Loe raamatut: «Zoraida: A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara», lehekülg 27

Chapter Forty Four.
Le Commencement de la Fin

Briefly resting during the blazing noon, we resumed our way speedily across the treacherous sand dunes and rough stones, through the nameless ruined city, until, at dawn of the second day, away on the plain before us, rose the tall palms of Tjigrin.

On reaching the edge of the oasis, Octave took bearings by his pocket compass, and afterwards we continued our way in search of the camp of Spahis, to which it was imperative that he should return. We had arranged that I should rest and obtain supplies from them before continuing my journey alone to Agadez; and that he should, after obtaining leave of absence from his commander, follow me in the guise of a letter-writer. At the City of the Ahír, after I had placed the Great White Diadem and the ancient manuscript in Zoraida’s hands, we could then decide the best means by which we could remove the treasure to Algiers. I still kept him in ignorance of the occupation of Agadez by Hadj Absalam, accounting for Zoraida’s presence there by the fact that she had performed a pious visit to the tomb of a celebrated marabout in the vicinity. Knowing my friend’s eagerness to secure the piratical old chieftain, and feeling that any attempt in that direction would seriously compromise Zoraida, if it did not, indeed, cost her her life, I considered the wisest course was to arouse no suspicion of the truth until he himself discovered the situation. Alone in Agadez, he would be unable to act; whereas if the Spahis obtained the slightest inkling of the whereabouts of the outlaws they had so long and vainly sought, it was certain they would rush to the attack, a proceeding which would no doubt be fatal to all my hopes, having in view the reward offered for Zoraida’s capture.

I had grown accustomed to this life of sorrow-dogged wandering – now here, now there – so accustomed to it, indeed, that I did not perceive fatigue. Mirthfully we travelled across the verdant, well-wooded tract, with eyes keenly watchful, until at last, when the sun was setting, tinting the beautiful landscape with exquisite lucent colours, amber and gold with amethystine shadows, we came upon the spot, only to find the camp had been struck. The empty tins that had contained preserved foods, the bones, and the black patches on the sand with blackened embers, told their own tale. The Spahis had resaddled their horses and ridden away, we knew not whither! These flying horsemen of the plains rarely remain at one spot for long, and move with a rapidity that is astounding; yet it puzzled Octave considerably, and certainly appeared to me curious, that they should have left their missing comrade to his fate.

Uzanne, dismounting, examined the ground minutely, picked up some of the discarded tins and peered inside them, turned over the dead embers, and occupied himself for some minutes in inspecting the holes whence the tent-poles had been withdrawn. Then, returning to me, he said —

“They left hurriedly. Rations were flung away half eaten, and in some cases there was not even sufficient time to withdraw the tent-pegs!”

“What could have alarmed them?”

“Most probably they expected an attack by the Kanouri. Before I left, a scout had come in with the news that their fighting men were encamped in force in the valley beyond the rocks of Tefraska. We must endeavour to trace the direction in which they have gone.”

The thought flashed across me that each hour I lingered delayed Zoraida’s emancipation.

“Why waste time?” I urged. “What is there to prevent you from accompanying me to Agadez? You have not deserted; your comrades have been compelled to desert you!”

At first he was obdurate. It was his duty, he declared, to rejoin his squadron. But presently, after I had persuaded him by every possible argument to continue his companionship, he at last, with much reluctance, consented. Then once again we turned our faces north-west, towards Dibbela. He had grown gloomy and thoughtful, uttering few words, and giving vent to expressions of impatience whenever his jaded horse stumbled or slackened its pace. The cause of this was not far to seek. Our conversation had turned upon Paris and her people. I had been recounting those happy, ever-to-be-remembered days when I lived four storeys up in the Rue St. Séverin; when, careless Bohemian that I was, the sonnets of Musset thrilled me, the quips of Droz convulsed me, the romances of Sue held me breathless, and the pathos of Mürger caused me to weep. An unsuccessful art student, a persistent hanger-on to the skirts of journalism, I lived the life of the Quartier Latin, and though I oft-times trod the Pont Neuf without a sou, yet I was, nevertheless, supremely happy and content.

