“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.
But the camel was consistent, and steadily refused to form the slightest attachment to anything human. You remember the genii in the “Arabian Nights Entertainments” who were forced to serve powerful magicians, but who hated them and longed to tear them in pieces all the time, and did so, too, if the omission of some necessary incantation gave them the power. Well, the camel seemed like one of these subjugated spirits, an excellent servant, but a most unwilling one, and resenting the power to which, forced by inevitable destiny, he yielded implicit obedience. Evidently he was a fatalist, like the people he lived amongst.
When he was being loaded for the journey he moaned and howled as if he were being beaten to death, and whenever a start was made, the outcry of hundreds of the creatures remonstrating at once was something perfectly unparalleled in the way of horrid and dismal noises.
“Sure,” said Grady on the first occasion, “I have often heard spake of a howling wilderness, but I never knew what it meant before at all. But I see now; it’s the camel that does the howling.”
But once started he seemed to make up his mind to the inevitable. While he was uncertain what Fate had in store for him he groaned and lamented, but once he knew the worst he thought it was no use bothering, and proceeded on his way in apparent content.
Indeed, that seemed to be his one aim and object, to be always going straight on to some place a long way off and never arriving, like the Wandering Jew. As for his appearance, you have probably often seen a camel in the Zoological Gardens or a wild beast show, and know his weird, shapeless, uncanny look, with the beard on his upper lip, and the hard natural pads on all parts of him which touch the ground when he subsides for loading or unloading; his chest, knees, and so on. An experienced man has described his motion when he trots in this way:—“Put a horse into a cart without springs, in the cart put a rickety table; on the table place a music-stool screwed up as high as it will go. Now seat yourself on the music-stool and gallop over a ploughed field, and you will have a very correct notion of the sensation of riding a trotting camel.” But with practice the motion is much easier, and with so many hours in the day in the saddle the troops had plenty of practice.
The position at Gakdul was naturally strong, and with the aid of art was made perfectly impregnable, forming a place to fall back upon in case of need. The camels, it has been explained, utterly declined all friendly advances, but the affections of the company Kavanagh belonged to were not on that account destined to grow utterly rusty for want of use, since a dog had attached himself in every sense of the word to it. Where the dog came from and to whom he belonged originally were matters as mysterious as his breed, which seemed to partake of several varieties, amongst which the native sheep dog was the most perceptible.
But his virtues were manifold. He joined on that day of the march when the towing commenced, and posted himself, as no one did it for him, and he was enlisted under the name of Hump, not because of any personal deformity, but after the distinguishing characteristic of the camel. When the battalion took to riding, and, though still following the course of the Nile, often lost sight of it for some hours, either because the track was better or to cut off a corner, Hump carried his own water-bottle, ingeniously constructed for him by a man named Thomas Dobbs, out of an old preserved meat tin covered with a bit of felt, to prevent its becoming too hot; and this was fastened round his neck. When a halt was called, and he wanted a drink, he went up to one of the men, who would take off the cover and pour a little out for him. This was all very well while the river was near, but when they were about to strike across the desert, where water would be scarce, and he would hardly be able to carry enough for his own wants, it was determined to leave him behind, and he was made over to a man who promised to, take charge of him, and who was to remain on the Nile.