Evening Star Newspaper, October 3, 1896, Page 16

SLLLLALL LLL LSLLSLLL LLL % There was only one little feathery clump PART I. of dom palms in all that great wilderness of black hocks and orange sand. It stood high on the bank, and below it the brown Nile swirled swiftly toward the Ambigole cataract, fitting a little frill of foam round each of the boulders which studded its sur- face. Above, out of a naked blue sky, the sun was beating down upon the sand, and up again from the sand under the brims of the pitch hats of the horsemen with the scorching glare of a blast furnace. It had risen so high that the shadows of the horses were no larger than themselves. “Whew!” cried Mortimer, mopping his forehead, “you'd pay five shillings for this at the hummums.” “Precisely,” said Scott. “But you are not asked to ride twenty miles in a Turkish bath with a field glass and a revolver, and @ water bottle and a whole Christmas treeful of things dangling from you. The hot house at Kew is excellent as a con- servatory, but not adapted for exhibitions upon the horizontal bar. I vote for a camp in the palm grove and a halt until even- ing.” Mortimer rose on his stirrups and looked hard to the southward. Everywhere were the same black burned rocks and deep orange sand. At one spot only an inter- mittent line appeared to have been cut through the rugged spurs which ran down to the river. It was the bed of the old rail- way, long destroyed by the Arabs, but now in process of reconstruction by the advanc- ing Egyptians. There was no other sign of man’s handiwork in all that desolate scene. “It’s palm trees or nothing,” sald Scott. “Well, I suppose we must; and yet I grudge every hour until we reach the force up. What would our editors say if we were late for the action?’ “My dear chap, an old bird like you doesn’t need to be told that no sane modern general would ever attack until the press is up.” “You don’t. mean that?” said young Anerley. “I thought we were looked upon as an unmitigated nuisance. “‘Newspaper correspondents and travel- .ing gentlemen and all that tribe of useless Grones’—being an extract from Lord Wolse- ley’s ‘Soldier's Pocket Book,’ cried Scott. “We know all about that, Anerley”—an‘ he winked behind his blue spectacles. “If there were going to be a battle we should very soon have an escort of cavalry to hurry us up. I've been in fifteen, and I mever saw one where they nad not ar- ranged for a reporters’ tabie.”* “That's very well; but .he enemy may be less considerate,” said Mortimer. “They are not strong enough to force a battle.” “A skirmish, then? Much more likely to be a raid upon the rear. In that case we are just where we should be. 9 we are! What a score over Reuter’s man up with the advance! Well, we'll ou span and have our tiffin under the palms. There were three of them, and they stood for three great London dailies. Reuter was thirty miles ahead; two evening pennies upon camels were twenty miles behind. And among them were represented the eyes and the ears of the public—the great silent millions and millions who had paid for everything and who waited patiently to know the result of the cutlay. They were remarkable men, these body- servants of the press; two of them already veterans in the camps, the other setting out upon his first campaign, and full of deference for his famous comrades. This first one, who had just dismounted from his bay polo pony, was Mortimer, of the Intelligence—iall, straight and hawk- faced, with kharki tunic and riding breech- es, drab putties, a scarlet cummerbund, and a skin tanned to the red of a Scotea fir by sun and wind, ard mottled by the mos- quito and the sand fly. The other—small, quick, mercurial, with blue-black curl- ing beard and hair, a fly switch for- ever flicking in his left hand—was Scott of the Courier, who had come through more dangers and brought off more brilliant scoops than any man fn the profession, save the eminent the Train Was Picking Its Way. Chandler, now no longer in a condition to take the field. They were a singular contrast, Mortimer and Scott, and'it was im their differences that the secret of their close friendship lay. Each dovetailed into the other. The strength of each was in the other’s weakness. Together they form- ed a perfect unit. Mortimer was Saxon— slow, conscientious and deliberate; Scott was Celtic—quick, happy-go-lucky and brilliant. Mortimer was the more solid, Scott the more attractive. Mortimer was the deeper thinker, Scott the brighter talk- er. By a curicus coincidence, though each had seen much of warfare, their cam- paigns had never coincided. Together they covered all recent military history. Scott had done Plevna, the Shipka, the Zulus, Egypt, Suakim; Mortimer had seen the Boer war, the Chilean, the Bulgaria and Servian, the Gordon relief, the Indian frontier, Brazilian rebellion and Madagas- ear. This intimate personal knowledge gave @ peculiar flavor to their talk. There ‘was none of the second-hand surmise and conjecture which forms so much of our conversation; it was ali concrete and final. The speaker had been there, had seen it gnd there was an end to it. In spite of their friendship, there was the keenest professional rivalry between the two men. Either would have sacrificed himself to help his companion, but elther would also have sacrificed his companion to help his paper. Never did a jockey yearn for a winning mount as keenly as each of them lorged to have a full column fm a morning edition whiist every other daily was- blank. They were perfectly frank about the matter. Each professed himself ready to steal a march on his neighbor, and each recognized that the other's duty to his employer was far higher than any personal consideration. ‘The third man was Anerley of the Ga- gotte—young, inexperienced and rather simple-looki: He had a droop of the lip, which some of his more intimate friends regarded as 4 libel upon his character, and his eyes were so slow and so sleepy that they suggested an affectation. A leaning toward soldiering had sent him twice to gutumn maneuvers, anc a touch of color im his descriptions had induced the proprie- tors of the Gazette to give him a trial as @ war special. There was e pleasing difl- dence about his bearing which recom- mended him to his experienced companions, and if they had a smile sometimes at his — ways, it was soothing to them to @ comrade from whom nothing was to be feared. From the day that they left the telegraph wire behind them at Sarras, the man who was mounted upon a 15- guinea 8 Syrian was delivored over into tho hands of the owners of the two fastest ponies that ever shot down the Ghea- yh ground. The three had dismounted and led their beasts under the welcome shade. In the URAL LS ATAUYS THE THREE CORRESPONDENTS, An Incident of the Soudan Campaign. BY A CONAN DOYLE. + (Copyright, 1896, by A. Conan Doyle.) THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, OCTOBER brassy yellow glare every branch above threw so black and solid a shadow that the men involuntarily raised their feet to step over them. “The palm makes an excellent hatrack,” said Scott, slinging his revolver and his water bottle over the little upward-pointing pegs which bristled from the trunk. “As a snade tree, however, it isn’t an unqualified success. Curious that in the universal adaptation of means to ends something a little less flimsy could not have been de- vised for the trepics.” ‘Like the banyan in India. “Or the fine hardwood trees in Ashantee, where a whole regiment could picnic under the shade.” “The teak tree isn’t bad in Burmah, either. By Jove! the "baccy has all come loose in the saddle bag! That long-cut mix- ture smokes rather hot for this climate. How about the baggles, Anerley?” “They‘ll be here in five minutes. Down the winding path which curved among the rocks the little train of bag- gage camels was daintily picking its way. They came mincing and undulating along, turning their heads slowly from side to side with the air of self-conscious women. In front rode the three Berberee body servants upon donkeys, and behind walked the Arab camel boys. They had been traveling for nine long hours, ever since the first rising of the moon, at the weary camel drag of “For God's Sake, a cronked. drink!” he two and a haif miles an hour, but now they brightened, both beasts and men, at the sight of the grove and the riderless horses. In a few minutes the loads were unstrapped, the animals tethered, a fire hghted, fresh water carried up from the river, and each camel provided with his own little heap of tibbin laid in the center of the tablecloth, without which no well- bred Arabian will condescend to feed. The dazzling lignt without, the subdued half- tenes within, the green palm fronds out- lined aguinsi the deep blue sky, the flitting silent-footed Arab servants, the crackling of sticks, the reck of a lighting fire, the placid supercilious heads of the camels, they all come back in their dreams to those who have known them. Scott was breaking eggs into a pan and rolling out a love song in his rich, deep voice. Anerley, with his head and two arms buried in a deal packing case, was working his way through strata of tinned soups, bully beef, potted chicken and sar- dines to reach the jams which lay beneath. The conscientious Mortimer, with his note- book upon his knee, was jotting down what the railway engineer had told him at the line end the day before. Suddenly he raised his eyes and saw the man himself on his chestnut pony, dipping and rising over the broker ground “Hullo, here's Merryweather!” “A pretty lather his pony is in! He’s had her at that hand gallop for hours by th. leok of her. Hullo, Merryweather, hull ‘The engneer, a small, compact man with a pointed red beard, had made as though he would ride past their camp without word or halt. Now he swerved, and, easing his pony down to a canter, he headed her to- ward them. “For God’s sake, a drink!’ he croaked. “My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.” Mortimer ran with the water bottle. Scott witn the whisky flask and Anerley with the tin pannikin. The engineer drank until his breath failed him. “Well, I must be off,” said he, striking the drops from his red mustache. “Any news?” “A hitch in the railway constructio: must see the general. having a telegraph.” “Anything we can report?” three notebooks. “T'll tell you after I've seen the general.” ‘Any dervishes?” i The usual shaves. Hud-up, Jinny! Good- ye.” With a soft thudding upon the sand and a clatter among the stones, the weary pony was off on his journey once more. PART Il. “Nothing serious, I suppose?” said Mor- timer, staring after him. “Deuced serious.” cried Scott. and eggs are burned! No—it’s all right— saved, and done to a turn! Pull the box up, Anerley. Come on, Mortimer, stow that notebook! The fork is mightier than the pen just at present. What's the matter with you, Anerley?” “I was wondering whether what we have just seen was worth a telegram.” “Well, it’s for the proprietors to say if it’s worth it. Sordid money considerations are not for us. We must wire about something to justify our kharki coats and our put- ties.”” “But what is there to say?” Mortimer’s long, austere face broke into a smile over the youngster’s innocence. “It's not quite usual in our profession to give each other tips,” said he. ‘However, as my telegram is written, I've no objection to your reading it. You may be sure that I would not show it to you if it were of the slightest importance.” seeks took up the slip of paper and read: “Merryweather obstacles stop journey confer general stop nature difficulties later stop rumors dervishes.“ “This is very condensed,” safd Anerley, with wrinkled brows. “Condensed!"" cried Scott. “Why, it’s sinfully garrulous. If my old man got a wire like that his language would crack I It’s the devil not Out came “The ham “How’s thatt”’ cried Scott. the lamp shades. I'd cut out half this. For example, I'd have out ‘journey’ and ‘nature’ a ‘rumors.’ But m; old .qan ¢ a ten-Ine paragrap! of it, for “Well, I'll do it ae to show you. Lend me that sty! le scribbled for a minute in his notebook. “It works out something on these lines: "Mr, Charlies H, Merryweatber, the emi- nent railway engineer, who is at present engaged in superintending the construe tion of the line from Sarras to the front, eetent fe ftv ! Ah dAbe oy to be moving hell. Anerley picked up lortimer’s binoculars, and a foam-spat- »4ered horse and: a-weary koorbash-cracking panna ane cantering ea the cenitee of the } field. -There » nothing in Ais. .appeap- ance to expla’ the ee of his re- turn. atts Then as he watched them they dipped “down into a hollow and disappeared. He could see that ft was one of those narrow khors which nay the river, and he waited, has met with considerable obstacles to the. rapid completion of his important of course, the old man knows who Mei weather is, and what he is about, so the word ‘obstacles’ would suggest all that to him. ‘He has today been compelled to make a journey of forty miles to the front. in order to confer with the general upon the steps which are necessary in order to, facilitate the work. Further particulars of the exact nature of the difficulties met with will be made public at a later date. All is quiet upon the line of communica- tions, though the usual persistent rumors of the present of dervishes in the castern glass in han r their immediate reap- pedtunte:*But ute passed’after minute; and there was no sign of them. That nar- row gully appeared to have swallowed desert continue to circulate.--Our Own Cor- | them up. And then with a curious, gulp respondent.’ and start hq#aw a little gray” loud “How's thsi?” cried Scott, trlumphantly..J.wreathe {itself slowly from among the and his white teeth gleamed through his black beard of flapdoodie for the de: Will it interest them at “Oh, everything interests them. They want to know all about it, and they like to think that there is a man who Is getting @ hundred a month simply in order to tell it to them.” (ee very kind of you to teach me all “Well, it is a little unconventional, for after all we are here to score over each other if we can. There are no more eggs, and you must take it out in jam. Of course, as Mortimer says, such a telegram as this is of no importance one way or another xcept to prove to the office that we are in the Soudan and not at Monte Carlo. But when it comes to serious work it must be every man for himself.” “Is that quite necessary.” “Why, of course it 1s.” “I should have thought if three men were to combine and to share their news they would do better than if they were each to act for themselves, and they wou'd have a much pleasanter time of I The two older men sat with their bread and jam in their hands, and an expression of genuine disgust upon their faces. “We are not here to have a pleasant time,” said Mortimer, with a flash through his glasses. ‘We are here to do our best for our papers. How can they score over sach other if we do not do the same? If we all combine we might as well amalgamate with Reuter at once.” “Why, it would take away the whole glory of the profession,” cried Scott. “At present the smartest man gets his stuff first on the wires. What inducement is there to be smart if we all share and share alike?” “And at present the man with the best equipment has the best chance,” remarked Mortimer, glancing across at the shot-silk polo-ponies and the cheap little Syrian gray. “That is the fair reward of fore- sight and enterprise. Every man for him- self, and let the best man win.” “That's the way to find who the best man is. Look at Chandler. He would never have got his chance if he had not played always off his own bat. You've heard how he pretended to break his leg, sent his fel- low correspondent off for the doctor, and so got a fair start for the telegraph office.” “Do you mean to say that was :egiti- mate “Everything is legitimate. It’s your wits against my wits.” “I should call it dishonorable.” “You may call it what you like. Chand- ler’s paper got the battle and the others didn’t. It made Chandler's name.” “Or take Westlake,” said Mortimer, cramming the tobacco into his pipe. “Hi, Abdul, you may have the dishes! West- lake brought his stuff down by pretending to be the government courier, and using the relays of government horses. West- lake's paper sold half a million.” “Is that legitimate also?” asked Anerley, thoughtfully. “Why not? “Well, it looks a little like horse-stealing and lying.” “Well, I think I should do a little horse- stealing and lying if I could have a column to myself in a London dafly. What do you say, Scott?” “Anything short of manslaughter. “And I'm not sure that I'd trust you there.” “Well, 1 don’t think I should be guilty of newspaper-man-slaughter. That I re- gard as a distinct breich of professional etiquette. But if any outsider comes suddenly ‘That's the sort. old public.” “Shall I fire?” asked Anerley. rocks and drift in a long, hazy shred over the desert. In an instant he had torn Seott and Mortimer from their slumbers. “Get up, you chaps!” he cried, “I believe Merryweather has been shot by dervishes.” PART Ill. “And Reuter riot here!’ cried the two veterans, exultantly clutching at their note- books. “‘Merryweather shot! Where? When? How?” In a few words Anerley explained what he had seen. “You heard nothing?” “Nothing. “Well, a shot loses itself very easily among rocks. By George, look at the buz- zards!” Two large brown birds were soaring in the deep blue heaven. As Scott spoke they elroledydomng an dropped into the little or. “That's good enough,” said Mortimer with his nose between the leaves of his book. “Merryweather headed dervishes stop re- turned stop shot mutilated stop raid com- munications. How's that?” “You think he was headed off?” ‘Why else should he return?’ “Jn that case, if they were out in front of him and others cut him off, there must be several small raiding parties.” “I should judge so.” ‘How about the ‘mutilated? ” I've fought against Arabs before.” Where are you off to?’ “Sarras.” “T think I'll race you in,” said Scott. Anediey stared in astonishment at the absolutely impersonal way in which these men regarded the situation. In their zeal for news it had apparently never struck them that they, their camp and their serv- ants, were all in the lion’s mouth. But even as they talked there came the harsh importune rat-tat-tat of an irregular volley from among the rocks, and the high keen- ing whistle of bullets over thelr heads. A palm spray fluttered down among them. At the same instant the six frightened serv- nats came running wildly in for protection. it was the céol-Headed Mortimer who or- ganized the defense, for Scott’s Celtic soul was so aflame at all this “copy” in hand and more to come that he was too exuber- antly boisterous for a commander. The other with his spectacles and his stern face soon had the servants in hand. “Tali henna! Egri! What the devil are you frightened about? Put the camels be- tween the palm trunks. That's right. Now get the knee tethers on them. Quies! Did you never hear bullets before? Now put the donkeys here, Not much—you don’t get my polo-pony to make a zareba with. Pick- et the ponies between the grove and the river out of danger’s way. These fellows m to fire even higher.than they did in “That's got home anyhow,” sald Scoit, as they heard a soft splashing thud like a stone in a mud bank. “The brown cud.” ‘As he spoke the creature, its jaws aul the camel that’s chewing the working, laid its long neck along ground, and closed its dark eyes. “That shot cost me fifteen pounds,” said Mortimer, ruefully. “How many of them do you make?” : “Four, I think.” “Only four Bezingers at any rate; there may be some spearsmen.” “T think not; it is a litle raiding party riflemen. By the way, Anerley, yo never been under fire before, have you “Never,” said the young pressman, who was conscious of a feeling of nervous ela- tion. “Love and poverty and war, they are all experiences necessary to make a complete life. Pass over the cartridges. This is a mild baptism that you are undergoing, for behind these camels you are as safe as if you were sitting in the back room of the Authors’ Club.” “As safe, but hardly as comfortable,” said Scott. “A long glass of hock and seltzer would be exceedingly acceptable. But, oh, Mortimer, what a chance. Think of the general's feelings when he hears that the first action of the war has been fought by the press column. Think of Reuter, who has been stewing at the front for a weck! Think of the evening pennies just too late for the fun! By George, that slug brushed a mosquito off me!” “And one of the donkeys is hit.” “This is sinful. It will end in our having to carry our own kits to Khartoum. “Never mind, my boy, it all goes to make copy. I can see the nead lines—‘Raid on Communications. ‘Murder of British En- gineer.’ ‘Press Column Attacked.’ Won't it be ripping?” “I wonder what the next line will be,” sald Anerley. “Our Special Woundes " cried Scott, rolling over on to his back. “No harm done,” he added, gathering himself up again; “only a chip off my knee. This is getting sultry. I confess that the idea of that back room at the Authors’ Club be- gins to grow upon me.” “I have some diachylon.’ “Afterward will do. We're having ‘a ‘appy “day with Fuzzy on the rush.’ I wish he would rush.” “This is an excellent revolver of mine if it didn’t throw so devilish high. I always aim at a man’s toes if I want to stimulate his digestion. Oh, Lord, there’s our kettle gone!” With a boom like a dinner gong a Rem- ington bullet had passed through the kettle and a cloud of steam hissed up from the fire. A wild shout came from the rocks above. “The idiots think that they have blown us up. They'll rush us now as sure as fate; then it will be our turn to lead. Got your revolver, Anerley?" “I have this double-barreled fowling Piece. “Sensible man! It’s the best weapon in the world at this sort of rough-and-tumble work. What cartridges?” “Swan-shot.” “That will do all right. I carry this big bore double-barreled pistol loaded with slugs. You might as well try to stop one of these fellows with a pea-shooter as with a service revolver.” “There are ways and means,” said Scott. “The Geneva’ convention does not hold south of the first cataract. It’s easy to make a bullet: mushroom by a little ma- nipulation of the tip of it. When I was in the broken square at Tamai—" “Wait a bit,” cried Mortimer, adjusting his glasses. “I think they are zoming now.” + “The time,” ‘said Scott, snapping up his watch, “being exactly seventeen minutes past four.” Anerley had been lying behind a camel staring with an interest which bordered upon fascination at the rocks opposite. Here was a little woolly puff of smoke, and there was another one, but never once had they caught a glimpse of the attackers. To him there was something weird and awe- some In these unseen, persistent men, who, minute by minute, were drawing closer to them. He had heard them cry out when the kettle was broken, and once immedi- ately afterward an enormously strong voice had roared something which had set Scott shrugging his shoulders. “They've got to take us first,” said he, and Anerley thought his nerve might be better if he did not ask for a translation, The firing had begun at a distance of some hundred yards, which put it out of the question for them, with their lighter of It Was a Horseman Riding ‘Them. Toward between a highly charged correspondent and an electric wire he does it at his peril. My dear Anerley, I tell you frankly that if you are going to handicap yourself with scruples you may Just as well be in Fleet street as in the Soudan. Our life is Ir- regular. Our work has never been system- atized. No doubt it will be some day, but the time is not yet. Do what you can and how you can and be first on the wires; that’s my advice to you; and also that when next you come upon a_ campaign you bring with you the best horse that money can buy. Mortimer may heat me or I may beat Mortimer, but at least we know that between us we have ihe fastest ponies in the country. We have negiected no chance.” “I am not so certain of that,” said Mor- timer, slowly. “You are aware, of course, that though a horse beats a camel on twen- ty miles, a camel beats a horse on thirty.” “What! One of these camels?” cried Anerley, in astonishment. The two seniors burst out laughing. “No, no; the real high-bred trotter—the kind of beast the dervishes ride when they make their lightning raids.” “Faster than a galloping horse?” “Well, it tires a horse down. It goes the same gait all the way, and it wants neither halt nor drink, and it takes