "Perhaps one has
died. I wonder which it was," he muttered to himself.

"Do you know the story?" Edgar asked suddenly.

"Do I know the story!" the sergeant repeated slowly. "What story do you
mean?"

"The story of Captain Clinton's baby being confused with another."

"Oh, you know about that, do you?" Sergeant Bowen asked in turn. "So
they made no secret of it. Ay, lad, I know it; every man in the regiment
knew it. And good cause I had to know it, it was that that ruined me."

"Are you Sergeant Humphreys?" Edgar asked, putting his hand on the man's
shoulder.

The sergeant started in surprise.

"Why, lad, how come you to know all the ins and outs of that story? Ay,
I was Sergeant Humphreys, and for aught I know that young fellow who has
just passed, whom they call Clinton, is my son."

"No, he is not, sergeant; I am your son!"

The sergeant looked at the young trumpeter in bewilderment, then his
expression changed.

"You have got a touch of fever, lad. Come along with me to the hospital;
I will report you sick. The sooner you are out of the sun the better."

"I am as sensible as I ever was in my life," Edgar said quietly. "I was
brought up by Captain Clinton as his son. I was at Cheltenham with
Rupert Clinton, who has just passed us. We believed that we were twins
until the day came when a woman came down there and told me the story,
and told me that I was her son and yours; then I ran away, and here I
am."

"My wife!" the sergeant exclaimed passionately. "I have not seen or
heard of her for fifteen years. So she came down and told you that. She
is a bad lot, if ever there was one. And so she told you you were my
son? You may be, lad, for aught I know; and I should be well content to
know that it was so. But what did she come and tell you that for? What
game is she up to now? I always knew she was up to some mischief. What
was her motive in coming down to tell you that? Just let me know what
she said."

"She said she had deliberately changed me as an infant for my good, and
she proposed to me to continue the fraud, and offered, if I liked, to
swear to Rupert's being her child, so that I might get all the
property."

"And that she might share in it!" the sergeant laughed bitterly. "A bold
stroke that of Jane Humphreys. And how did she pretend to recognize you
as her child more than the other?"

"She told me that Captain Clinton's child had a tiny mole on his
shoulder, and as Rupert has such a mark, that settled the question."

"Jane Humphreys told you more than she knew herself. Whether she
intended to make the change of babies or not I don't know, but I believe
she did; but whether it was done by chance, or whether she purposely
mixed them up together, one thing I am certain of, and that is, that she
confused herself as well as every one else, and that she did not know
which was which. When I came into the room first she was like a woman
dazed, and, clever as she was, I am sure she was not putting it on. She
had thought, I fancy, that she could easily distinguish one from the
other, and had never fancied that she could have been confused as well
as other people. She undressed them, and looked them over and over, and
it was then she noticed the little mole on the shoulder, and she turned
to me and said, 'If I had but noticed this before I should always have
told them apart.'

"We had a pretty bad time of it afterwards, for it made me the laugh of
the whole regiment, and caused no end of talk and worry, and we had
frightful rows together. She taunted me with being a fool for not seeing
that there was money to be made out of it. She acknowledged to me over
and over again that she had intended to change the children, and had
dressed them both alike; and when I asked her what good had come out of
her scheming, she said that in the first place we had got rid of the
bother of bringing up the boy, and that if I were not a fool we might
make a good thing out of it yet. But she was vexed and angry with
herself for not having seen this little mark, and for having herself
lost all clue as to which was her child. I told her that as she had
intended to change them she could have cared nothing for her own boy,
and that her only object could have been to make money.

"She did not deny it, but simply jeered at me for being content to
remain all my life a non-commissioned officer when there might be a
fortune made out of this. I do not say that if she had been able to tell
one child from the other she would have told me, for if she had I should
certainly have gone to Captain Clinton and told him; but she did not
know. A woman can act well, but she cannot make herself as white as a
sheet and put such a wild look into her eyes as she had when I found her
turning those children over and over, and trying to make out which was
which. I could take the Bible in my hand and swear in court that Jane
Humphreys knew no more than I did which was her child, that she had
never noticed the mark until after the change was made, and that to this
day she does not know.

"One of the points we quarrelled on was that I made her start for the
captain's quarters in such a hurry. She afterwards said that when it
first came across her that she did not know which child was which, her
blood seemed to go up into her head, and she lost her power of judgment
altogether. She said over and over again that if I hadn't hurried her
so, and had let matters be for a day or two, so that she could have
slept on it and had looked at them quiet, she would have known which was
her child. So that is how it is, lad. You may be Jane Humphreys' child
and mine, or you may be Captain Clinton's, but no living soul can decide
which. As to Jane Humphreys, she is a liar and a thorough bad un, and if
it is only on her word that you have run away you have made a bad
mistake of it. Still it is not too late to put that right. My word is as
good as hers; and as she swore before she did not know which was which,
her swearing now that she does, after all these years, will go for
nothing at all."

Edgar was silent for some time, then he said, "I have thought a good
many times since I ran away that I was wrong in not waiting to hear what
Captain Clinton said. But I had no reason to doubt the story she told
me, and when she proposed that I should go on with this fraud and cheat
Rupert out of his position as heir, it was too horrible, and the thought
that such a woman was my mother was altogether too much to bear. I will
not make such a mistake again, or act in a hurry. My present thought is
that as I have chosen my way I will go on in it. Before, Captain Clinton
and his wife did not know which was their child and loved us both
equally, now that they believe that Rupert is their son and that I was a
fraud, they will have come to give him all their love, and I am not
going to unsettle things again. That is my present idea, and I do not
think that I am likely to change it.

"I shall be glad to know that I need not consider myself that woman's
child, though it would not grieve me, now that I know you, to be sure
that you were my father. But Captain Clinton and his wife were a father
and mother to me up to the day when I ran away, and I could never think
of anyone else in that light."

"Quite natural, quite natural, lad! You have never seen me or heard of
me, and it would be a rum thing if you could all of a sudden come to
care a lot about me. I know that you may be my son, but I don't know
that at present I like you any the more for that than I did before. So
we are quite of one mind over that. But we will be friends, lad, stout
friends!"

"That we will," Edgar said, clasping warmly the hand the other held out
to him. "You have been very kind to me up to now, and now that at any
rate we may be father and son we shall be drawn very close together.
When this campaign is over it will be time to talk again about the
future. I do not think now that I am at all likely to change my mind, or
to let the Clintons know what you have told me; but I need not trouble
about it in any way until then. I was contented before, and I am
contented now. If I have made a fool of myself, as I think I have, I
must pay the penalty. I have much to be thankful for. I had a very happy
time of it until the day I left Cheltenham. I have had a good education,
and I have a first-rate chance of making my way up. I have made friends
of some of the officers of my regiment, and they have promised to push
me on. I had the luck to attract the colonel's attention at El-Teb, and
was among the names sent in for the Victoria Cross; and although I did
not get it, the fact that I was recommended will count in my favour."

"You are the right stuff, lad," the sergeant said, putting his hand on
his shoulder, "whether I or the captain was your father. I reckon that
it was he--I don't see where you can have got what there is in you from
our side. And now it is time to be going back to camp. Who would have
thought, when we strolled out together, that so much was to come out of
our walk?"

While this conversation had been going on, Rupert Clinton and his two
old school-fellows were sitting on the ground in the tent which Easton
shared with another of General Stewart's aides-de-camp.

"The scene has changed," Easton said as he handed them each a tumbler of
weak rum and water, "otherwise one might imagine that we were in my
study at River-Smith's, and that Skinner was about to lay down the law
about the next football match."

"Ah! if we had but Edgar here!" Rupert sighed.

"I did not like to ask whether you had found him, Clinton; but I guessed
you had not by your keeping silence."

"No, we have heard nothing of him beyond the fact that we have
occasionally a letter saying that he is well and comfortable. They were
all posted in London, but I still believe that he is in the army. My
father is as convinced as ever that the statement of that woman I told
you of was a false one, and that Edgar is just as likely to be his son
as I am. I know I would gladly give up my share of the heirship to find
him. However, unless I run against him by pure chance I am not likely to
do that. We still put in advertisements occasionally, but my people at
home are as convinced as I am that we shall not hear from him until he
has made his way in some line or other, and he is in an independent
position."

"He always was a sticker," Skinner said, "and if he took a thing in hand
would carry it through. You remember his rush in our last match with
Green's, how he carried the ball right down through them all. I should
not worry about it, Clinton; it will all come right in time. He will
turn up some day or other; and when he finds that matters are just as
they were before, and that your people believe him to be just as likely
to be their son as you are, he will fall into his old place again--at
least that is my opinion of it."

"Yes, that is what I hope and believe," Rupert said. "Well, Easton, how
do you like the Guards, and how do you like campaigning? I see that you
have given up white shirts, like the rest of us. I rather expected that
if we did meet I should find that, in some miraculous way, you still
contrived to get up immaculately."

Easton laughed. "No, I left my last white shirt at Cairo, Clinton. I
consulted my soldier-servant about it. He was ready to guarantee the
washing, but he did not see his way to starching and ironing; so I had
to give them up and take to flannels. They were awful at first, and
irritated my skin until they brought on prickly heat, and I was almost
out of my mind for a few days. However, I have got over it now. What
made you go into the Marines, Skinner?"

"Well, just before the exam, came off an uncle of mine, who is a great
friend of the first lord, wrote to say that he could get me a
commission. Well, in the first place I did not feel very sure of passing
for the line; in the second place I had a liking for the sea, and in the
third place, as my governor's living is not a very large one and I have
a lot of sisters, and I thought I had had more than my share already in
being sent to Cheltenham--and one can live a good deal cheaper in the
Marines than in the line--I concluded the best thing I could do was to
accept the offer; and I have not been sorry that I did it. It was awful
luck my coming out in the Naval Brigade here; it was just a fluke. The
man who was going was chucked off a horse and broke his arm the day
before the brigade sailed from Suakim, and I was sent up in his place.
Well, what is the last news, Clinton? You ought to know, as you are on
the staff."

"They don't intrust aides-de-camp with their secrets," Rupert replied;
"but I think it likely there will be a move in a day or two, and that
the Camel Corps will push across to Metemmeh and wait there till the
boats get round."

"Yes, that is what every one is talking about," Easton said. "The
question that is agitating us is whether all the Camel Corps will go;
and if not, which will be chosen?"

"Ah, that I know nothing about, Easton; but I should think if any go,
the Guards would be sure to be in it. But whether the Heavies or the
Lights will go, if only two are chosen, I cannot say. I should fancy one
will go with the boats anyhow, so as to keep along parallel with them
and protect them against any sudden attack while they are afloat."

"Will the chief go on, do you think?"

"Not if only a small body cross the desert. At least I should think not.
I should say he would stay here until Metemmeh is occupied and the boat
column is well on its way, and that then he will go on to Metemmeh, and
take the command there when the whole force is assembled. In that case
Stewart would of course command the desert column, and I should be all
right."

"The great question is, will the beggars fight?" Skinner remarked; "and
if so, where?"

"They are sure to fight," Easton said. "I don't think there is the least
doubt about that, but I should not think there will be any fighting this
side of Metemmeh; it will be some where between that and Khartoum. The
Mahdi cannot help fighting after smashing up Hicks and giving himself
out as invincible. He would lose his hold altogether of the people if he
did not come down and fight. Of course there is no doubt about the
result; but, judging from the way those fellows fought down by the Red
Sea, it is likely to be pretty tough work I shall be sorry for the poor
beggars with their spears against our breech-loaders, but it has got to
be done."

Skinner and Rupert both laughed, for Easton spoke exactly as he used to
do with regard to football.

"It will be a nuisance your having to exert yourself, won't it, Easton?"

"Yes, that is always a nuisance, and in a climate like this!" Easton
said seriously. "Why nature made a place so hot, I cannot make out. I am
sure if I were to be weighed I should find I had lost nearly a stone
since I came out."

"You have quite enough flesh on you," Skinner said critically. "If you
have lost a stone you must have been getting beastly fat. You fellows in
the Guards do not take enough exercise. The time was when the Guards
used to row and had a very good eight, but they never do that sort of
thing now. It would do you all a lot of good if, instead of wandering
between London and Windsor and Dublin, you were to take your turn for
foreign service."

"But then we should not be Guards, Skinner."

"Well, you would be none the worse for that," Skinner retorted.

"He is just as bad as he used to be, Clinton," Easton laughed; "just the
same aggressive, pugnacious beggar that he was at River-Smith's."

"He means well, Easton. We never expected more than that from him. He
must make himself fearfully obnoxious to the fellows who have the
misfortune to be shut up on board ship with him."

"I shall make myself obnoxious to you, Clinton, if you don't look out.
It is only the heat that protects you. Have you met any others of our
fellows out here?"

"Not from our house, but I know there are seven or eight fellows of
about our own standing out here altogether."

"If we are up here in the cold weather," Skinner said, "that is, if
there ever is any cold weather, we will get a football made and
challenge a team from any other school."

"Don't talk about it," Easton said plaintively. "It throws me into a
perspiration even to think about it. The dust would be something awful.
Possibly if we are up here through the winter, or through the period
they are pleased to call winter, we might get up cricket; but as for
football, it is out of the question. Of course if we were stationed at
Dongola, or Berber, or Khartoum, we could get the bats and stumps and
things sent up to us. It would be fun if it were only to see how these
lazy, squatting beggars would stare when they saw us at it."

"But you were never enthusiastic about cricket."

"No. But then, you see, I do not propose to play on our side. My idea is
that I should sit down on the sands in the shade of the scrub and smoke
my pipe quietly. That is the oriental idea of taking exercise; pay
somebody to dance for you, and sit and watch them, but do not think of
attempting to take a hand yourself. It would be fatal to any respect
these Egyptians may feel for us if they were to see us rushing about the
sand like maniacs in pursuit of a ball. However, though I should not
play myself, I should take a lively interest, Skinner, in seeing you and
Clinton working hard. But I must be going, it is near time for us to
parade. Come across to my tent at nine o'clock this evening. I cannot
ask you to dinner--that must be deferred until we get home again--but we
can smoke a pipe and talk over old days; and I can give you a glass of
good brandy and water, which is a change from the commissariat rum. I
managed to smuggle up half a dozen bottles."

Edgar was much disturbed by the story he had heard so unexpectedly from
the sergeant. He regretted now that he had acted so hastily. Certainly
the story put a completely new complexion on the case, and his chance of
being Captain Clinton's son was just the same as it had ever been. He
wondered whether his father and mother--for so in his thoughts he always
named them--had doubted the truth of this woman's statement to him, or
whether they had believed it as he had done, and had put him out of
their hearts as one with whom they had nothing to do, and who had been
already too long imposed upon them. But he felt that this was an unjust
view, and that however they might now be confident that Rupert was their
son and heir they still cherished an affection towards him. "However,"
he said, "this will make no difference to me. The die is cast, and I
cannot go back now. Still I shall be happier than I was before. Then I
considered that I had been an impostor who had received affection and
care and kindness to which I had no shadow of right. Now I know that
this is not so, and that it is just as likely that I am their son as it
is that Rupert is; and I stay away for my own choice, and because,
having made them believe that Rupert was their son, I am not going to
disturb and make them unhappy again by showing them that this was a
mistake, and that everything is as unsettled as before.

"I told them that they would never hear of me until I had made my own
way, and I shall stick to that. Who would have thought of meeting Rupert
here? It has been a great piece of luck for him getting out here as
General Stewart's aide-de-camp, but I know the general is a friend of my
father, and that accounts for it. Perhaps this sergeant is my father. I
did not seem to mind the thought before. I did not even know whether he
was alive, and never really faced it; and yet, if Sergeant Bowen is to
be my father, he is as good as another. He seems a fine fellow, and has
had no hand in this fraud. I ought, indeed, to think myself lucky; for
he is steady and respectable, a good soldier, and I can see liked by the
officers as well as the men. It was curious that he should have taken a
fancy to me.

"Still it does go against the grain, though I can see he has no
intention of claiming me openly as his son. If he had, I think I should
have kicked against it; but as it is, I am sure we shall be very good
friends."

After drill was over next morning, and the camels had been seen to and
the men dismissed, Sergeant Bowen came up to him--

"Let us take another turn together, lad. I have been thinking a lot," he
went on when they were beyond the lines, "of our talk yesterday. Now,
lad, you have been brought up as a gentleman, and to consider yourself
as Captain Clinton's son; remember, I don't want you to think that I
expect you to make any change about that. I have done nothing for you as
a father; and whether I am your father or not you do not owe me
anything, and I want to tell you again that I don't expect in the least
that because it is possible you are my son you should regard me in the
light of your father.

"I can understand that after all your life looking at the captain as
your father, and after he and his wife being everything to you, you
would find it mighty hard to regard me in that way. I don't expect it,
and I don't want it. If he is not your father by blood, he is your
father in right of bringing you up and caring for you and educating you,
and it is quite right and quite proper that you should always regard him
so. You can look upon me, lad, just as a foster-father--as the husband
of the woman who was for a time your nurse, and who would gladly repair
the wrongs he did to you. I just say this, lad, to make things straight
between us. I want us to be friends. I am an old soldier, and you a
young one. We are comrades in this expedition. We have taken to each
other, and would do each other a good turn if we had a chance. I don't
want more than that, lad, and I don't expect you to give more. If I can
lend you a helping hand on or off duty, you know I shall do so. So let
us shake hands on it, and agree to let the matter drop altogether until
this campaign is over. Then we will talk over together what had best be
done. A few months longer of this life will do you no harm, and you will
make all the better officer for having had two or three years in the
ranks. But I will say at once that I think that you are wrong, now you
know how the matter stands, in not writing at once to the captain and
letting him know the truth. Still there is no harm in its standing over
for the present. You must go through the expedition as you are now, and
they would be no easier for knowing that you are exposed to danger out
here than they are at present when they know nothing of your
whereabouts."

Edgar shook the sergeant heartily by the hand, and the bargain was
sealed.

Every day troops kept on arriving, and by the 27th of December there
were already at Korti a considerable portion of the Sussex, the Duke of
Cornwall's Light Infantry, the Essex, Gordon Highlanders, Black Watch,
and Staffordshire, all of whom had come up in the whale-boats; a large
number of the commissariat, transport, hospital, and engineer train in
native boats; the whole of the Guards' Camel Corps, and the greater
portion of the Heavy and Light Camel Corps, a hundred men of the
Marines, who were provided with camels, and appointed to form part of
the Guards' Camel Corps, two squadrons of the 19th Hussars, and the
Mounted Infantry.

In the few days that had passed since the troops to which Edgar was
attached had arrived at Korti the change in the appearance of the place
was great. The grove of palm-trees still stood near the bend of the
river, but the green fields of grass and the broad patches of growing
crops had been either levelled or trampled down, and the neighbourhood
of the camp presented the appearance of the sandy wastes of Aldershot.

On the evening of that day Skinner rushed into Easton's tent.

"I have just seen Clinton," he said, "and the rumours are going to be
fulfilled at last. They did not inspect our water-skins, arms, and
accoutrements for nothing to-day. We are to start on the 30th across the
desert. There is no secret about it, or of course Clinton wouldn't have
told me. There are to be our regiment, a squadron of Hussars, the
Mounted Infantry, and Engineers. We are to take with us baggage-camels
and the camels of the heavy and light regiments. We are going to Gakdul,
about a hundred miles off. There all the stores are to be left, and the
camels and Mounted Infantry to come back here. We are to remain to guard
the stores. As soon as the camels return here, the Heavies are to take
their own beasts, and, with the Mounted Infantry, escort every baggage
animal that can be got up here, when we shall all go on together. Sir
Herbert Stewart commands."

"What about baggage?" Easton asked, after expressing his deep
satisfaction that the advance was about to begin.

"Only what we can carry ourselves on our camels, and the weight is
limited to forty pounds, which is abundant even for sybarites like you
guardsmen. A quarter of that would be amply sufficient for me. A couple
of blankets, a waterproof sheet, half a dozen flannel shirts, ditto
socks, pair of slippers, and a spare karkee suit; sponge, tooth-brush,
and a comb. What can anyone want more?"

"I should like to take my waterproof bath," Easton said.

"Pooh! nonsense, man! Where are you going to get your water from?"

