CHAPTER XLIX.
CHRISTMAS DAY IN CAMP AT KORTI.
The last days of December saw Roland Lindsay with his regiment—the 1st Battalion of the South Staffordshire—of old, the 38th—a corps of the days of Queen Anne—the corps of the gallant old Luke Lillingston, who led the troops in Wilmot's West Indian Expedition of 1695—toiling in the boats up the great river of Egypt against strong currents by Kodokal, and within sight of the ruins of old Dongola—ruins of red brick covering miles—by Debbeh, where the currents were stronger still, and awnings could not be used, though the heat was 120 degrees, and the men became giddy and distracted by the white glare and the hot simmering atmosphere, with lassitude and thirst, and where it was so terrible at times, to emerge from the shadow of some impending rock, once more to plod and pull the heavy oar under the fierce and fiery sun. Though occasionally spreading the big sails like wings on each side of the boats, they would have a pleasant hour's run in the evening ere darkness or a rapid barred their upward way.
Then, on the redly-illuminated waters of the mighty and mysterious river, the white sails of the squadron would show up pleasantly in the twilight, after the landscape had been ablaze with that rich profusion of colour only to be seen where dark rocky hills, yellow desert sand, and patches of verdant vegetation border, as they do on the upper reaches of the Nile.
Then, when darkness came, the boats would close in with the shore, where they were moored to a bank, and the sails were lowered and stowed on board; while under the feathery palms, or date trees, fires were lighted, the frugal ration of bully-beef, onions, and potatoes was cooked and eaten amid the jollity and lightness of heart which are ever a characteristic of our soldiers, and then the poor fellows would coil themselves up to sleep and prepare for the coming toil of the morrow.
On the 22nd of December the camp at Korti was reached at 9.30 in the evening, after a hard struggle amid a labyrinth of sand banks. Roland found the camp to be prettily situated on the edge of the river, and surrounded by mimosa trees, and there the advanced guard of the expedition, detailed to relieve Gordon and raise the siege of the doomed city, was now assembling fast.
It was a spot never trod by Britons before. There the caravans from Egypt to Sennar quit the Nile and proceed across the Bayuda Desert, the route from Dongola being easy for travelling, and the land on both banks of the river rich and fertile.
At Korti, where now every hour or so our bugles were blown, there stood in the days of Thothemus III. a great temple dedicated to Isis, whose tears for the loss of Osiris caused the regular inundations of the Nile.
Under some wide spreading trees the tents of the Camel Corps were pitched along the western bank of the latter; and the whole scene there was most picturesque. The leafy shade tempered the fierce heat of the sun, and, after their long toil in the boats and over the burning sands and glittering rocks, our soldiers were charmed for a time with the place; but some wrath was excited when it was discovered that a correspondence between a French journalist in the camp of the Mahdi before Khartoum, and a clique in Cairo, supplied the former with the fullest information of Lord Wolseley's proceedings, with hints as to the best means of baffling them.
Though the enemy were at some distance, every precaution was taken against a surprise by night. Cavalry vedettes were posted out beyond the camp by day, and strong outlying pickets, with chains of advanced sentries by night; but, as Christmas Day drew near, considerable anxiety was felt in the camp at Korti at the total cessation of all news from blockaded Khartoum, which was two hundred and sixty miles distant by the desert, and by river where the former touched the latter at Gubat or Abu Kru.
The total strength of the advanced force at Korti, after the departure of Roland's regiment, was under two thousand five hundred men, with six screw guns, two thousand two hundred camels and horses, two pinnaces, and sixty-four whale boats, while the 19th Hussars, when the advance began, had orders to ride by the western bank of the Nile and act as scouts to the Khartoum relief column.
By this time there was not a single sound garment in the latter—the result of fifty days' river work from Sarras. The mud-stained helmets were battered out of all shape; the tunics and trousers were patched with cloth of every kind and hue; officers and men had beards of many days' growth, and the skin of their faces was peeled off in strange and uncouth patches, the result of incessant exposure to the fierce sun by day and the chill dews by night.
Christmas morning, 1884, was ushered in by a church parade, and by prayer, when the whole force—slender though it was—was present, under the feathery palms, by the banks of the Nile, that river of mystery, which has its rise in a land unknown; and at night the soldiers gathered round two great camp-fires and made merry, singing songs, and doubtless thinking of those who were far away at home.
It was on this occasion that the South Staffordshire, under the gallant Eyre, raised three hearty cheers, when, from the rear, a telegram was brought, sent all the way from their second battalion in England, wishing 'all ranks a happy Christmas and a brilliant campaign.'
And happy and jolly all certainly were, though they were now in the region of bully-beef, for they fared on hard biscuits and coffee in the morning, with bully-beef for tiffin, and bully-beef for dinner.
As the evening of Christmas Day closed in, Roland, with a cigarette in his mouth, reclined on the grass under a mimosa bush, watching the picturesque groups of tanned and tattered soldiers that hovered round the two great watch-fires, which cast weird patches of light on the feathery palms, the glittering piles of arms, the few white tents occupied by Lord Wolseley's staff and officers of rank; on the long rows of picketed camels; on the distant figures of the advanced sentinels seen darkly against the sky of pale green and orange that showed where the sun had set beyond Gebel Magaya in the Bayuda Desert; on the quaint boats and barges moored in the Nile; and on the broad flow of that majestic river, reddened as it was by the flames, to which the active hands and sharp bill-hooks of the soldiers added fuel every moment; while the high spirits of the troops—seldom wont to flag—were irrepressible then in the great hope of getting on—getting on and reaching Khartoum—to shake hands with Gordon ere it might be—too late!