“Until now, mine has been but a grim fortune,” I said. “The money that took me out of the world I loved brought me only unhappiness and discontent. It caused me to become cynical, dissatisfied with my English surroundings, dissatisfied with myself. Even now I gaze back with regret upon those blissful hours of idle gossip over our vermouth and our mazagran; those frugal days of desperate struggle to obtain a foothold in literature, those mad, rollicking fêtes du nuit; that pleasant, reckless life, so happily divided between pleasure and toil. How well, too, I recollect those easy-going, laughter-loving children of Bohemia, my boon companions, each of whose purse was ever at the other’s command; how vividly their faces and their bonhomie come back to me, now that I am, alas! no longer of their world, no longer a denizen of the Quartier where the man is not judged by his coat, and wealth commands no favours.”

“You are not ostracised as I am,” he blurted out, with much bitterness. “You have riches; you will win the woman you love, and return to Paris, to Brussels, to London, there to live in happiness; while I —mon Dieu! – I, professing a religion I do not follow, sailing under false colours, eating kousskouss from a wooden platter, broiling always beneath this merciless sun, shall one day fall, pierced by an Arab’s bullet! Bah! – the sooner it is all ended the better.”

“Why meet trouble half-way?” I asked, endeavouring to cheer him. “You have come out to this wild land to efface your identity, because if you had remained in Europe you would have been charged with a crime, the sequel of which would have been the lifelong unhappiness of the woman you love. I admit, your future appears dull and hopeless, but why despair? There may be a day when you will be able to return to her without branding her children as those of a murderer.”

“Never!”

“Tout arrive à point à qui sait attendre,” I observed cheerily. “Ah,” he replied, smiling sadly, “it is a long and weary waiting. Even while she seeks me, I am compelled to go further afield, in order to conceal my existence.”

“I can sympathise with you,” I said. “All of us bear our burdens of sorrow.”

“What sorrow can possess you?” he retorted. “The woman to whose arms you are now flying will accompany you back to civilisation, there to commence a new life. You will show her our world of spurious tinsel and hollow shams; you will educate her as a child into what we call les convenances, teach her what to accept and what to avoid, and she, who to-day is the leader of a band of outlaws, will become an idol of Society. Proud of her beauty, content in her love, you will at last find the perfect peace for which you have been searching, and for which you have risked so much.”

“Of you I will make the same prophetic utterances,” I answered, laughing. “Your life will not always be darkened by this cloud. It is a passing shadow that will be succeeded by sunshine.”

But he only shook his head, sighed, and remained silent.

To the sorrow weighing so heavily upon his brave, generous heart I made no further allusion during the ten days we travelled together, first to the little town of Dibbela, – where he discarded his Spahi’s dress for the white burnouse and fillet of camel’s hair of the Arab of the plain, – then, spurring over the boundless desert of Ndalada, and through the Agram Oasis, until, in the dazzling glare of a brilliant noon, we passed through a clump of palms, and distinguished, in the far distance, the dome and tall square minaret of the great mosque of Agadez.

Approaching, we gradually discerned the high white walls of the city, with its flat-roofed houses rising tier upon tier upon the hillside, centring round the Mesállaje, while in the background the high strong walls of the palace, wherein Zoraida was incarcerated, awaiting my return, loomed stern and sombre against the cloudless cerulean sky.

But I had elucidated the Great Mystery. I had unearthed the treasure that for a thousand years had lain lost deep down in the earth, and as evidence, in my saddle-bags I bore the two priceless diadems and the scroll traced by the powerful Sultan Askiá himself. Ere long the coronet of diamonds would be in Zoraida’s hands; she would open and read the faded record, and the power of the Great White Diadem to release her would then be put to its crucial test. Now that the Secret had been revealed to me in a manner so extraordinary, I doubted nothing. I had implicit confidence in the mystic power of the Diadem, and felt assured that in a few short hours I should hold Zoraida in my arms free, the mysterious trammels that had so long bound her to the Ennitra at last torn asunder.

Suddenly we saw five horsemen galloping out from the deep archway of the city gate towards us. The guard of the Ennitra had evidently discerned us, and, taking us for stragglers unaware of the fall of the young Sultan, were riding forward to capture us.