"There is water at Gakdul, and there will be plenty when we get to
Metemmeh," Easton said.

"Well, I will grant that," Skinner said; "but anyhow you can manage
very well as we do. Make a hole in the sand and put your waterproof
sheet into it, and there you have got as good a bath as anyone can want.
What is the use of lumbering yourself up with things you do not want?
Much better take those three bottles of brandy you have got left and a
couple of pounds of tobacco. That is the utmost allowance I should give.
The camels will have to go a long time without water, and the less you
put on their backs the better. You know what a difference a few pounds
makes to a horse; and I suppose it must be the same thing with them."

At three o'clock on the afternoon of the 30th the force intended for the
desert march paraded, and after marching past Lord Wolseley moved off in
solid formation, thirty camels abreast. The total force consisted of 73
officers, 1212 men and natives, and 2091 camels. The whole camp had
turned out to see the departure of the column, and Edgar, with his
helmet pressed down low over his eyes, watched Rupert as he rode after
Sir Herbert Stewart, and Easton and Skinner with the Guards Camel Corps.
The Heavies had been much disappointed at not forming part of the first
advance, and especially at their camels being taken for baggage animals;
but they consoled themselves by the fact that the native spies all
reported that there were no bodies of the enemy between Korti and
Gakdul, and it was not likely therefore that there would be any fighting
until the whole force moved forward together from Gakdul to Metemmeh.

In front of the column were half a dozen natives on camels. These acted
as the guides of the party. They had been extremely unwilling to go, and
it was only when the general offered them the alternative of going
willingly and receiving good pay for their work, or being lashed to
their camels and forced to go without any pay whatever, that they
elected the first. The Hussars scouted in front of the column, riding
far ahead and scouring the country in search of lurking foes. Two hours
after starting there was a halt, fires were lighted from the dry grass
and mimosa bushes, and tea was made and served out. By this time it was
five o'clock, and the sun had set. In an hour or two the moon, which was
nearly full, rose, and afforded ample light for the journey.

For a time the silence of the desert was broken by the laughter and talk
of the men, but as the time went on the sounds were hushed as sleepiness
fell upon them. Short halts were of frequent occurrence, as the baggage
animals in the rear lagged behind, or their loads slipped, and had to be
readjusted. Then a trumpet was sounded by the rear-guard, and it was
repeated by the trumpeters along the column, and all came to a halt
until the trumpet in the rear told that the camels there were ready to
advance again. So the march continued throughout the whole night.

The ground was of hard sand or gravel, with round smooth hills of dark
stone rising from it. Near the hills the ground was covered with low
mimosa bushes and long yellow grass, and in some places the mimosa trees
rose to a length of ten or twelve feet. At five o'clock day broke, and
at half-past eight the column halted at a spot where there were a good
many trees. Here they dismounted, breakfasted, and slept for some hours.
At three in the afternoon they started again, and at half-past eight
arrived at the first wells, those of Hambok; but as they were found to
contain very little water, the march was continued to the El Howeiyat
Wells, thirteen miles further. Before they got there the watches told
that midnight had arrived, and the commencement of the new year was
hailed with a burst of cheering, and singing broke out all along the
line, and was continued for an hour, until they reached the wells.

There was but little water here, but the men carried theirs in skins.
The horses of the 19th Hussars received a bucketful apiece, which
exhausted the supply of the wells. At six o'clock in the morning they
again advanced, and after a rest of three hours at mid-day continued
their way until midnight, when a light being seen at a distance the
column was halted, and the Hussars went out and captured a caravan
loaded with dates for the use of the Mahdi troops. It was not until
eight o'clock in the morning that the weary troops and animals reached
the wells of Gakdul.




CHAPTER XI.

ABU KLEA


"Where on earth are the wells?" Skinner said to the officer who was
riding next to him; and a similar question was asked by scores of
others.

They had advanced through a narrow pass, and were now in a small flat
surrounded apparently on all sides by hills. However, as Major
Kitchener, the head of the intelligence department, and the native
guides were there, every one supposed it was all right, and set to work
to unload the camels. It was not such easy work as usual, for the ground
was strewn with large stones, upon which the camels objected strongly to
kneel. For a time there was a prodigious din--the camels grumbling and
complaining, the natives screaming, the soldiers laughing, shouting, and
using strong language. At last the loads were all off, the stores piled,
and the din quieted down.

"Where on earth is this water, Skinner?" Easton asked as the two young
officers met after the work was done.

"I cannot make out, Easton. I hope it is not far, for my water-skin has
leaked itself empty and my throat is like a furnace."

"I have some water in mine," Easton said, "but it tastes of leather so
strongly that it is next to undrinkable. Oh, here is Clinton. Where is
the water, Clinton?"

"By that rock at the end of the valley. I am just going to have a look
at it. Can you come?"

"Yes; there is nothing to do here at present."

They hurried towards the rock that Clinton pointed out, and when they
reached it they still saw no signs of water, but on going round it burst
into a shout of delight. Before them lay a pool some sixty feet wide by
a hundred long. The rocks rose precipitously on each side; it was
evident that the water was deep.

"There are two more pools further up," an officer who had got there
before them said.

"Let us climb up and have a look," Clinton said; and with some
difficulty they climbed up to the top of the rock. Going along for some
little distance they looked down. Eighty feet below them lay two
beautiful pools. They were evidently very deep, for at the edge the
water was green, but nearly black in the centre of the pools.

"This is something like," Skinner said. "There is no fear of running
short of water. Come on, let us clamber down and get a drink. Look
there, at the rows of camels coming along to the lower pool. I suppose
that will be kept for them, and that we shall get our water from these."

With a good deal of difficulty they got down, but were unable to reach
the edge. However they tied a string round one of their water-bottles,
and soon brought it up full. The water was deliciously clear and cool,
the high rock completely sheltering the pools from the heat of the sun.
They indulged in several long draughts before their thirst was
satisfied.

"I shall never say anything against water again," Skinner remarked. "I
have always allowed its utility for washing purposes, but have
considered it a distinct failure as a drink. I recant. While considering
that at home beer is good enough for me, I am prepared to maintain that,
in the middle of the Bayuda Desert, clear cold water and plenty of it is
good enough for anyone. But how in the world are we going to get at this
water? Oh, here come the Engineers; they are going to do it somehow."

[Illustration: AT THE WELLS OF GAKDUL.]

A party of Engineers arrived with some pumps and a hundred yards of
hose.

"How are you going to take it down?"

"We are going to lead the hose right through the lower pool, letting it
lie at the bottom. That is the only way we can do it. There is no way of
fixing it against that wall of rocks."

The pumps were fixed in a very short time and the hose laid, and in less
than an hour the stream of pure water was being poured into a large
trough placed near the lower pool, and from this the cooks of the
various companies filled their kettles and boilers.

Some of the men, in spite of their long and fatiguing journey, had
followed the example of the young officers and filled their
water-bottles as they had done, but the majority had thrown themselves
on the ground and were fast asleep a few minutes after the work of
unloading the camels had been completed. For hours the work of watering
the camels went on, slowly at first, as only a few could drink at a
time, but more rapidly when large troughs were erected, at which thirty
could be watered at once.

As soon as dinner was over the Guards set to work to erect two forts
that the Engineers had already marked out. One of these was at the mouth
of the pass leading into the little valley, the other was placed just
above the pools. The baggage was piled close to the wells. By evening
the work was well advanced, and at eight o'clock the Mounted Infantry
and the whole of the camels started on their return journey, leaving the
Guards, with fifteen Engineers and six Hussars, to hold the wells and
guard the great pile of stores that had been brought up. As soon as work
was over there was a general movement to the wells, and there were few
who did not indulge in the luxury of a bathe in the lower pool.

Rupert Clinton returned with the column to Korti, as General Stewart
went back with them to bring out the main body of troops. It was
calculated that ten days must elapse before these would arrive at
Gakdul, and the Guards and Marines set to work in earnest the next
morning to get things into order. The work was very heavy, but as the
men had plenty to eat and no lack of excellent water they did not mind
it, congratulating themselves heartily upon the fact that they had not
to make the long and wearisome journey to Korti and back.

In the course of the ten days the walls of the forts rose to a height of
over five feet--a very laborious piece of work, for one fort measured
twenty yards by twenty-three; the other thirty yards by fifteen, and the
stones had all to be picked up and carried considerable distances, or
loosened out of the solid rock by aid of the six pickaxes and four
crowbars that were alone available.

In addition to this the site of a camp was marked out, roads were formed
by clearing away the stones, and paths made up to the forts and picket
stations. The outpost duty was very severe, two officers and sixty-five
men being always on duty, as it was possible that at any time, night or
day, an attack might be made.

"This is awful!" Easton said to Skinner, as, sitting down on the ground,
he mournfully contemplated his boots; "these boots that I relied upon to
last me through the campaign are hopelessly done for."

"They do look bad," Skinner agreed, "but no worse than mine, or in fact
than any one else's. These rocks are awful. If Nature had scattered ten
million knives broadcast about this valley they could not have been more
destructive to boots than these rocks. I used to think that, although
the camels were well enough for taking up the baggage or as a means of
conveyance for men, they were a mistake, and that it would be much
pleasanter to march than to sit upon these wearisome beasts; but my
opinion has been changed by our experience here. If we had to march many
miles over such a country as this the whole force would be barefooted. I
had a frightful job of it last night. I went the rounds with the
field-officer, and how it was I didn't break my neck I cannot imagine. I
had a dozen tremendous croppers down the rocks. The lantern went out the
first time, and got smashed the second. The major seemed to think that
it was my duty to have kept it alight whatever happened to myself, and
was as savage as a bear. We lost our way a dozen times, and once came up
to a picket on the wrong side, and deuced near got potted."

"I know all about it," Easton said. "I did it three nights ago, and have
no skin at present on my knees or my elbows or my hips, and mighty
little on my back. I went down one place fifty or sixty feet deep
head-foremost, bumping from rock to rock, and it flashed through my mind
as I did so what an ass I was to be going through all this when I might
be comfortably in bed at home. They don't tell one of these things," he
said plaintively, "when they talk of the advantages of the army."

"Bosh!" Skinner said wrathfully. "I don't suppose you were a bit more
hurt than you would be in a good close rally at football. It is a
thousand times better after all than mooning about Windsor, or being
mewed on board a ship at Suakim. However, I shall be precious glad when
the others arrive, and we have done with this fatigue work. The men's
hands are pretty well cut to pieces getting up and carrying those sharp
rocks, and I am heartily tired of acting as a sort of amateur mason."

On the 11th of January a convoy of a thousand camels with stores and
ammunition arrived, and the next day the troops were delighted at seeing
the main body approaching. In addition to the Mounted Infantry and Heavy
Camel Corps, 400 men of the Sussex Regiment came up on the camels. They
were intended to garrison the forts and protect the wells when the rest
of the force moved forward, but a hundred of them were to go forward
with the troops. With the new-comers were 30 sailors with a Gardner gun,
30 men of the Royal Artillery with three 7-pounder guns, 45 of the
Medical and Commissariat Staff, and 120 native drivers for the baggage
camels. As the Heavy Camel Regiment numbered 380 and the Guards 367, the
Mounted Infantry 360, and there were 90 men of the 19th Hussars and 100
of the Sussex, the total force which was to advance was about 1500 men,
90 horses, and 2200 camels.

All the men with the exception of the natives, who were on foot, were
mounted on camels, the Hussars of course excepted, as they rode sturdy
little Egyptian horses, which, although little larger than ponies, were
capable of enduring an amount of fatigue, hardship, and privation, that
would in the course of a few days have rendered English horses useless.

Those who had left Gakdul but ten days before were astonished at the
change which the labours of the Guards' Camel Corps had effected in it,
and great commendation was given them by the general for the zeal with
which they had worked.

Large as was the number of animals to be watered, the work was conducted
with far greater speed and ease than had been the case on their former
arrival. The arrangements were all excellent, and in a comparatively
short time the whole were watered and fed. The troops, however, were
dismayed at the change which had come over the camels. These animals are
capable of enduring great fatigue and scarcity of water and food, but
the authorities had acted as if there were no limits whatever to those
powers, and for a fortnight the camels had been kept at work with only
three or four hours' rest out of each twenty-four, with a very scanty
supply of food, and a sufficient allowance of water but twice, namely,
at Gakdul and Korti. The natural result had followed: the animals were
weak and exhausted, the majority were suffering from sore backs, some
had already succumbed, others were absolutely incapable of further work
until they had had a rest. In this respect none of the three corps had
any advantage over the other, as the camels had all performed the three
journeys.

"If we are only going to Metemmeh, and are to halt there until the
boats come round, the poor beasts will have time to recover before we
want them again," Easton said to Skinner as they were looking ruefully
at the condition of the camels who had carried them so well ten days
before; "but they certainly won't be fit to advance for some time. I am
afraid, Skinner, that they must have very bad news from Khartoum, and
that every day is of extreme importance. If the matter hadn't been most
urgent they would never have ruined the whole of our transport as they
have done in this way. If the camels had had a couple of days' rest here
before starting to go back again, and four or five days' good feeding at
Korti before they started up again, it would have made all the
difference in the world to them. A camel is not a steam-engine, that can
take in fuel and water and be off again an hour after it comes in from a
journey."

"I don't like these night marches," Skinner said. "I consider them to be
a mistake altogether."

"So do I, Skinner. It was bad enough when we had the moon, but it will
be ten times worse now. As to the heat, that is all rot. We travelled in
the daytime coming up by the banks of the Nile, and it is cooler now
than it was then. It is all very well for men to march at night if they
have no animals or baggage-train with them, but it is a different thing
altogether on such an expedition as this. To begin with, the delays from
falling behind and readjusting baggage are far greater at night than at
day; there is much greater difficulty in keeping the column together;
the men are in a state of drowsiness the whole time, if they were
marching they would keep awake, but sitting on the camels there is
nothing to rouse them. Then when they get in camp the heat of the day
has just begun, and what with that and the flies it is next to
impossible to sleep. What sleep they get does not refresh them. I quite
dread this march on to Metemmeh. However, it has got to be done; but
certainly I should not mind it half so much if we were going to travel
by daylight."

It was soon known that there was to be no delay at Gakdul, and orders
were issued that the start was to be made on the 13th; the intervening
day being devoted to seeing to the arms and ammunition, issuing stores,
and replenishing the water supply. The water-skins were extremely
defective, leaking freely, the only exception being the india-rubber
bags with which the sailors had been supplied. Every effort was made
during the halt to sew up holes and stop leaks, but with poor success.
Each man carried on his camel one of these skins in addition to his
water-bottle. Strict orders were given that upon the march he was to
rely upon the latter alone; the supply in the skins being for general
purposes, such as cooking and making tea.

During the halt Edgar applied himself steadily to the work of repairing
the water-skins. The camp of the Heavies joined that of the Guards, and
he felt that his danger of being recognized by Easton or Skinner was
great; but sitting with a group of others sewing, with his face shaded
by his helmet, the risk was very much less than if standing up or moving
about the camp. At two o'clock in the afternoon the force paraded and
moved off in columns of companies. The Heavy Camel Corps led, the Guards
followed, the baggage and stores were in the centre, and the Mounted
Infantry in the rear.

Many of the camels had to be left behind, and those that remained were
only sufficient to carry the absolutely necessary stores, the rations
for the men, and a quantity of corn that would suffice but to give two
feeds of eight pounds each to the animals, who were, therefore, obliged
to depend almost entirely on such sustenance as they could pluck from
the mimosa shrubs and the dry yellow grass. The men carried a hundred
and seventy rounds each. There were a hundred rounds per gun for the
artillery, but only a thousand rounds were brought for the Gardner gun,
a quantity sufficient but for five minutes' work when in action.

The journey was over a gravelly plain, and the halt was made at six
o'clock in the evening. Fires were lit of the shrubs and dry grass; the
camels were unloaded and fed, and were ranged in such order that in case
of attack the troops could form square at the angles of the mass, and
thus support each other and protect the convoy.

At three in the morning the trumpets and bugles sounded. The fires were
soon blazing again, and at half-past four breakfast had been eaten, the
camels loaded, and the column on its march again. At ten o'clock there
was a halt for two hours for dinner and a short rest; and it was not
until just as they were going to start that the rear-guard arrived,
having been delayed by the breaking down of numbers of the camels, many
of which had fallen dead as they walked, while others incapable of
movement had to be left behind to take their chance of recovering
sufficiently to browse upon the bushes and make their way back to the
wells. As the loads of those that fell had to be distributed among their
already exhausted companions the prospect was far from cheerful.

Starting at twelve, the column passed a conical hill known as Gebel El
Nur an hour later, and entered a broad valley covered with grass and
trees twenty feet high, and where, doubtless, water could be obtained
had the force been provided with little Abyssinian pumps. At five
o'clock the column halted, and as the ground was sandy passed a more
comfortable night than the one before. Every one was in good spirits.
The men found the journeys by day far less fatiguing than those at
night, and were able to obtain refreshing sleep in the cool night air.

Before daybreak they again started over a gravelly plain, hoping to
reach the wells of Abu Klea that evening. They halted at eleven in a
valley flanked by hills. The track, according to the maps, lay over a
steep hill in front and then along a pass between two hills, the wells
lying some three miles beyond the pass. Dinner was cooked, and as soon
as they had finished their meal the Hussars started for the wells, as
their horses had had no water since leaving Gakdul. The rest of the
force were stretched upon the ground taking it quietly when two of the
Hussars returned at full gallop with a message to the general, and the
order was immediately issued for the men to fall in and for the officers
to examine their arms and ammunition. Then the news spread through the
force that the enemy had been discovered in large numbers upon the hill,
and were evidently prepared to bar the way to the wells.

The change effected by the news was wonderful. It had been generally
supposed that Metemmeh would be reached without fighting, all the spies
agreeing in saying that there was no force of the enemy near the line of
march. In a moment fatigue and thirst were forgotten, and the quiet was
exchanged for bustle and animation. Men laughed and joked with each
other in the highest spirits, and all prepared for the fray with the
most absolute confidence as to the result. As the troops fell in the
general with his staff galloped ahead to some rising ground, and with
their field-glasses reconnoitred the hills surrounding the pass, upon
which numbers of white-robed Arabs could be made out.

The Hussars speedily reported that there was a considerable force in the
pass below. With the fighting men in front and the baggage behind, the
troops moved slowly forward up the hill in front, and finally took up
their position on a piece of flat ground whence they could see down the
pass by which the Arabs expected the advance would be made. On the side
of the hills commanding it they had thrown up small stone walls from
which to fire. On the hilltops out of range large numbers of Arabs could
be seen in constant motion, gesticulating and waving their arms. It was
now four o'clock in the afternoon, and the general decided that as the
real force of the enemy was unknown it would be imprudent to attempt to
force the passage with only an hour and a half of daylight before him,
consequently a halt for the night was ordered.

A strong detachment of Mounted Infantry and sailors with their Gardner
ascended a hill on the other side of the pass and set to work to build
a small fort and mount the gun there. A company from each of the camel
regiments extended to cover the front. The camels were all made to
kneel, their legs being lashed at the knee so that they could not rise.
This done, the whole of the troops were set to work to build a wall.
There were, however, but few loose stones lying about, and though
officers and men alike worked hard the wall in front was but two feet
high when the sun went down. A hedge of thorny bushes and wire was
raised to protect the flanks as much as possible.

As twilight fell a number of the enemy took possession of the top of a
hill some twelve hundred yards away on the right and opened fire, to
which the three guns of the artillery replied with shrapnel-shell. The
guns ceased firing when darkness came on, but the enemy kept up an
occasional fire all night. A drink of lime-juice and water was served
out to all the men, who then lay down, with their arms in readiness to
repel an attack, by the little wall. All night the enemy kept on beating
tom-toms and occasionally yelling, approaching at times comparatively
close to the position. Knowing, however, that the sentries were out in
front, the men for the most part slept quietly in spite of the noise and
firing. As the Arabs could fire only at random but two men were hit
during the night.

In the morning it was found that the number of the enemy on the hilltops
had largely increased during the night, and the bullets now flew
incessantly round and over the inclosure. Lying under such shelter as
the wall afforded, the men ate their breakfast of the tinned meat and
biscuits they carried in their haversacks.

