“if the moon be with thee thou need’st not mind about the stars.”—arabic proverb.
the desert is the cradle of love!
the love of god or the love of solitude, or the love which seeks its soul-mate and finds it, in the immensity of the sands. there is no room for doubt in the minds of those who love and who pass their days together in the desert’s great spaces. if the love is that which endureth, which floods cannot drown nor many waters quench, which looks ever towards the horizon where the light is born heralding the day, then will the desert be as a book filled with much wisdom; a book in which the handwriting is visible only to those who radiate the love which sees the mountain peak above the swirl of mist; the truth of the dream in which, blindly, we stumble and fall, until enlightenment comes to us so that we rise once more and reach the end of the road at last.
the desert is a background against which love blazes as a torch or shines with the glimmer of the rushlight; a journey into it either fills the mind with the wonder of god or overwhelms the traveller, when the novelty has passed, with a crushing sense of boredom; the sunset, the sunrise, and the stars are either the thoughts of the creator, or merely a means by which to mark the passing of the endless hours; whilst the stillness, silence, and far horizon teach life’s wayfarers the stupendous lesson of eternity or fill the gregarious globe-trotter with a deep longing for the noise and bustle of great cities.
for the westerner there are no half-way measures in the desert.
[91]
he may have been born in the glamour of the east and have lived the best part of his life with the vast stretches of sand around him, and yet have heard no voice calling in the noonday, nor seen the slender hand beckoning in the shadows of dawn and dusk. he may come from the counting-house upon holiday bent, with guide book in hand and passage booked for the return journey to the city, yet see the spirit of the desert, remote, mysterious, beckoning him out of all the merry, personally conducted crowd.
he will either follow the beckoning figure with hungry heart until he falls, to die, clutching at its robes which slip ever from between his fingers, or he will return to the counting-house to pass his life in a great longing which will never be appeased.
in either case, he will have answered the call of the desert to his own undoing.[1]
[1] instances have been known where europeans have ridden out into the desert upon seeing it for the first time, and have not been seen or heard of since.
helen raynor and ralph trenchard sat looking out across the robaa-el-khali, or empty desert, or the red desert, as it is called by the arabs on account of the colour of its sands.
she sat with her hand in his, watching the strange effect the wind from the north has upon this desert, which rolls away to the horizon in great, sandy ridges, and of which no one has explored the heart. when this wind blows gently, it skims the surface of the great ridges and lifts the topmost layer of the sand, carrying it down into the hollows and up on to the crests for mile after mile, until the desert looks like an ocean of great, glittering billows surging towards the distant horizon.
“the sky seems to be covered with a transparent, diamond-encrusted veil,” whispered helen, as she lifted her face to the moon, and smiled when the man she loved drew her to him and kissed her.
[92]
“it is the effect of the sand in the air, beloved,” he whispered, “under the moon which shines for all lovers.”
“look at that wave out there”—she pointed to the east as she spoke—“breaking into spray. how wonderful—how wonderful it all is, ra!”
“i expect a big rock lies just there, beloved, if we could only see it, so that the sand is blown against it and higher into the air. how i love the name you have given me, dearest; it seems to belong to the country where i found you waiting for me, all those months ago, alone, in the desert, under a moon like this.”
“i really expect it was the same moon, ra; it is only we who have moved,” laughed helen softly. “yes, i think your nickname suits you; it’s strong, with the strength of dead egypt, like you, with your tremendous will power which can even dominate the camel.”
they laughed as they talked of the long journey with its scenes and contretemps, during which ralph trenchard had had to exercise every bit of will power and every scrap of patience he possessed, so as to triumph over the splendid camels which composed the caravan, and which had aroused admiration and no little jealousy in the hearts of the inhabitants of the different villages they had passed through, from the port of jiddah to hutah in the oasis of hareek.
“do you remember when mahli ate grandad’s best tussore coat and pretended to die, and then, suddenly, got to her feet and rushed at you, because you offered duria a whole lump of dates and took no notice of her in her tantrums?”
“sheer jealousy and greed, sweetheart. i believe no woman who loved could be as jealous, or as vindictive, as a female camel in a rage. look straight ahead, beloved; can you see something moving through the waves?”
helen sat forward and stared due south.
“yes, i think—i do. yes, it looks like mounted men.”[93] she shivered suddenly and turned and caught her lover by the arm. “ra! i’m frightened.”
“frightened! dear heart, what at?”
“i don’t know—i don’t really know. i just felt a tremendous premonition of danger. ah! look, they’ve gone. i wonder who they were? so near us, yet taking no notice of our big camp with its fires and its white tents.”
