For a roughly contrived litter was seen approaching, and directly after the chief’s son was borne up to them by four of his followers and set down in front of the doctor, who attended to his patient, finding him no worse for his journey.
He was carried away again as soon as the Hakim had seen that his wound was healing well, and the arrival of the newly injured was expected; but none appeared, for the simple reason that the fresh tale of wounded was only imaginary, the Baggara chief, as was afterwards learned, having been successful in obtaining a large amount of plunder and many camels in his first raid after leaving the prisoners at the wells. These he had despatched under a small escort while he made for another village which had been marked down. Here, however, he met with a severe reverse, his men having to gallop for their lives, leaving their dead and wounded behind.
Hence it was, then, that the Hakim’s burden became light for the rest of the march, which was continued day after day, week after week, till so slow was the progress that months had passed and the despair in Frank’s soul grew deeper.
The party were well treated, and won the respect of the whole force from the many kindly acts they were able to perform. For sickness was more than once a deadly foe which had to be fought, while help was often required after occasional raids made during the journey, in which the desperate dwellers in village or camp fought hard and mostly in vain for their lives and property, as well as to save those whom they held dear from being carried off as slaves.
“It is horrible!” Frank used to say. “These tribes are like a pestilence passing through the land. The atrocities of which they are guilty are a hundred times worse than I could have believed. There can never be rest for the unfortunate inhabitants till they are swept away.”
“Never,” said the professor gravely. “The land will soon be one wide desolation, for the smiling oases where irrigation could do its part will soon be gone back to a waste of sand.”
“And by the irony of fate,” continued Frank bitterly, “here are we—so many English people, whose hearts bleed for the horrors we are forced to see—doing our best afterwards to restore to health and strength the wretches who have robbed and murdered in every peaceful village they have passed.”
He looked, and spoke, at the Hakim, as these utterances passed his lips, and his brother’s old school-fellow shook his head at him reproachfully.
“Don’t blame me, Frank, my lad,” he said. “I often think as you do, and it is only by looking upon the wounded men brought in as patients that I can get on with my task. Then the interest in my profession helps me, and I forget all about what they may have done. But I get very weary of it all sometimes.”
“Weary, yes!” cried Frank; “but you must forgive me. It was all my doing, and I must be half mad to speak to you as I did.”