Evening Star Newspaper, June 11, 1898, Page 20

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JUNE 11, 1898-24 PAGES. FON EST PRIE DE PAYER CANTINES Regineatiices Paix UNWILLING RECRUITS. Young Frenchmen Who Are Forced to Serve in the Army. ING MEANS GREAT SACRIFICE 10 THEM —_—_e—__ For They Start With a Handicap in Life's Battle. ge THREE YEARS OF DRUDGERY > ndence of The Evening Star. PARIS. 189 F COURSE, TH theory is patriotic, nd the practice is | admitted to be of ne- yet the ‘m of re-| Special € June 1, 0: script publican France, by } which young men are forced to be soldiers } even be e they are voters, finds more ex- pression of isco: | tent than does its} pattern across the Rhine. We may be- lieve ¢ the youth of imperial Germany, indeed, are scarcely more in love with their own compulsory military service, and that it is the hand of a triumphant military hierarchy that knows how to quiet their complaint and murmuring. This is tri but cnly partially true. The Germans a encouraged to remain armed because they | have already gained so much by arms. The French youth, on the contrary, are work- ing through the debts of their fathers. They tell themselves they want revenge. But they feel that they are paying for dead horse: Tt is m h ple anter to ook back on the great days of Napoleon I, as times < €asy discipline. of stirring action, quick r wards, of fighting for the sake of glor Today they feel that it is all drill and pun- all ignoble routine and dirty b rack work, all rough food and no pay, with insults from their commissioned offi- cers instead of the glorious old fraternity Dirty Work and No Pay. of arms. And, as the system itself may not be impeached on pain of showing lack of patriotism, the discontent of the im- Patient, fretting youth of France finds Its Felief in sneering at the methods of the present and in looking backward at the golden past = e days,” one will say med officers were only fficers, while now the tyrants.” “the non- jon-com- are pre- our war time now? To be 1 up in the police hall for a week. are eminently pact cks? the According chateau, ht and clean. amberwork in them. servants!” cl That They Are Servants. y, there is some truth in the self- It must be remembered that land of small, mother's trrespec- army of the a are all day “Domest tive of French from fre ve. They r clothes, empty dirt, persons and astic non-com- ould take off their ervants, Indeed. Dleasure of vol love of countr: dout. They ha re most of them love the patrie. n for granted. Well, their love 4: Three Principal Classes. If it is unpleasant for these, It ts no bet- ter and even worse for the others. Roughly the conscription of each year may be said to be made up of one-third well-to-do young men, one-third poor young men of the peasant, artisan and workingman class, and one-third clerks, scns of small store- keeperz, small farmers, struggling students; in a word, all those who see a future for themselves, but must be struggling for it With diligence and haste. it is undoubtedly on this last named class Rene THE CORPORAL. that the hand of the corscription falls the heavi The peasants and young workingmen are losing their time. When their three rs are over they will take up their lives ctly where they were interrupted. But young man in a line of promotion or y the three years between ninetesn and wo are not | without sacrifice. One fact only equalizes things and makes the loss of time more lerable—all are in it together, all the competitors tn the strug- gle for life mu: of militar: bear the same handicap ervice. And here is to be found the om of the French feeling and legislation against emigrants. Foreign artisans and workingmen, especially ng, are not ed im France, and is done to keep them out. To Equalize Things. With regard to foreign students for the learned professions, the present laws are even more severe than formerly, while the special privilege of a shortened term of army service is accorded to the French lent of the university to equalize things for him. The re r term of mili ary service Is s, but if a young man has begun eS at the versity—there is only e, the Univers with differ- t branches in t ties—he will with one eath the flag. excused le year; even stu- the pries and “the eldest lows" are held toe it. But—im- fact—the university examinatic passed. If the young student fails get his diploma he to do two more i go back to th else. Foreign students he untversity are well well treated and per- mitted to But when it comes to & for diplomas it is different. The diplomas of the special schools of the university carry with them the right to practice medicine, law, dentistry, archi- tecture and so on. “You are a foreigner,” the outsider. “You seek to be put on an equal footing with the youth of France. Then, undergo an equivalent to the French