o mystic nile! thy secret yields
before us; thy most ancient dreams
are mixed with far canadian fields
and murmur of canadian streams.
—c. d. g. roberts.
the awe-inspiring designation which dan had bestowed upon his friend was not readily dropped. the canadians seized and used it joyfully. others who heard the name and were not aware of the joke in which it originated supposed that the bearer of it was really an indian chief, about whose bloody prowess they were ready to believe any tales which the ingenious mr. murphy might invent. and so, for the remainder of the voyage, scotty was known throughout the column as big scalper, the fiercest indian from the canadian wilds.
but in the days that followed dan found few opportunities for indulging his reckless humour, for soon the army was moving forward rapidly and the boatmen were in the midst of stupendous toil. the river column had been bidden to make haste. gordon was shut up in khartoum waiting his rescuers, and no one must rest. on they went, day after day, past dreary stretches of sand, broken only by an occasional and equally dreary dom palm; past barren ledges of rock, deserted mud villages and ruined temples; battling madly with a rapid, only to find when it was overcome that another lay ahead; toiling strenuously to catch up with the enemy, only to see at nightfall their spearheads disappearing over the last brown ridge of sand hills. scotty felt himself becoming a machine, something that did the day's work mechanically. to toil all day in the bow or stern of a boat in the scorching heat of the pitiless sun, or walk over blistering rock and dazzling sand; to sleep at night inside a square of good british bayonets, chilled by the numbing wind from the north; to rise at the bugle-call and go at it again—that was the unvarying programme. cataract and sand plain succeeded cataract and sand plain with such deadly monotony, that all sense of time, place, and progress was blotted out. they seemed stationary in an endless desert, toiling against an endless river, always moving but never advancing.
he often wondered, as he watched the brown, turbid water racing down to meet him, what secret the mysterious nile held for him. what would be its bearing upon his life? but he always ended his questionings with the assurance that whatever the outcome might be, even though he should never see it, it was controlled by a higher power, and he was content.
and through all the hardships and stress of the work, the struggle with the rapids, the hunger and privations, the new life which had been implanted in scotty's heart was his greatest stay. many a time in the face of temptation he blessed the saintly old woman far away in the canadian backwoods for the godly training he had received beneath the silver maple. he found he needed all his strength in this new, wild life; for a more gaily-gallant, reckless, devil-may-care crew than the canadian voyageurs, who fought and overcame the ancient nile, surely never wielded paddles. his chief trial was his own faithful follower, for dan murphy strove to out-canadian the wildest river-driver of the ottawa valley. and had scotty's strong hand not been often placed upon the unsteady tiller of his friend's life, there might have been a sadder wreck among the nile voyageurs than has been set down in history. his vigilant oversight of dan's conduct did not prevent him distinguishing himself in quite a unique way.
ever since he had left cairo that young man's one hope in life had been to participate in a battle. there came a day, later, when he and scotty worked side by side on the blood-stained rocks of the desert, helping to remove the dead and wounded; when they saw their general's body lowered into its lonely grave, and witnessed the hundred harrowing sights of a battlefield; and then and there, much of the boyish glamour of battle faded before the horrible reality. but that time had not yet come; and, like napoleon, dan was convinced that war was a grand game.
so when the reluctant enemy at last massed itself upon the rocky ledges of kirbekan to delay the column, and the joyful news spread through the impatient army that at last they were to meet the foe, none was so eager for the fray as dan. in spite of scotty's admonitions, he went to one of his officers to beg permission to join the advance the next morning. the request was promptly refused, and the volunteer bidden with scant ceremony to go back to his boat and mind his own business. but mr. murphy was convinced that his business lay with the front rank of the advancing column. he had not been trained to army discipline and was not minded to lose the glorious chance of participating in a real battle for such a trifling consideration as one man's opinion.
so in the grey dawn of the morning, when the troops marched out over sand and barren rock, there went with them a man who had neither the uniform nor the dogged stride of the rank and file. but he made up in enthusiasm what he lacked in military precision; for, having appropriated the arms and accoutrements of the first man who fell, he rushed to the front, and was right in the van of the victorious charge that swept the enemy from their rocky stronghold.
dan murphy was the hero of the canadian voyageurs for the remainder of the journey. when the six months' term for which they had signed had expired, and he and scotty resolved to go on to the end, there were many who remained with the column because the former chose to act as an independent recruiting officer. if he was going to khartoum, then they would follow, for where murphy was there must surely be some fun.
but the end of the journey came sooner than was expected. a little above kirbekan general brackenbury received the tragic news of the fall of khartoum and the martyred gordon's death. just a few days earlier, just a little more haste, and the gallant heart that had looked bravely into the face of despair for so many weary weeks, still patient, still hoping, might have seen the answer to his prayers! but the succors were too late by less than a week. gordon was murdered, khartoum was fallen, and at huella the baffled column received orders to return.