"I must admit, Skinner," Easton said to his comrade, who had come across
from his own company to have a chat with him, "that this is more
unpleasant than I had expected. This lying here listening to the angry
hiss of the bullets is certainly trying; at least I own that I feel it
so."

"It is nasty," Skinner agreed. "I sha'n't mind it as soon as we go at
the beggars, but this doing nothing is, as you say, trying. I wish they
would make up their minds and come out to us, or if they cannot get up
their pluck enough to do it, that we should sally out and attack them."

"You may be sure we shall before long, Skinner. They know well enough
that we cannot stop here, but must move on to the water sooner or later;
and knowing that, they would be fools if they were to give up their
strong position to attack us here. At any rate I would rather be lying
behind this wall than moving about as the general and his staff are
doing. Major Dickson has just been shot through the knee, I hear. There!
Look! there is another officer down. I wonder who he is. I do hope they
won't pot Clinton."

A few minutes later an officer passing by told them that Major Gough of
the Mounted Infantry had been knocked senseless by a bullet which had
grazed his forehead, and that an officer of the artillery had been hit
in the back.

"What do you think of it, sergeant?" Edgar asked, as he and Sergeant
Bowen were eating their breakfast together under shelter of the wall.

"I think that it is going to be a hot job, lad. If they had attacked us
out in the plain we should have made short work of them, but it is a
different thing altogether among these hills. The beggars can run three
feet to our one, and if we were to climb one of these hills to attack
them, they would be on the top of the next before we got there. I see
nothing for it but to move straight for the wells, and let them do their
worst as we go. It would be all right if we hadn't this tremendous train
of camels; but if they come pouring down while we are on the march we
shall have difficulty in protecting them all."

"I wish Rupert were lying here with us," Edgar said, looking anxiously
at his brother, whose figure he could perceive among those near the
general. "It is horrid lying here in safety while he is exposed to their
bullets."

"We must all take our chances," the sergeant said. "Maybe presently you
will be in more danger than he is."

Half an hour later orders were issued that the men were to prepare for
action, and it became known among the officers that the general had
determined to leave a small garrison to protect the baggage and camels
in the zareba, and to push forward with the rest of the force and
capture the wells, and then send back and fetch in the camels and
baggage. But the movement was delayed until ten o'clock in hopes that
the enemy would attack. As they did not do so, orders were given, and
the square formed up. The Guards' Camel Corps formed half the front of
the square, and the right flank. The Mounted Infantry filled up the
other half of the front, and half the left flank. The rest of the left
flank and the rear were formed by the Heavy Camel Corps and the Naval
Brigade; the hundred men of the Sussex taking the right rear corner
between them and the Guards, while the Naval Brigade with their Gardner
gun were in the centre of the rear line, between the troop of the 4th
and 5th Dragoon Guards and that of the 1st and 2d Life Guards and Blues.

In the centre behind the fighting line were two guns of the Royal
Artillery, the other having been left in the zareba, while the centre of
the square was filled with camels carrying water, ammunition, and
cacolets or swinging beds for the carriage of the wounded.

The instant the square was formed and moved out the fire of the enemy
redoubled. Swarms of natives appeared on the top of the hills, moving
parallel with the advance of the square. The march was taken in slow
time to allow the guns and camels to keep up. The ground was extremely
difficult and broken, deep water-ruts and rocky hillocks having to be
crossed, and the whole very undulating and broken.

Men fell fast, and frequent halts had to be made to enable the doctors
to attend to the wounded, and place them in the cacolets. The front face
and sides of the square advanced in fair order, but there was much
confusion in the rear face, caused by the lagging camels. Skirmishers
were thrown out on either side, and these did their best to keep down
the fire of the enemy. For an hour the square proceeded, and had nearly
emerged from the pass on to the plain beyond, when a number of green and
white flags were seen at some distance on the left front. As the firing
had principally come from the right, and as it was from that side that
an attack was expected, there was considerable curiosity as to the
meaning of these seemingly deserted flags; and a small party were about
to go out to investigate them, when a great number of other flags
suddenly appeared at the same spot, and a moment later a vast mass of
Arabs who had been concealed in a gulley sprang to their feet. (See plan
on page 138.)

They were about five hundred yards distant from the square, which was at
the moment halted at the foot of a stony knoll. It was moved at once on
to the rising ground, and the skirmishers were called in. The Arabs with
wild yells moved across the left front, disappeared for a minute behind
some rocks and high grass, and then reappeared close to the left rear,
when they wheeled into line, and with wild yells charged down upon the
square. So quick were their movements that the skirmishers had hardly
time to reach the square, and one man was overtaken and speared before
he reached it.

Several of the exhausted camels with their loads of wounded had been
left outside, lying down at the foot of the slope when the square moved
up it. Their native drivers rushed into shelter, and the wounded would
have fallen into the hands of the enemy had not an officer of the
Guards' Camel Corps and several privates of the Heavies rushed out,
seized the camels, and by main force dragged them into the square. In
the square itself there was a din of voices, the officers shouting to
the men to stand steady and reserve their fire until the skirmishers,
who were between them and the enemy, had run in. The instant they had
done this a roar of musketry broke out from the left and rear faces
of the square, at first in volleys, then in independent fire as fast as
the men could load; but though scores of the enemy fell, their rush was
not checked for a moment, and with wild yells they fell upon the left
corner of the square.

[Illustration: "THE ARABS WITH WILD YELLS CHARGED UPON THE SQUARE."]

The men were but two deep, and were unable to stand the pressure of the
mass of the enemy, and in a moment the rear face of the square was
driven in, and a hand-to-hand fight was going on between the soldiers,
mixed up with the struggling camels and the Arabs. All order was for a
time lost; the voices of the officers were drowned by the din of
musketry, the yells of the Arabs, and the shouts of the men. Each man
fought for himself; but their bayonets were no match for the long spears
of the Arabs, and they were pressed back until the throng of camels
pushed hard against the Guards in front of the square.

The rear ranks of the Mounted Infantry on the left and the Marines on
the right were faced round, and opened a terrible fire into the crowded
mass of natives, while the Heavies with bayonets and clubbed muskets
fought singly, man to man, with their foes. The combat did not last
long. Mowed down by the fire on both flanks the assailants withered
away, and it was not long before silence succeeded the terrible din of
battle. In the interior of the square the last Arab of those who had
pierced the square had fallen, and the fire of the outside faces of the
square had prevented them from receiving any reinforcement from their
friends, and these now fell back sullenly before the leaden hail. As
soon as they had done so there was time to investigate what had taken
place in the centre of the square.

A terrible sight presented itself. The ground was strewn with bodies of
the natives, mingled with those of men of the corps that had formed the
rear face of the square, the 4th and 5th Dragoon Guards, Naval Brigade,
1st and 2d Life Guards, and the Sussex. Among them lay camels which had
been hamstrung or speared by the natives, broken cacolets, and water
tanks and skins, medical stores, and a confusion of articles of all
kinds.

Although forced back by the sheer weight of the native attack, the
Heavies had never been completely broken up. They maintained their
resistance to the end, jammed up as they were against and among the
camels, and thus enabled the men on the two sides of the square to
concentrate their fire on the Arabs.

A loud cheer had broken from the square as the enemy retreated, and they
were prepared to resist another onslaught; for only a portion of their
foes had yet been engaged with them. However, the enemy contented
themselves with keeping up a distant fire from the hills, and then,
doubtless as the news spread how terrible had been the loss of those who
had charged the square, they gradually drew off and all became quiet.
The square now moved off from the rocky knoll upon which they were
crowded, and the work of seeing who had fallen and of assisting the
wounded began. No less than nine officers had been killed and nine
wounded, the greater portion of them belonging to the Heavy Camel
Regiment. Two officers of the Naval Brigade were also among the killed.
Eighty of the rank and file were killed, and upwards of a hundred
wounded. Among the whites lay hundreds of dead Arabs, while arms of all
sorts--spears, javelins, muskets, clubs, hatchets, swords, and knives,
banners and banner-staffs--were everywhere scattered thickly.

Among the killed were Colonel Burnaby, Majors Gough, Carmichael, and
Atherton, Captain Darley, and Lieutenants Law and Wolfe--all belonging
to the Heavies.

To the survivors of those corps who had formed the rear face of the
square, the scene they had gone through seemed a wild and confused
dream. Sergeant Bowen and Edgar had been among those who rushed out and
hauled in the camels with the wounded just before the Arabs came up. As
they got them inside the ranks the roar of fire broke out and they fell
into their places. "Independent firing!" the officer shouted as the
first volley had been discharged, but scarcely had the roll of musketry
begun than through the smoke a dense mass of black figures appeared. A
storm of spears and javelins were poured in upon them, and in an instant
there was a crash as club, spear, and sword struck the muskets, and then
the Heavies were hurled back.

Edgar scarce knew what had happened, but the instant the square was
broken Sergeant Bowen threw himself beside him.

"Steady, lad, steady," he said, "don't throw away a shot; load and stand
ready to shoot the first man who falls on you. That is good!" he said as
Edgar shot a tall Arab who was rushing at him with uplifted spear; "load
again. Now it is my turn," and he brought down a man; and so firing
alternately, sometimes defending themselves with their bayonets, but
always keeping together, they fell back. Once Edgar stumbled and fell
over the body of one of his comrades, but the sergeant seized him by the
shoulder and jerked him on to his feet again, and the next moment ran an
Arab through who was rushing at them with uplifted hatchet. When they
were back among the crowd of camels the fighting became more even.
Stubbornly the men made a stand here, for the natives could no longer
attack them except in front, while the roar of fire from the troops on
the flanks told with terrible effect upon the Arabs.

"Thank God that is over!" the sergeant said as the fight ended. "Are you
badly hurt, lad?"

"I am not hurt at all," Edgar said.

The sergeant pointed to Edgar's left arm. The latter uttered an
exclamation of surprise. He had bayoneted an Arab in the act of striking
at him, and in the wild excitement had for the moment been unconscious
that the blow of the native had taken effect. It had missed his
shoulder, but had cut a deep gash in the arm, almost severing a strip of
flesh down to the elbow.

"I had not the least idea I had been touched," he said. "I don't think
there is any great harm done; the principal arteries are on the other
side of the arm."

"We must stop the bleeding, anyhow," the sergeant said. "I will soon
find a bandage. There are sure to be plenty about, for the surgeons were
at work when they broke in."

He was not long in finding one, and then assisting Edgar off with his
coat he bandaged up his arm.

"You have got a wound on the side, sergeant!" Edgar exclaimed suddenly.

"It is of no consequence, lad. A fellow threw a spear at me. I tried to
dodge it, but was not quite quick enough, and it has grazed my side."

"It is more than a graze--it looks like a deep cut. Just undo your
belt."

"Well, give me your handkerchief. I will roll that and mine into a pad
and shove it in, and put a bandage tightly round my waist to keep it
there. That will do for the present.

"That will do nicely," he said as Edgar fastened the bandage round him.
"Now we shall both do very well until the surgeons have time to tie us
up properly. I am afraid they will have serious cases enough to last
them all night. Now, what is the next move, I wonder? I am horribly
thirsty."

"So am I," Edgar agreed.

"Are you both wounded?" an officer asked, coming up with two men
carrying a water-skin.

"Yes, sir, but not seriously; but we are awfully thirsty."

"Then you can have a drink of water," the officer said. "There is little
enough of it, and it is kept strictly for the wounded."

Many of the men standing near looked on with envious eyes, for all were
suffering horribly from thirst. Several fainted, and the men's lips were
black and swollen, and in some cases the tongue swelled so that the
mouth could not be closed. The 19th were out searching for the wells,
but for a long while their search was in vain. The general was about to
give the word to retire to the zareba where there was a little water
still left, when the Hussars fortunately hit upon the wells. The wounded
who were unable to walk were at once carried there, and the troops
followed and halted near them, and in a short time the thirst of all was
satisfied. Although the water was not to be compared with that at
Gakdul, being found in shallow pools one or two feet deep, and stirred
up by the Arabs till it was almost of the consistency of thin cream,
nevertheless it was water, and was enjoyable indeed.




CHAPTER XII.

METEMMEH.


As soon as the thirst of the men was satisfied the troops formed up for
the night on some rising ground near the wells, where it was probable
that the natives might renew their attack. Volunteers were called for,
and three hundred men from the various corps started to march back to
the zareba to bring in the baggage before daylight. It was a heavy duty
after such a day's work, but those who remained behind had reason almost
to envy those engaged in active work, for the night was terribly cold.
The men had left everything behind as they advanced prepared for action,
and had no blankets, and nothing but their shirts and their suits of
thin serge to protect them from the cold.

The surgeons were at work all night attending to the wounded. No alarm
was given by the outposts during the night, and as when morning broke
there were no signs of the enemy, the men were allowed to fall out. A
herd of lean cattle left by the Arabs was discovered not far off, and
the Hussars went out in pursuit of them; the tired horses were,
however, no match in point of speed for the cattle, but a few of them
were shot, cut up, and a supply of fresh meat for the day secured. At
seven o'clock the baggage train came up. The camels were quickly
unloaded, and the men set to work to prepare breakfast, having had
nothing to eat since the meal they had taken the previous morning under
fire in the zareba.

During the day the dead were buried, the arms left by the natives
collected and destroyed, and a stone inclosure commenced near the wells,
for here the wounded were to remain under the protection of a small
force of the Sussex. Both Edgar and the sergeant protested that they
were perfectly capable of continuing the march, and were permitted to
take their place in the ranks again. At four o'clock the force formed
up, and half an hour later set out. It was given out that the march
would be a short one and they would presently halt for the night, but as
the hours went on it became evident that the general had determined to
keep straight on for the river, a distance of twenty-six miles from the
wells.

It was known that there was a considerable force of the enemy at
Metemmeh, and as this would be augmented by the addition of the
thousands of Arabs who had been engaged on the previous day, it was
probable that, were the enemy aware of the advance of the force, a
battle even more serious and desperate than the first would have to be
fought before reaching the Nile. The object of the night march, then,
was to reach the river before they were aware that the column had
started from the wells. The Nile once gained, and a supply of water
ensured, the force would be able to withstand any attack made on it.
Nevertheless it would have been far better to have risked another battle
in the open than to have made a night march across an unknown country.

The guides differed among themselves as to the route to be pursued, and
more than once the column marched in a complete circle, the advance
guard coming up to the rear. Thick groves of mimosa were passed
through, causing the greatest confusion among the baggage animals. Great
numbers of these lay down to die, unable to proceed a step further, and
the transport of all kinds got mixed up together in the most utter
confusion. The men, who had had but little sleep for two nights, were
unable to keep awake on their camels, and in their passage through the
bushes many of the animals straggled away from the main body.

Sergeant Bowen had managed to place Edgar next to himself upon the plea
that being wounded he wanted to keep his eye upon him. Being both
weakened by loss of blood, they were less able to resist the pressure of
sleep than the others, and when their animals got separated in the
passage through the mimosa grove from the main body, and stopped to crop
the leaves, they were unconscious of what had happened until Edgar woke
with a start as one of the boughs his camel had pushed aside struck him
smartly in the face. His exclamation roused the sergeant. "Hullo! what
has happened?"

"I don't know what has happened," Edgar said. "But it seems to me that
we are alone here. We must both have been asleep, and these brutes must
have separated from the column."

"This is a pretty mess, this is!" the sergeant said. "I cannot hear
anything of them, and there was row enough in the rear with the baggage
to be heard miles away. What on on earth are we to do, lad?"

"Well, we were marching nearly south. The Southern Cross was almost dead
ahead of us. We had better steer by that, and go on ahead until
morning."

The camels were at once set in motion, and for hours they plodded on.
All desire for sleep had been completely dissipated by the excitement of
the situation, and they talked in low tones as to what they were to do
if they could make out no signs of the column when day broke. They
agreed that their only plan was to keep on until they got to the river,
and that when they arrived there they would water the camels and give
them a feed, and after a rest start on foot along the bank one way or
the other until they found the column.

"There is safe to be a lot of firing," the sergeant said; "for even if
the Arabs don't discover the force in the morning before they get to the
river, they are certain to turn out to attack them as soon as they get
there. Judging by the pace we were going, and the constant halts for the
baggage to come up, there is very little chance of the column getting to
the river before daylight; and as we have nothing to delay us, I expect
we shall be there before they are."

"In one respect that will be all the better," Edgar said; "for as soon
as the natives make out the column they will be swarming all over the
country to look for stragglers, whereas if we are ahead of them we may
get through to the river without being noticed. I don't think that it
will be very long before morning breaks, and, do you know, sergeant, I
think our camels are going faster than they were."

"I think so too, lad. That looks as if we were getting near the water,
and they smell it."

Just as the first signs of daybreak were apparent in the east the
character of the country changed, and they could make out clumps of
trees, and, as the light grew brighter, cultivated ground. Ten minutes
later they both gave a shout of joy as on mounting a slight ascent the
river lay before them. A few minutes later they were on its bank. The
camels rushing down put their noses into the water; their riders slipped
from their backs regardless of the fact that the water was knee-deep,
and wading back to the shore threw themselves down by the edge, and took
long draughts of the clear water. Then throwing off their clothes they
rushed in and indulged in a bathe.

The camels, after filling themselves nearly to bursting, lay down in the
stream until the sergeant and Edgar went out and compelled them to
return to shore, when they set to work cropping the long grass that
grew abundantly there, while their riders sat down and made a meal from
the contents of their haversacks.

"Well, at any rate," the sergeant said, "we can do nothing just at
present. The troops may be within a mile, and they may be ten miles off;
there is no saying. There is nothing for us to do but to wait until we
hear something of them. If we do not hear anything of them we shall know
that they either have not struck the river, or have struck it so far off
that we cannot hear the guns. In that case my opinion is that we may as
well rest here for to-day. Before we move I think it will be decidedly
better to take the saddles off the camels and hide them in the bushes,
and then move away some distance and hide up ourselves. This is
evidently a cultivated country, and if there are any natives about they
will be sure to see the camels, so we had better not be near them. There
is no fear of the animals straying; they will be eating and drinking all
day."

The saddles were accordingly removed from the camels' backs and hidden;
the two men went back a few hundred yards from the river and lay down
amongst some bushes. Edgar was just dropping off to sleep, when the
sergeant exclaimed, "Listen! they are at it."

Edgar at once roused himself, and distinctly heard the boom of a distant
gun.

"That is one of the seven-pounders," the sergeant said; "and I think I
can hear the sound of musketry, but I am not sure about that."

Presently, however, the wind brought down distinctly the sound of
dropping shots.

"Skirmishing, lad! I suppose the enemy are hovering about them, but
haven't come to close quarters yet."

"It is horrible being here instead of with them!" Edgar exclaimed as he
rose to his feet.

"It is no use thinking of moving, lad; they are four or five miles away
certainly, and as the Arabs are probably all round them, there wouldn't
be the slightest chance of our joining them. There is nothing to do but
to wait here. The sound comes from inland, so it is certain they have
not got to the river yet. As far as I can judge it is pretty nearly
behind us, so when they lick those fellows they are likely to come down
on the river somewhere near this point. They will be down before
evening. You may be sure they had not got water enough to last them
through the day, so they must move forward however many of the natives
may be in their way. It is not like the last business; then they were on
us almost before we knew they were coming, but in this flat country we
shall have plenty of warning; and I will bet a year's pay they don't get
up to our square again. I think, lad, I will get you to set my bandages
right again."

Edgar uttered an exclamation of alarm. There was a large dark patch on
the sergeant's trousers. In dressing after their bathe the bandages had
shifted a little, and the bleeding had recommenced. It was evident at
once to Edgar that a great deal of blood had been lost, for Sergeant
Bowen lay faint and exhausted upon the ground. Unknown to himself the
action of the camel had set the wound off bleeding during the night, and
although he had said nothing to Edgar about it, he had with difficulty
walked up from the river to their hiding-place. Edgar ran down to the
river with the two water-bottles; when he returned he found his
companion insensible. He unbuttoned his tunic and got at the wound, from
which blood was still flowing. He washed it, made a plug of wet linen,
and with some difficulty bandaged it tightly. After some time the
sergeant opened his eyes.

"Don't try to move," Edgar said. "I have staunched and bandaged the
wound, and you will be better soon."

"It is a bad job, lad; just at present when we want to be up and doing."