youth's hardship. Of course, we do not k you to do military service. Instead, Pass the baccalaureate—the first degree in arts or sciences—as our young men have jone, then you may enter for the exami- nations of the professional schools. We will not accept your foreign university di- plomas. Thus made up of all kinds of young men from all France, the French army is de- ared to be “a family,” “a school of vir- tue, endurance and patriotism,” and the “demonstration of Liberty, equality and fra- ternity.” But, as the world itself is made France says to up of only three classes—those who have everything, those who have nothing and those who have a little and intend to have more—the conscription of each year be- comes in reality a family three families. The w in spite of thelr patrio: and good will, immediately begin to study how to shirk whatever is the most. dis- gusting in their routine. The poor but Froud go struggling on in silence, a3 they do outside, while those who are poor but not quite so proud become the servants of their richer comrade’s pocket money. Two Cents a Day and Tobacco. The pay of the French conscript being less than 2 cents a day—plus rations and tobacco—there is a strong motive for the son of a peasant and workingman to in- crease it by honorable labor. There is no doubt that the labor ts honorable, and plenty of it can be found. The poor young man desires many things—extra "meat dishes, highly flavored coffee, glasses of wine and glasses of brandy, more tobacco, trifling pocket money when off duty and cash to treat a bullying non-commissioned officer. His only opportunity is in a richer comrade. Having done his own work, he can act as valet for this neighbor. Although it 1s looked on as bad form by the highest class of young men, the prac- tice of thus shirking everything that may be got out of is the commonest device among those who have money. Young Max Lebaudy, the millionaire spendthrift whom army discipline killed only a few years ago, had constantly a dozen men in his pa mmon soldiers, non-commissioned officers and even higher, if report is to .e believed. He never cleaned hi <, never made his bed, never swept or scrubbed, never groomed his horse, never did stable work, or peeled po- or carried burdens or helped to sweep the courtyard of the barracks. He had himself continually let off from drill, d long furloughs and sick leave, had apartments in town and ate at least y in some rich restaurant. It was work that broke him down so much tempt to lead a sporting life while bound down to the army hour: and discipline. He could pay allowed to slip out secretly at night back late; but he could not shirk ile, the early breakfast and the morning ins Through the day he composed of to-do young men, m, resignation Conscripts’ Continual Drill. was pretending to work, if not actually working. At last those favors shown to him by his officers became his ruin. At last the fast life and army routine com- bined to make him seriously ill. He should have been “reformed”—discharged from service. But the Boulevard journals had been already holding him up as an arch ex- ample of the rich duty shirker, and the au- thorities did not dare to let him off. So he died in the hospital. Uncle Sam’s Men in Contrast. The private in the regular army of the United States has $13 a month, a varied diet, with all the meat he can eaf, coffee, abundant clothing and plenty of leisure. After the second year of service there 1s an increase of @ dollar a month each year in his ‘pay. He may also save, during a five-year term, as much as $200 on the single item of clothing, if he is careful of is uniforms. And, on his discharge, his laily pay and ration money plus his mile- age to the place whece he enlisted often amount to from $50 to $125 extra. There aré thousan@s and thousands of young men in France who would welcome such a life as a career to be embraced with enthusiasm. The British army gives Tommy Atkins less tah eight petice a day in cash when all the extras are deducted. Even this seems large to the French conscript, whose two cents a day means practically nothing. It is not even the matter of pay, however, which forms the greatest contrast between the life of the continental conscript and that of the English or American volunteer. The last named is regarded as a-soldier, while the first is looked upon as a con- tipt. He has not come willingly, is not paid for his work and will go out of active service in three years. He is a young man, and his heart and his career are cisewhere. The army is the school that must pound into him enough obedience, hardness, readi- ness, military habit aad knowledge to last him through his lif Made Deplorable Soldiers. When, only jast year, the old project for forming “school battalions” of young men from seventeen to nineteen years old seemed