rough ground much better than a horse. They used to have long-distance races at Halfa, and the camel always won at thirty.” “Still, we need not reproach ourselves, Scott, for we are not very likely to have to carry a thirty-mile message. They will have the field telegraph next week.” so. But at the present mo- “I know, my dear chap; but there is no motion of urgency before the house. Load baggles at 5 o’clock, so you have just three hours clear. Any sign of the evening pennies?” Mortimer swept the northern horizon with his binoculars. “Not in sight yet.” “They are quite capable of traveling during the heat of the day. Just the sort of thing evening pennies would do. ‘Take care of your match, Anerley. Thes palm groves go up like a powder maga- zine if you set them alight. By-by.” The two men crawled under their mosquito rets and sank instantly into the easy sleep of those whose lives are spent tn the open. Young Anerley stood with his back against a palm tree and his briar between his lips thinking over the advice which he had received. After all, they were the heads of the profession, these men, and it was not for him, the newcomer, to re- form their methods. If they served their papers in this fashion then he must do the same. They had at least been frank and generous in teaching him the rules of the game. If it was good enough for them, {t was good enough for him. It was a broiling afternoon, and those thin frills of foam round the black glisten- ing necks of the Nile boulders looked de- ghtfully cool and alluring. But it would not be safe to bathe for some hours to come. The air shimmered and vibrated over the baking stretch of sand and rock. There was not a breath of wind, and the droning and piping of the insects inclined one for sleep. Somewhere above a hoopoe was calling. Anerley knocked out his ashes and was turning toward his couch, when his eye caught something moving in_the desert to the south. It ves @ horseman riding toward them as swiftly as the broken ground would permit. A messenger from thought Anerley; 5 the sun suddenly struck the man on the side of the head, and his chin flamed into gold. There could not be two horsemen with beards of such a color. It was Merry- weather, the engineer, and he was re- eninge ‘What on earth was he returning for? ie had been so keen to see the gen- eral, and yet he was coming back with bis mission unaccomplished. Was it that his pony was hopelessly foundered? It seem- “Who's hit then?” "I -3, 1896—-TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. = ‘weapon: any reply to it, Had their antagonists continued to keep that range the defenders must either have made a hopeless saily or tried to shelter them-.| selves behind their zareba as best they might on the chance that the sound might bring up help. But luckily for them, the African had not taken kindly to the rifle, and his primitive instinct to close with bis enemy is always too strong for his sense of: strategy. They were drawing in, there- fore, and now for the first time Anerley caught sight of a face looking at ‘hem from over a rock. It was a huge, virile, strong-jawed head of a pure negro type, with silver trinkets gleaming in the ears. The man raised a great arm from behind the rock and shook his Remington at them. “Shall I fire?” asked Anerley. “No, no, it is too far; your shot would scatter all over the place.” “It's a picturesque ruffian,” sald Scott. “Couldn't you kodak him, Mortimer? ‘There's another!” A fine-featured brown Arab, with a black pointed beard, was peeping from behind arother boulder. He wore the green tur- ban which proclaimed him hadji, and his face showed the keen nervous exaltation of the religious fanatic. “They seem a piebald crowd,” said Scott. “That last is one of the real fighting Bag- gara,” remarked Mortimer. “He's a dan- gerous man.” “He looks pretty vicious. There's another negro!” “Two more! Dingas by the look of them. Just the same chaps we get our black battalions from. As long as they get a fight they don’t mind who it’s for. But if the idiots had only sense enough to under- stand they would know that the Arab is their hereditary enemy and we their hered- itary friends. Look at the silly jugglins gnashing his teeth at the very men who put down the slave trad “Couldn’t you explain? “ll explain with this pistol when he comes a little nearer. Now sit tight, An- erley. They’re off! They were, indeed. It was the brown man with the green turban who headed the rush. Close to his heels was the negro with silver earrings—a glant of a man, and the other two were only a little behind. As they sprang over the rocks one after the other it tock Anerley back to the Again He Strained Una: the Trigger. ilingly at school sports when he held the tape for the hurdle race. It was magnificent, the wild spirit and abandon of it, the flutter of the chequered galabeeahs, the gleam of steel, the wave of black arms, the frenzied faces, the quick pitter-patter of the rush- ing feet. The law-abiding Briton is so im- bued with the idea of the sanctity of the human life that it was hard for the young pressman to realize that these men had every intention of killing him, and that ho was at perfect liberty to do as much for them. He lay staring as if this were a show and he a-spectator. “Now, Anerley, now! cried somebody. He put up the gun and saw the brown flerce face at the other end of the barrel. He tugged at the trigger, but the face grew larger and fiercer with every stride. Again and again he tugged. A revolver shot rang out at his elbow, then another one, and he saw a red spot spring out cn the Arab’s brown breast. But he was still coming on. “Shoot, you ass, shoo! screamed Scott. Again he strained unavailingly at the trigger. There were two more pistol shots, and the big negro had fallen and risen and fallen again. * “Cock it, you fool!” shouted a furious voice, and at the same instant, with a rush and flutter, the Arab bounded over the prostrate camel and came down with his bare feet upon Anerley’s chest. In a dream he seemed to be struggling frantically with some one upon the ground, then he was conscious of a tremendous explosion in his very face, and so