"There is nothing to do at present, sergeant. We have only to wait
quietly until our fellows come down to the river, and then I will soon
get you assistance."

"Do you hear the firing still?"

"It is just as it was," Edgar replied, after listening attentively for a
minute.

"Then I expect they have formed another zareba, as they did at Abu Klea,
and that they will leave the camels there and march straight down to the
river."

"I will steal up to the edge of the desert, if you don't mind being left
alone a bit. I shall be able to judge then how far they are off."

"Do so, lad; I am all right here. But do not be too long away or I shall
be anxious."

Edgar made his way a quarter of a mile back. Some cultivated fields
stretched before him, and beyond them the rolling hillocks of the
desert. He could see men on horseback and foot moving about, and looking
to the right saw about half a mile distant a place of some extent, which
was, he felt sure, Metemmeh. Numbers of men were pouring out from the
town. The firing was not straight ahead, but somewhat to the left. "If
they attack Metemmeh at once we shall be all right," he said to himself.
"If they march straight down to the river we shall be all right still.
We shall only have to move along to them. It is lucky we did not strike
the river above the town, for it would have been next to impossible to
get round to them without being observed."

He went back to his companion, and told him what he had seen.

"There is evidently going to be another tough fight before they get down
to the water," the sergeant said. "It is very hard our being cut off
here. Not that I should be good for any fighting if I were with them."

"I have no great desire to be in another fight like the last," Edgar
said. "One go at that sort of thing is quite enough for me."

The hours passed slowly. The sergeant slept a good deal, and anxious as
Edgar was he too several times dozed off. Presently he exclaimed, "The
fire is become much heavier, sergeant; and it is nearer too. Listen!"

"It is the Arabs, lad," the sergeant said, raising himself on his elbow.
"It is heavy, but it is nothing like the roll of musketry you hear when
our fellows begin. But, as you say, it is much nearer; the column, or
part of it, is on its march towards the river."

Five minutes later a dull continuous rattle came to their ears.

"They are at it now. They have stopped!" he said a minute later when the
roar suddenly ceased. "What has happened now, I wonder? Ah! there they
are again. That is more like it--steady and even."

The musketry came in sudden crashes. "Volleys!" the sergeant said. "They
are near them."

For three or four minutes the sounds continued, and then there was
silence.

"They have beaten them off," the sergeant said. "They didn't let them
get near them this time, I expect. If they had there would have been
independent firing. As long as you hear volleys you may be sure our
fellows are not pressed."

Beyond an occasional shot the firing had ceased.

"How far do you think they are away now, sergeant?"

"If they were four miles before I don't think they are more than two
now, and a good bit more away to the left. They are making to the river,
so as to establish themselves there before they tackle Metemmeh."

"Then in half an hour they will be down on the river," Edgar said. "I
will wait that time, and then start and get a party to bring you in."

"You had better wait until to-morrow morning, lad. We can do very well
until then. I may be able to crawl by that time. Anyhow, they will have
their hands full this afternoon. They will have to make a zareba by the
river, attend to the wounded, and perhaps send back a force to bring in
the camels and baggage, who were no doubt left behind at the spot where
they were firing this morning. There is grub enough in the haversacks to
last us until to-morrow, and plenty of water for the fetching."

"Just as you think best, sergeant. My shoulder is smarting a good deal,
and I shall be all the better for a few more hours' rest myself. It will
soon be getting dusk, so I will go down and get another supply of water
at once, and then we can do a good twelve hours' sleep without fear of
being called up for outpost duty. We have got three or four nights'
sleep to make up."

It was broad daylight before they awoke. The sergeant got on to his
feet, but it was evident to Edgar that he was altogether unfit for
walking.

"Shall I saddle your camel for you, sergeant?"

"No, lad; I will stay where I am. Like enough the Arabs will be swarming
about just within gun-shot of our camp. They are obstinate beggars, and
do not know when they are fairly beaten. If I were as active as you are
we might manage to get through on foot, but a man on a camel would be
sure to be seen. Be very careful, lad, how you go. Remember, if you are
seen you are lost; for these fellows could run you down to a certainty,
and your only chance is to get through without being noticed."

"I don't like leaving you, sergeant."

"But you must leave me, lad. We have no food to speak of left, and it
will be just as dangerous to-morrow or next day as it is to-day.
Besides, your duty is with the corps. Every musket may be needed, and
the sooner you go the sooner I shall be fetched in."

"Very well, then, I will start at once," Edgar said.

He first went down to the river, filled the two water-bottles and placed
them both by the sergeant's side, and emptied what little food remained
in his haversack.

"Now you will do for a couple of days if anything should occur to
prevent them from sending out."

"I shall do very well, lad. It is not of myself I shall be thinking, but
of you. The gladdest sound that ever fell on my ears will be the tramp
of infantry, for then I shall know that you have got safely through.
Good-bye, lad, and God bless you!"

Edgar wrung the sergeant's hand, and, unable to trust himself to speak,
turned and started through the wood. He had not gone very far when he
found that the grove was by no means a large one, for the trees opened
before him. He bore to his left, hoping that they would extend along the
river bank; but it was not so. The grove was isolated, and a large patch
of cultivated land stretched down to the river. Half a mile further
there was another grove; but whether this was more extensive than that
in which he now was he had no means of telling. Standing at the edge of
the trees he could see several figures on horseback moving about, and
saw at once that they were natives.

"The Hussars will want two or three days' rest, I expect," he said,
"before their horses are fit to go out and drive these fellows into the
town. Well, here goes!" and he descended the bank of the river, which
was now low, and kept along under its shelter until he reached the next
grove.

It seemed so much safer where he was than it would be above that he
determined to keep under shelter of the bank until he reached the camp.
He had gone a hundred yards farther when there was a sudden exclamation
on the bank above him, and almost at the same instant a spear struck his
helmet from his head. He turned round and brought his rifle to his
shoulder, but in a moment the Arab on the bank was joined by a score of
others, who with loud yells rushed down upon him.

[Illustration: "GOOD-BYE, LAD, AND GOD BLESS YOU!"]

He saw that to fire was to ensure his death, and that resistance was
worse than useless. He therefore threw down his gun and held up his
arms. The Arabs rushed upon him in a body with uplifted spears and
swords, but on an order sharply given by one who seemed to be their
leader they lowered these. Edgar was, however, knocked down, kicked, and
beaten, then some cords were placed round his body and arms, and he felt
himself lifted up and carried away.

He was thrown down again in the wood, and an animated and, as it seemed
to him, angry discussion was carried on some time. He had picked up a
good many Arabic words, but not enough to enable him to understand the
discussion; but he had no doubt that the subject of dispute was whether
he should be killed at once or carried away prisoner. As after a time he
was lifted up, the cords round his legs taken off, and he was hurried
along with many curses and an occasional sharp prick with a spear, he
judged that those in favour of sparing his life for the present had won
the day.

His own prospects seemed desperate, but for the time he was more
concerned at the thought that the man who was perhaps his father was
lying helpless in the wood vainly expecting his return. But he did not
consider his case altogether hopeless. As soon as the troops were all
assembled on the river bank they would be sure to move forward against
Metemmeh; and even if they did not pass through the wood the sergeant
might gain sufficient strength to reach its edge, get sight of them, and
join them. Unless one or other of these alternatives took place, he was
lost. As to himself, he could not blame himself for the misfortune that
had befallen him. He had taken what seemed by far the safest course, and
had it not been for the accident that one of the Arabs had been standing
at the moment at the edge of the river, he would have got through
safely.

His captors had evidently no fear of being attacked. Probably the column
that had gone out to fetch in the baggage had not yet returned, and the
small force left at the zareba on the river bank would certainly not
undertake any offensive operation until it came back. He was sorry now
that he had not persisted in his own opinion and remained with the
sergeant, as in another day or two some scouting party might have passed
near the grove in which they were concealed. However, it might have made
no difference. The Arabs were evidently swarming about the country, and
parties would be likely to occupy that wood just as they occupied the
one nearer to the English camp.

As they approached the village the Arabs raised shouts of triumph, and a
crowd gathered as they entered the street, gesticulating and screaming
so furiously that Edgar thought he would be torn to pieces. However, his
captors forced their way through the crowd, turned off from the street,
and entered a court-yard, in the centre of which stood a house of larger
size than the majority of those that composed the town. Edgar's legs
were again tied, and he was thrown into an outhouse, where he lay for
hours. He could hear almost continuous talking in the house, and the
voices occasionally rose into angry altercation.

He was surprised that he had not been killed as he entered the place,
for the Arabs, if they fought with the same courage as those engaged at
Abu Klea, must have suffered very heavily before they fell back, and the
friends and relatives of those who had fallen would be thirsting for
vengeance upon any European who fell into their power. Then he
considered that it was probable that the people of Metemmeh itself, who
lived by the passage of caravans and the river traffic, would at heart
be as much opposed to the Mahdi as were those of Khartoum and other
cities.

The force with which the British had fought at Abu Klea was composed
partly of the Mahdi's regular followers, partly of wild tribesmen,
animated alike by Mahommedan fanaticism and the hope of plunder; and
although these might unite in an attack against Christians, they had
little love for each other. The band into whose hands he had fallen
might be townspeople, but more probably were members of some tribe that
had been summoned to arrest the progress of the troops going up to the
relief of Khartoum.

Now that he was detained a prisoner instead of being at once killed,
Edgar felt that there was a strong chance for him. In a couple of days
the force might attack Metemmeh, and in that case he might be rescued.
It was, however, a place of considerable size, and containing at present
a very large number of fighting men; and after the losses the column had
suffered in the first fight and during its subsequent encounters,
General Stewart might well hesitate to risk still greater loss than he
had already suffered by an attack upon the place.

It was probable that the Mahdi would send down a large body of troops
from those besieging Khartoum, as soon as he heard of the arrival of the
small British force on the river, and every gun might be needed to
maintain the position and repel attacks until the arrival of
reinforcements across the desert.

Thus Edgar felt it to be very doubtful whether any attack would be made
for the present. Of course as soon as reinforcements arrived, or the
boat column came up the river, Metemmeh would be captured; but by that
time he might be hundreds of miles away. The boat column might not get
round for six weeks, while all reinforcements coming across the desert
from Korti would have to march, for Edgar felt sure that it would be a
long time before the camels were in a condition for work again.

It was well that when he filled the two water-bottles for the use of the
sergeant Edgar had taken a long drink, for no one came near him until
after dark, and he suffered a good deal from thirst, and from the pain
caused by the tightness with which he was bound. He began to think that
he had been altogether forgotten, when the door of the outhouse opened
and two Arabs came in, and seizing him as if he had been a package
dragged him out into the court-yard. Then he received two or three kicks
as an intimation that he could sit up; but this, roped as he was, he was
unable to accomplish, and seeing this the men pulled him against a wall
and raised him into a sitting position against it.

A fire was burning in the centre of the court-yard. On some cushions in
front of it sat a man, whom he recognized as the leader of the party who
seized him. Other Arabs were squatted on the ground or standing round.
The chief was past the prime of life, but still a powerful and sinewy
man. His features were not prepossessing; but Edgar, looking round,
thought that the expression of his face was less savage than that of the
majority of his followers.

"Does the Christian dog speak the language of the Prophet?" he asked.

"I speak a little Arabic," Edgar replied, inwardly congratulating
himself upon the trouble he had taken to pick up a little of the
language during the time he had been in Egypt.

The answer was evidently satisfactory. The chief bowed his head.

"It is good!" he said. "The Kaffir is henceforth a slave in the tents of
the Sheik Bakhat of the Jahrin tribe."

As he pointed to himself, Edgar understood that his captor intended to
keep him as his own property, at any rate for the present, and bowed his
head to signify that he understood.

"Why are the English foolish enough to come here?" the sheik asked.
"They must know that they cannot stand against the power of the Mahdi."

"They did not come to interfere with the Mahdi, but to bring back their
countryman Gordon and his friends from Khartoum."

"They will never reach Khartoum," the sheik said. "Their bones will
whiten in the desert."

Edgar did not reply, partly because his knowledge of Arabic was
insufficient for a discussion, partly because it was not worth while to
run the risk of exciting the anger of the chief by pointing out that as
they had failed to prevent a thousand men crossing the desert to
Metemmeh, they might similarly fail in preventing a force of seven or
eight times that amount marching up the banks of the river to Khartoum.
He therefore remained silent.

"The Mahdi is invincible," the sheik went on after a pause. "He will
conquer Egypt, and after that will destroy the Kaffirs and take their
city of Rome, and will capture Constantinople if the Turks deny his
authority."

"The Mahdi is a great man!" Edgar said gravely, although with difficulty
repressing a smile. "Who can say what may happen?" Then seeing that this
answer was also considered satisfactory he went on: "Your slave is
hungry and thirsty. He has been wounded, and his bonds hurt him greatly.
If he is to be of use to you, will you order that food and drink be
given him?"

The chief nodded, and at a motion of his hand two of his followers freed
Edgar from his bonds, and a dish containing some boiled meal and a jug
of water were placed beside him. Edgar drank deeply, but was only able
to take a few mouthfuls of food as he was feverish and in considerable
pain; for the wound in his arm, which would have been comparatively
slight had proper attention been paid to it, was inflamed and angry, and
the arm greatly swollen.

As no further attention was paid to him he returned to the outhouse,
took off his karkee tunic, and tearing some strips from it, wetted them
and laid them on his shoulder. Presently the door was closed, and he
heard a heap of brushwood thrown against it, an effectual way of
preventing an attempt to escape, for as the door opened outwards the
slightest movement would cause a rustling of the bushes and arouse the
Arabs who were sleeping in the court-yard. There was no window. Edgar,
seeing that escape was out of the question, laid himself down and tried
to sleep, but the pain of his arm was so great that it was some hours
before he succeeded in doing so. The next morning he was allowed to go
out into the yard, and for some time no attention was paid to him. Then
a considerable hubbub was heard in the town, with much shouting and
yelling. An Arab ran in at the gate with some news. Edgar could not
understand his hurried words, but the effect was evident. The men seized
their arms, and then at the sheik's order Edgar was again securely bound
and fastened in the outhouse.

In the course of an hour he heard firing, first dropping shots and then
two or three sharp volleys, and knew that the British were advancing
against the town, and that the Arabs had gone out to skirmish with them.
Then there was a long pause, and he heard the sound of the English
field-pieces. He listened for musketry, but in vain.

"It is only a reconnaissance," he said to himself. "Those little guns
would not batter down the mud walls round the town without an expense of
ammunition that could not be afforded. No doubt the troops could take it
by storm, but surely the general would not risk the heavy loss they
would suffer before they got in, especially as the place would be of no
use to them when they took it, and must fall as a matter of course when
the rest of the force arrives."

Such being his opinion, he was but little disappointed when the firing
ceased, and he knew by the triumphant yells of the Arabs that the
British force were retiring. In a short time he heard a clamour of
voices in the court-yard, and he was presently unbound and released.

"The Kaffirs did not dare to attack the place," the Arab said
exultantly. "They have gone back to their camp. In a day or two there
will be forces here from Khartoum and Berber, and then we will destroy
or make slaves of them all."

Four days later there was a great firing of muskets and triumphant
yelling in the streets. Edgar felt very anxious, fearing that the
expected reinforcements had arrived, and that a tremendous attack was
about to be made upon the camp. He did not believe that it had already
taken place, for he felt confident that every pain had been taken to
strengthen the position, and that in whatever numbers the assault might
be made it would be repulsed. Presently, however, the sheik himself
deigned to tell him the cause of the rejoicing.

"There is news from Khartoum," he said. "The city has been taken, and
the Englishman Gordon and all his followers have been killed. The news
is certain. It has been brought down to us by tribesmen on both sides of
the river. I told you that the Mahdi was irresistible."

The blow was a terrible one to Edgar. In the first place it was grievous
to think that the expedition had been made in vain, and that, owing to
those in authority at home delaying for months before making up their
minds to rescue Gordon, it had failed in its object, and that the
noblest of Englishmen had been left to die, unaided by those who had
sent him out. He thought of the intense disappointment that would be
felt by the troops, of the grief that there would be in England when the
news was known, and then he wondered what would be done next. It was
evident to him at once that his own position was altogether changed. He
had before felt confident that unless his captors moved away from the
town before the arrival of the main body of the expedition he should be
rescued, but now it seemed altogether uncertain whether the expedition
would come at all.

So long as Gordon was alive England was bound to make every effort to
rescue him; but now that he and his companions were dead, and Khartoum
had fallen, she might not feel herself called upon to attempt the
reconquest of the Soudan. It was probable, however, that this would be
the best, and in the end the cheapest way out of the difficulty. Here
was a force that had at an enormous expense been brought up almost to
within striking distance of Khartoum, and which could be relied upon to
make its way thither to defeat the armies of the Mahdi, and to recapture
Khartoum without any very great difficulty. The provisions and stores
had all been purchased and brought up, and scarce any outlay additional
to that already incurred would be entailed by the operation.

Upon the other hand, to retire now would be to leave the whole Soudan in
the hands of the Mahdi and his fanatics. It would mean the destruction
of the settled government established by the Egyptians, and it would
expose Egypt to incessant invasions, which we should be bound to repel.
Common sense, humanity, and even economy seemed to favour the advance of
the force to Khartoum. The British people, roused to anger by the fate
of Gordon, would probably call loudly for the vindication of the
national honour, and for an act of retribution on the murderers of
Gordon.

But Edgar felt that another way out of the difficulty might present
itself to the authorities at home. It was not unlikely that the counsels
of those who, from the first, had been against the expedition would
prevail, and that it would retire to Egypt without striking another
blow. In that case it seemed that there was nothing before him but
lifelong slavery. Edgar, however was at an age when hope is not easily
relinquished.

"I may be a slave a long time," he said, "but sooner or later I will
escape. I will get to speak the language like a native. I am already
almost burnt to their colour, and shall ere long be able to pass as one
of themselves. It is hard indeed if after a time I cannot manage to
escape, and to make my way either back to Egypt or down to the Red Sea,
or into Abyssinia. If I did not feel sure that I could do either one or
the other, I would do something that would make them kill me at once."




CHAPTER XIII.

ABU KRU.


Sergeant Bowen and Edgar were by no means the only men who straggled
away from the main body during that terrible night's march from the
wells of Abu Klea. Many straggled; some managed to rejoin the column in
the morning, others wandered away and were never heard of again. Morning
found the exhausted and worn-out men and animals still at a distance
from the Nile. Some miles away a long line of verdure showed where the
river lay, but the general felt that at present the men could do no
more, and that a halt for some hours was absolutely necessary. Parties
of the enemy's horse and foot men could be seen among the sand-hills,
and distant shots had already been fired.

The object of the terrible march had failed; it was no longer possible
to reach the river without fighting again, and to fight as they were,
encumbered with the baggage train and overpowered with fatigue, was but
to court disaster. Therefore a halt was ordered. To the soldiers the
order was unwelcome; tired as they were, they would rather, now that the
river was but some four miles away, have pushed straight on and have
done with it. But the condition of the animals positively forbade this.
A camping ground was chosen on a bare gravelly place on the scrub where
the ground rose slightly. The work of unloading and arranging the camels
at once began, but before it was concluded a dropping fire was opened by
the natives from the long grass and bush in the distance.

The troops were set to work to erect a zareba with the saddles,
biscuit-boxes, and other stores, while parties of skirmishers
endeavoured to keep down the fire of the enemy. This, however, was a
difficult task, as the natives were entirely concealed, and the men
could only fire at the puffs of smoke arising from the grass and bushes.
To the Arabs, however, the camp presented a clear mark, and the sharp
rap of the musketballs as they struck the wall, or the thud with which
they buried themselves among the crowd of kneeling camels, was very
frequent. Several men were hit, and soon after nine o'clock the report
spread through the camp that Sir Herbert Stewart had received a very
dangerous if not mortal wound.

The news caused deep sorrow throughout the troops. The general was most
popular both with officers and men, and there was not one but felt that
his loss would be a personal one. It was, moreover, most unfortunate for
the expedition itself at such a moment to be deprived of its leader.
Before starting, Colonel Burnaby had been designated to assume the
command in case of any accident happening to the general; but Burnaby
had fallen at Abu Klea, and it therefore devolved upon Sir Charles
Wilson, who was accompanying the force solely in a diplomatic capacity,
and who was to push up the river in one of the steamers and communicate
with General Gordon as soon as the force reached the Nile.