on the point of revival it was this consideration that was used to kill it. The idea was to give military instruction and training in all French lycees, or colleges, in view of increasing the enthusiasm and adaptability of the future conscripts and perhaps even shoriening their time of ser- Vice for six months or a year. But the veteran General Lambert would have none of it. “I was at one time a partisian of the idea," he said, “and it was tried, some ten years ago, on a limited scale. That experience cured me. Those young men made the most deplorable -sol- diers imaginabie, for the simple reason that they supposed themselves to know some- thing of the military trade when they knew nothing, or, to be correct, knew badly. It was, therefore, necessary to make them forget ail they had learned and recommence their education. And it could not be otherwise. The military trade is learned oniy with the aid of rigorous dis- cipline. You cannot be sufficiently hard en schoolboys to make anything of them.” Taunted and Bullied. Hardship and unceasing discipline is therefore the lot of the French conscript. He is part soldier, part apprentice, part prisoner in a jail. He is taunted and bullied by non-commissioned officers, whose word 1s law. With the utmost faithfulness and correctness it is difficult to escape the police hall, with its ennui and its bread and water. And all for what? To be pre- pared! To be prerared—some day—for war —revenge! It is slow waiting for revenge on Ger- many. The ideas of France have been greatly modified during the last ten years. Dating from the time of the exposition of Bullied by Non-Commissioned Officers 1889, the French spirit has shifted wonder- fully in the direction of industry and mat rial interests. Even as early as 1889 it was id that the exposition formed the r revenge of France on Germany. And now there is to another exposition. The Fre: for Germany, she lets things go. And from her point of view she is certainly right. Each year, by the increase of the German population, Germany ts having a new vic- tory over France. In twenty years her Population will be double that of France. It is no wonder, therefore, that the young French conscript of today turns with dis- gust from his task to dream of other days. It seems so useless now. Things are so different. STERLING HEILIG. be th talk less and less of fighting. As = seo Dancing Birds. From the Brooklyn Citizen. One of the many strange sights on the P:ains of southern Africa is a party of waltzing ostriches. Their queer antics have been described thus: “When there are a number of them they vill start off in the morning and, after running a few hundred yards, will stop, and with raised wings will whirl rapidly rcund till they are stupefied, or, perhaps, break a-leg. The males pose also before fighting and to make their court. They kneel on their ankles, opening their wings and balancing themselves alternately for- ward and backward or to one side or the other, while the neck 1s stretched on a level w the back and the head strikes the sides, now on the right, now on the left, while the feathers are bristling. The bird appears at this time so absorbed in its oc- cupation as to forget all that is going on around him, end can be approached and caught. The male alone utters a cry, which sounds much like an effort to speak with the mouth shut tight.” ——_—_+ e+ —____ How the American Scout Captured the Spanish Camp. From Harper's Bazar. oa Across the sandy waste of an African desert, in the glare of a red sun that was hanging low over hills of volcanic rock, slowly moved one of the largest and most valuable caravans that Matthew Quin had ever brought together. Yet months of in- cessant care and responsibility had left no mark upon him; with keen eyes and rugged face he rode on horseback at the frort, with his English assistants, Carruthers and Becker, right and left of him. Next to tlLem came a procession of four giraifcs, eight elephants, a rhinoceros and a bsl- lowirg buffalo. Then followed a number of big, van-like wagons, driven by bronzed natives and containing ten hyenas, two lecpards, three Ions, five antelopes, one cheetah, two lynxes and one antelope. Smaller carts held boxes of monkeys and birds. There were also two-score each of gcats and camels, the former to provide milk for the young animals and meat for the old, the latter to carry food and drink for the caravan. In charge of this fine lot of birds and beasts were some sixty natives, drivers and attendants, most of whom Quin had hired up in the heart of Nubia. For the caravan had started from there—from Kas- sala in the far southeast—thirty-one Gays ago, and it was still five days’ march from its destination, Suakim on the Red sea, which is the world’s chief shipping place for merchandise of that sort. Quick post camels would