Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > In the Mahdi's Grasp > This page
In the Mahdi's Grasp, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 12. A Fight With A Black |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER TWELVE. A FIGHT WITH A BLACK Now it so happened that Sam soon ceased to congratulate himself upon his good luck. He had thrown himself upon the couch provided for his resting-place. He had discovered by turning it up that sheep-skins were stretched beneath it to make it soft, and that beneath these the sand was yielding and dry. But all the same the couch felt hard, and sleep would not come. He tried this side and that side, front after back, and returned to the back; but it was no good, for the fact was that he was over-tired; and over-weariness, that is to say, exhaustion, is one of the worst opponents to a calm and satisfying sleep. The evening came on cool and soft after the ardour of the afternoon, and he began thinking about the proceedings of that time, and felt a little hurt that the doctor had not called upon him to come and act as his assistant, and these thoughts lasted him for about an hour, but did not weary him into dropping off to sleep. They seemed to have the contrary effect, making him irritable; and though he made up his mind to watch the stars peer out through the opalescent sky--he did not call it opalescent, for the simple word dusky took its place--even their soft light had no effect upon him, and to come to the result at once the would-be sleeper gave it up at last for a bad job. "I'll go and get something to eat and drink, and then try what I can do." In this spirit he rose from his couch, feeling stiff and awkward, grunted, stretched, and then stood in the tent door looking out upon the glorious, star-spangled sky, noting that it was lighter towards the east, where the moon was about to rise. "Ought to be able to sleep," he said. "Nice fine night, and it's all quiet and cool." Then his attention was taken up by the soft light which came from the gentlemen's tent, in which a lamp was burning, while some twenty yards away another was lighting up the opening of the Sheikh's big tent, showing the figures of the chief and his visitors seated comfortably smoking, as they conversed in a low voice. Sam made up his mind at once. There would be drinking water in a brass vessel in the gentlemen's tent, and perhaps something to eat--something to refresh him and give him the night's rest of which he was so sorely in need. Walking across the open space, he turned his head for a moment, attracted by a complaining voice as of some one in trouble, and he was about to run off to find out what was the matter. But a repetition of the sound made him jerk himself angrily away. "One of those beauties!" he muttered. "Talk about a bad-tempered horse, why he's an angel compared to a camel! Of all the disagreeable, whining, sour, vicious things that ever breathed, they seem about the worst. Gritty, that's what they are. Get the sand into their tempers when they're young, I suppose.--Oh, he's quiet now. Well, it is a beautiful night after all, and the cool air seems to do one good. I expect I shall get to like it when I've learnt to ride that brute of a camel, so long as there's no stabbing and spearing and that sort of thing." Sam shook his head very solemnly as these last thoughts came into his head in company with recollections of scraps he had read in the daily papers about encounters with the dervishes, and the horrible massacres they had perpetrated. "Seems to me," he said, "that these people ought to be stopped. If I was Government I wouldn't let people go about carrying swords and spears. With things like them fashionable it stands to reason that they're sure to want to stick them into somebody.--Ugh! It's very horrid. There ought never to be any other fighting than what is done with a fist." Sam had by this time sauntered up to the opening into the gentlemen's tent, and there he paused to look round at the figures by that of the Sheikh, before stepping inside in search of what he required. The low murmur of conversation came softly to his ears as he looked and then turned back to enter. "Shouldn't a bit wonder if they've got a nice hot cup of coffee there, and that's just the thing that would suit my complaint exactly. I should be all right if I was at home, but I sha'n't get it here, and--" By this time he was half across the roomy, booth-like tent, where he stopped short as if turned to stone in his surprise. For dimly seen by the light from the hanging lamp, he could see a figure stooping down-- through the opening into the inner tent where the water and brass basins stood ready for washing. It was within this place that the leather cases containing the travellers' clothes and various necessaries had been placed, and over one of these open portmanteaus the dimly seen figure was bending, and from the slight noises he made it was evident that