Soon afterwards orders were given that a ridge of ground sixty yards
distant on the right front should be occupied, as from that point the
ground beyond was commanded to a considerable distance, and the enemy
thus prevented from gathering for a sudden rush from that direction.
Skinner and Easton were lying down together under cover of the wall when
the order was given. Skinner was energetically denouncing the night
march and the present halt. Easton was smiling quietly, and occasionally
pointing out the difficulties which would have ensued had his
companion's view of the matter been adopted.

"It is beastly lying here doing nothing," Skinner finally grumbled.

"Well, there is no occasion for you to do so," Easton said as an officer
passed along saying that volunteers were required to carry boxes to
build a small work on the ridge.

Skinner at once jumped to his feet, ran to the pile of biscuit-boxes,
seized two of them, swung them on to his shoulders and started for the
ridge. Easton followed in more leisurely fashion, and a number of other
officers and men at once set about the work. It was not pleasant. As
soon as the concealed enemy saw what was being done they directed their
fire upon the party, and the bullets flew fast across the ground that
had to be passed over. Several men dropped, but the work was continued
vigorously, and in the course of an hour a small work was raised upon
the ridge, and a half-company placed there as its garrison. Hour after
hour went on, the fire of the enemy getting heavier and heavier, the men
dropping fast.

"Well, Easton, what do you think of it now?" Skinner asked.

"I think it is most annoying," Easton said. "I cannot think why we don't
do something. I suppose the general being hit has upset the
arrangements. If we are going to move I don't see what advantage there
is in putting it off; it isn't as if we were getting any rest here. I
hope to goodness we are not going to wait here until dark; every hour we
stop adds to the casualties. I hear two of the special correspondents
have been killed, Cameron of the _Standard_ and St. Leger Herbert of the
_Post_. The camels are being killed in scores. Another four-and-twenty
hours of this work there won't be enough men left to fight our way down
to the river. It has got to be done, and we might just as well do it at
once."

It was not until half-past three that the welcome order was given to
prepare to move forward. A portion of the Heavy Camel Regiment, the
Hussars, and Naval Brigade were left behind with the three guns to hold
the inclosure, while the rest, formed in square as at Abu Klea,
advanced.

The camels with the wounded were in the centre. The Marines and
Grenadiers formed the front of the square, the Coldstream and Scots
Guards were on the right, the Mounted Infantry on the left, the Sussex
and the remainder of the Heavies in the rear. The fire of the enemy
redoubled as the square set out on its way. Halting occasionally to fire
a few volleys at the spots where the enemy's fire was thickest the
square made its way gradually onward, keeping as much as possible on
ridges so as to avoid being surrounded by the enemy placed in commanding
positions. At last the fire of the Arabs suddenly ceased, and a great
crowd, several thousand strong, headed by many horsemen, charged down
upon the face and left flank of the square.

They were some five hundred yards away, and a cheer broke from the
British square when it was evident that the long suspense was over and
the supreme moment at hand. Volley after volley was fired, and then,
seeing that the fire was taking but little effect, and knowing that
nothing discourages men so much as seeing their fire fail to stop the
rush of an enemy, Sir Charles Wilson ordered the bugle to sound "Cease
firing!" The order was obeyed; the men stood steady until the enemy were
within three hundred yards; then the bugle-call "Commence firing!"
sounded, and from the front and left face of the square sweeping volleys
were poured into the crowded mass.

"Aim low and fire steadily, men!" was the shout of the officers; and so
well were they obeyed that the front ranks of the Arabs were mown down
like grass. For a time they still pushed forward, but the fire was too
terrible to be withstood; and although a few of the leaders arrived
within fifty yards of the square, their followers hesitated when still
at a distance of a hundred. Hesitation in the case of a charge is fatal.
The storm of bullets still tore its way through the mass; the Arabs
wavered, turned, and were soon in full flight.

The battle had lasted but a few minutes, but the victory was complete,
and three hearty cheers broke from the victors. There was a halt for a
few minutes for the men to fill up their pouches from the reserve
ammunition and to have a drink of water. They then moved forward again,
confidently expecting that the attack would be renewed; but the Arabs
had had enough of it, and the square moved on without interruption
until, half an hour after sunset, they reached the river. The wounded
were at once carried forward to the water, and then the troops were
marched up by companies, and each in turn were permitted to drink their
fill. Then guards were posted, and the exhausted troops threw themselves
down on the ground.

The object of their long march was attained, the Nile was reached, and
thenceforth there would be no further suffering from want of water. The
next day communication would be opened with Gordon's steamers, their
friends would in the morning be fetched in from the zareba, and then
there would be a long rest until the boat column arrived and the
remainder of the force from Korti marched across to join them.

In the morning Easton went across from his own company to the Marines.

"Where is Mr. Skinner?" he asked a sergeant.

"He is down with the wounded at the river, sir. He had his left arm
broken by a bullet just as we left the zareba. He was just in front of
me at the time, and I made a shift to bandage his arm and tied it up to
his body, and then he took his place in the ranks again and kept on with
them until we got here; then when we halted he fainted right off, and we
carried him down to the hospital camp by the water."

Easton at once went down to visit his friend. He was lying on a
stretcher.

"Well, Skinner, I am awfully sorry to hear that you got hit. How are you
feeling, old man?"

"I cannot say much for myself just at present; it is only about half an
hour since they finished bandaging me up and putting on splints; they
just stopped the bleeding last night, and then I asked them to leave me
alone until this morning. They had lots of serious cases to attend to,
and mine would keep well enough; besides, I was so weak with loss of
blood, and so really done up, that I felt that I could not stand any
more then, and I was asleep in a very few minutes. However, my arm woke
me up before daylight, and I was glad enough to have it put in proper
shape, though it hurt me deucedly, I can tell you. However, it is
comparatively easy now, and I hope I shall be all right by the time the
advance begins. What a blessing it is having shade and water here!"

"It is, indeed," Easton agreed. "Now I must say good-bye, for I don't
know what is to be done, and we are sure to be under arms directly."

The troops moved off in a few minutes after Easton returned to his
company, and after carefully examining the ground a small village named
Abu Kru, a few yards from the river on rising ground, entirely deserted
by the natives, was selected for a camp. The wounded were at once
carried up there and were left in charge of the Heavies, while the
Guards and Mounted Infantry started for the zareba, the Sussex being
sent out on the right to watch Metemmeh and keep the enemy in check
should they advance against the village. The water-skins and camel-tanks
were all filled, for but little water had been left at the zareba; and
the men, although they had scarcely eaten any food for the last
forty-eight hours, started in good spirits, perfectly ready for another
fight should the enemy try to stop them. But although large numbers of
them gathered on a hill near the town they abstained from any attack,
and the column reached the zareba, where they were received with hearty
cheers by its little garrison.

These had not been attacked during their absence, although a scattered
musketry fire had been kept up upon them until dark. To this they
replied vigorously, and the guns had done good service to the square
while on its march by keeping up a shell fire upon any bodies of the
enemy that could be made out on the eminences near it. The garrison had
suffered great suspense after the square had disappeared from their
sight, for they could see large bodies of men hurrying in that
direction, and their anxiety was great when the sudden outburst of
musketry told them that the square was attacked. What the issue of the
fight had been they knew not, but their hopes that the Arabs had been
defeated increased as time went on and no attack was made upon
themselves, for had the enemy been successful they would speedily have
poured down to the attack of the feebly-defended baggage.

As soon as the column arrived the work of pulling down the walls of
boxes and saddles, getting the camels to their feet and loading them,
began. So many of the camels had been killed that the number surviving
was insufficient to carry down the stores, therefore the smaller redoubt
was left untouched and a stronger garrison than before placed in it, and
the rest moved down to the river. The troops all partook of a hearty
meal before the start was made. Sir Herbert Stewart and the rest of the
wounded were taken down in the cacolets with the column.

Rupert Clinton had remained in the zareba when the square had marched
forward. He had been greatly exhausted by the night march and had had a
slight sunstroke before the square moved out; the doctors had therefore
ordered him not to accompany it, but to stay at the zareba and assist
the general and other wounded.

"You are looking very shaky, Clinton," Easton said when he joined him.

"I am all right to-day," he replied; "rather heavy about the head; but a
bath and a long night's rest will set me up again. Skinner is all right,
I hope?"

"No, I am sorry to say he has got his left arm broken. I saw him for a
moment before we started. He got hit just after he left here, but stuck
to his company all through. I asked one of the surgeons, and he said
that unless fever or anything of that sort came on he was likely to go
on all right, and that he did not think that there was much chance of
his losing his arm. He has plenty of pluck, Skinner has."

"I should think so," Rupert said. "A fellow who could play an uphill
game of football as he could can be trusted to keep his courage up under
any circumstances. Do you know what we are going to do, Easton? Are we
going to attack Metemmeh?"

"I have not the least idea. It is a big place, a lot bigger than we
expected, and there are a tremendous lot of fighting men there. It is
fortunate they did not all make a rush at us together yesterday,
although I don't think it would have made any difference. But it would
be a very risky thing to attack such a place as that, swarming with
fanatics, with our present force. It would be too big to hold if we
took it, and we might lose two or three hundred men in the attack and
street fighting; and as it is said that a big force is coming down the
river to attack us, it would certainly be a risk, and a big one, to lose
a lot of men in an attack on this place, which we shall be able to take
without any difficulty as soon as the rest of the force comes up. I
expect we shall try a reconnaissance. If the Arabs bolt, and we find
that we can take the place without hard fighting, we shall take it; but
if they show a determination to stick there and defend it to the last I
think we shall leave it alone."

The column returned to the river without meeting with any opposition;
but it was evident from the number of Arabs who were seen moving about
in the direction of Metemmeh that the check of the previous day had by
no means disheartened them, and that they were still in very
considerable force in and around the town.

Late at night the orders were issued for the troops to parade at
half-past four in the morning; and leaving a small force to guard Abu
Kru, or as it was sometimes called Gubat, the rest of the troops marched
towards Metemmeh. Two villages deserted by the inhabitants were passed,
and then a view was obtained of the town. Crowds of Arabs were seen
outside its walls.

The officer in command of the company of Grenadiers that was marching in
extended order in front of the column picked out twenty of the best
shots and ordered them to elevate their sights to two thousand yards and
fire five volleys. Great as the distance was, the effect was
considerable. With the aid of glasses two or three of the enemy were
seen to fall, and the rest scattered in all directions and speedily took
shelter within the walls. The seven-pounders then opened fire, but the
shot produced little or no result, simply punching holes in the mud
walls. The troops then moved nearer, marching along the southern side to
see if any place suitable for an assault could be discovered; but
everywhere the wall was loopholed, and the incessant fire showed that it
was strongly manned.

A Krupp gun on the walls presently opened fire with so accurate an aim
that the column fell back a short distance. At this moment a cheer rose
as four steamers were seen coming along the river flying the Egyptian
flag. They ran towards the shore and landed two hundred negro soldiers
with some small brass guns. These were speedily placed into position
beside the seven-pounders, and the negro infantry, advancing in
skirmishing order, opened fire at once. They brought news that Gordon
was still holding out, and also that three thousand of the enemy were on
their way down and were but two days' march away.

This news decided Sir Chas. Wilson against running the risk of
materially weakening his force by an assault on the town, and the column
fell back to Abu Kru. On their way a portion of the Guards' Regiment was
told off to search the groves and plantations to see that there were no
Arabs lurking there. Presently they came upon two camels grazing in a
grove. "Search about well, men," the officer in command said; "their
owners may be hidden somewhere close."

In a minute or two one of the men called out, "Here are two saddles,
sir, hidden in the bushes; they are scarlet, and belong to one of our
regiments."

The officers speedily gathered to the spot. "They are certainly our
saddles," the officer in command said, "how in the world did the camels
get here? I suppose they must have wandered away during the night march
and been picked up by some of the Arabs and driven on here."

"But they are riding camels," one of the others put in; "they must have
belonged to some of the men who were missing on the night march; the
poor fellows were killed, no doubt."

"They may have ridden them on here," Easton suggested; "after they got
separated from the column the camels may have smelt the water and come
on here before daylight broke."

"That is true, Easton. You see one of these saddles has blood stains on
it; perhaps its rider was wounded. We will search the grove
thoroughly."

The search was renewed, and in a few minutes a sergeant ran up to the
group of officers. "We have found a man, sir; he belongs to the Heavies;
he is insensible."

The officers hurried to the spot. "Yes, the poor fellow is a sergeant of
the Heavies. No doubt you were right, Easton. You see he has been
wounded in the side. He looks in a bad way."

"There are two water-bottles by him," Easton said; "one is empty and the
other is half full," he added as he took them up and shook them. "He
must have a comrade somewhere."

"No doubt he has, Easton; he could scarcely have been in a condition
when he arrived here to take off the saddles and hide them away. What
can have become of the other?" The grove was searched thoroughly from
end to end, but no sign found of the missing man. Some boughs were cut
down and a rough stretcher made, and upon this the sergeant was laid and
the force then moved on, the camels being saddled and mounted by two of
the men, and on arriving at the camp the sergeant was taken to the
hospital.

As soon as dinner was eaten the men were paraded again. A council had
been held to decide upon the best course to be taken, and it was decided
that a fort should be built down by the river, and that the whole force
should establish itself there with the exception of the Guards' Camel
Regiment, which should remain at Gubat so as to prevent any body of the
enemy posting themselves there and keeping up an annoying fire upon the
fort down by the river.

Gubat had already been roughly fortified, and the whole force was
therefore set at work to erect with camel-saddles and boxes a defence
for the position by the river. When this was done the wounded were all
carried down to the new fort. After the work was over Rupert strolled up
through the village to have a chat with Easton. As he was sitting there
an orderly came up.

"Mr. Clinton, the surgeon has sent me up with two letters that were
found inside the jacket of the wounded sergeant who was brought in this
afternoon. One is directed to you and the other to Captain Percy
Clinton."

"That is very curious," Rupert said, taking the letters and turning them
over in his hand. "How is the man going on, orderly?"

"He is insensible still, sir. I believe the doctors say that it is
fever, and that his wound is not serious. One of the men of his regiment
who is in the hospital says he got it at Abu Klea, and that it was
attended to there."

"Thank you, orderly, that will do. What in the world can the man be
writing to me about, and to my father, which is still more curious?"

"I should say the best way of finding out, Clinton, will be to open the
letter."

"Well, I suppose it will be," Rupert replied. "Still, it is always
interesting to guess at a mystery before you find the key."

"Well, guess away," Easton said, stretching himself out on his back. "I
never was a good hand at riddles."

It was some little time before Rupert, finding himself unable to find
any solution whatever to the mystery, opened the letter. As he did so he
stirred the fire by which they were sitting into a fresh blaze. He read
a few lines and uttered an exclamation of such intense surprise that
Easton sat up with a start.

"What is it, Clinton?"

"It is the most extraordinary thing I ever came across, Easton. You know
the story about Edgar and myself. Well, this wounded sergeant is either
his father or mine."

"Impossible!" Easton exclaimed; "he did not look much above thirty;
besides, no soldier of twenty-one years' service--and he must have had
fully that--would be out here."

Rupert made no reply; he was running his eyes rapidly through the
letter.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed; "Edgar is out here; he is a trumpeter in
the Heavies."

"That is news, Rupert. I congratulate you heartily, old fellow. You are
sure that there is no mistake?"

"No; there cannot be any mistake about that," Rupert said, thrusting the
letter into his tunic. "Come along, Easton, let us be off. He goes by
the name of Ned Smith."

"Wait a moment, old man," Easton said, laying his hand kindly on
Rupert's shoulder. "Where was the letter written?"

"At Korti."

"Well, Clinton, don't be too sanguine. You know how terribly the Heavies
suffered at Abu Klea. Don't make up your mind too warmly to see your
brother; he may be among the wounded we left behind at Abu Klea; he
may--" and he stopped.

"I won't think it," Rupert said; "it would be too hard, after our
searching for him for all these years, to find out that but four or five
days since he was in camp with us, and to learn it only too late. I
won't think it."

"I hope to God that it is not so, Clinton, only I thought it best to
prepare you for what may be possible. Which troop did he belong to?"

"The Dragoon troop."

Easton was silent, for it was upon this troop that the heaviest loss had
fallen.

"Well," Rupert went on, "let us go down and learn the best or the
worst."

They walked down the slope to the new fort by the river, and finding out
where the Heavies were bivouacked soon discovered the Dragoons.

"You go and ask, Easton," Rupert said nervously; "I dare not."

Easton went on alone and presently accosted a sergeant.

"Sergeant, can you tell me whether the trumpeter of your troop was
wounded at Abu Klea? Is he here now?"

"He was wounded at Abu Klea, sir, though not seriously; but he is not
here now, he was one of those missing on the night march, he and
Sergeant Bowen. I hear the sergeant was found and brought in this
morning very bad, but I have heard nothing of Smith; but I expect that
one of the camels brought in this afternoon was his; in fact I know it
was, for it has got Smith's number on the saddle. It is likely that they
would be together, for the sergeant had taken a great fancy to the lad.
We all liked him. He joined us at Cairo from the Hussars, as our own
trumpeter was taken ill; he was a general favourite, but Sergeant Bowen
took to him specially."

"Thank you, sergeant;" and Easton turned and walked slowly back to where
Rupert was awaiting him.

"You have bad news, Easton," Rupert said huskily. "I could see it as you
stood talking to that man."

"Yes, I have bad news," Easton said, "but hardly the worst, Clinton."

"He is badly wounded then," Rupert groaned.

"I am afraid it is worse than that, Clinton; he is missing. It was he
who was the rider of the second camel that we found in the grove this
morning. He and the sergeant were both missing on the night march, and
evidently found their way down to the river where we discovered the
sergeant. What can have become of your brother since I know not.
Evidently he left his water-bottle by his comrade and went somewhere,
probably to join us. As I was saying to you when we were chatting about
it before you opened that letter, he was probably either making his way
towards the square on the day of the fight or coming towards our camp
after we got in, and was seized by the Arabs. That was the conclusion at
which we all arrived, though I had little thought when we were talking
it over that the missing man was your brother."

"Then you think he has been killed?" Rupert said hoarsely.

"I don't know that, Clinton. He may have been made a prisoner. You see,
we have searched the ground between that grove and our camp thoroughly
to-day, and had he been killed there I think we should certainly have
found him. Of course it may have happened further out on the plain if he
was making his way out to join our square; but I should think he would
never have done that, for the Arabs were swarming all round it. Besides,
the Hussars were scouting about all over the plains this morning, and if
they had seen the body of any of our men would certainly have reported
it. The Arabs in fight never show mercy, but if they came upon him by
himself they might very well have carried him off as a prisoner,
especially if he made no resistance. You see, they are all slave-dealers
at heart; besides, they might think that a white prisoner would be an
acceptable present to the Mahdi. Of course I know no more about it than
you do, but I should say that the chances are quite as great of his
being taken prisoner as of his having been killed."

"One is as bad as the other," Rupert said in a broken voice. "This is
awful, Easton. I will walk up to your camp again. Would you mind seeing
the colonel of his regiment or the officer of his troop, and find out
what you can about him?"

Easton soon found one of the few surviving officers of Edgar's troop.

"Can you tell me anything about Trumpeter Smith?" he asked. "I have
reason to believe that he was a relative of a friend of mine, and that
he ran away and enlisted under a false name."

"He bore an excellent character," the officer said. "He came to us from
the Hussars at Cairo, and no one could behave better than he has done
from the time he joined us. They would not have sent him to us if he
hadn't been a thoroughly well-conducted young fellow. I was chatting
with one of the officers of his regiment on the day we left Cairo; he
spoke in very high terms of him, and said that he was quite a popular
character in the regiment. It seems that he was a first-rate cricketer,
and especially brought himself into notice by some exceedingly plucky
conduct when two ladies belonging to the regiment were attacked by a
couple of tramps at Aldershot; and besides that he had greatly
distinguished himself at El-Teb, where the Hussars got badly mauled. His
name was amongst those sent in for the Victoria Cross, and he was
specially chosen to go with us to give him another chance. I never heard
a young fellow more warmly spoken of. We were awfully sorry when we
heard that he was missing. There is no doubt he was with Sergeant Bowen
whom your men brought in this morning. One of the two camels was the one
he rode. We have been talking that over to-day, and the general opinion
is that he was caught by the Arabs as he was trying to rejoin the
regiment. It is a thousand pities he did not wait a little longer in
that grove, but I have no doubt he was anxious to get assistance as soon
as possible for the sergeant. I intend as soon as we are settled here to
ask the colonel to let me go out with a party to search the plains to
see if we can find his body."