ended for him the first action of the war. Take the Arab!” PART IV. “Good-bye, old chap. You'll be all right. Give yourself time.” It was Mortimer's voice, and Anerley became dimly conscious of a long spectacled face and of a heavy hand upon his shoulder. “Sorry to leave you. We'll be lucky now if we are in time for the morning editions.” Scott was tightening his girth as he spoke. “We'll put In our wire that you have bee hurt, so your people will know : don’t hear from you. If Reuter or the evening pennies come up don’t give the thing away. Abbas will look after you, and we'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Bye-bye!” Anerley heard it all, though he did not feel energy enough to answer. Then, as he watched two sleek, brown ponies with their yellow-clad riders dwindling among the rocks, his memory cleared suddenly, and he realized that the first great journalistic chance of his life was slipping away from him. It was a small fight, but it was the first of the war, and the great public at heme was all athirst for news. They would have it in the Cyurier, they would have it “What happened to me?” in the Intelligence, and not a word in th> Gazette. The thought brought him to his feet, though he had to throw his arm round the stem of a palm tree to steady hts swimming head. There was the big black man lying where he had fallen, his huge chest pocked with bullet marks, every wound rosetted with its circle of files. The Arab was stretched out within a few yards of him, with two hands clasped over the dreadful thing which had been his head Across him was lying Aner- ley’s fowling piece, one barrel discharged, the other at half cock. “Scott effendi shoot him your gun,” said @ voice. It was Abbas, his English-speak- ing body servant. Anerley groaned at the disgrace of it. He had lost his head so completely that he had forgotten to cock his gun; and yet he knew that it was not fear but interest which had go absorbed him. He put his hand up to his head and felt that a wet handkerchief ‘was bound round his forehead. “Where are the two other dervishes?” “They ran away. One got shot in arm.” “Effendi got cut on head. Effendi catch bad man by arms and Scott effendi shoot him. Face burn very bad.” Anerley became conscious suddenly that there was a pringling about his skin and an overpowering smell of burned hair un- der his nostrils. He put his hand to his mustache. It was gone. His eyebrows, tco? He could not find them. His. head, no doubt, was very near to the dervish’s when they were rolling upon the ground together, and this was the effect of the explosion of his own gun. Well, he would have time to grow some more hair before he saw Fleet Street again. But the cut, perhaps, was a more serious matter. Was it enough to prevent him from getting to the telegraph office at Sarras? The only way was to try and see. But there was only that poor little Syrian gray of his. There it stood in the evening sunshine, with a sunk head and a bent knee, as if its morning’s work was still heavy upon it. What hope was there of being able to do thirty-five miles of heavy Highest of all in Leavening Power.— Latest U.S. Gov't Report Royal Baking going upon that? It would be a strain up- on the splendid ponies of his companions— and they were the swiftest and most en- during inthe country. The most enduring? ‘There was one creature more enduring, and that was a real, trotting camel. If he had had one he might have got to the wires first after all, for Mortimer had said that over thirty miles they had the better of any horse. Yes, if he had only had a real trotting camel! And then, like a flash, came Mortimer’s words: “It is the kind of beast that the dervishes ride when they make their lightning raids.” ‘The beasts the dervishes ride! What had these dead dervishes ridden? In an instant he was clambering up the rocks, with Ab- bas protesting at his heels. Had the twe fugitives carried away all the camels, or had they been content to save themselves? The brass gleam from a Htter of empty Remington cases caught his eye and showed where the enemy had been crouch- ing. And then he could have shouted for joy, for there, in the hollow, some Iittle distance off, rose the high, graceful, white neck and the elegant head of such a camel as he had never set eyes upon before—@ swan-like, beautiful creature, as far from the rough, clumsy baggies as the cart horse is from the racer. ‘The beast was kneeling under the shelter of the rocks, with its waterskin and bags of doora slung over its shoulders, and its forelegs tethered, Arab fashion, with a rope round the knees. Anerley threw his leg over the front pommel while Abbar slipped off the cord. Forward flew Anerley toward the creature’s neck, then violently backward, clawing madly at anything which might save him, and then with a jerk, which nearly snappped his loins, he was thrown forward again. But the camel was on his legs now, and the young press- man was safely seated upon one of the fly- ers of the desert. It was as gentle as it was swift, and it stood oscillating its long neck and gazing round with its large brown eyes, whilst Anerley coiled his legs round the peg and grasped the curved camel- stick which Abbas had handed up to him. ‘There were two bridle cords, one from the nostril and one from the neck, but he re- membered that Scott had said that it was the servant's, and not the house-bell, which had to be pulled, so he kept his grasp upon the lower. Then he touched the long, vibrating neck with his stick, and in an instant Abbas’ farewells seemed to come from far behind him, and the black rocks and yeilow sand were dancing past on either side. It was his first experience of a trotting camel, and at first the motion, although irregular and abrupt, was not unpleasant. Having no stirrup or fixed point of any kind, he could not rise to it, but he gripped as tightly as he could with his knee. and he tried to sway backward and forward as he had seen the Arabs do. It was a large, very concave Makloofa saddle, and he was conscious that he was bouncing about on it with as little power of adhesion as a billiard ball upon a tea tray. He gripped the two sides with