if the toil of descending the nile was not equal to that experienced in the ascent, the skill and vigilance required of the pilots was even greater. only a few days' journey had been completed when the column halted at the head of a long series of cataracts. here the dongolese boatmen had been put to their utmost strength to haul up the boats through the boiling, writhing channel, and the question was, could any boat go down it and live? general brackenbury gave orders that none but the canadians should be entrusted with the descent; so, early in the morning, the voyageurs walked down the stream to survey it. they pronounced the channel bad, but not impossible, while one old st. lawrence pilot sniffed contemptuously and declared that the lachine would make this puddle look "seek."
but the nile cataract was bad enough, as scotty realised, when he found himself among the first called to go down. dan was his bowman and the stroke oar was a hardy old scotch sergeant. upon both of these he could rely with certainty. nevertheless, as he steered out into the middle of the river, he realised that they had good need of all their courage and resource. on an overhanging rock above him stood the commander with some of his staff, anxiously watching the experiment. the shore was lined with soldiers, as though they had come to witness a boat-race. scotty had a fleeting glimpse of them as he raced past, and then his boat was caught in the swift current and shot forward with lightning speed. the men bent to their oars with all the might of their brawny arms, to give their helmsman more power, dan stood in the bow, alert and tense, his paddle ready, and scotty held the tiller in an iron grip. the channel curved sharply to right and left; at the quickest turns great rocks stood in mid-stream over which the angry waters boiled and roared. at many points an instant's hesitation on his own part, scotty well knew, or a second's relaxation of dan's vigilance, would hurl boat and crew to destruction. they were in it now, dashing through a blinding rain of spray, leaping, turning, dodging, twisting, as though the boat were a living creature pursued.
down they shot through the boiling zig-zag current, now avoiding great, jagged rocks by a hair's-breadth, now bounding like a deer over a smooth incline, now plunging into a seething white billow; and, when at last they swept round into the quiet bay at the foot of the cataract, dan leaped up, and waving his paddle on high uttered a wild war-whoop learned long ago in the swamps of the oro. there was an answering cheer from the group of men waiting at the landing. "well done, big scalper!" cried the foreman.
a young naval officer who had just ridden down from the head of the rapid turned quickly at the words.
"what, big scalper, is that you?" he cried as the pilots stepped from the boat. "how is it you're not hanged yet?"
scotty glanced up and encountered a laughing glance from the speaker's merry eyes. he recognised the young man whom dan had vainly tried to befool, away back at the beginning of the voyage. he was prevented from replying by a word from the officer in command. as the voyageurs were few and the boats many they had to walk back to the head of the cataract as soon as one descent was accomplished and prepare for another. their commander was bidding them make haste, and, when scotty turned to leave the landing, the young man had disappeared. he was vaguely disappointed. there was something very attractive in his good-humoured familiarity, so different from the manner of the ordinary under officers.
when the long day's labour was over and the darkness prevented the descent of any more boats, the canadians received orders to return to the upper camp to be in readiness for the morning's work. dan had been required for steering early in the day, and had been separated from his friend, so scotty found himself upon the rocky path leading to the head of the cataract quite alone.
dan had promised to join him, but when dan was in the company of the voyageurs there was generally sufficient cause for delay. scotty walked on slowly, glad to be alone for a few moments after the tremendous toil of the day; the desert was quiet, and acted upon his spirits as did the deep, fragrant swamps at home.
the sun had set and the desert, which had glowed golden in the blistering sun all day, now lay grey and ghostly in the moonlight. away ahead stood the ruins of an ancient temple overgrown with dusty mimosa bushes. the whispering nile, brown and gleaming in the daytime, ran swiftly past, touched to silver by the moon that hung in the great empty space overhead. the breeze from the north was cool; the night was quiet and restful. he strolled along easily, looking back occasionally for signs of his comrades; a solitary figure in the barren desert.
the toil over rocks and rapids of the last few months, though it had hardened his physique and left him in superb health, had played havoc with his clothes; and he was so disreputable and tattered a figure, that he smiled to himself, as he pictured granny's distress could she have seen him.
he reached a turn in the rocky path and stopped to listen for sounds of those who were to follow. the breeze from the north brought faintly the music of the old french canadian song that had so often enlivened alike the toil of the shantymen on the ottawa and the pilots on the nile.
