The hours passed slowly. The sergeant slept a good deal, and anxious as Edgar was he too several times dozed off. Presently he exclaimed, "The fire is become much heavier, sergeant; and it is nearer too. Listen!"
"It is the Arabs, lad," the sergeant said, raising himself on his elbow. "It is heavy, but it is nothing like the roll of musketry you hear when our fellows begin. But, as you say, it is much nearer; the column, or part of it, is on its march towards the river."
Five minutes later a dull continuous rattle came to their ears.
"They are at it now. They have stopped!" he said a minute later when the roar suddenly ceased. "What has happened now, I wonder? Ah! there they are again. That is more like it—steady and even."
The musketry came in sudden crashes. "Volleys!" the sergeant said. "They are near them."
For three or four minutes the sounds continued, and then there was silence.
"They have beaten them off," the sergeant said. "They didn't let them get near them this time, I expect. If they had there would have been independent firing. As long as you hear volleys you may be sure our fellows are not pressed."
Beyond an occasional shot the firing had ceased.
"How far do you think they are away now, sergeant?"
"If they were four miles before I don't think they are more than two now, and a good bit more away to the left. They are making to the river, so as to establish themselves there before they tackle Metemmeh."