have performed the journey in twelve days, but that is another matter. Quin was anxious to have done with the desert and get safely to port. The Soudan was in a troubled state when he went to Nubia, and from time to time in Kassala he had heard vague rumors of a rising. But these had not been confirmed on the way to the coast, and so far the caravan had met neither British soldiers nor hosiile “Fuzzies.” It had now reached the most dangerous belt of country, however, and it was far from unlikely that Suakim was beset and harassed by the bloodthirsty and fanatical dervishes of the mahdl. Through most of the afternoon this subject had furnished the topic of coiversation, and it remained uppermost in Quin’s mind. “I won't teel easy tll we arrive,” he said to his companions, “I'd hate to lose any of this collection—it’s a splendid lot, worth a pile of money to Hamrach & Shading his eyes with one hand, he gazed across the far-reaching stretch of ellow desert. ota moving thing in sight,” he added. “We're safe for another night. We'll camp over by yonder hill— the day’s march has been extra hard. For my part, I'd like ta:stick to the saddle and push straight on to the coast.” “We'll be there fn five more days,” re- plied Becker, “unless we stumble on the Fuzzies." Which I’m thinking we won't,” sald Carruthers. “And what if we do? They'll Mkely be a small party against our force of sixty oda—" “Yes, sixty undisciplined blacks,” inter- rupted Quin. “In case of an attack I don’t believe 1t would be worth while to arm them. They would either take fright and bolt, or rush over to the enemy. Ah, here we are, men. It's not much of a spot, but it will have to do.” A moment later, at the word of com- mand, the long caravan had halted and was breaking up. On the right was a range of sand hills, and to the left the desert was dotted with prickly thorn bushes. Preparations for the night’s camp began at once. The larger animals were se- curely staked and the wagon cages were drawn up in the form of a square. A strange medley of sound rose on the even- ing air—the grunting of camels, the bleat- ing of goats being milked, the chatter of birds and monkeys, and the confused clam- or of hungry beasts. From the baggage animals were unloaded sacks of ship bis- cult, of dourha corn and of the wild cherry fruit called nabeck. Quin seemed to be everywhere at once, iving orders in quick, sharp tones. He elped to put up the tents, and to pile the boxes of rifles and ammunition in a con- venient place. Then, after the supper fires had been lit, he strofled off toward the sandhills, intending to survey the desert from their summit. When he reached the base, only fifty yards from camp, he heard a faint groan. Going forward a few feet, he was amazed to find an English soldier lying apparently dead in a deep little hol- low between the bushes. He was unarmed, and his uniform—he was a private—was Stained with clots of blood, his eyes were closed and his face was the hue of ashes. A hasty examination revealed three things. The poor fellow was breathing tightly, his left ankle was broken, and a spear had made an ugly flesh wound in his right arm. Quin stood up, attracted the attention of Carruthers and Becker, and by earnest gestures brought them quickly to the spot. The three lifted the uncon- scious soldier, bore him to camp and got him into their tent without attracting much observation. “It looks bad, sir,” said.Carruthers, “Very bad,” assented Quin. “We must get to the bottom of the matter, if possible. You climb the hill, Becker, and see if any Arabs are in sight. Carruthers, fetch me the brandy—and some water and bandages. Be quick! The men departed on their respective er- rands, Carruthers returning in a moment. A stiff dose of brandy and water soon krought the soldier around, very weak, but with a clear head. Quin explained to him where he was, and then he managed to give a short account cf himself. He said that the dervishes had been causing trouble for several months past, and that he balongea to a desert qutpost station at the wells of Hamed, which were some miles to the northwest of where the caravan was row encamped. On the pr2vious day he had been sent out on a reconnoissance with ten comrades, and early that morning they had met and attacked a small party of Arabs. Unluckily for Grant—that was his rame— his camel became unruly, and bore him through the 2nemy. He was speared in the arm, and after riding half a mile beyond the dervishes he was thrown to the ground and broke his leg. He crept into the bushes to hide, succumbed finally to pain and faint- ness and remembzred nothing more. Just as the soldjer finished nis recital Becker returned. “I've been to the summit, sir,” he an- nounced. “The horizon is clear in all di- rections—not a thing tobs seen. “I’m glad of that,” said Quin.. “We are safe for the presenj.” , Having briefly acquainted Becker with the wounded man’s story,‘he stepped to the door of the tent. The twilight was slip- ping into the dusky arms of the eastern night; a strip of orange sky still glowered in the west, and out of-the purple shadows the men and beasts of the caravan loomed indistinctly. Food gra, ater had Leen dis- tributed, and the néisy'tlamor: was hushed. With an air of sudden decision Quin turned away. f “Your comrades havg doubtless returned to the outpost?” he asked of the soldier. “Yes; they gave m® up for lost, of course.” 