"en roulant, ma boule roulant,
en roulant, ma boule."
the boys were coming, then; he seated himself upon a rock to await them. the sound died away for a moment, only the dry rustle of the mimosa bushes disturbed the silence.
he seemed absolutely alone in the world, until from a break in the rocks to his right a camel emerged with its stately, undulating stride. it bore an officer presumably riding down to the foot of the cataract. the long, fantastic shadow moved across the grey sand. scotty could hear the rider's voice urging the animal forward. as they came out into the open, the two figures were silhouetted against the pale sky; a splendid mark for a prowling dervish, he reflected.
as if in answer to his thought there came the sudden crack of a rifle from the direction of the ruined temple. the figure of the rider lurched over, and, with a leap, the animal had thrown him and was off desertward. there was a fiendish yell from the mimosa bushes. three or four dark forms rose like magic from their shadows, their spears glinting in the moonlight as they leaped forward. the wounded man lay between his assailants and scotty, somewhat nearer the latter. as it was scotty reached him first. the man was lying on the sand. he had his revolver in his hand and was striving desperately to raise himself into a position to shoot. scotty dragged him into a sheltering nook between two ledges of rock, snatched the weapon from his hand, and crouching down sent a bullet spinning out to meet the advancing rush. the dervishes halted; the revolver spoke again; there was a howl as a man fell. scotty felt a moment's inner exultation in that steady aim he had never lost since the days he and dan shot chipmunks behind the schoolhouse. but the yell had been answered by another farther from the river; three more glinting spearheads suddenly appeared from the dark expanse beyond, and came hurtling towards him. he poured the remaining chambers of his revolver into the mad charge; but, when the last was gone, the enemy were still leaping forward. he threw down the weapon and looked about swiftly. the wounded man had a sword at his side. scotty grasped it and the same instant the yelling savages were upon him. there was no use trying to take cover now. he stood erect and struck out madly. he was dimly surprised when the first man went down before him. he swung his weapon fiercely, with no thought of aim; but he was as agile as even these wild sons of the desert and his arm had the strength of ten. it could not last long, he knew, and he fought with the energy of despair. there was a strange roaring in his cars, as though he were in the midst of the cataract again, something warm was streaming down his face and obscuring his vision; he struck out blindly, desperately.
but now another sound arose, even above the roaring in scotty's head, the sound of a familiar voice; a shout from down the river. scotty's heart leaped; he uttered a strange, weird yell—"oro, oro, woo-hoo!" it was the long, fierce battle-cry of glenoro school. if dan were in egypt that would bring him, he knew!
"oro! oro!" came the answer; and like a sandstorm across the desert came the company of voyageurs, dan at their head, uttering the blood-curdling war-whoop with which he had so often awakened the echoes of the canadian swamps.
the fierce-eyed soudanese who had raised his spear to hurl at his opponent hesitated. he must have thought that all general brackenbury's army was upon him. he leaped back with a sharp word of command; one more yell from the advancing column, followed by the crack of a random shot decided him; the dark figures took to their heels, and in the magic way known only to the desert-born, had melted in a moment over the low hills.
scotty's head was spinning wildly, and when dan flung himself upon him he sank unsteadily upon the ground.
"hello, danny," he tried to say, with his usual calmness, "just on time."
dan clutched him by the shoulders and shook him violently; his voice was unsteady. "be jabers, didn't i hear ye bleatin' like a stray lamb, half-a-mile back. how did ye happen to have such luck, ye beggar? aw, the black-hearted brutes has give ye a bang, scotty, boy. hold on to me now, old man, here, an' we'll fix ye up in no time."
"the other fellow needs it worse," said scotty, making a motion towards the man at his feet. someone struck a light; the voyageurs raised the wounded man gently. his eyes opened.
"are you much hurt?" asked one of the rescuers, bending over him.
scotty looked down at him and was conscious of a feeling of glad surprise. it was the young naval officer who had spoken to him that morning.
"not much," he gasped pluckily. "it's under my arm here. you were just in the nick of time, canadian."
another match was lit to enable the men to see the rough bandages they were trying to adjust. the light flashed up into scotty's face, and the wounded man's eyes brightened.
"why, was it you, big scalper?" he asked, with a faint attempt at a smile. "the devil's not so bad as he's painted——" he made an effort to hold out his hand, but before scotty could take it the young man's head fell back and he had fainted in dan's arms.
the buzzing in scotty's head grew louder, other sounds became dim and far away. he was vaguely conscious that the boys were binding up his head, hurting him most unnecessarily in the process, and that they were leading him away, away, through the revolving darkness, over an interminable desert.
but the next morning saw him in the stern of his boat ready to take the cataract once more. his head was still bandaged and felt rather light, but he did his day's work as usual. and before the next evening he was at the head of the column, far down the nile, without knowing even the name of the man whose life he had saved.
and that same day a young naval officer, lying in a hospital boat asked anxiously if he might not see the canadian pilot, known as big scalper, and was informed that the indian of that name had gone on at the front of the column, but that he would see him when they disbanded at korti.
but when the voyageurs drew up before the flagstaff to receive the general's farewell, the young officer lay tossing in delirium; and when next he saw his preserver it was not in egyptian bondage, but in the new land of promise.