“yes. i wonder!”
if only he had known it, they were the advance guard of a woman who was to show him that there is no jealousy or vindictiveness to equal that of a woman whose love is not returned.
they sat silently, looking out across the sandy ocean until they could no longer see the phantom figures moving eastwards in the far distance; then they talked of the journey behind them and the enterprise ahead.
to gain full control over the staff and, as much as is humanly possible, over the animals, ralph trenchard had preceded sir richard and his granddaughter, landing in jiddah a month before them. death by thirst, exhaustion or violence being a recognized risk to be taken by those who travel off the beaten track in arabia, he had intensely disliked the idea of helen raynor accompanying the expedition; had argued the question; pointed out the dangers; emphasized the added responsibility her safekeeping would entail, insisting upon the intense discomfort she would have to endure, only to find himself up against the mule-headed obstinacy for which sir richard was famous.
he had resigned himself to the inevitable at last and had discovered, after one week spent in the company of the camels and their drivers, that for nothing on earth would he undertake the excursion into the unknown, unless she took it with him, riding at his side. he knew that love had come to him that night when he had seen her sitting on a hummock of sand, alone in the desert under the moon; he knew that that love had come to possess him[94] utterly when he had succumbed to the entreaties of sir richard to join the expedition; but he had not known how much he really loved her, or what she really meant to him, until he had been separated from her for weeks.
he had counted the days, the hours, the minutes, and then, jubilantly, thankfully, had rushed down to meet the boat sir richard had chartered, as she docked, and happy beyond telling, had started out on the foolhardy enterprise, with helen at his side.
there is nothing so calculated to make life-long friends or sworn enemies of two people, as a long journey on camels and surrounded by camels. a trip into the desert on camelback for so much an hour, or day, is vastly romantic, causing you to feel one with pharaoh or queen hatshepu, abraham or jezebel, according to your sex. it’s ten to one you write an ode to the sphinx or the pyramids or the voice of the past as you sit on the sand, smoking your simon artz; it’s certain that your camel driver tots up the different items of your toilet in an endeavour to hit upon the right amount of extra baachseesch he may extract from you, whilst wishing to goodness you’d get through with your foolishness and return to your comfortable, or otherwise, hotel; but it’s an altogether different thing when you make part of a caravan composed of the ill-mannered, ill-natured brutes. no matter how well they are handled, or how far you ride apart from their odorous bodies, you will never be able to count upon a moment’s peace as long as they are likely to panic for nothing, or fight for less, whilst filling the air with sounds that resemble the emptying of gigantic, narrow-necked bottles, nests of angry snakes, battalions of spitting cats, moans of incurable invalids and shrieks of insufferable children.
they lie down or get up or refuse to move just as their hateful fancy dictates; they follow obediently one behind another, if in a string, or peacefully together, if in a herd, then stop dead and look on indifferently,[95] whilst one, for no apparent reason whatever, reduces the patience of its driver to shreds and its pack to bits. some drivers are cautious and hobble the lot at night, others take the risk and hobble the worst offenders; ’twere, however, wise to be cautious so as to prevent one, suddenly possessed of the devil, from either clearing for the open with the gifts you intend for your host upon its offensive back, or from lifting the flap of your tent in the still watches of the night and, whilst taking a survey of your heat-disturbed person, banqueting off your boots.
if your temper is not of the sort that can come out unruffled from ever-recurring and heated arguments with your companion and the distracted drivers; if your looks cannot withstand the long moments ’twixt heat of sand and sun and wrath, as you sit perched above the turmoil upon the back of your own thrice-accursed beast, then ’twere wise to give the desert an extremely wide berth. lay down the law to your companion and he will learn to loathe the very sight of you; upbraid the long-suffering driver and he will league himself with the camel to spite you in every way; hit the camel so as to cause it pain, and you will never again feel any security about the welfare of your person. you won’t recognize that camel one or five or ten years hence as you saunter through some bazaar, but it will recognize you all right, and will meet its teeth in the tenderest portion of your anatomy it can find, or, if it gets the chance, will seize, worry, and throw you and deliver the coup de grace of its long-waited-for revenge by rolling upon you until you are an unrecognizable pulp.
grin and bear with it all, and your servants and your camels, your companion and your days, will not appear so insufferably obnoxious or so outrageously long, in the land of the pharaohs.
the caravan was a big one on account of the multitude of gifts sir richard carried, with which to buy[96] peace, if not plenty, as it journeyed from jiddah, skirting the territory sacred to the holy city, down through the mountainous, fertile district of taif and southwards along the wady dowasir, with its many villages, up to hutah in the oasis of hareek, where commences the great desert.