7 “How far are thé wells of Ham2d? “Eight hours’ ride on a good camel,” the man replied. “And what force is statfoned there?” “Two companies of a Suffolk regiment and one company of Soudanese—all camel- mounted.” “And the enemy who attacked you this morning are between here and the wells?” “I think so, for I was carried clean through them,” Grant answered. “Had they come this way they would have found me.” “Thank you; that’s all T Svant to know,” said Quin. He turned to his assistants, “I won't risk another day’s march under these circumstances,” he added. “I intend to ride at once to the wells, and bring back an es- cort of soldiers. Carruthers shall accom- pany me, and I'll leave you in charge of the camp, Becker—you have a good bit of influ- enc3 with the blacks, Start them building | WHILB- BEAST ©) BY vy- MURRAY GRAYDON ge AGENT a LEAveg FRM hig NeTES Be THE ADVENTURE OF THE LOST CARAVAN. (Copyright, 1808, by William Murray Graydon.) @ zereba at once, and tell them it’s only an ordinary precaution.” “Do you think we can get through, sir?” asked Carruthers. “We've got to do it, and we will,” Quin answered. “Pick out a couple of the best camels.”” “I hope you will take me with you,” pleaded Grant. “I’m much better now, and if you'll give me a bite to eat and fix up that leg a lttle, TM be fit for a night's ride.” “I doubt it, my man,” said Quin, “but if you are fit enough you shalt go, depend on that.” By this time the native attendants had finished their supper and Becker went off to set them to work at the zereba. Quin, helped by Carruthers, managed to set the soldier's badly swollen ankle and inclose it in splints. The operation was performed with no little skill, but it was so painful that Grant nearly fainted. However, he rallied very quickly, and when his wounded arm had been washed and bandaged and he had put a dose of brandy down on top of his supper, he seemed little the worse for his rough experience. “I think you'll do,” safd Quin. “You won't be fit for much when you reach your friends, but they'll give you better care than you would get here. And we'll save time with you to guide us. He left the soldier resting comfortably and went out into the camp. He found the zereba nearly completed—a stiff hedge of prickly thorn bushes surrounding the entire caravan. Becker accompanied him back to the tent and they were joined a few min- utes later by Carruthers. “It's all right, sir,” he announced. “I slipped the two camels out of camp, and staked them near the base of the hili—the big one with the scar on its side, and an- other ewift animal.” “Then we'll start at once,” said Quin. ‘hese are your orders, Becker. Keep a sharp watch, and hold the caravan here until we return. I don’t think there is any danger of an attack, but if it comes arm the niggers and do your best to make them fight. If we're not back by tomorrow even- ing you'll know the Fuzzies have wiped us out. In that case—well, try to take the caravan to Suakim.” “I'll do my duty, st dn a husky voice. “And now,” Quin added, “draw all the natives off to the far side of the camp, on the pretext of strengthening the zereba. It will be just xs well if they don’t discover my absence till morning. | Good-bye, old man!” Becker shook hands with his con:panions and departed. Quin and Carruthers girded on their weapons, and lifting the soldier tenderly they carried him from the tent, which was close to the edge of the camp. They made a breach in the zerebra, repair- ing it when they had passed through, and without attracting attention they reached the camels. Carruthers mounted the small- er one and his companions took the larger, Grant being arranged as comfortably as possible in front of Quin. Then, perched on the ungainly ships of the desert, they were borne swiftly, and to the muffiled clump of hoofs, over the dusky sand toward the northeast. In a few minutes the glimmer on the dying camp fires had faded behind them. The night ride was monotonous, tire- some and very trying to poor Grant, but it was uneventful and unopposed, for not a trace of the enemy was seen. The dis- tance proved to be greater than Quin had believed, and about two hours after mid- night Carruthers’ camel went slightly lame, which necessitated a slower