In three days the South Staffordshire were to start and take the lead in that eventful expedition, and led by jovial Dick Mostyn, Wilton, and other kindred spirits; already the soldiers were chorusing a song with which they meant to bend their oars; and more than once, as they sang, they turned to where their favourite officer, Roland Lindsay, lay looking on, for he was one of those men who are by nature and habit born to be the leader of others, and possessing that kind of magnetic influence which inspires confidence.
Roland had plenty of spirit, bodily vigour, and perseverance; but when a halt came, and with it a brief term of rest, he could not help indulging in occasional regretful thoughts, haunting memories, and wishes that were hopeless. He had, as Annot anticipated, got over his rudely-dispelled passion for her, true love it could not have been, he flattered himself now, and he was fully justified in dismissing her from his mind; and in that matter he was disturbed by the fact no more 'than a nightmare disturbs the occupations of the dreamer, as he goes about his business on the following day in the full light of heaven, and with his brain clear of the idle fantasies of the darkness.'
But now he could not help thinking of Hester Maule, especially as he had seen her last, when she stood at the door of Merlwood, and murmured good-bye, her hand in his, her dark blue eyes dimmed with gathering tears—the tears that he knew would fall when he was gone—her graceful head drooping towards him, and how he now, as then, longed to whisper in her little white ear the words he scarcely knew how to utter, and which were withheld through very shame of himself.
Earlshaugh he deemed, of course, now gone from his family for ever; well, it was only one more case of the now daily sinking out of sight, the decay or destruction of good old Scottish families, while mushrooms came up to take their place in the land, though seldom in history.
Roland had and still loved Hester, and in his heart believed in her as an embodiment of all that is good and pure in womanhood; but rather unwisely had allowed the fact to be guessed at by her, thinking that she understood him, and that his declaration might be made at any time; and, as we have shown, he was quite upon the point thereof, when Annot Drummond came with her wiles and smiles to prove the evil genius of them both.
In connection with Annot's name he almost let his scornful lips form a malediction now—that name once linked with the dearest and fondest terms his fancy could frame. Yet he could not even now class all women under her category, and believe that beauty was given them for the sole purpose of winning men's hearts without losing their own. But his reflections at times on his own folly were fiery and bitter for all that; and as a sedative he enjoyed to the utmost extent the daily excitement of active service now in that remarkable land, the Soudan.
Christmas-night in the camp at Korti was indeed a merry one, and although under the eyes of Lord Wolseley and his staff, the soldiers were in no way repressed in their jollity and fun—for a little of the latter goes a long way in the army—and, all unlike the Northern Yule to which they were accustomed, it was without snow or icicles, holly-berries, mistletoe, and plum-pudding; but those who lingered round these watch-fires on the arid sand of the Soudan had many a kindly and tender thought of the bright family circles, the loved faces, and household scenes of those who were dear to them, and were so far, far away beyond the drear Bayuda Desert, and beyond the seas, in many a pretty English village, where the Christmas carols were being sung while the chimes rang joyously in the old ivied steeple, in memory of the star that shone over Bethlehem—the herald of peace and goodwill to men.
Ere that festival came again more than one battle had to be fought—Khartoum would be lost or won—Gordon saved or abandoned and betrayed—and many a young heart that was full of joy and hope would be as cold as inexorable death could make it; but no thought of these things marred the merry night our soldiers spent as they turned into the bivouac at Korti—for though called a camp, it was scarcely a complete one.
Dick Mostyn had procured some wine from an enterprising Greek sutler; and this he shared freely with Lindsay and others while it lasted.
Though poor, and such as was never seen on the mess-table, it was voted 'capital stuff,' in that part of the world, and Dick—with a sigh—wished his 'throat was a mile long,' as he drained the last of it.
'Such a wonderful flow of spirits you always have, Dick!' said Lindsay.
'Well—I have made up my mind to be jolly, remembering Mark Tapley and his Eden,' replied Mostyn.
'Jolly on your couch—the sand?'
'Jolly as a sandboy—yes; yet not disinclined to pray for the man who invented a good feather-bed, even as Sancho Panza did for him who invented sleep.'
Indeed, Mostyn admitted that he was happier in the Soudan than he had been in England.
He had fluttered the dovecots of the West End with tolerable success, and might have 'bagged an heiress,' as he phrased it; but high stakes at his club, bets on every possible thing; a bad book on the Derby, ditto on the Oaks; unpaid accounts—St. John's Wood and 'going to the devil on all fours,' marred his chances; then his gouty old governor had come down upon him with his 'cut-you-off-with-a-shilling face;' and Dick thought he was well out of all his troubles, and had only the Arabs to face in the Soudan.
Next day the regiment was inspected and highly complimented by Lord Wolseley, as 'the first to come up with the boats,' adding, 'I know you will do credit to the county you are named after and to the character you have won. I am proud to have such a battalion on service with me.'
This ceremony was scarcely over and the soldiers' dinner drum been beaten as a summons once more to bully-beef and hard biscuits, when a few boats brought up a detachment that marched at once into camp, where crowds gathered round them, as newcomers, to hear the last news from the rear, as letters were becoming scarce and newspapers just then still more so.
A tall officer who was in command, with his canvas haversack, water-bottle, revolver-case, and jack-knife dangling about him, and whose new fighting suit of gray contrasted with the tattered attire of Roland and others, came towards them with impatient strides.