Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan

Sad thoughts filled the mind of our young soldier as he returned to the fort, but the sadness was soon turned to indignation when he got there.

For some time past a Soudanese youth of about seventeen or eighteen years of age had been coming about the Sphinx Redoubt and ingratiating himself with the men, who took a great fancy to him, because he was amiable in disposition, somewhat humorous as well as lively, and handsome, though black! They used to give him something to eat every time he came, and made quite a pet of him. One day while he was out in the open country, Osman’s men captured this youth and took him at once before their leader, who, probably regarding him as a deserter, ordered both his hands to be cut off close to the wrists. The cruel deed was done, and the poor lad was sent back to Suakim. It was this that roused the wrath of Miles as well as that of his comrades. When they saw the raw stumps and the haggard look of the poor fellow, who had suffered much from loss of blood, they got into a state of mind that would have made them ready to sally forth, if so required, and assault the entire Soudan in arms!

“Och! av I only had ’im here,” said Flynn, clenching his teeth and fists at the same time. “It’s—it’s—it’s—”

“Mince-meat you’d make of him,” said Moses.

“No—it’s cat’s mate—the baste!”

The others were equally angry, though not quite so emphatic, but they did not waste their time in useless regrets. They hurried the young Soudanese to the doctor, who carefully dressed his wounds, and every care was thereafter taken of him by the men, until completely restored to health.

It may interest the reader to know that this poor fellow was afterwards well looked after. Some sort of employment in the garrison was obtained for him, and he was found to be a useful and willing servant, despite the absence of his hands.

That night a furious sand-storm burst upon the town, accompanied by oppressive heat.

“It always seems to me,” said Miles to Gaspard Redgrave, who lay next him, “that mosquitoes and sand-flies, cats and dogs, and in fact the whole brute creation, becomes more lively when the weather is unusually hot. Just listen to these cats!”

“Like a colony of small children being murdered,” said Gaspard.

“It’s awfu’,” observed Saunders, in a kind of solemn astonishment as a frightful caterwaul burst upon their ears. “I wadna like to hear teegers in the same state o’ mind.”

“Or elephants,” murmured Moses Pyne, who was more than half asleep.

The cats were indeed a great nuisance, for, not satisfied with getting on the flat roofs of the houses at nights, and keeping up a species of war-dance there, they invaded the soldiers’ quarters, upsetting things in the dark—thus demonstrating the absurdity of the proverb that cats see best in the dark—stealing whatever they could lay hold of, and inducing half-slumbering men to fling boots and shoes, or whatever came most handy, at them.

Rats also were innumerable, and, to the great surprise—not to say indignation—of the men, neither dogs nor cats paid the least attention to the rats!

After a time the storm, both of animate and inanimate nature, began to abate, and the weary overworked soldiers were dropping off to sleep when a tremendous explosion effectually roused them.

“There goes another mine!” cried Armstrong, starting up.

“It don’t require a prophet to tell us that,” growled Gaspard, as he yawned and slowly picked up his rifle.

Explosions were of quite common occurrence at that time, but had to be attended to nevertheless.

That Osman had taken advantage of the very dark night to make an earlier attack than usual was evident, for shots were fired immediately after the explosion occurred, as usual. These were replied to, but the effect of the explosion, it was supposed, must have been unusually severe, for the enemy withdrew after exchanging only a few shots.

This surmise was afterwards proved to be correct. On going to the spot the following morning, they found that at least a dozen of their foes must have been blown up, for legs and arms and other human remains were picked up in all directions. These the soldiers gathered, with the aid of the friendly natives, and burned.

No attack was made for four days after that, but then the untiring enemy became as troublesome as ever.

Spies afterwards said that when Osman heard of this incident, and of the number of men killed, he said, “it served them right. They had no business to go touching things that did not belong to them!”

Chapter Fifteen.

Athletics—A New Acquaintance turns up—An Expedition undertaken, followed by a Race for Life

Energetic and exhilarating exercise has sometimes the effect of driving away sickness which doctors’ stuff and treatment fail to cope with successfully. In saying this we intend no slight either to doctors’ stuff or treatment!

After the troops had been some time at Suakim the effect of the climate began to tell on them so severely that a very large proportion of Europeans were in hospital, and many who strove hard to brave it out were scarcely fit for duty.

Great heat did not, however, interfere with Miles Milton’s health. He was one of those fortunates who seem to have been made of tougher clay than the average of humanity. But his friend Armstrong was laid up for a considerable time. Even Robert Macleod was knocked over for a brief period, and the lively Corporal Flynn succumbed at last. Moses Pyne, however, stood the test of hard work and bad climate well, and so, for a time, did Sergeant Hardy. It was found generally that the abstainers from strong drink suffered less from bad health and unwholesome surroundings than their fellows, and as there were a good many in the regiment, who were constantly endeavouring to convince their comrades of the advantages of total-abstinence, things were not so bad as they might have been.