his hands to hold timself steady. The creature had got into its long, swinging, stealthy trot, two hands gripping hard behind him, and he whooped the creature on. The sun had already sunk behind the line of black volcanic peaks which look like huge slag heads at the mouth of the mine. The western sky had taken that lovely light-green and pale-pink tint which makes evening beautiful upon the Nile, and the old brown river itself, swirling down amongst the black rocks, caught some shimmer of the colors above. The xlare, the heat ard the piping of the insects had all ceased together. In spite of his aching head Anerley could have cried out for pure physical joy as the swift creature beneath him flew along with him through that cool, invigorating air, with the virile north wind soothing his pringling face. He had looked at his watch. and now he made a swift calculation of times and dis- tances. It was past 6 when he had left the camp. Over broken ground it was impos- sible that he could hope to do more than seven miles an hour—less on bad parts, “I'm done, after all!” more on the smooth. His recollection of the track was that there were few smooth and many bad. He would be lucky, then, if he reached Sarras anywhere from 12 to 1. Then the messages took a good two hours to go through, for they had to be tran- scribed at Cairo. At the best. he could only hope to have told his story in Fleet street at 2 or 3 in the morning. It was pos- sible that he might manage it, but the chances seemed enormously against him. About 3 the morning edition would be made up, and his chance gone forever. The one thing clear was that only the first man at the wires would have any chance at all. and Anerley meant to be first if hard riding could do it. So he tapped away at the birdlike neck, and the creature‘s long, loose limbs went faster and faster at every tap. Where the rocky spurs ran down to the river, horses would have to go round. while camels might get across, so that Anerley felt that he was always gaining upon his companions. But there was a price to be paid for the feeling. He had heard of men who had burst when on camel journeys, and he knew that the Arabs swathe their bodies tightly in broad cloth bandages when they prepare for a long march. Ii had seemed urnecessary and ridiculous when he first began to speed over the level track, but now, when he got on the rocky paths, he understood what it meant. Never for an instant was he at the same angle. Back- ward, forward he swung, with a tingling jar at the end of each sway, until he ached from his neck to his knee. It caught him across the shoulders, it caught him dcwn tke spine, it gripped him over the loins, it nerked the lower line of his ribs with one heavy dull throb. He clutched here and there with his hand to try and ease the strain upon his muscles. He drew up his knees, altered his seat and set his teeth with a grim determination to go through with it should it kill him. His head was splitting, his flayed face smart- ing and every joint in his body aching as if it_were dislocated. But he forgot ail that, when, with the rising of the moon, he heard the clinking of horses’ hoofs down the track by the river, and knew that, un- seen by them, he had already got well abreast of his companions. But he was hardly half way, and the time already 11. oo e ee ee ee All day long the needles had been ticking away without intermission in the little ccrrugated iron hut which served at a tele- graph station at Sarras. With its bare walls end its packing case seats, it was none the less for the moment one of the vital spots upon the earth’s surface, and the crisp, importunate ticking might have come from th: world-old clock of destiny. Many august people had been at the other end of those wires, and had communed with the moist-faced military clerk. A French premier had demanded a pledge and an English marquis had passed on the request to the general in command, with a question as to how it would affect the situation. Cipher telegrams had near- ly driven the clerk out of his wits, for of all crazy occupations the taking of a cipher message when you are without a key to the cipher is the worst. Much high diplomacy had been going on all day in the innermost chambers of European chan- cellories, and the results of it had been whispered into this little corrugated iron hut. About 2 in the morning an enormous dispatch had come at last to an end, and the weary operator had opened the door, and was lighting his pipe in the cool, fresh air, when he saw a camel plump down in the dust and a man, who seemed to be in its sponge-like feet mak:ng no sound upon the hard sand. Anerley leaned back, with his Powder the last state of drunkenness, come rolling teward him. “What's the time?” he cried, tn a voice that appeared to be the only sober thing about him. It was on the clerk’s lps to say that it was time that the questioner was in his bed, but it is not safe upon a campaign to be ironical at the expense of kharki- clad men. He contented himseif therefore with the bald statement that it was after 2 But no retort that he could have devised could have had a more crushing effect. The voice turned drunken also, and the man caught at the door post to uphold him. “Two o'clock! I’m done after all!” said he. His head was tied up in a bloody hand- kerchief, and his face was crimson, and be stood with his legs crooked, as if the pith had all gone out of his back. The clerk began to realize that something out of the erdipary was in the wind “How long does it take to get a wire to London?” a “About two hours.” “And it's 2 now. I id no* t it thet poAna te could not ge re “But you said two hours.” “Yes, but there’s more than an hour's difference in longitude.” “By heavans, I'll do it yet!" cried An- erly, and staggering to a packing case he Degan the dictation of hiz famous dispatch. And so it came about that the Gasette had a long column, with head lines like an epitaph, when the sheets of the Intelligence and the Courier were as blank as the faces of their editors. And 80, too, it happened that when two weary men upon two found- ered horses, arrived about 4 in the morning at the Sarras