it is wise not to reckon altogether on gifts and a smattering of the language and courtesy to get you safely to your destination in arabia, but, as they will take you many miles upon your journey, they should be looked upon as the chief items on your list of necessities—especially the last.
helen raynor and the man she had learned to love in the distracting, ridiculous, mirth-provoking and aggravating incidents of the journey, laughed, as they looked back to the storms they had weathered safely, through love and a perfect sense of humour and comradeship, unwitting of the news about themselves which had been conveyed, in the mysterious manner of desert places, to zarah the cruel who had only waited to attack, with as much patience as she could muster, until the caravan should leave hutah far behind and arrive at a certain spot between the hareek mountains and those of the jebel akhaf.
the north wind dropped suddenly whilst they talked in whispers, and with it the veil of sand it had spread across the heavens, leaving the desert desolate and formidable under the light of the full moon, save where the camp fires flung red and orange flames and trails of smoke across the silvery sheen.
“‘even the grains of sand are numbered, neither can a sparrow fall unless he knows it?’” helen quoted to herself as she stared out across the waste, then turned and put her hand in that of the man beside her who had been watching her and wondering at the anxious look upon her face.
“i feel crushed under a great weight of responsibility,[97] ra,” she said, speaking in a whisper induced by the fear that had suddenly fallen upon her at the sight of the phantoms in the distance. “i do wish i hadn’t suggested this hare-brained expedition to grandad. i somehow never thought it would mean such a big undertaking and perhaps, after all, the water was only seen in a mirage by some exhausted pilgrims all those centuries ago.”
fearful for her, ralph trenchard fully agreed in his heart, but contradicted her in an effort to reassure her.
“oh! i don’t know, dearest. i don’t think you are in the least bit responsible. your grandfather has been set on discovering this water ever since he read the document all those years ago, and if he hadn’t done it this year he would have done it later, and then i shouldn’t have been here to see you through, should i?”
“no, of course you wouldn’t!” replied the girl, as she looked up into the handsome face. “if we hadn’t pitched our camp just outside ismailiah, which we shouldn’t have done if we had not been starting on this adventure, you and i would not have met.” she touched the scar on his temple as she spoke, the look of trouble deepening in her eyes. “you laughed at me when i told you about the scene we had with zarah, the arabian girl, at school, when she said she saw herself on a mountain peak and me in the dust at her feet and a man with a scar upon his temple, coming towards her. but, you see, she did meet you and recognize you, and she came from somewhere about here, ra, and i haven’t been able to get her out of my thoughts since we left hutah. she hated me, ra, hated me, and, as you know, i believe in the power of thought.”
“so do i, beloved,” said ralph trenchard, putting his arms round her and holding her very close to his heart. “but no bad thought, no hate, malice or revenge can get through real, pure, everlasting love. it can rage, and storm, and threaten outside and make a considerable noise and kick up a tremendous amount of dust,[98] but it can’t touch the love inside a great fortress of trust.”
he laughed to reassure her as he watched the troubled look in the big, blue eyes which shone like stars. “not that i don’t also rely upon my good right arm and trusty automatic when wandering in desert places. besides, you must remember that she was fairly senseless when she dropped into my arms like an over-ripe plum from a tree, also, that the native is as crammed full of tricks as a monkey, and that i haven’t set eyes on her since.”
but the girl was not to be so easily pacified.
gently submissive in the smaller events of everyday life, helen raynor invariably carried through any project she considered worth while, with a quiet determination which, when opposed, developed into sheer strength of will; also, she had never been known to back out of a task she had been set, however disagreeable.
“i can’t agree with you, ra. i can’t help connecting her with the mysterious woman the men are continually talking about; the one who suddenly appears at the head of a gang of bandits, raids a caravan, and disappears as suddenly into the unknown. of course, if i had known about this woman sooner nothing would have induced me to allow grandad to undertake the trip. i’m not worrying about myself, but i am worrying about the two people i love most on earth, you and him.” she shivered uncontrollably as she looked out at the far horizon. “i hate this place, and if he wasn’t so terribly obstinate i’d make him turn back, even now. what is the finding of hidden water in a desert compared with the lives of those i love so much?”
ralph trenchard rose and stretched his hands out to her.
“you are tired, darling, you do too much for our comfort, you never seem to rest, and i don’t like you sitting here without a wrap. it’s hot enough, goodness[99] knows, but the wind from the north is not to be trifled with.”