rate of speed for both. So the chill gray dawn was breaking over the Nubian desert when the outpost appeared in the distance—white tents and brown earthworks clustered around a little oasis of green palms. Soon the challenge of the sentry rang sharp and clear, and the weary travelers rode into the disturbed and curious camp. Grant, racked by hours of pain, was knocked up completely. White to the lips, he drop) into the arms of his overjoyed comrades, and was carried off to a cot and a surgeon. Quinn briefly told his story to the commanding officer, who promptly acceded to the request. “I can spare you fifteen camel men,” he said. “They shall go back with you and bring the caravan to the wells. On to Becker enswered “It Looks B: , Sir,” Said Carruthers. Suakim you will find the road clear. As for the dervishes who attacked my recon- noitering party yesterday, they were beaten off and disappeared. I have no idea where they are. But you can’t start now. Turn ih and rest awhile.” The exhausted men could not refuse. They thanked the officer and gladly threw themselves down in a shaded tent. They slept until 8 o'clock, when they were sum- moned to breakfast. And an hour later, at the head of fifteen picked soldiers—nine Englishmen and six Soudanese—they rode away under the scorching sun, back across the desert toward. the entrenched caravan. All of the party were mounted on fresh camels, and Lieutenant Koe, an experienc- ed young officer, was in command. The day had drawn nearly to its end, and the breath of evening cooled the air, when the range of low hills was sighted in the distance. At a faster pace the cam- els glided over the sand, and the weary ™men on their backs brightened a little. With but a brief halt at noon they had pushed steadfly on their way, enduring un- complainingly the fiercest heat o f the Nu- } the nF blan desert. They needed repose and sup- per, and they hoped soon to enjoy both. “Half a mile yet,” said Lieutenant Koe. Quin did not answer. He put a pair of field glasses to his eyes—until now the swelling nature of the ground had pre- vented a clear view—and gazed long and keenly through them. “By heavens, the caravan is gone!” he cried. “Gone?” echoed Carruthers. “How can that be Quin lowered the glasses, and while the short ride lasted he spoke not a word. All were grimly silent. With a cloud of sand dust in their wake the trotting cam- els bore on, and five minutes later th reached the site of the encampment the caravan was not there, and oniy incomplete signs could the history of the past twenty hours be read. Terrible signs they were. Beyond the southern side of the zereba five coal-black, friazly-haired by dervishes lay stiff and ghastly in their life | blood, at various distances apart. And in- side the thorny hedge sprawled the bodies of three native attendants, two camels and a giraffe. Without dismounting the men looked down upon the spot. “There has been hard fighting,” said Quin. “At early dawn, I should judg “And Becker got the best of it,” replied Carruthers. “He has cleared out safel with the caravan.” “That's true,” added the lieutenant, “for the dervishes wouldn't have stolen the Wagons and beasts. No doubt the caravan missed us and has reached the wells by this time. But we had better search the locality thoroughly before we come to a conclu sion.” This suggestion was followed. In differ- ent directions the soldiers rod: about th camp, and they quickly picked up two im- portant clues. That the dervishes had been beaten off, and had retreated, was proved by a plain trail leading southward. And straight to th> rorth led another and mor Prominent trail—that of the caravan. A wide gap in the zereba marked the Quin examined both, and then r for a moment. his is my theory,” he said to Lieut+n- ant Koe. “The natives must have resis attack with more pluck than I gav tkem credit for, or else the enemy w2re in small force. Anyway, the rascals got enough of it and left—perhaps to search for a larger band. Meanwhile Becker, for reason that we know nothing of. retr due north with the caravan, instead of heading northeast toward the wells— “With the intention of ing a detour later,” interrupted the leutenant. “Exactly, that’s just what I think,” Quin. “But I want to settle the qu I'd like to make sure that Becker did swing round toward the coast. Only it’s asking a good bit of you, Mr. Koe.” Never mind that,” replied the officer. “I'm willing enough to help you, and I'll answer for th> men and the camels—it takes more than a day’s march to knock them up. So we'll be off at ones, and fol- low the caravan trail till it turns to the east; then we'll strike camp and rest for a while before pushing on.” Quin gratefully thanked th2 lieutenant, who proved as good as his word. And with- exi aid out a murmur the men, weary and hungry though they