"I am more inclined to think that he has been taken prisoner," Easton
said; "he would hardly have gone out to meet the square, as he must have
seen the plains swarming with Arabs and that he had no chance whatever
of getting through. He would have known that we were making for the
water, and that he would have a far better chance of reaching us by
waiting until we got there. My own idea is that he did wait, and that
the Arabs came upon him somewhere between that grove and our camp; if
so, they did not kill him, for if they had done so we must have found
his body to-day, for we searched every foot of the ground. I think that
he is a prisoner in their hands."

"He had better have been killed at once," the officer said.

"I agree with you, except that it is just possible that a slave may
escape. You see, on our way up to Khartoum if we defeat the Mahdi's
troops--which we certainly shall do--all the country will no doubt
submit, and there would be in the first place the chance of his being
given up to us, and in the second of his escape."

"It is possible," the officer agreed, "but I certainly would not build
on that. The probability is that if he is taken prisoner he will be sent
to the Mahdi, and if he isn't killed at once when he gets there, he will
be when the Mahdi sees that his game is up."

Easton nodded, and then, thanking the officer for his information, took
his way up to the village, where he repeated to Rupert what he had
heard. His own voice faltered as he told the story, while Rupert sobbed
unrestrainedly. When he had finished Rupert rose, pressed his hand
silently, and then returning to his own bivouac threw himself down and
thought sadly for hours over the loss of his brother.

The next day Rupert was busy from morning until night. A portion of the
force was employed in strengthening the fortifications of the two posts,
and a strong body was at work cutting wood for the use of the steamer in
which Sir Charles Wilson was to start next morning for Khartoum. While
at work they were guarded by another strong party, lest the enemy should
make a sudden attack. All, however, passed off quietly, and on the
following morning Sir Charles started with two steamers, taking with him
twenty men of the Sussex regiment and one hundred and fifty of the black
troops. On the same day three hundred troops selected from the various
regiments started on camels, with four hundred baggage camels under
their convoy, for Gakdul, in accordance with the orders given to General
Stewart by Lord Wolseley at starting, that as soon as he had established
himself upon the river he was to send back a convoy for some more
stores.

The convoy was, however, but a small one, for of over two thousand
camels which had left Korti, this number alone survived, and most of
these were in such a state from exhaustion, starvation, and sore backs,
that they were wholly unfit to travel. The force on the river was now
reduced to some fifty officers and eight hundred and seventy men,
including medical staff, commissariat, natives of all kinds, and the
remainder of the black troops and one hundred and twenty wounded. The
defences were greatly strengthened, officers and men both sharing in the
work.

During the day the Hussars scouted round the camp, frequently exchanging
shots with the enemy. At night strong lines of sentries were posted
round the forts. No attack was, however, made, although the natives
sometimes showed in considerable force during the day, and the beating
of tom-toms went on day and night round Metemmeh. The hard work upon
which the troops were engaged kept them for the most part in good
health, and the wounded did extremely well, the doctors themselves being
surprised at the rapidity with which wounds healed and the men recovered
their strength, an effect doubtless due to the clear dry air.

The troops in the village enjoyed better health than those down by the
river, as they obtained the benefit of the air from the desert, while
down near the stream heavy dews fell at night and there were several
slight cases of fever. All looked eagerly for the return of the steamers
from Khartoum with news how things were going on there. As for their own
position, no one had the slightest anxiety. No news had been received of
the approach of the three thousand troops which had been reported as on
their way down against them, and they felt confident in their power to
repulse any attack that the enemy at Metemmeh could make against them.
They were, too, in hourly expectation of the arrival across the desert
of reinforcements from Korti.




CHAPTER XIV.

A SLAVE.


Although Edgar had felt disappointed when the sounds of the firing round
Metemmeh died away, and he knew by the triumphant shouts of the Arabs
that the British had retired, he had hardly expected that an attack
would be made upon the town until reinforcements came up, and he
consoled himself with the idea that within a few weeks at the utmost the
reinforcements would arrive, and that if the Arabs remained in the town
until that time he would be rescued. Two or three days later he heard a
great hubbub just after nightfall in the streets outside. The Arabs who
were in the court-yard snatched up their guns, and the din became louder
than before.

Above the uproar Edgar could catch the words, "Death to the Kaffir!" and
"Send him to the Mahdi!" and guessed that his own fate was the subject
of dispute. Picking up one of the Arab swords he determined at least to
sell his life as dearly as he could. For an hour his fate trembled in
the balance. At times there were lulls in the tumult, while a few voices
only, raised in furious argument, were heard. Then the crowd joined in
again and the yells became deafening, and every moment Edgar expected to
hear the clash of weapons, and to see the little party to which he
belonged driven headlong into the house followed by the Mahdi's men. But
he had before witnessed many Arab disputes, and knew that however
furious the words and gestures might be they comparatively seldom came
to blows, and though greatly relieved he was not altogether surprised
when at last the uproar quieted down, and his captors returned into the
court-yard and barred the door behind them.

In a short time an argument broke out, almost as furious and no less
loud than that which had taken place outside. The sheik had evidently
his own opinion and was determined to maintain it. Two or three of his
followers sided with him, but the rest were evidently opposed to it.
From the few words Edgar could catch in the din he gathered that the
sheik was determined to carry him off as his own particular slave, while
the bulk of his followers were in favour of handing him over to the
Mahdi's officers. All Arabs are obstinate, but the sheik happened to be
exceptionally obstinate and determined even for an Arab. Had the
Mahdi's officers recognized his right to the captive, and offered him
some small present in return for his slave, he would probably have
handed him over willingly enough; but that they should threaten him, and
insist on his handing over his property, was, he considered, an outrage
to his dignity and independence.

Was he, an independent sheik, to be treated as if he were a nameless
slave, and ordered to surrender his own to the Mahdi or anyone else?
Never! He would slay the slave and stab himself to the heart rather than
submit to be thus trampled on. If his followers did not like it they
were free to leave him and to put on white shirts and follow the Mahdi;
he could do without such men well enough. What would the Mahdi do for
them? He would send them to be shot down by the Kaffirs, as they had
been shot down at Abu Klea and outside the town, and someone else would
possess their wives and their camels and their fields. If they liked
that they could go, and he went to the gate, unbarred and threw it open,
and pointed to the street. The effect was instantaneous. The Arabs had
no desire whatever to become soldiers of the Mahdi, and they at once
changed their tone and assured the sheik that they had no idea of
opposing his wishes, and that whatever he said should be done, pointing
out, however, that in the morning the Madhists would assuredly come and
take the prisoner by force.

The sheik was mollified by their submission, and ordering Edgar to close
and bar the gate again seated himself by the fire.

"By to-morrow," he said, "we will be far away. I am not a fool; I am not
going to fight the Mahdi's army. As soon as the town is still we will
make our way down to the river, take a boat, and cross. Two days'
journey on foot will take us to the village where we sent our camels
with the plunder and came on here to fight, believing, like fools, that
the Mahdi was going to eat them up. We have seen what came of that, and
they say that there are crowds more of them on the way. I am ready to
fight; you have all seen me fight over and over again, and all men know
that Sheik El Bakhat is no coward; but to fight against men who fire
without stopping is more than I care for. They are Kaffirs, but they
have done me no harm, and I have no vengeance to repay them. Fortunately
we did not arrive till an hour after the fighting was over, or our bones
might be bleaching out there in the desert with those of hundreds of
others. It is the Mahdi's quarrel and not mine. Let him fight if he
wants to, I have no objection. Why should I throw away my life in his
service when even the slave we have captured is not to be my own."

As these sentiments commended themselves to his followers the sheik's
plans were carried out.

The unfortunate trader and his wife, who had been cowering in a little
chamber since the sheik and his party had unceremoniously taken
possession of the rest of the house, were called in and informed that
their guests were about to leave them, and were ordered to close the
gate after them and on no account to open it until morning. The party
then set to work to cook a large supply of cakes for the journey. A
little before midnight they sallied out, and making their way
noiselessly through the streets issued out near the river at a point
where the walls that surrounded the other sides of the town were
wanting.

There were several boats moored against the banks, and choosing one of
them they allowed it to drift quietly down the river until some distance
below the town, and then getting out the oars rowed to the other side of
the river and landed below the large town of Shendy. They made a wide
detour to get round the town, travelling at a long swinging trot that
soon tried Edgar's wind and muscles to the utmost. He was not encumbered
by much clothing, as before leaving he had been made to strip and to
wrap himself up in a native cloth. Before he did so, however, he had
been rubbed from head to foot with charcoal from the fire, for his
captors saw that the whiteness of his skin, which greatly surprised
them, for his face and hands were tanned to a colour as dark as that of
many of the Arabs, would instantly betray him.

The perspiration was soon streaming from him at every pore, but he well
knew that any display of weakness would only excite the contempt of his
captors, and although he was several times well-nigh falling from
fatigue he kept on until, when many miles away from Metemmeh, the
natives slackened their pace and broke into a walk.

"I thought," Edgar muttered to himself, "that a good long run with the
hares and hounds at Cheltenham was pretty hard work, but it was nothing
to this. This climate does take it out of one and no mistake. There is
one thing, I have got to get accustomed to it, and am not likely to try
any other for some time."

They continued the journey until morning broke, and then turned off to
the left, and after miles of walking halted among some sand-hills
outside the zone of cultivated land. Edgar was ordered to go and find
some fuel, for the morning was cold, and even the Arabs felt the keen
air after their exertions. Edgar at once hurried away, and was fortunate
enough to find some dried stalks of maize in a field not far off.
Pulling it up by the roots he collected a large bundle and carried it on
his shoulder to the point where he had left the Arabs. An exclamation of
satisfaction greeted his arrival. The sheik produced a box of matches
from a corner of his cloth, for European goods were obtainable in
Metemmeh, and they had found several boxes in the house that they had
occupied. A fire was soon blazing, and the Arabs squatted closely around
it, while Edgar, tired out with his journey, threw himself on the ground
some distance away.

The sheik was in high spirits; he was, in the first place, glad that he
had had his way, and carried off his captive; and in the second, he
felt assured by the manner in which Edgar had kept up with them by the
way, and by the speed with which he had collected the materials for a
fire, that he would turn out a very useful slave. Before starting they
had partaken of a good meal, and each of them had carried off a bag of
five or six pounds in weight of dry dates from the merchant's store. A
few of these were eaten, and then the whole party lay down to sleep, the
sheik first rousing Edgar, and ordering him to lie down between him and
another Arab, tying a cord from his wrists to theirs, so that he could
not move without disturbing one or other of them.

A few hours' rest was taken, and then, with the sun blazing overhead,
the journey was recommenced. They now kept among the sand-hills so as to
avoid the villages near the river, in case a party should be sent out
from Metemmeh in pursuit of them. Edgar had difficulty in keeping up
with the rest, for the hot sand burned his naked feet, and he had to
avoid the prickly grass through which his companions walked
unconcernedly. They continued their journey until nightfall, and then
went down to the river for a drink. Edgar had suffered greatly from
thirst, which he had in vain endeavoured to assuage by chewing dry
dates. His feet were causing him agony, and after satisfying his thirst
he sat with them in the water until his companions again moved back into
the desert.

Edgar could not obtain a wink of sleep for the pain of his feet, and in
the morning he showed them to the sheik, who only laughed at their raw
and swollen condition. As, however, he was desirous that his slave
should continue in good condition, he told him to tear off a strip from
his cotton cloth, and himself walked down to the river with Edgar. There
he allowed him to again bathe his feet, and showed him some broad smooth
leaves which he bade him gather; these were placed under his feet, which
were then bandaged with the strip of cotton. As soon as this was done
they returned to the party, and again set out.

Edgar found the application greatly relieved the pain, and as the leaves
and bandages kept the feet from contact with the sand, he was able to
get on fairly. He felt, too, the benefit from the drink of water he had
obtained from the river, and was able to keep up with the party until,
late in the afternoon, they approached the village where the natives had
sent their camels.

Edgar was left in charge of two of the Arabs half a mile from the
village when the others went on, the sheik saying that in the morning
they were to await him half a mile on the other side of the village.
There was a good deal of grumbling on the part of the men who were left
with Edgar, and he saw that nothing would please them better than to cut
his throat; but when they looked threatening towards him, he simply
laughed, knowing that they dare not use their weapons, and that, did
they venture to strike him with hand or stick, he was a match for both
of them.

It was nearly two years now since he had stood up against the two tramps
at Aldershot, and in that time he had grown from a lad to a powerful
young fellow, with every muscle hardened by exercise. Perhaps the men
concluded that the experiment was not worth trying, and presently left
him to himself, and entered into an animated conversation together.

When it became dark they insisted on tying Edgar's legs, and to this he
made no objection, for he understood that here they were only obeying
the orders of the sheik. A few minutes later he was sound asleep, and
did not wake once until he was roused by the Arabs stirring; they untied
his feet, and at once started on their way. In less than half an hour
they were at the spot the sheik had named; in a few minutes he came up
with six of his men mounted on camels and four spare animals. The two
Arabs and Edgar mounted three of these, and the journey was continued.
They struck off from the river and journeyed all day among sand-hills,
among which they camped for the night. They had brought water-skins with
them, and Edgar received his share.

They started at daybreak again, and travelling the whole day came down
at night upon a small village at a short distance from the river. Here
the sheik had evidently friends, for he was warmly greeted as they
entered. By the conversation at the camp on the previous evening Edgar
had gathered that the rest of the party had gone off to villages to
which they belonged in that neighbourhood, and that those with the sheik
belonged to the village of Bisagra, near Khartoum, that word being
frequently repeated. Before entering the village a short stay had been
made, while some pieces of wood were burned, and Edgar was again rubbed
over with charcoal.

When they arrived at the house at which the sheik intended to stop,
Edgar was directed to follow him, while the rest looked after the
camels. On entering the house he was told by the sheik to go into a
little court-yard, where a negro presently brought him a dish of boiled
meal and some water. He heard a great talk inside the house, but could
understand nothing of what had been said. Half an hour later two of the
Arabs came in, and lay down beside him as before, and in addition his
feet were firmly tied. The next morning the party still further divided,
the sheik with two men and Edgar starting alone.

He felt sure that they were now some distance above Khartoum, as the
city lay less than eighty miles from Metemmeh; they had made, he
calculated, fully fifteen the first night. They had walked at least
five-and-twenty on the second, and had ridden thirty, he calculated, on
each of the last two days. On these they had not, as he noticed by the
sun, followed a straight course, going far to the east of south on the
first day, and to the west of south on the second, having doubtless made
a large detour to avoid the city. During the whole time they had been
travelling over a trackless country, and had met no parties of natives
on the way. They started again before daybreak, and now travelled along
the bank of the river.

Here the country had been cultivated for some distance back, and
villages were scattered here and there. Nevertheless they passed but
few natives, and Edgar saw that many of the houses were roofless, and
that there were signs of fire and destruction everywhere, and understood
that this ruin had been wrought by the hosts of the Mahdi. About mid-day
they arrived at a village on the bank. Its name, Edgar learned by the
exclamations of the Arabs when they caught sight of it, was Gerada. Here
a large native boat was lying moored. Bidding Edgar remain among the
camels the sheik alighted, and was for half an hour engaged in
bargaining with two men, who were apparently owners of the boat.

Terms were at last agreed to, the camels were led down and placed on
board, and the boat pushed off. The sheik made a peremptory sign to
Edgar to lie down and cover his head with his cloth, and Edgar heard him
say to the boatman, "My slave is ill." The river was now at its
shallowest, and the men were able to pole the boat across. Edgar was
hurried ashore with the camels, while the sheik remained behind settling
with the boatman. They were now, he knew, between the two Niles, which
joined their waters at Khartoum. The country here had evidently been
rich and prosperous before the host of the Mahdi passed like a blight
over it. They halted a few miles from the river, near a ruined and
deserted village. Edgar was told to watch the camels while they plucked
heads of corn from the deserted fields, while the Arabs lit a fire and
baked some cakes. None of these were offered to Edgar, who had to
content himself with some heads of dried maize that he picked from the
field.

Two days later they arrived at the bank of the White Nile. They followed
it for upwards of a mile, and then the sheik, who evidently knew the
way, turned off the bank into the river, the others following. The ford,
for such it was, was shallow, the water scarcely coming up to the girths
of the camels. Although the journey had been a short one, they halted
again for the night in cultivated ground, a mile from the river, and
Edgar was ordered to pick corn. The fields had already been ransacked,
and it was only here and there that he found a head of maize hidden in
its brown cases.

After a time the two Arabs joined in the search, and by nightfall a
good-sized sackful had been collected. At daybreak the camels were taken
to a well, where the apparatus for drawing the water still stood, with a
trough beside it. When Edgar had filled the trough the camels were urged
to drink their fill, being taken back once or twice to the trough, until
they could drink no more. The water-skins were filled, the Arabs took
long draughts from a bucket, and the sheik ordered Edgar to do the same.
Then the bag with their maize was fastened on the back of the spare
camel, which was already laden with a miscellaneous collection of goods,
and the party started.

Edgar understood by the preparations that had been made that they had
still a serious journey before them, and it proved to be so. For eight
days they travelled across a desert, their course being to the north of
west, marching from early dawn until sunset. The moment the day's
journey was over he was set to work to gather tufts of coarse grass
growing among the rocks, which cropped out here and there from the sand.
Other vegetation there was none, save some low stunted bushes, which he
also gathered whenever he came across them. With these and the grass a
fire was lighted, and the sheik and two followers roasted a few heads of
maize for their own eating, and with these and a handful of dry dates
appeared perfectly satisfied.

After they had done Edgar was permitted to roast some maize for his own
use. The camels had each a dozen heads given to them. Except at one
halting-place, where there was a muddy well, they received no water; the
Arabs themselves drank sparingly, and Edgar received but a mouthful or
two of the precious fluid. Towards the end of the eighth day the Arabs
began to hasten their camels, and soon afterwards, on mounting an
eminence, Edgar saw some tents standing in a small green valley ahead.
The Arabs fired their guns and uttered loud yells, and at once some
figures appeared at the entrances of the tents and hastened towards
them. In five minutes the two parties met. There were a few men among
those that came out, but the majority were women and children. All
uttered shouts of welcome, and a babel of questions arose.

The sheik did not alight from his camel, but with his followers
continued his way until he reached the encampment. Here dismounting he
entered one of the largest of the tents. The other two Arabs were
surrounded by the natives, and Edgar stood by the camels doubtful as to
what he was expected to do next. He was not left undisturbed long. The
Arabs had evidently told the news that their black comrade was a white
slave whom the sheik had captured, and all crowded round him examining
him with the greatest curiosity. There was nothing to them remarkable
about his colour, for he was darker than any of them; but his hair,
closely cropped like that of all engaged in the expedition, evidently
amused them much.

One of the women quickly fetched a large gourd full of water, and made
signs to him to wash himself, which he was glad enough to do after his
four days' dusty journey, but before commencing he plunged his face into
the bowl and took a long drink. Shouts of surprise and amusement arose
as with diligent rubbing he gradually got rid of the thickest part of
the charcoal, and his skin began to show through.

"I wish to goodness," he muttered to himself, "I had got a cake or two
of soap here, but I suppose it is a thing that they never heard of; even
a scrubbing-brush would be a comfort. I shall be weeks before I get
myself thoroughly white again; it is completely ground into my skin."

He had, however, managed to get rid of the greater part of the charcoal,
and was from the waist upward a dingy white, when the sheik came out
from his tent. He was followed by a good-looking Arab woman. He called
Edgar to him and said, "This is your mistress." Edgar had during the
journey guessed that he was intended as a special present for the
sheik's wife, and that his lot would depend in no slight degree upon
her, and resolved to do his utmost to earn her good opinion. He
therefore bent on one knee, and taking her hand placed it on his head.
The woman laughed good-naturedly, and said something to the sheik which
by its tone Edgar felt was an expression of approval.