“They will be disappointed when they meet us,” I exclaimed, laughing. “For the present I am under the protection of their Daughter of the Sun, and you, as my servant, are safe also.”

“Safe —safe!” he cried, a second later, pulling up his horse so quickly that he threw it upon its haunches, and shading his keen, practised eyes with both his hands. “See! – see! Those men who are raising a cloud of sand about them – cannot you recognise them?”

Stopping my camel, I shaded my eyes, and peered eagerly before me. Through the whirling sand raised by their hoofs, and blown by the strong wind before them, I suddenly caught a glimpse of scarlet. Again I fixed my eyes intently upon them, until the sand obscuring them cleared. A second later I was startled, for, to my dismay, I saw that the party consisted of a single Spahi and four Chasseurs d’Afrique!

“What – what does this mean?” I gasped, amazed, with my gaze riveted upon the soldierly figures, sharp cut against the sky, tearing rapidly along in our direction.

“Que diabe! It’s extraordinary! Come, let us hasten to ascertain the truth;” and, suiting the action to the word, he spurred forward, I following his example.

Ten minutes later we met, and after the Spahi had recognised his comrade, and the Chasseurs had satisfied themselves that I was not an Arab, we learned from them that strange and startling events had occurred in Agadez since I had left it. As they rode back again with us at an easy pace, one of the Chasseurs, who had now sheathed his heavy sabre and lit a cigarette, replying to my hasty questions, explained the situation. With a strong Gascon accent, he said —

“The expedition was carefully planned, and carried out with considerable secrecy. Two months ago, when our squadron was at Tuggurt under Captain Carmier, we heard that the Ennitra were moving towards the Ahír, with the intention, apparently, of attacking Agadez. This news was telegraphed from Biskra to the General of Division at Algiers, who at once decided upon the plan of campaign to be carried out by a punitive expedition. Orders were immediately transmitted to the eastern advanced posts, by which a regiment of Spahis were moved to the Tjigrin Oasis, two regiments of Turcos, three battalions of Zouaves, and three batteries of artillery, with some light machine guns, to Tagama, while we of the Chasseurs – encamped outside Azarara, both of which places are four days’ journey south and north respectively from the City of the Ahír. Only the commanding officers knew the object of these movements, and it appears that the plans were so preconcerted that we should combine against the Ennitra just at the moment they marched to the attack of Agadez.”

“You failed to arrive early enough to prevent the massacre,” I observed.

“Yes, unfortunately. Through some delay in the transmission of an order to the Spahis, several days were lost, and when, at last, two weeks ago, our squadrons effected a junction, and we stole silently at midnight, holding our scabbards until we came before yonder walls, we found the city in the possession of the Ennitra, those of its people who survived reduced to slavery, and Hadj Absalam installed in state in the palace. Swiftly we descended upon the place. Yells and savage cries rent the midnight silence. The crash of the volleyed firing sounded high above the shrieks for quarter. There was indescribable panic in the city, and although through the night the conflict was desperate and the Ennitra fought with that dogged courage that has always made them conspicuous, yet the havoc wrought by our machine guns appalled them from the first. Gaining the city walls at dawn, we stormed the Fáda, and by noon had captured the place, and nearly four hundred of the Ennitra, including Hadj Absalam and the man known as Labakan, were prisoners in our hands.”

“And what of Zoraida?” I gasped, with sinking heart.

“You mean, I suppose, the woman, known as Daughter of the Sun? She has been, it is said, leader in most of the marauding expeditions, and on that account a reward was offered by the Government for her capture. It was she who, still in her gorgeous harem dress, rushed out at the first alarm, and led her horde of cut-throats to the defence of the city. Armed with knife and pistol, she plunged with indomitable courage, and with an utter disregard for her life, into the thick of the fight, acting as courageously as any of those wild desert pirates whom she led with such extraordinary tact. Once or twice I caught a glimpse of her as she urged on our yelling and bewildered foe. Report had not lied as to her beauty. Her loveliness was entrancing.”

“Where is she now?” I demanded breathlessly.

“I know not, m’sieur,” the man answered, shrugging his shoulders.