were, received the change of plan. At a trot the jaded camels swept along the cours> taken by the missing avan, while the sun buried its2If under the horizon. Its golden rim was still visible, and about three miles had been covered, when a strange discovery was mad>. Sud. denly the trail ended; the marks of many wheels and feet ceased abruptl. a Jove, here's a queer go!” the Heutenant. ‘ it’s very simple,” replied Quin. “A sandstorm, commencing at this point. h whirled on over the desert and obliterat-d the track. But I can’t understand why the caravan stuck to a northerly course so long. If Becker had intended making a de- tour toward the coast—" He did not finish the sentence, for just then a man in the rear shouted loudly, “Arabs! Arabs!” ¢ A momentary confusion fell upon the litle party as they looked behind them. Within less than half a mile, coming swift. ly on from the south, was a band of mount- ed dervishes. Tne last rays of the sun shone on their dark faces and streaming hair, on their scarlet turbans and white tunics, glistened on their guns and spears. “Not many over a score of the rascals,” Quin said, coolly. “I think we can beat them off."” “We'll do our best, ‘Halt and dismount,” he added. “There exclaimed replied Lieut. Koe. will be our position—that little swell we just rode over.” In a trice the men swung themselves to the ground and made the camels le down in the shelter of the sand ridge. Then, rifles in hand, they huddled behind the crest and waited grimly. The dervishes, noting these preparations, dismounted ata distance of 500 yards. Leaving several of their number to guard the camels, they ad- vanced swiftly on foot, with savage cries. Some were brown Baggara Arabs, but the Sreater part were jet-black negroes—the real “Fuzzies” of the Soudan. Closer and closer they loomed up, and suddenly the Meutenant gave the word to fire. From end to end the low ridge burst into flame and smoke, and a well-aimed volley of lead raked the massed enemy. It proved more decisive than the soldiers had cx- pected. Four of the Dervishes fell, dead or wounded, and after firing a few harm- less shots the rest turned and withdrew, taking their stricken comrades with them. They held a brief consultation, mounted their camels and rode away to the south. And in a short time they were blotted cut by the twilight. “The ccwards have probably gone to seek a larger force,” said Lieut. Koe, when the sittation was being discussed a little later. “But we'll take the chances, and rest he e till midnight, or thereabouts. Then we'll push on to the north—the moon will be up —and if we don’t find traces of the euravan by morning we'll head for the wells.’ “Yes, that’s the best thing we can do,” assented Quin. ‘‘And I owe you « big debt of gratitude, Mr. Koe, for fuggesting a fur- ther march to the north. It looks as if Seeeeeg had intended keeping in thut direc- jon.” So a camp was pitched roughly, and a frugal meal was prepared and caten. Then sentries were posted and the weary men and camels slept on the sand. Between 1 and 2 o'clock, no alarm having disturbed them, they resumed the march again. A full mocn shone overhead, bathing the desert in @ beautiful and silvery glow that awed the soldiers into silent admiration. Hour after hour they pressed on, but not @ trace of tne lost caravan rewarded their censtant watchfulness. Quin was not comforted by the leutenant’s suggestion that Becker must have turned off toward the wells, but he stolidly concealed the fears and anxiety that he felt. Early dawn was preceded by an interval of darkness, and then the day broke, re- vealing close to the left a high Tange of rugged, volcanic hills. In grim majesty they rose from the waste of yellow sand, stretching a considerable distance to north and south. For an hour the party must have been traveling parallel with them. And a little later, as the morning mists rolled off in a wider radius, a discovery of a different sort was made. A mile behind, l\ccming larger each moment on the desert herizon, was a multi-colored blur which Presently resolved itself into men and camels. “Dervishes!” the Meutenant said, bitterly. oe at the least! We're in a bad “Yes; it’s a big party; they've followed us up,” replied Quin. - “And others have probably wiped out the caravan by this time.” He sighed regretfully, and then a ew oeettoe itt Agntice, a Koe,” h “We're tor st > Mr. ” he added, “and yonder is a likely place for a But | stand. Against such ofds we can’t mee! these fanatical devils in the open.” As he spoke he pointed to a black rift on the steep brownish slope of the hills, half a mile away—cleafiy the entrance to a Lar- ¥ gorge that wound s our only cha post replied the leutenar brief look. Forward, now, for a At a swift jolting trot ‘th swung of to the lef Faster a they urged their « over sand, and as