“yes, i noticed that the men had their mouths covered after sunset. let’s go and talk to grandad, the darling is worrying himself to death because we got half a mile off our course to-day.” she looked up at ralph trenchard. “how tall you are, how strong you look, ra, i don’t think any harm can come to me whilst you are near.”
he leaned and took her hands and pulled her up beside him. he stood over six feet; she was well above the medium height, with her head well set upon splendid shoulders. they seemed the embodiment of strength, with their steady eyes, and quiet movements, and soft voices, as they stood hand in hand alone under the great moon, little knowing that they would shortly be called upon to make use of every atom of physical and mental strength they possessed, so as to win through the terrible days ahead.
“i am strong, beloved, and so are you, and together we will overcome every difficulty in our path.”
“together,” said helen softly; “yes, together we cannot fail, and even if we were separated for a time we should still be together. mentally and spiritually we are so one that no one and nothing can ever separate the real us. i—what’s that?”
there had come the sharp report of a rifle from some spot far ahead of them in the desert, followed immediately by the sound of a great disturbance in the camp.
“excellency! hasten thy footsteps,” cried a camel driver who ran to meet them as they hurried towards the camp. “eblis, the black devil, has possessed the senses of his offspring, the camels. hobbled, they essay to flee back upon the path by which they have come; fallen, they fight where they lay until the ground is not a fit sight for the eyes of our lady. hasten, excellency;[100] our master, full of wrath, calleth his excellency’s name, with much groaning of spirit.”
“my god!” exclaimed ralph trenchard a few minutes later as he stood looking at the camels. “how ghastly!”
to rest both man and beast the camp had been pitched for a week near a well sunk many years ago by arabs, beneath a clump of palm trees which, in its isolated fertility, they had recognized as the sure sign of water somewhere beneath the surface.
the camels had been unloaded so that the packs could be more evenly distributed and their backs attended to before starting on the last and most trying lap of the expedition; they had lain contentedly sprawling, or had stood as contentedly ruminating, as near the brackish well as they could get, until fear had swept through the whole herd.
there is no explaining the fear which at any moment, in any place, will suddenly grip this most unimaginative and most stupid of all beasts. in the middle of a crowded thoroughfare, as when alone in the empty desert, it will stop for no reason whatever and begin to shiver, with head outstretched, eyes rolling, and forelegs planted wide as though to resist the onslaught of some unseen enemy.
it is of no avail to kick or beat the terror-stricken creature, and for the following reason it is most unwise to approach too near its formidable mouth. it will stand and shiver until it comes to wellnigh dropping to its knees, and then, with a sudden quick movement of the long neck, will snap at something only visible to its eyes. the fear then passes, and, demoniacal rage filling the vacuum created by the passing of its fear, it will turn and savage the nearest object at hand, be it man or fellow-beast or inanimate substance, until, its wrath appeased, it proceeds calmly, indifferently upon its contemptuous way.
“excellency! excellency!” wailed abdul, whose garments hung in shreds. “something which neither i nor[101] my brethren could see walked amongst them an hour ago. they became convulsed with fear of the unknown, excellency, and shook in their terror, until some fell to the ground, and, being bound, remained there foaming at the mouth. then, at the sound of firing, eblis the devil entered their black hearts, and they fought, all of them, those that lay upon the ground biting at the dust, those that stood tearing the hair and flesh from each other’s back until the place runs with blood, as your excellency sees. i have done my best, but neither i nor my brethren will take another step into this desert, which is the abiding place of all evil.”
“i don’t blame them,” said ralph trenchard to himself, when, having given orders for the tending of the wounded beasts, he went to report the mutiny to sir richard.
“they won’t stir another yard, sir! at least, not forward, so we shall have to retrace our steps.”
he rejoiced in his heart at the turn things had taken, without reckoning with the old man’s wall-headed obstinacy or the cupidity of the native.
“nonsense!” replied sir richard tersely, as he stalked off towards the mutineers, to return triumphantly ten minutes later.
“we start when i said we’d start, my boy, in two days’ time, if the weather clears and the camels are fit,” he said as he entered his tent. “i’ve doubled their pay. good night.”
ralph trenchard walked to his own tent and beckoned abdul.
“ ... we are poor, very poor, excellency,” the latter said, concluding his apologia. “we could not withstand the money.”
“well, i’m sorry you gave in, on account of her excellency your mistress, but it can’t be helped. tell me—what did that rifle shot mean?”
abdul spread his fingers to avert evil as he whispered:
[102]
“that was a mistake, excellency, on the part of those whose eyes watch us from afar.”
“whose eyes?”
“perchance those of the woman of mystery, of crime, of death.”
ralph trenchard looked over his shoulder towards the tent of the woman he loved, then back at the man.
“tell the men to have their rifles ready, i am coming to inspect them,” he said abruptly, then turned away and stood looking out across the desert.