he was ransacking the case in search of something. "Oh," thought Sam excitedly, "that's why I couldn't sleep--sort o' warning like to do my dooty. Thieves, eh? and not a policeman on the beat!" Just at that moment the figure straightened itself up, and quick as thought Sam stepped close back to the entrance and behind a hanging rug, which hid him from the figure but enabled him to watch its proceedings. Sam's first idea was to shout for help to capture the thief, but he checked himself. "Wouldn't do," he thought. "This sort's too slippery. He'd be off over the sands and gone before anyone came. I've got to catch my gentleman myself. Wonder whether he has a knife." Sam's heart beat fast, but it was with excitement, for there was no leaven of fear. A marauder was robbing his master or one of his master's friends, and he felt it to be his duty to capture the scoundrel. At the same time he intended to do this without injury to himself. "Bless him!" he muttered; "if he'll only come close and turn his back I'll have him down on his face in a jiffy, and sit upon him as if he was a camel. It will be time enough to holloa then." Those were exciting moments, and Sam's heart beat faster still as the man stepped softly out of the inner tent and stood for a few moments where the dim light of the lamp fell upon him, showing him to be a light, active-looking black in white cotton jacket and short drawers, his arms, breast, and legs from mid-thigh being bare, and glistening softly as he moved, while his eyes rolled and the whites stood out clearly against the dark skin. "He'll be hard to hold," thought Sam, "and I mustn't trust to that thin cotton stuff. He'll tear away in a moment. But he hasn't a knife, as far as I can see. What's he got in his pockets, I wonder." Sam wondered more the next moment, as he saw the black dart softly back into the inner tent and disappear, his bare feet not making a sound. "Is there a way out behind there?" the man asked himself, for all was quiet and the minutes glided by till he was just on the point of stepping forward to make sure of the enemy's presence, when the black appeared again, carrying an armful of clothes, which he threw down on the carpet, and to Sam's great delight dropped upon his knees in the very position he would have placed him, while the object of his visit was plainly shown, for he began to rummage the pockets of the garments and transfer their contents, the chink of money being heard, and a faint gleam was apparently given forth by something metallic, evidently a watch. As Sam saw all this he softly raised his hands to his lips after the fashion of a boy about to moisten them so as to get a good grip. But it was only in form, and as he did so he stepped softly from behind the hanging rug and then onward slowly to within springing distance, when with extended hands he crouched and sprang at the black, landed upon his back, driving him forward, and gripped him tightly. "Got you!" he muttered to himself, and this was perfectly true, but the black did not lie quiet like the camel Sam had settled himself to ride. For he began to act at once as if made of a combination of steel springs. He swung himself sidewise as he felt Sam upon his back, disorganised the butler's holding, and behaved in a thoroughly eel-like fashion as he struggled hard to get away. It was many years since Sam had engaged in such a struggle, but he had not quite forgotten old, boyish encounters. The resistance stirred up the latent temper within him, and though his holding was not what he had meant it to be, it was fast, and he made it tighter, locking arms and legs about his captive, and the next minute they were rolling over and over, twisting and twining on the carpet, and panting hard as each strove for the mastery. Sam's intention had been to shout for help as soon as he had seized the black, but he was too busy holding him, and all recollection of his plans passed from his memory at once. All he could think of now was that he must keep his prize, while it was perfectly evident that his prize did not mean to be kept, but fought for his liberty with might and main, while at the first encounter the writhing pair had come in contact with one of the poles which supported the tent, the lamp had fallen, and the place now, save for the dim starlight seen through the doorway, was in utter darkness. It was only working by touch, but Sam made good use of his muscles, forgetting all about his stiffness, and for quite a couple of minutes the panting and scuffling of the wrestling pair went on, till Sam found himself upon his back with the black sitting upon his chest and a pair of hands in close proximity to his throat. But in spite of his being in the worse position Sam was not beaten. He had fast hold of his enemy with his hands, and had thrown up his legs so as to tighten them round those of his foe, and in this position both held on as if trying to recover breath. Then all at once Sam felt the grip of one of the black's hands loosen, and a horrible thought flashed through his brain-- It was his adversary's right hand, and he was about to seek for his knife! "Look here, you black hound," panted Sam. "If you stab me you'll be hung." "Sam!" came in a hoarse voice, and the grip slackened. "Who are you?" panted Sam. "Why!