Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan by R. M. Ballantyne (famous ebook reader .txt) 📖

hot too, as you seem to feel; and they tell me there will be some interesting variety in my experiences when the rainy season sets in! I wouldn’t mind it so much if I could only be left to sleep in peace at nights. I stay here, you see, night and day, and what wi’ the Arabs prowling around, whispering and trying to get in, and the wild dogs makin’ the neighbourhood a place o’ public meeting—barking, howling, and quarrelling over their sorrows like human bein’s, they don’t give me much rest.”

“I have read of these dogs before,” said Miles. “Are they really as wild and dangerous as they get credit for?”

“If you’d seen the fight I had wi’ them the other night you’d have no doubt on that point. Why, a gang of ’em made a regular attack on me, and if it hadn’t been that I was pretty active with my sword-stick, they’d have torn me in bits. Let me advise you never to go out after nightfall without one. Is that one in your hand?”

“No, it is merely a cane.”

“Well, exchange with me. There’s no saying when you may want it.”

Tufnell took a light sword-stick which lay on the table and handed it to Miles, who accepted it laughingly, and without the slightest belief that he should ever have occasion to use it.

In chatting about the plans of the building and the prospects of success, our hero became at last so deeply interested—partly, no doubt, because of his friend’s enthusiasm—that he forgot the flight of time, and the evening was advancing before he rose to leave.

“Now, Tufnell,” he said suddenly, “I must be off, I have another call of importance to make.”

“What! won’t you stop and have a cup of coffee with me?”

“Impossible. My business is urgent. I want to see friends whom I may not have the chance of seeing again. Good-night.”

“Good-night, then, and have a care of the dogs, specially after nightfall.”

On returning to the hotel shortly after sunset, Miles came to the conclusion that his love must certainly be “true,” for its course was not running “smooth.” His friends had not yet returned. Mrs Drew had indeed come back, alone in a cab, but she had “von headik an’ vas go to the bed.”

Waiting about in front of the hotel for an hoar or two proved to be too much for our hero’s nerves; he therefore made up his mind to exhaust his nervous system by means of a smart walk. Soon he found himself in a lonely place, half-way between the Grand Square and the Ramleh Gate, with a deliciously cool breeze playing on his brow, and a full moon sailing overhead.

No one was moving about on the road along which he walked. He had it all to himself at first, and the evening would have been quiet as well as beautiful but for the yelping dogs which had, by that time, come out of their day-dens to search and fight for food and hold their nightly revels.

All round him were the heaps of rubbish caused by bombardment, and the ruined houses which war had rendered tenantless, though here and there the uprising of new buildings proved that the indomitable energy of man was not to be quelled by war or anything else. A flickering oil-lamp placed here and there at intervals threw a sickly yellow light into dark recesses which the moonbeams failed to reach. Intermingled with these were a few date-palms and bananas. After a time he observed a couple of figures in advance of him—a man and woman—walking slowly in the same direction.

Not wishing to have his thoughts disturbed, he pushed on, intending to pass the wayfarers. He had got to within a hundred paces of them when he became aware of a violent pattering sound behind him. Stopping and looking back he saw a pack of eight or nine of the wild, half-famished dogs of the place coming along the road at full gallop. He was quite aware that they were the savage, masterless creatures which keep close in hiding during the day, and come out at night to search for something to devour, but he could not bring himself to believe that any sort of dog was a dangerous animal. He therefore merely looked at them with interest as being natives of the place!

They passed without taking notice of him—as ugly and wolfish a pack as one could wish to see—led by a big fellow like a ragged disreputable collie. They also passed, with apparent indifference, the wayfarers in advance, who had stopped to look at them.

Suddenly, and without a note of warning, the whole pack turned and rushed back, yelling fiercely, towards the man and woman. The latter clung to the left arm of the former, who raised his stick, and brought it down with such good-will on the skull of the foremost dog that it reeled back with an angry howl. It was not cowed, however, for it came on again, but the man, instead of striking it, thrust the end of his stick down its throat and checked it a second time. Still unsubdued, the fierce animal flew at him once more, and would certainly have overcome him if Miles had not run to the rescue at the first sign of attack. Coming up quickly, he brought his cane down on the dog’s head with all his might, having quite forgotten the sword in the excitement of the moment! The blow did nothing to the dog, but it shattered the cane, leaving the sword exposed! This was fortunate. A quick thrust sent the dog flying away with yells of pain and fear, followed by all his companions, who seemed to take their cue entirely from their leader.

Turning to congratulate the wayfarers on their escape, Miles confronted Mr Drew and his daughter Marion!

If he had encountered the glare of the great sea-serpent he could scarcely have been taken more completely aback.

“My dear young friend,” said the clergyman, recovering himself and grasping the passive hand of the young soldier with enthusiasm, though he could not help smiling at his obvious embarrassment, “you seem to have been raised up to be our rescuer!”

“I hope I have been raised up for something even more satisfactory than that,” thought Miles, but he did not say so! What he did say—in a stammering fashion—was to the effect that he hoped he might be called on to—to—render many more such trifling services—no—he did not quite mean that, but if they should ever again be in danger, he hoped they would call on him to—to—that is—

“But I hope sincerely,” he added, changing the subject abruptly, “that you are not hurt, Miss Drew?”

“Oh dear no; only a little frightened. But, father, are you sure that you are not hurt?”

“Quite sure; only a little sprain, I think, or twist in my right ankle. The attack was so sudden, you see, that in the hurry to meet it my foot turned over. Give me your arm, my young friend. There; it will be all right in a few minutes. How you tremble, Marion! Your nerves have received a greater shock than you imagine, and a lame man is but a poor support. Give her your other arm, Mr Miles. You are stout enough to support us both.”

Stout enough to support them both! Ay, at that moment Miles felt stout enough to support the entire world, like Atlas, on his own broad shoulders! With a blush, that the moon generously refused to reveal, Marion laid her hand lightly on the soldier’s arm. It was much too light a touch, and did not distribute with fairness the weight of his burden, for the old gentleman hung heavily on the other arm. Mr Drew walked very slowly, and with evident pain, for the twist of the ankle had been much more severe than he at first imagined.

“You will come in and sup with us,” said Mr Drew, on at last reaching the hotel door.

“Impossible. I am exceedingly sorry, but my time has almost expired. Indeed, I fear it has expired already, and duty comes before everything else. Your daughter taught me that lesson, sir, on board ship!”

“Oh you hypocrite!” remarked his familiar and plain-spoken internal friend; “where was this grand sense of duty when you left home in a rage without ‘by your leave’ to father or mother?” Miles could make no reply. He had a tendency to silence when this friend spoke, and returned to barracks in a pensive mood, just in time, as Armstrong said, to save his bacon.

Note 1. This fleece is now, among other curiosities, at the Portsmouth Institute.