The camels had all this time remained kneeling, and the sheik now
ordered them to be unloaded. Edgar had wondered what the various bundles
might contain, and looked with almost as much curiosity as the expectant
Arabs at the process of opening them.

As their contents were gradually brought to light, he understood at once
why the sheik and his followers had taken no part in the fight outside
Metemmeh. They had evidently been far out in the desert, on the track
the column had followed, on the search for loot. The collection was a
singular one, and it appeared to Edgar that they must either have got
hold of three or four of the camels that had strayed away from the
column, or had followed the troops and rifled boxes and cases that had
fallen from the backs of the animals on their way through the trees, or
that had been left behind when the camels fell.

Here were articles of clothing of all sorts--shirts, socks, karkee
suits, boots, ivory-backed brushes (the property, no doubt, of some
officer of the Guards or Heavies), a hand-glass, a case of writing
materials and paper, a small medicine-chest, some camp-kettles, two or
three dozen tins of cocoa and milk and as many of arrow-root, scores of
small tins of Liebig (these three lots clearly forming part of the
burden of one of the hospital camels), a handsome field-glass, an
officer's sword without a scabbard, a large bundle of hospital rugs, a
tin-box marked "tea, 10 lbs.," a number of tin drinking-cups, plates,
knives, forks, and spoons, and a strange collection of odds and ends of
all sorts.

Each article that was taken out caused fresh excitement, its uses were
warmly discussed, and Edgar was presently dragged forward and ordered to
explain. The various articles of clothing particularly puzzled the
Arabs, and Edgar had to put on a shirt and pair of trousers to show how
they should be worn. The chocolate and arrow-root had apparently been
brought chiefly for the sake of their tins, and one of the Arabs
illustrated their use by putting one of them down on a rock, chopping it
in two with his sword, cleaning out the contents, and then restoring as
well as he could the two halves to the original shape. Some of the
children were about to taste the arrow-root scattered about the ground,
but the sheik sharply forbade them to touch it, evidently thinking that
it might be poison. Edgar was consulted, and said that the contents of
all the tins were good.

As they were evidently anxious to know their uses, he took one of the
tin pots, filled it with water, and placed it over the fire. Then with
one of the Arabs' knives he opened a tin of chocolate, cutting it
carefully round the edge so that it should make a good drinking tin when
empty. When the water boiled he took out some of the contents of the tin
with the spoon and stirred them into the pot, and poured the contents
into a dozen of the cups. The sheik still looked a little suspicious,
and ordered him to drink one first, which he did with deep satisfaction.
The others then followed his example, and evidently approved very highly
of the compound, and another pot of water was at once placed on the
fire. Edgar was then requested to show what were the virtues of the
white powder, and of the little tins. He said that both these were good
for people who were ill. The Arabs, however, were not satisfied without
making the experiment.

The arrow-root was not approved of, and the chief would have ordered the
tins to be all opened and the contents thrown away, but on Edgar
continuing to insist that they were good for illness, he told his wife
to put them away in the tent. The Liebig was warmly approved of. Edgar
explained that it was good for sickness, and good for a journey. The
Arabs, seeing how small a quantity was required for making a tin of
broth, at once recognized this, and the sheik ordered his wife to take
great care of them, and said they were to be used only on a journey. The
medicine-chest, with its bottles of various sizes, was also the subject
of great curiosity, and one of the women, going into a tent, brought out
a girl seven or eight years old, and requested Edgar to say which was
the medicines that were suitable for her case.

Edgar felt the child's pulse, and found that she was in a high state of
fever. Quinine was, he knew, a good thing for fever, but whether it
ought to be administered to a patient in that stage he did not know. He
told the sheik that he was not a Hakim, but that if he wished he would
give the child the medicine that he thought was best suited to it, but
he could not say for certain whether it would do it good. The sheik,
who, like all the rest, was deeply interested in the contents of the
chest, said he must do his best. He accordingly gave the child a dose of
quinine, and told the mother to give her a cup of the arrow-root, and
that in two hours she must take another dose of the quinine.

The last subject of investigation was the tea. There was a small sliding
trap at the top of the tin, and when Edgar poured out half a cup of the
contents, these were examined with great curiosity. The men took a few
grains in their fingers, smelt them, and then tasted them. The result
was unsatisfactory, and they were content to watch Edgar's proceedings
before they went further. When he had the water boiling, he put the tea
into a tin pot and poured the water over it, and when it had stood a few
minutes served it out. The verdict was universally unfavourable, and the
chief, in disgust at having brought a tin of useless stuff so far,
kicked it over and over. Seeing that Edgar had drunk up his portion with
satisfaction, the sheik's wife told him that if he liked the nasty stuff
he might keep it for himself, a permission of which he very thankfully
availed himself.

The uses of all the articles being explained, the sheik proceeded to a
distribution. He took the lion's share for himself, gave a good portion
to the two men who had followed him, and a very small one to each of the
other grown-up men and women in the camp. He ordered Edgar to carry his
portion into the tent, where, under the instructions of the sheik's
wife, the articles were all stowed away. The tent, which was a large
one, was constructed of black blanketing woven by the women from camels'
hair, and was divided into two portions by a hanging of the same
materials. The one next to the entrance was the general living and
reception room, that behind being for the use of the sheik's wife and
children.

There were two female slaves who slept in a tiny tent constructed of a
blanket in the rear of that of the sheik, and two negro slaves who
looked after the camels, tilled the ground, and slept where they could.

The sheik's wife was evidently pleased with Edgar, and regarded him as
her special property. Darkness had fallen long before the examination of
the booty had concluded, and as soon as he had carried the sheik's share
into the tent, she gave him a bowl of camel's milk and some meal in a
gourd, and also bestowed on him one of the black blankets, and pointed
out to him a place where he was to sleep just outside the tent.

"It might be a great deal worse," Edgar said to himself as he ate his
supper; "the sheik himself does not seem to be a bad fellow; and at any
rate I owe him my life for his obstinacy in sticking to me, instead of
handing me over to the Mahdi's people. His wife is evidently disposed to
be kind, and my work will be no harder than an agricultural labourer's,
at any rate as long as we stay here. This is an out-of-the-way sort of
place, and if it does not lie on the route between any two places, is
not likely to be much visited. It certainly looks as if the sheik
regarded it as his private property, which he would not do if it were a
regular caravan halting-place.

"It is likely enough that there are very few people who know of its
existence. We travelled something like fifty miles a day, and must be
three hundred miles to the west of the Nile. What I have got to do now
is to work willingly, so as to keep in the good graces of the sheik and
his wife, and to learn the language so as to speak it fluently. It is no
use my thinking about escaping until I can pass as a native, unless, of
course, I hear that we have gone up and taken Khartoum. I wonder how
they are getting on at Metemmeh, and whether they have found the
sergeant. If they have, it is likely enough when he finds that I have
never reached the camp he will go to Rupert and tell him who the
trumpeter of his troop was. I hope he won't; it is much better that they
should wonder for some years what has become of me, and at last
gradually forget me, than know that I am a slave among the Arabs. I am
sure that would be a great grief to them all, and I hope they will not
know anything about it until I return some day and tell them."

He was very glad of his blanket, for the nights were cold; and when he
had finished his supper he wrapped himself up in it and was soon asleep.
He was awoke at daylight by voices inside the tent, and a few minutes
later the sheik and his wife came out, and seeing Edgar standing there
the sheik ordered him to go and assist the other slaves; but Amina
pouted: "I thought you had brought him home as a present to me; what use
will he be to me if he is to work in the field all day with the others?"

"But the Kaffir must do some work, Amina; he cannot have his food for
nothing."

"Of course he shall work when I don't want him," the woman said, "but I
shall find much for him to do. He will draw the water, he will fetch the
fuel, he will grind the meal when I have anything else for the women to
do. When he has done all I require of him, then he can go and work in
the fields. It is no use your giving me a slave and then taking him away
again."

"Well, well!" the sheik said, "do with him as you will; women are always
pleased with novelties. You will soon get tired of having this Kaffir
about the tent, but keep him if you will."

Amina took one of the large hospital kettles, and putting it into
Edgar's hands pointed to the well which lay a hundred yards away and
told him to fetch water. When he returned with it she bade him go out
and gather fuel. The last order was by no means easy to execute. The
Arab fuel consisted almost entirely of dried camels' dung, as the scrub
very speedily becomes exhausted for a considerable distance from a camp.
Edgar took a rough basket to which Amina pointed and was away for some
hours, following the track by which he had arrived and making a circuit
of the oasis, and returned with the basket piled up with the fuel.

Amina was evidently well satisfied with the result of his work, for fuel
is one of the great difficulties of Arab life in the desert. She
rewarded him with a calabash of meal.

"Has my lady anything more for me to do?" he asked when he had finished
his food.

"Not now," she replied.

"Then I will go out and help the others in the field;" and he walked off
to where the negroes were engaged in watering a plantation of maize. The
process consisted of drawing water from the well in leathern buckets and
pouring it into channels by which it was conducted to the plantation.
The negroes looked at him sourly as he took hold of the rope attached to
the long swinging beam that acted as a lever to bring the bucket to the
surface, and one of them muttered in Arabic, "Kaffir dog!" Slaves as
they were they despised this white Christian.

"Well, look here," Edgar said in English, letting go the rope, "the
sooner we come to an understanding the better. I am not going to stand
any nonsense from you fellows; and if you don't keep a civil tongue in
your heads I will give you such a licking as will teach you to do so in
future."

Although they did not understand his words they guessed the import of
them, and the biggest of the men, a powerful negro, repeated the word
Kaffir and spat upon him. Edgar's right arm flew out from his shoulder,
the blow struck the negro on the nose, and in an instant he was upon his
back upon the ground. His comrade stood for a moment stupefied, and then
with loud yells ran towards the tents, leaving the negro to pick himself
up at his leisure. Edgar continued the work of raising and emptying the
bucket until the negro returned, followed by the sheik, his wife, and
all the inhabitants of the village. By this time the negro who had been
knocked down had risen to his feet and was roaring like a bull at the
top of his voice, while the blood was streaming from his nose.

"What is this?" the sheik shouted in great anger.

The negro volubly explained that the Kaffir slave had struck down their
comrade.

"Why is this?" the sheik demanded of Edgar.

"I am my lord's slave," Edgar said; "but this fellow is a slave also. He
called me a Kaffir dog and spat upon me. I knocked him down; and if any
other slave does the same I will punish him also."

As the woman whose child had been ill had a short time before reported
that the fever had left her, and that having drunk two basins of the
arrow-root she was much better, the sheik had been greatly pleased with
the idea that he had made a far more valuable capture than he had
anticipated; he therefore received Edgar's explanation in his broken
Arabic favourably.

"The white slave has done right," he said. "Who are you that you are to
insult him? He came to work on my business, and you would have
interfered with and hindered him. Hamish has been rightly punished,
though truly the white man must have hit hard, for his nose is flattened
to his face. Mashallah it must have been a wonderful blow. The white men
are Kaffirs, but they have marvellous powers. Now go to work again and
let me hear of no more quarrels."

"The white man is my slave," Amina said, stepping forward and addressing
the negroes, "and if anyone insults him I will have him flogged until he
cannot stand. He is a Hakim, and his medicines have saved the life of
Hamid's child. He is worth a hundred of you." And bestowing a vigorous
and unexpected box on the ears to the negro standing next to her she
turned and walked back to her tent, accompanied by her husband, while
the rest of the villagers remained for some time staring at the negro,
and commenting upon the wonderful effect of the white man's blow.




CHAPTER XV.

BAD NEWS.


No sooner was work over in the afternoon of the day after that on which
Rupert had heard of his brother's loss than Skinner came across with
Easton to see him.

"My dear Skinner, surely you are not fit to be walking about," he said
as he saw them approaching.

"Oh! it won't do me any harm, Clinton; my arm is all in splints, and, as
you see, bandaged tightly to my side. The doctor seemed to say that I
had better not move, but I promised to take care of myself. I should
have come, old man, if I had been ten times as bad. Easton has just been
telling me of this horrible business, so of course I came over to see
you. I think from what he says you take too dark a view of it. There is
no doubt in my mind that he is a prisoner, and that is bad enough; but
these Arabs don't slaughter their prisoners in cold blood, they are not
such fools as that, they make them useful. I own it must be disgusting
to be a slave, especially to these Arabs, and of many fellows I should
say they would never stand it any time. Easton wouldn't, for example. In
the first place he wouldn't work, and in the next place, if they tried
to make him he would be knocking his master down, and then of course he
would get speared. But I have great hopes of your brother; he was always
as hard as nails, and I should have no fear of his breaking down in
health. Then he is a chap that can look after himself. Look how well he
has been going on since he bolted from Cheltenham. Then he is a beggar
to stick to a thing, and I should say the first thing he will make up
his mind to do will be to escape some day, and he will be content to
wait any time till the opportunity occurs. You see he has learnt a lot
since he left school. He has been roughing it pretty severely. He has
had over a year in this beastly hot climate, and will be able to make
himself at home pretty near anywhere. I tell you, Clinton, I would lay
odds on his turning up again even if he is left to himself. Besides
that, if we go on to Khartoum and thrash the Mahdi, these Arabs will all
be coming in and swearing that they are most grateful to us for freeing
them from him, and you may be sure that any slaves they have will be
given up at once. I don't say your brother is not in a hole; but I do
say that he is just the fellow to get out of it."

"I have thought of everything you say, Skinner, and I do think that
Edgar is as likely to make his escape some day as anyone would be under
the circumstances; but I doubt whether anyone could do it."

"Why not?" Skinner asked, almost indignantly. "I don't suppose he could
make his way down the Nile, although he might do that; but there are
several caravan routes down to the Red Sea, and then there is
Abyssinia. The people are Christians there, and, they say, fighting
against the Mahdi's Arabs now; so if he got there he would be pretty
sure to be treated well. I should say that there were lots of ways that
he could escape. I don't mean now; but when he has got accustomed to the
country, it seems to me a fellow with pluck and energy such as he has
got ought to find no great difficulty in giving the people he is with
the slip, and making his way somewhere. I do think, Clinton, there is no
occasion to feel hopeless about your brother. It may be a long time
before you see him again, but I do honestly believe he will turn up some
time or other."

"I begin to hope he will," Rupert said. "At first I did not think so for
a moment; but now I have had time to look at it calmly I think that
there is a chance of his getting off some day; besides, when we are once
at Khartoum and have scattered the Mahdi's army, I have no doubt General
Gordon will send orders through the land for all Egyptian and European
slaves to be brought in. You know it is still hoped that some of Hicks'
officers may be alive, and there is such a feeling for Gordon throughout
the country that his orders will be sure to be obeyed."

"That is right, Clinton," Easton said; "that is the view I take of it
myself, and I am very glad to see that you have come to see it in that
light. And now will you tell us what there was in that letter that gave
us the news of your brother's being out here. How came the sergeant to
write to you? How did he know you were his brother? It seems an
unaccountable business all through."

"I have not looked at the letter since," Rupert said. "It would have
been very important if it had not been for Edgar's loss. As it is, it
does not seem to matter one way or the other. Still, as you say, it is
very singular altogether its coming into my hands;" and he took out the
letter. It began: "Sir, two days ago I was with the trumpeter of my
troop when you passed by with two other officers. One of them called
you Clinton, and as I had an interest in the name it attracted my
attention, and I found that it also attracted the attention of the young
fellow with me. I questioned him, and he acknowledged that he had been
to school with you and the two officers with you."

"Good heavens!" Skinner broke in; "to think that we three should have
passed close to your brother and that none of us should have recognized
him! How awfully unfortunate!"

"It is terrible to think of now," Rupert agreed, and then continued
reading the letter: "I then told Smith, which is the name the trumpeter
went by, that my interest in you consisted of the fact that for aught I
knew I was your father. He exclaimed, that in that case it was probable
that I was his father, as he had been brought up with you. He then told
me how he came to enlist, namely, that my wife, whom I have not seen
since she left India, and who was, I thought, dead long ago, had been to
him and had told him all about the change of infants, and said that she
had done it on purpose for his good, and that she knew that he was her
son because you had a mole on your shoulder; and she wanted him to go on
pretending to be Captain Clinton's son, and offered to swear that the
other one was hers, so that he might get all the money.

"That is why I write this. My name is Humphreys. I was a sergeant in the
30th, and it was at Agra, when we were stationed there, that the change
of infants took place. My wife went over to England. I took to drink and
disgraced myself, and five years afterwards deserted. I stayed in
England for some years and then enlisted again in the 5th Dragoon
Guards, and being young-looking gave my age as eight years younger than
I was. I now go by the name of Bowen, and am a sergeant and bear a good
character in the regiment. The lad did not wish me to say anything about
this, at any rate until the campaign was over; but as we shall be
marching in a day or two, and it may be that I shall be killed, I write
a letter to you and one to Captain Clinton, so that in case I am killed
the truth may be known.

"I affirm most solemnly that the statement made by my wife was a lie.
Whether she did intend to change the children or not is more than I can
say. Sometimes she said she did, sometimes she said she didn't; but at
any rate, she herself did not know which child was which, and did not
discover the little mark on the shoulder until after the babies got
mixed up. Over and over again I have seen her cry and wring her hands
because she could not say which was which. She acknowledged that she
meant to make money out of it, and lamented that she had lost her chance
because she could never herself tell which was which. Of this I am ready
to take my oath in any court of justice, and if she says she knows now,
she is a liar. I have read this letter over to Troop-sergeant Matthews,
and have in his presence sworn on a Bible to its truth. He will place
his name by the side of mine as witness to that and to my signature. I
remain, your obedient servant, John Humphreys, now known as John Bowen.
The letter to your father is word for word the same as this. I have
written it in duplicate in case you should be killed before I am."

"Well, that is plain enough," Easton said when Rupert had finished. "It
is just what you said all along. The woman did not know which was her
son, and you and Edgar stand in the same relation to Captain Clinton
that you always did."

"Thank God for that!" Rupert said. "We want no change, and my father has
said, talking it over with me again and again, he has two sons and loves
us both equally, and it would be a deep grief to him now to know for
certain that one of us is not his son. I will walk across to the
hospital and ask how the sergeant is going on. I am strangely placed
towards him now."

"It is a curious position," Easton said; "but in any case you do but
stand towards him as a son would do towards a father who had given him
up in infancy to be adopted by someone else."

Rupert did not reply, but, saying, "Wait here until I come back," walked
over to the hospital lines. He returned in a few minutes.

"The doctor says he is sinking," he said gravely. "I shall go over there
and remain until all is over."

"Will he be sensible at the last?" he asked the surgeon as he stood by
the litter.

"Possibly," the surgeon said.

"I have a great interest in asking, doctor; I am most anxious to have a
few words with him if possible before he dies."

"If you will call me if he opens his eyes," the surgeon said, "I will do
what I can to rouse him. His pulse is getting weaker and weaker; I do
not think the end is far off."

Half an hour later the dying man opened his eyes. Rupert beckoned to the
surgeon, who came across at once and poured a few drops of spirits
between his lips, and moistened his forehead with a sponge dipped in
vinegar and water.

"Do you know me, Humphreys?" Rupert asked. "I am Rupert Clinton."

The dying man's face brightened. Then his lips moved. "Where is Smith?
He left me to get help; he never returned."

"He is away now," Rupert said, anxious not to disturb the dying man.
"When we got to you you were insensible, that was two days ago. Edgar is
not in camp at present."

"There is a letter for you."

"Yes, it was found on you and I have read it, and I know how we stand
towards each other, and that perhaps you are my father; here is the
letter."

"I will swear to it; get a witness."

Rupert called the surgeon. "Doctor, the sergeant wishes you to hear him
swear that this letter was written by him and that its contents are
true."

"Bible," the sergeant said faintly.

A Bible was brought and the dying man's hand placed upon it. "I swear,"
he said in a firmer voice than that in which he had hitherto spoken,
"that this letter was written by me and that every word in it is true,
and that neither I nor my wife, nor anyone save God, knows whether
Trumpeter Smith or Lieutenant Clinton is my son."