--what I--'Tain't you, is it, Master Frank?" "Oh, you idiot! you fool!" "But I don't under--I say, Mr Frank, I took you for a nigger." "You've dragged me all to pieces, and I'm so hot I--" "But is it you, Master Frank, dressed up?" "You knew it was," cried the young man angrily, as the grasp being slackened he struggled up, to stand breathing hard. "'Strue as goodness, sir, I didn't!" said Sam, rising to his knees. "Oh, just wait till I get my wind again. I say, Mr Frank, you are strong--strong as--as a donkey." "I? Come, I like that!" panted Frank. "I'm a donkey, am I, sir?" "'Pon my word, Mr Frank, I beg your pardon. I came into the tent and saw, as I thought, a real nigger robbing the place, and though I felt scared about his having a knife, I went at him, and it was you all the time." "Yes, it was I all the time," cried Frank angrily. "Why didn't you speak?" "Never thought about it, sir. Seemed to me that I ought to catch the thief, and I caught a Tartar instead." "It is most vexatious! Oh, how hot I am! Have you got a match?" "Yes, I've got a box somewhere." "Look sharp, then, and light the lamp." "All right, sir," said Sam, fumbling in his box, and proceeding to strike a light. "I 'spose you've made me in a pretty mess, sir." "What! Have I made your nose bleed?" "Oh, no, sir. I meant the lampblack. I suppose I shall be covered with it." "Wait till you get the light, and see," said Frank sharply. _Scratch_! The little wax match flashed, the lamp was picked up uninjured, and after a little trying, burned freely, so that the adversaries could gaze in each other's faces. But prior to doing this Sam examined his hands twice over, and then passed them over his face. He next took out a pocket-handkerchief and rubbed his face well, bringing away plenty of perspiration, but the linen remained white. "It hasn't come off, sir," he said, in a tone full of wonder; and then, moistening his handkerchief with his lips, "Beg your pardon, sir, would you mind?" Frank, whose annoyance was dying out, being driven off by a feeling of amusement caused by the man's looks of wonder, stood fast while Sam passed his handkerchief over the back of one hand and then drew back, laughing softly. "Well, Sam!" he cried. "I say, sir, you do look rum! I shouldn't have known you. I don't know you now, and I don't believe your own mother would." "Then you think the disguise is perfect enough?" "Disguise, sir? You can't call that a disguise! It's the real thing. Why, you're a downright genuine nigger, that you are!" "That's right, Sam," said Frank, smiling now. "And the best of it is, sir, that you're regular fast colours." "I hope so, Sam." "Think you could bear to wash yourself, sir?" "Oh, yes. It will take weeks to make this look lighter." "Well, I call it amazing, sir. There ain't no need for you to mind where you go. No dervish could take you for a white man, unless he was mad. But am I to be painted that colour?" "No; you will go as you are--the Hakim's white servant." "Well, just as you like, sir; I don't mind. I'll be touched up like you are if you think it will be safer for a man. It's wonderful, sir. And no fear of its showing the dirt. But pst! here's some one coming. The doctor and Mr Landon, sir. I thought you were sitting along with them. Have they seen you like this?" "No, Sam; I was just getting ready for them." "Did they know it, sir?" "No." "Then I'll go in yonder. You stop and let 'em catch you sudden like. Just to try if they'll know you." Frank nodded, and Sam darted into the inner tent, just having disappeared as the professor sauntered in with the doctor, and both drew up short. "Hullo, you, sir!" said the professor gruffly, in Arabic; "what business have you here?" Frank made no reply, but edged a little to one side, while at the same moment the doctor caught sight of the clothes lying on the floor, and uttered an exclamation. "Yes, see!" cried the professor. "Robbers, eh? Help me, and we'll tie this fellow up." "Quick, then," said the doctor. "Look out for his knife. Bah! how absurd!" he added the next moment, calming down from the excitability he had displayed. "What do you mean?" cried the professor sharply. "Don't hold back. Why!--what!--My dear Frank, what a metamorphosis!" "Yes," said Frank quietly. "I have passed muster with three of you, so I suppose it will do." "Do!" cried the professor. "Why, it is simply admirable. Stop a minute, I'll fetch Sam from his tent and try him.--Eh? You here, sir?" he added, as Sam came out of the inner tent.--"You've seen him, then?" "Yes, sir, and felt him too!" said the man, and the newcomers heard what had taken place. _ |
||