post office they looked at each other in silence and departed noiselessly with the conviction that there are some situations with which the English language ts not capable of dealing. a RARE OLD ,OCKERY. A Philadelphia Dredger Makes a Find the Delaware Rive: From the Philadelphia Ledger. Very unexpeciedly, one day last month, the dredge Asia brought up from the san@ of Five Mile Bar a grapple full of river bot- tom, in which one of the men attending to the machinery discovered what appear- ed to be a plate and a cup. On a closer examination being made, it was found that hidden in the several cubic yards of sand and -nud lifted from the bottom were several pieces of old crockery. The un- broken pieces were picked out of the ma- terial after it had been dumped into the scow beside the dredge, and a careful watch was made for more. In every grap- ple full there were several pieces; the men on the dredge hastened to secure them Captain Mackenzie, mindful of his duty to his employers, gave his crew Little op- portunity to get the desired dishes, and as each succeeding grappleful was dum into the scow most of the pieces of crx ery brought up were buried in the 150 cubie yads of sand and mud in the scow and taken down the river and dumped be- hiné Marcus Hook bar. In all probability 250 or 300 whole pieces were secur d, while @ much greater number were hidd n in the mass of material lifted from tae river and are now resting once more on another part of the river bottom. The whole pieces were plates, cups, saucers, bowls and two or three pitchers, all of rare old blue ware and of different makes and designs. How the crockery was lost in the river ts a mystery, which is made deeper by the fact that {t was found beneath fifteen feet of mud and sand at a total depth of be- tween twenty-six and twenty-eight feet below the surface of the river at low wa- ter. No one can more than guess how long it had been there, but in all prob- ability the ware has lain undisturbed in the river botiom for at least fifty or sixty years. This submarine mine of crockery was located between 1,54) and 2,000 feet below the new Pennsylvania railroad bridge at Bridesburg, in the middle of the river on the crest of Five Mile Bar. A few timbers were found at the same point, but nothing to indicate that they were part of the frame of a vessel which had sunk and rotted a Yet the num- ber of dishes found seems to be conclusive evidence that they were part of the cargo of a vessel arriving from foreign ports. The packages containing the dishes may have fallen overboard from the d of some vessel, but the location fs not one that was ever used for discharging carg ves. The only thing found that could be said with any certainty to have been part of the packages containing the crockery was one end of a crate, and to that no one paid much attention, It was difficult to ascertain what kind of ware the dishes fished up from the river bottom were. They were in a very good state of preservation, notwithstanding the years they had been ‘buried beneath water and sand. Some of the pieces were almost perfect, and on none was the coloring dim- med a particle. A few were a little dis- coiored in spots, and the glaze of most of them was slightly cracked. It was generally agreed by experts to whom the dishes were shown that the ware as English, but the estimates of the age aried from sixty to one hundred years. None of the pieces were hand-painted, all being stamped with the design, and as the designs were conventional and not par- ticularly artistic, the ware does not have any great value to collectors, After Edwin A. Barber, curator of the collection of ceramics at’ Memorial Hall, Fairmount Park, who ts one of the best authorities in the country on old china and crockery, had examined two of the old dishes, he said it was Staffordshire stone china or white china, a grade of earthen- ware made from 1835 to 1840. Pieces bear- ing the name of Wedgewood, he said, were not made by the celebrated Josiah Wedge- wood, who died in 1795, but probably by some’ member of the same family. A Kiaxs on the Tandem. From the Louisville Commercial “One of the greatest problems In bicy- cling,” said a giddy bicyclist, “is how to kiss a girl while riding a tandem without upsetting. The first time I tried it there was the blankest catastrophe on record. We were spinning along at a scorching rate and struck a shady place, where the electric light was obstructed by the dense foliage and the shadows lay heavy and somber., I had made sufficient progress with the damsel whom I had honored with the frent feat to venture upon a delicate caress, and as we struck the shadows I leaned forward, throwing my weight upon the handles and giving my neck tae neces- sery curve. She was naturally somewhat startled and dodged, giving the wheel a wrench that was fatal. In a moment we were sprawling on the boulevard, and when I gathered up her remains and my batter- ed self she was the picture of an intensely irate darsel. What she said to me was a plenty. Only a man who can ride a buck- ing brencho in a cyclone ought to tackle such a feat.” + e+ ___ This Busy World Forgets Us Easily. From Harper's Young People. Fame is not a very tangible thing. United States Senator Aldrich of Rhode Island has represented his state for many years, and was very prominent in the framing of the tariff bill which ts called after the name of Governor McKinley. The Senator tells the following incident, adding that he has never had a conceited moment since It oc- curred: “N6t long since 1 was journeying from Providence to New York, when a business n-an of my state, a man of prominence and wealth, and an old friend of mine, fell in h me, and at once said “*Good morning, Senator. Where are you going?” “Oh, I am going to Washington,’ said I. “What are you going there for? ‘To attend my public duties.” “Why, what duties—what duties do you have in Washington? “Blushing, I replied that I was still a United States Senator, “"Oh, yes,’ said the business man of prominence, wealth and standing; ‘you were elected to the Senate, weren't you? After a pause: ‘By-the-way, who is the other Sen- ator from Rhode Island?"