they gl the ny drawing # ing at their top epee e point. Thus the | Siderable sp i than @” yo a ped in shed on ek « living deeper tr he men, having dis- meis out of sight at th around the angle nd, th here when nounced the had dismour prs The sage was choked with the swa close upon a hundred muscu turesquely clad dervishes, their bi stamped with fanatical } siasm. Ali carried rift cruel-eyed narrow pas- hief with a flowing beard, “Wait until they ome within a hu cried Lieut. Koe, “and then fire fast a] true.”” | “Pick off the old fellow first,” shouced Quin, who was on the of the Tay with ¢ Ts. A mt exp n Arubs swept on Mke a whirlwind. Suddenly they opened fire, and at once an answering volley was poured fr: j rocks. The old chief fell, as ¢ ja n others; but in the face of hail of bullets the rest pressed with shrill clam “Check them!’ cried the young officer. “Don't let them get to close quarters } Still the deryishes advanced, trampling over the dead and dying, and displaying the utmost recklessness. In vain the rifles ; blazed from every rock-cranny, drowning the din of blended voices. Out of the curl- ing noke the black nds suddenly loomed nearer. They pulled themselves up the sides of the ravine to right and left, cl ing with hands and Teet or she almost into the faces of the re sisting die The situation was desperate. On Lieutenant Koe's men was d a were wounded. On the othe where the attack was the flercest e of the Soudanese had been hit struggle became hand to hend. Bullets whis' Quin’s ears as he at down two yelling foes with the stock of his rifle, and Car- ruthe.s sent another reeling Hfeless to the bottom of the gorge. But their places were taken by fresh combatants, and a sea of frizzly heads ebbed and flowed at the base of the rocks. “God help us, we's done for!” Quin cried | hoarsely. “Fire, men! Sell your lives dearly His voice rang loudly above the tumult, reaching across the ravine to where the officer's party were just as hardly pressed on the other side. And at. this mome When all hope seeme ng and startli unexpected thing A great noise was heard in t the turn of the pas: ame eight gigantic elep! n by the Arabs, and ( he monsters did what British pl ts had falied to accomplish er with shrill cries enemy t native rs overhead amc with trumpet-iik ud men went whi r nuth into the open Quin and the officer were climb down from shelter, and « instan the turn of th peared the familiar figure of or. A dozen armed natives followed him, and his glowed with he rushed up to Quin and gras) ti t worked al! right!” he cried. “And re s safe—hidden Sack in the sut don’t let the wretches escape ¢ them and finish them!” The rest is another story and be told at length. The dervish-s but they were in no m They fied in eve camel; and ther their run southward, leaving iand wounded. To Q the el ts were rece a r an hour's search, and wer back to thi ° heart of the hills, whi snugly cncamped; yards of the scene of the Becker's explanation ¥. and may be given in his o very simple, brief words. “A small f of Arabs Ke terday morning,” he said, “but them off in a few mini fought well. Then, judging would return in larger numbers, 1 decided to take the caravan to the shelter of these hills; one of the Nubians told me about them. We skirted the south end of tnem, and entered from the other side, reaching here late in the afternoon. I counted on your following the trail, but the sandstorm spoiled that, as you know. I was about starting off to look for you at daybreak, when I heard the firing, and when I discov- ered what was up I thought of a way to eave you. I sent some of my men to fetch your camels into camp, and then drove the pack of elephants down the gorge; I scared them pretty nearly into fits by beating tom- toms and poking them with burning grass.” “Becker, you're a trump,” said Quin, “Here’s my hand on it.” At noon that day the caravan filed out of the hills and over the desert, escorted by the soldiers 2nd augmented by half a dozen dervish prisoners; the dead had been ha: tily buried. The wells of Hamed were saf. ly reached during the night, and four later, to Quin’s relief, the precious consign- ment of beasts and birds arrived at the s:a- port of Suakim. (The end.) — A Simple Preventive. From Puck. Mistress—“Why, Bridget! are your eyes colored the weak? glasses every house. Bridget—“It's not me e when the sun shines like it does joors today I'd tan as black as a naygur if I didn’t :noderate the light a little by wearin’ thim colored spectacles.” I notice that you wear time you go out of Hostess (to friend who has been brought fn to take pot luck)—“I'm afraid, Mr. Simpson, we've only got a very poor din- ner to offer you.” Mr. Simpson—“My dear Mrs. Jones, I beg you not to apologize. I assure you I think it quite desirable to underfeed occasion- ally,”—Punch,