The effort was made and he closed his eyes. Rupert took his hand and
knelt beside him. Once again the sergeant opened his eyes and spoke.
"Good lads both," he said; "better as things are."

A few minutes later he ceased to breathe. The surgeon had retired after
hearing the sergeant's declaration. When he saw Rupert rise to his feet
he came up to him. "I have just written down the words," he said, "and
have signed my name as a witness to the fact that it was a declaration
sworn on the Bible by one who knew that he was dying."

"Thank you," Rupert said; "it is a strange story, I will tell you it
some day."

After leaving the hospital Rupert went to Easton, in whose judgment he
had a great deal of confidence, and after stating what had occurred
asked him if in his opinion he could take any steps to learn more about
Edgar.

"I think, Clinton, that were I in your place I should go to the
commanding officer and tell him you have learnt that the trumpeter who
was with the wounded sergeant of the Heavies found in the grove, and who
left him to fetch aid from our camp, was your brother. You can say that
on account of a misunderstanding he left home and enlisted under a false
name, and beg that a search be instituted for his body, and also that
the politicals who are in communication with the natives should make
inquiries whether any white captive had been brought into Metemmeh. If
you like I will say as much to our colonel, and I am sure that he will
give orders that whenever detachments go out strict search will be made
of all ground over which they pass. I am afraid that if we do learn from
the natives that he is at Metemmeh our chance of getting him back
before we take the place is small, for even if the people into whose
hands he fell were willing to part with him for a ransom, the fanatical
dervishes would not allow it; however, there would be no harm in trying.
I know that to-day half a dozen natives came in with some cattle and
grain, and no doubt some others will be in to-morrow."

Rupert took the advice, and at once went over to the quarters of the
officer in command and made the statement that Easton had suggested. The
colonel expressed great regret, and promised that every step should be
taken to ascertain the fate of his brother and to endeavour to recover
him if alive. Another party was sent out in the morning, and a further
and most minute search made of the ground between the camp and the grove
where the sergeant had been found, and the 19th Hussars were directed
while scouring the plain to search every depression and to examine every
clump of bushes to discover if possible the body of a missing soldier or
any signs of his clothes or accoutrements. The political officer closely
questioned all the natives who came in, but these came from villages
higher up the river, and no news was obtained of what was going on at
Metemmeh. The next day there was a great outburst of firing in Metemmeh,
guns and cannon being discharged incessantly for two or three hours. At
first it was thought that some dispute might have arisen between the
various tribes now occupying the place, but this idea was abandoned when
it was seen that the cannon on the walls were discharged not into the
town but towards the open country, and it was then concluded that some
great festival of the Mahdi was being celebrated. The following day was
Sunday. Just as the troops were being formed up for a church parade a
staff officer came up to Rupert and his fellow aides-de-camp as they
were buckling on their swords.

"Is anything wrong, major?" Rupert asked, as he saw that the officer was
much agitated.

"Yes, we have terrible news. A boat has just come down from Wilson with
the news that he arrived too late; that Khartoum has fallen, and that
Gordon is murdered."

An exclamation of horror broke from the two young officers.

"Do you think it is true, major?"

"I fear there is no doubt of it. The steamers got up to the town, and
the Mahdi's flags were flying everywhere, and the vessels were peppered
with shot from all the batteries. There is other bad news. Wilson's
steamers both ran aground, and cannot be got off. Beresford is to go up
and bring the party off, that is, if he can fight his way past the
batteries. You see, that is what the firing in Metemmeh yesterday was
about. No doubt a messenger had arrived from the Mahdi with the news of
the fall of Khartoum. Don't say anything about it. Of course the news
will not be kept from the officers, but it is to be kept from the men as
far as possible."

Feeling almost stunned with the news, Rupert and his companions joined
the rest of the staff and proceeded to the parade-ground. An hour after
the service had concluded the terrible intelligence was known to all the
officers. The feelings of grief, indignation, and rage were universal.
All their efforts and suffering had been in vain, all the money spent
upon the expedition entirely wasted. Gordon and his Egyptian garrison at
Khartoum had perished, and it seemed not unnatural that the authorities
at home should be blamed for the hesitation they had displayed in
sending out the expedition to rescue the heroic defenders. Even at the
last moment, they had countermanded their orders for the purchase of
camels, which, had they been available, would have enabled General
Stewart's desert column to march straight across, instead of being
obliged to send the camels backwards and forwards; and in that case the
steamers would have arrived in time to save Gordon, for it was but two
days before they reached Khartoum that the town had fallen.

Never was an expedition so utterly useless, never did brave men who had
fought their way through all difficulties find their efforts so
completely vain!

The news could not long be kept from the men. The words of passionate
grief and indignation that burst from their officers were soon caught up
and carried through the camp, and the rank and file joined with their
officers in a wholesale denunciation of those who were responsible for
this disaster which had suddenly overtaken the expedition. The future
was warmly debated among the officers. Some maintained that the
expedition having come so far, the money having been laid out, it would
be allowed to finish its work, to proceed to Khartoum, to recover the
city, crush the Mahdi, and restore peace and order to the Soudan. Others
asserted that after this failure to carry out the main object of the
expedition, the authorities at home might now hasten to withdraw an
expedition which they had only with apparent reluctance sent out at all.
Rupert feared that the latter alternative was the most probable, and
with it his hopes of seeing his brother before long were dashed to the
ground.

It was maddening to think that he was lying a helpless prisoner in the
hands of the Arabs in the mud-walled town but two miles away; for it was
now probable that the force would march back, and Edgar be left to his
fate. Easton and Skinner in vain attempted to cheer him. They had,
however, no arguments to combat his conviction that the expedition would
be abandoned, and could only fall back upon their belief that sooner or
later Edgar would manage to make his escape from the hands of the Arabs.
To Rupert's distressed mind this was poor consolation.

Lord Charles Beresford at once started up the river in a small steamer
to rescue Sir Charles Wilson's party. As it was known that there was a
strong battery below the spot where the steamers had been lost, and that
Beresford would have to run the gauntlet of this on his way up, much
anxiety was felt as to the result, and a constant and eager watch was
kept up for a sight of the steamer on her return. When the time came
that she was expected to make her appearance, and no signs were visible
of her, the anxiety heightened; and when another day passed, and still
she did not return, grave fears were entertained for her safety. At last
the welcome news came that smoke could be seen ascending from the river
higher up, and loud cheers burst from the men when the flag at the
masthead was seen above the trees.

There was a general rush down to the shore of all who were not on duty
to hear the news when she arrived; and when she drew up near the bank
and the first party landed, it was found that her escape had been a
narrow one indeed. In passing the battery she had had a sharp engagement
with the artillery there, and a shot had passed through her boiler and
disabled her, and she had been obliged to anchor. Fortunately she was a
little above the battery when this took place. The guns could not well
be brought to bear upon her; and although assailed by a constant fire of
musketry, her own guns, her Gardner, and the rifles of the troops had
kept the enemy at a distance and prevented them from shifting any of
their guns so as to play upon her, until an officer of the Naval
Brigade, who was acting as her engineer, had managed to repair the
boiler.

While the fight was going on Sir Charles Wilson's party were upon an
island, near which the second steamer had sunk, two miles higher up the
river, and were hotly engaged with a force upon the bank. They were able
to see that the rescuing steamer was disabled, and at night had crossed
to the river bank, and marching down it to a point opposite the steamer,
opened communication with her by signals, and then did what they could
to divert the attention of the enemy from her by opening fire upon the
battery with one of their guns, causing the enemy to turn two or three
of his pieces of artillery against them. At nightfall they marched down
the river to a point where the steamer had signalled she would pick them
up. The steamer ran past the battery in the morning and fortunately
escaped without serious injury, and then picking up the whole of Sir
Charles Wilson's party came down the river without further molestation.

[Illustration: "A SHOT HAD PASSED THROUGH HER BOILER."]

All this time no despatch of any kind had been received from Korti,
although a small reinforcement consisting of a company of the Naval
Brigade and half a battery of artillery had arrived, and the camels--or
rather a portion of them, for nearly half had died upon the journey--had
returned from Gakdul with a supply of stores. The days passed heavily
until, on the 10th of February, General Buller and the 18th Royal Irish
arrived; hopes were entertained, as they were seen approaching, that the
appearance of the infantry signified that the expedition was still to
continue to advance; but it was very soon known that the Royal Irish had
merely arrived to cover the retreat. The next morning the whole of the
wounded were sent off under a strong escort; then the work of destroying
all the stores that had been brought up by the last convoy, except what
were needed for the march down to Gakdul, was carried out, and two days
later the forts that had been built with so much labour were evacuated,
and the whole force set out upon their march down to Korti.

This time the journey was performed on foot. The camels of the three
corps and of the vast baggage train with which they had started were
bleaching on the desert, and scarce enough animals remained for the
service of carrying down the sick and wounded. Rupert Clinton was among
them. His strength had failed rapidly, and a sort of low fever had
seized him, and he had for some days before the convoy started been
lying prostrate in the hospital lines. Skinner was, at his own request,
carried by the same camel that conveyed Rupert, the beds being swung one
on each side of it. He had protested that he was perfectly capable of
marching, but the doctors would not hear of it; and when he found that
he could accompany Rupert he was glad that they decided against him, as
he was able to look after his friend and to keep up his spirits to a
certain extent by his talk.

Several of the wounded died on their way down, among them Sir Herbert
Stewart, who had survived his wound a much longer time than the surgeons
had at first believed possible. One piece of news that they had learned
the day before they left the neighbourhood of Metemmeh had some slight
effect in cheering Rupert, a native of that town having reported that a
white prisoner had been brought in on the day after the battle near the
town; he had been captured by some men of the Jahrin tribe and not by
the regular troops of the Mahdi; three or four days later there had been
a quarrel, the Mahdi's people wanting to take the prisoner and send him
up to Khartoum; his captors had objected, claiming him as their private
property; but as they were only a small party he would doubtless have
been taken from them by force had they not, during the night, stolen out
of the town with him, taken a boat, crossed the river, and made off.

Thus there was evidence that Edgar was still alive, and Skinner
endeavoured to impress upon Rupert that in every respect the
intelligence was favourable.

"You see, Clinton, if your brother had been sent up to the Mahdi, the
villain would have endeavoured to force him to change his religion.
Edgar would never have done that, and in that case it is pretty certain
that they would have chopped his head off. As it is, the chief of these
Arabs who took him evidently means to keep him as a slave for himself.
Of course it is not pleasant to be a slave, but it is better than having
the choice between worshipping a greasy Arab or having your head chopped
off, and it will give him time to learn the language, to make his plans
of escape, and to carry them out."

Rupert was too weak and ill to fully enter into the question, but he did
see that Edgar's position was certainly better under an Arab master than
it would have been had he been sent up to Khartoum, and the knowledge
that he was alive and was in no immediate danger of his life did much
to revive him, and enable him to bear the weary journey down to Korti
better than he would otherwise have done. Once there the comparatively
cool air of the hospital tents, the quiet, and the supply of every
luxury soon had their effect, and in the course of three weeks he was up
and about, though it would be some time before he would be fit for
active duty. It was still altogether uncertain what decision would be
finally arrived at at home respecting the expedition, but for the
present the troops were stationed at various points on the river as far
down as Dongola, and it was hoped that later on the advance against
Khartoum would be recommenced.

Rupert, as soon as he was able to get about, had a long conversation
with Major Kitchener, the political officer who was in charge of all
communications with the natives. He related to him the circumstances of
his brother's capture, and how he was a prisoner of some men belonging
to the Jahrin tribe. Major Kitchener promised that his spies should make
every inquiry, and held out hopes that by the offer of a large reward
his captors might be induced to bring him down to the camp.

The time passed very slowly, the heat increased in intensity and became
intolerable from nine in the morning until five in the afternoon.
Between those hours there was nothing to do but to lie still in the mud
huts that had now been erected, for it would have been well-nigh
impossible to exist in the little tents that the troops had brought with
them.

In the early morning and in the evening every one bathed in the Nile.
Then the officers, each of whom had picked up some sort of pony from the
natives, went for a ride, chased the wild dogs, or wandered gun on
shoulder in search of such game as was to be found. After sunset was the
only really pleasant time of day, and when the moon was up both officers
and men enjoyed themselves; but on dark nights neither walking nor
riding could be indulged in, so broken was the ground, and there was
nothing to do but to talk, sing, and vary the tedium by a game of cards.

The Guards' Camel Regiment were posted close to Dongola. Rupert, who
since the death of General Stewart had no longer any staff duties, was
attached to the transport corps and spent a considerable portion of his
time going up or down the river in boats. He did not, therefore, see
much of his friends, although he never passed Dongola without managing
to make it a halting-place so as to have a few hours' talk with them.

"You have thoroughly picked up again, Clinton," Skinner said as he
arrived upon one of these visits. "No one would know you to be the same
fellow who was brought down to Korti with me on that wretched camel's
back. I think you are very lucky to have got put on to that transport
work."

"So do I, Skinner; it gives me little time to sit and think, and though
it is terrifically hot in the middle of the day I can always manage to
get up some sort of shelter with straw or matting of some kind, and at
any rate it is cooler there than on shore."

"I wish they would give me a turn at it," Skinner said. "I cannot offer
to take an oar, for although my arm is going on very well the doctor
says it may be months before I can venture to use it in anything like
hard work. We get up jolly horse races here once a week in the evening.
The natives enter their animals. Of course we have no chance with them
on our little tats, but we sometimes manage to requisition two or three
horses from the Hussars. I dare not ride myself, for though the horses
and ponies are both very sure-footed these natives ride in the wildest
way and one might get cannoned over. Still it is an amusement to look on
and make small bets and watch the natives; crowds of them come out to
see it, and they get tremendously excited over it. I wish we could get
up a good football match, the Guards against Dongola; it would be awful
fun. As far as running goes we should not be in it, and if one of them
got the ball he would carry it right through us up to the goal, for
they are as active and slippery as eels. Of course when it came to a
good close fight we should have it our own way."

"Have you managed to get up football on board ship, Skinner?" Easton,
who was stretched at full length on the ground, asked lazily.

"Not yet," Skinner laughed. "If we played at all we should have to use a
cannon-ball, so that it should not be kicked over the sides; but then,
unless we got iron shoes made for the purpose, we should all be laid up.
But I have got a football in my cabin, and once or twice we have had
games at Suakim, and very good fun it was too."

"No news, I suppose, Clinton?" Easton asked, sitting up.

Rupert shook his head. "Not a word. We hear very little of what is going
on above us, and the natives who do come in lie so, there's no believing
a word they say. I have been thinking that if one could trust them I
would pay one of the sheiks to dress me up and stain my skin and take me
with him on a wandering expedition to Khartoum and over the country on
both sides of the river."

"It would be madness," Easton said. "Of course if you could talk their
language perfectly it might be possible to manage it, for I suppose that
with dye and false hair one might be got up to pass as far as
appearances go, but not being able to speak the language would be
fatal."

"Of course I should have to go as a dumb man. I was asking the surgeon
the other day if there would be any great difficulty in cutting a
fellow's tongue out."

"In doing what?" Easton and Skinner asked in astonishment.

"Cutting my tongue out," Rupert said seriously. "You see, if my tongue
was cut out anyone could see at once that I was dumb. Of course it
wouldn't be pleasant, but I believe it would be possible to get to talk
after some time. If there were no other objections I should not hesitate
for a moment; but unfortunately I should have to pass for deaf as well
as dumb, for of course I should not understand anything that was said
to me. I have been thinking it over in every light, and really the only
great objection I see to the plan is that though one might depend upon
the chief's being faithful if he were well paid, it would be very
doubtful as to his followers."

"And are you really serious in saying that you would have your tongue
cut out, Clinton?"

"Of course I am serious," Rupert said, almost angrily. "What is one's
tongue in comparison to one's brother? What do you think, Easton? Do you
think the idea is at all feasible? I may say that for the last two
months I have been working almost night and day at the language. I
engaged a fellow the day I came out of hospital. He was working for one
of those Greek shopkeepers. He is a native of Dongola, but has been down
in Egypt and picked up a certain amount of French. He goes about with me
in the boat, and we talk all day and as long as I can keep him awake at
night. Of course I don't think for a moment that I could learn enough to
pass as a native for at least a couple of years; but it would be of no
use my going up with a party of Arabs if I could not make out what they
say and learn what news they pick up, and make arrangements to get Edgar
away if we find him."

"It would be a fearfully risky business, Clinton," Easton said gravely.
"The betting would be tremendously against you, but I don't say that it
is absolutely impossible that you should be successful. I don't think it
would be necessary to carry out the idea of having your tongue cut out.
As you say, a tongue is nothing in comparison to a brother, and if I
thought that the loss of your tongue would ensure your success I should
say nothing against it, it would be a matter for you and you only to
decide; but I should think it might be managed in some other way. The
fellow you would be with would naturally avoid all large encampments,
and would send you off to look after camels or something if other
natives arrived at the same encampment."

"You don't really mean, Easton," Skinner said, "that you seriously think
that it might be done; that is, that the betting is not more than ten to
one against it?"

"No; I don't think the odds are longer than that, Skinner. You know
Burton went to Mecca in disguise, and I believe that it has been done
since by somebody else. I grant that Burton could talk the language
well, and that having to play the part of a dumb man adds to the risk.
Still, I do not think, as I said, that the chances are more than ten to
one against it."

"Well, I shall think it over," Rupert said; "but I must be going now,
for the boat will be loaded by this time."

"Why did you encourage Clinton in this mad idea, Easton?" Skinner asked
after Rupert had left them.

"I don't think I did encourage him. I told him the betting was ten to
one against his coming back alive, and I don't call that encouraging;
but I believe it is possible, and I am not at all sure that if I were in
his place, and the idea had occurred to me, that I shouldn't try to
carry it out."




CHAPTER XVI.

IN DISGUISE.


As long as there was a chance that the expedition might again advance
Rupert did nothing farther, and indeed was unable to come to any
decision as to his course. He had long since received an answer from
Captain Clinton to his letter written as soon as he was well enough to
sit up after arriving at Korti, with the news that Edgar had been
present with the expedition, and was now a prisoner in the hands of the
Arabs. Captain Clinton wrote in great distress himself, and said that
his wife was completely prostrated with the news. He said: "I know I
need not urge you, Rupert, to use every means to obtain some news of
Edgar. Draw upon me for any amount, however large, that may be necessary
for bribing natives to find, and if possible rescue, him. I fear that
the latter is hopeless. Still, if you see even the most remote chance of
it, let no question of expense stand in the way."

But even the promises of rewards that seemed to them to be fabulous
failed in eliciting from the spies any information as to Edgar's
whereabouts. He certainly was neither at Berber nor at Khartoum, nor had
the people he was with returned to Metemmeh; but beyond this negative
information Rupert could learn nothing. He continued to work assiduously
with his interpreter, and by the middle of May he had, after three
months' work, made such progress that he was able to converse in simple
phrases and to understand what was being said by the natives around him.

In the third week in May, on his arrival at Korti, he learned that
orders had that day been received that the whole force was to at once
retire, that even Dongola was to be abandoned, and that Wady Halfa was
to be the highest point on the river occupied. That evening he went up
to General Buller's tent. The general was still at mess, and Rupert
waited outside his tent until he returned. He had several times spoken
to the general on matters of duty.

"Who is that?" General Buller asked as he saw a figure standing in front
of his tent.

"Clinton, sir. I am particularly anxious to speak to you if you can
spare me a short time."

"Come in," the general said. "What can I do for you? Take a seat there."

"You have perhaps heard, sir, that I made the discovery at Metemmeh that
a brother of mine who had two years and a half ago run away from school
and enlisted, was the trumpeter of the Heavies who was carried off by
the Arabs close to Metemmeh."

"Yes, I heard that, Clinton, and was very sorry for you. I cannot
imagine a more distressing affair."

"It was really no fault of his that he ran away, general; he was under a
misconception altogether, and neither my father nor mother blamed him in
the slightest. I only say this to show that he did not run away from
wildness. No one could have been steadier than he was. It was a
frightful mistake connected with his birth which I need not trouble you
about. We were greatly attached to each other, and my father and mother
are completely broken down at the thought of his being a slave for life
in the hands of the Arabs. Now, sir, for the last three months I have
been working almost day and night at the language, and can get on