For Fortune and Glory: A Story of the Soudan WarHough, Lewis
History
For Fortune and Glory: A Story of the Soudan War
Hough, Lewis
Great Britain -- History, Military -- 19th century -- Fiction; Sudan -- History -- 1881-1899 -- Fiction
"Didn't you hear? Why, he belonged to Captain Fanshawe's troop, who
went skirmishing about, and caught a sheikh, called Abu Zoolah. Well,
he said that a while ago the Mudir of Dongola had offered a thousand
dollars for his head, and now it isn't worth the price of a pint. Just
think what a chance to nearly get, and miss! There's a lot of beer in a
thousand dollars."
"Sure, yes, that's hard lines," observed Grady. "What fun it would be
to go out shooting, and get a thousand dollars for every man you
bagged."
"Aye, that would make a man hold straight, if anything would," said
Macintosh. And there were a few spurts of talk like that, but mostly
they plodded on in silence.
It took close upon three days to reach Gakdul Wells, and during all that
time the camels were not watered, the supply at intermediate wells being
barely sufficient for the men. But when they got to Gakdul there was
abundance of the life-restoring element for all, beasts and men, thanks
to the Royal Engineers and their pumps. For the place was as wild and
romantic as you can imagine, the wells being hidden away in deep caverns
with precipitous sides, in the midst of frowning and rugged rocks. The
sailors, with their contempt of heights, and entire freedom from
giddiness, swung themselves down into the most horrible abysses, if only
they had a rope made fast at top, without a moment's hesitation, fixing
pipes by which the precious fluid was pumped up and conveyed to the
troops.
It was a treat to see the camels drink when at last they got the chance;
they sucked the water up with a loud noise, and you could trace it
flowing down their necks in waves. Four days is the longest period they
can go without a supply. There are people in India and elsewhere who
believe that when they die their souls go into the bodies of animals,
and Kavanagh's acquaintance with his camel enabled him to understand
this odd notion, for when he looked in its eyes for some time he almost
expected it to speak. It was an unsatisfactory beast in some respects,
for it would not be petted in any way, and it was impossible to make
friends with it. Try to pet it, and it growled; persist, and it tried
to bite him. I have known a dog of much the same disposition, but then
he made one or two exceptions, and showed as much exaggerated fondness
for them as made up for his general want of amiability.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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