“But surely you know if she still lives?”

“The bodies of some women were found,” he answered carelessly. “It is believed hers was amongst them.”

“My God!” I cried brokenly, turning to Octave, who was riding on my left. “It can’t be true —it can’t be!”

“Wait,” he said quietly. “Seek Carmier. Perhaps the truth has been hidden from the men.”

“M’sieur has asked me a question,” observed the Chasseur, raising his eyebrows; “I have replied to the best of my knowledge.”

“And Hadj Absalam? What has become of him?” I asked, noticing that we were now passing heaps of human bones, already stripped by the vultures and whitened by the sun.

“We captured him when we entered the palace, and imprisoned him in one of the smaller chambers, under a strong guard. He endeavoured to commit suicide, but was prevented.”

I asked no further question. I remembered only the sweet, beautiful face of the brave, fearless woman to whom I owed my life, and who had promised to love me always. How her calm, serious, wistful countenance came up before me! Surely it could not be that I was never to look again into those dark, luminous eyes, so appealing and so true – surely they were not closed for ever in death! Now I had successfully elucidated the mystery that had remained an unsolved problem a thousand years, surely she would not be snatched from me! Yet Zouave guards were resting on their rifles at the gate; in the open space beyond a bugle was sounding, and a word of command shouted in French brought to a halt half a battalion of Turcos in marching order. Agadez was in the possession of the French. Ever extending their territory in the Soudan, they had, while breaking the power of the Ennitra, firmly established themselves at another important advanced post. But at what cost? Alas! at the cost of my happiness!

I was dazed, stupefied. The only idea I could grasp was that all my efforts through long and weary months had been in vain; that I had been unable to save her. Truly, the Omen of the Camel’s Hoof was being fulfilled!

Without pausing to gaze upon the half-burned town, I sped onward to the Fáda, where I was told I should probably discover my friend, Captain Carmier. My search did not occupy long, for I found him in the ruined Hall of the Divan, in conversation with General Seignouret, the elderly officer in command of the expedition.

“You! mon cher Cecil?” cried the Captain gaily, extending his hand as I advanced. “What brings you here?”

“Cannot you guess?” I answered.

“You told me months ago at Tuggurt that you were journeying here to fulfil some strange promise you had made to a woman. You little expected to find us here before you – eh?” he asked, laughing.

“When I was your guest on my way south, I could not tell you the object of my journey, as I had promised to keep it secret.”

“Well, the woman must have been particularly fascinating to have induced you to undertake such a risky journey, especially with Hadj Absalam’s band scouring the Desert.”

“You will admit, I think, that she was fascinating,” I said as quietly as I could. “Her name was Zoraida.”

“Dieu! Not the woman who is known as Daughter of the Sun?”

“The same. She has promised to become my wife. Take me to her. Let me speak with her,” I urged, frantic with impatience.

“Alas! mon ami! I regret I cannot,” he replied, shaking his head sorrowfully.

“She surely is not dead?”

“No – not dead. She is a prisoner, and, with Hadj Absalam and a man called Labakan, is on her way, under a strong escort, to Algiers.”

“To Algiers?” I gasped, dismayed.

“It is unfortunate that she of all women should have fascinated you,” observed General Seignouret, who had been standing by, “because her career has been a terrible one. The Ministry in Paris gave orders for her capture months ago, and offered a heavy reward, which my men here have at last won. I have now sent her to Algiers for trial.”

“She is innocent. She hated the life; those scenes of bloodshed and horrible barbarities appalled and nauseated her,” I cried in passionate protest. “Her strange position had been thrust upon her by sheer ill-fortune. Tell me, for what crimes will she be tried?”

“For outlawry and murder,” the General answered abruptly. “And the punishment?”

“Why think more of her?” he suggested, casting away the end of his cigarette. “It is useless to still contemplate marriage, for her freedom is impossible when the punishment for either offence is the guillotine.”

“The guillotine?” I cried, in mad despair. “And your men are dragging her onward – onward across the Desert to a cruel, ignominious, and brutal end?”