It was about this time that one of the generals who visited Suakim instituted athletic games, thereby vastly improving the health and spirits of the men. And now Miles Milton learned, for the first time, what an immense power there lies in “scientific training!”

One evening, when out walking with Stevenson, he took it into his head to race with him, and, having been a crack runner at school, he beat him easily.

“Why, Miles,” said his friend, when the short race was over, “I had no idea you could run so well. If you choose I will put you in training for the coming sports. You must know that I have run and walked and competed in the track many a time at home, and have trained and brought out runners who had no notion of what was in them till I proved it to them by training. Will you go in for it, and promise to do as I bid you?”

“I have no objection,” replied Miles, with a light laugh.

If he had known what his friend intended to do he might not have agreed so readily, for, from that hour till the day of the sports, Stevenson made him go through an amount of running—even after being made stiff by previous runs—that he would never have agreed to undertake unless forced to do so. We say forced, because our hero regarded a promise once given as sacred. His was a curiously compound nature, so that while in some points of conduct he was lax—as we have seen—in others he was very strict. He was peculiarly so in regard to promises. His comrades soon came to know this, and ultimately came to consider him a very reliable man.

Having, then, promised his friend to keep sternly to his work, he did so, with the result that his strength increased wonderfully. Another result was that he carried off the first prize in all the races.

In order to make the most of time and avoid the evils of noonday heat, it was arranged that the races, etcetera, for the Egyptian soldiers and natives in Government employ should come off in the morning, and that the British troops should run in the later and cooler parts of the day. With the temperature at 120 degrees in the shade it would have been dangerous for Europeans to compete. The sports, including our familiar cricket, were greatly enjoyed, and the result was a decided improvement in the health of the whole force.

Boat-races were also included in these sports. At the conclusion of one of these, Miles, to his great surprise, encountered his old acquaintance of the Sailors’ Welcome, big Jack Molloy.

“Why, Jack!” exclaimed Miles, as the hearty tar wrung his hand, “who’d have expected to see you here?”

“Ah, who indeed? an’ I may say ditto.”

“I’m very glad to see you, Molloy, for, to say truth, I thought I had seen the last of you when we parted in the troop-ship. I’ve often thought of you since, and of our first evening together in the—the—what was its name?”

“The Sailors’ Welcome—man alive! I wonder you’ve forgot it. Blessin’s on it! I ain’t likely to forget it. Why, it was there, (did I ever tell you?) the wery night arter I met you, that a messmate took me to the big hall, back o’ the readin’-room. It’s no use me tryin’ fur to tell you all I heard in that there big hall, but when I come out—blow’d if I didn’t sign the pledge right away, an’ I ain’t took a drop o’ grog since!”

“Glad to hear it, Jack, for, to say truth, I never saw the evil of grog so clearly as I have since coming out here and seeing strong stout men cast down by it in dozens,—many of them kind-hearted, right-thinking men, whom I would have thought safe from such a thing. Indeed I have more than half a mind to join the Good Templars myself.”

“Young man,” said Molloy, sternly, “if it takes the death of dozens o’ stout kind-hearted men to force you to make up half your mind, how many d’ee want to die before you make up the whole of it?”

“But I said that my mind was more than half made up,” returned Miles, with a smile.

“Now lookee here,” rejoined the sailor earnestly, “it’s all wery well for milksops an’ nincompoops and landlubbers to go in for half-an’-half work like that, but you’re not the man I takes you for if you ain’t game for more than that, so I ax you to promise me that you’ll sign the pledge right off, as I did, first time you gits the chance.”

“But you forget I’m only a landlubber who, according to you, is fit for only half-an-half measures,” said Miles, who, not being addicted to much wine, felt disinclined to bind himself.

“No matter,” returned the sailor, with deepening earnestness, “if you go in fur it you’ll never repent it! Take my word for that. Now, I ax ye to promise.”

“Well, I do promise—the very first time I get the chance; and that will be to-morrow night, for our new parson has started temperance meetings, and he is a great teetotaller.”

“An’ you promise to stick to it?” added Molloy.

“When I give a promise I always stick to it!” returned Miles gravely.

“Right you are, lad. Give us your flipper!”

The foregoing conversation took place at the harbour, a little apart from the noisy group of soldiers and sailors who were discussing the circumstances of the recent boat-race.