“Think of the massacre of Deschanel and his brave Spahis, of the many raids whereby unarmed caravans have been looted, and their owners butchered; think of the hundreds of our men who have been ruthlessly murdered or horribly tortured by the fiendish band under the leadership of this pretty savage! It was her presence, her voice, that urged on the Ennitra to the frightful massacre and awful barbarities after this city had fallen into their hands; and again she commanded her people in their desperate defence of the city when we endeavoured to take the place by surprise.”

“But I tell you the leadership was forced upon her against her will by those ferocious brutes!” I said warmly. “Ah! you do not know her as well as I.”

“We know her quite sufficiently to be aware that her crimes have cost many of our unfortunate comrades their lives, and that the death sentence is the only one that can be passed upon her. The Government are determined the punishment in her case shall be exemplary,” the stern old General answered, turning from me to take a dispatch that had just been brought in by a Spahi messenger.

“Come, old fellow,” Cannier whispered, taking me kindly by the arm and leading me forth into the once-beautiful harem-garden. “Forget this woman. For her it must certainly be either the lunette or La Nouvelle. No effort of yours can ever give her freedom. Besides, think of her past; is she, after all, worth troubling about?”

“Worth troubling about? Yes,” I answered promptly, turning upon him angrily. “Why should you judge her thus? You only know her by the idle and exaggerated gossip of the camp; yet you believe her to be a bloodthirsty harridan, delighting in scenes of massacre and pillage, a woman who regarded every caravan, every Zouave, and every Chasseur as her lawful and natural prey!”

“No, not a harridan by any means!” he exclaimed. “I admit her beauty and grace is unsurpassed. She is by far the most lovely woman I have ever seen – and I have seen a few beauties in my time at Royat, Etretat, Biarritz, and Trouville.”

“I am not discussing her countenance, mon ami” I continued, with perhaps undue warmth. “I am asking why you condemn her. Tell me, have the authorities any direct evidence that she has ever been guilty of murder?”

He hesitated, rolling a fresh cigarette thoughtfully.

“Well – no,” he answered. “As far as I am aware, there is no specific case upon which they rely.”

“Then they intend to transport her to New Caledonia for life, or perhaps even drag her to the guillotine, merely to deter other tribes from defying French rule!” I said, biting my lip.

“Sapristi! It is useless to argue with you,” he answered quickly. “You are fascinated by her, and, of course, will believe no ill. In your eyes she is simply a paragon of virtue. Therefore, the fewer words we exchange upon the painful topic the better.”

“You have declared my inability to save her,” I exclaimed with anger, indignant at his prejudice against her and at the thought of her, a prisoner, roughly handled by the uncouth Chasseurs, who even at that moment were hurrying her with all speed over the Desert towards Algiers. “You predict that all my efforts will be in vain; nevertheless, I shall follow, and do my best.”

“If you attempt to rescue her from the custody of the escort, you will without doubt get a bullet in your head.”

“I need no warnings,” I snapped; but further words were cut short by the sudden reappearance of General Seignouret, who, advancing to my friend, exclaimed —

“I must send an urgent dispatch to headquarters at Algiers. Whom do you recommend to carry it?”

“I am starting at once for Algiers,” I said; then, turning to Carmier, I urged, “Send Octave Uzanne, the Spahi. He is my friend.”

“Uzanne? – Uzanne?” repeated the Captain reflectively. “Ah! I remember, I have heard of him. He was a survivor of Deschanel’s detachment, and a valiant fellow. Yes, he shall bear the message.”

“In an hour it will be ready,” the General said; then, turning, he strode back into the Hall of the Divan, his spurs jingling, and his scabbard trailing over the polished floor that still bore ugly stains of blood.

“So you really intend setting out again on this fool’s errand?” Carmier asked, when his General had gone.

“I do. I must – I will save her.”

“Bah! Was she not a sorceress, a priestess of that strange secret society the Senousya, of which we can discover nothing; was she not indeed an inmate of Hadj Absalam’s harem, a – ”

“Nothing you can allege against her can deter me from the strenuous endeavour I am about to make,” I interrupted, with firmness. “She shall not be snatched from me, for I love her. Be she innocent or guilty, I will save her!”

But, with a cynical smile, he shrugged his shoulders, and, turning on his heel, walked away.