The lot to which he referred consisted of a group of miserable loungers in filthy garments and fez-caps, who, in monkey-like excitement, or solemn stupidity, stood squabbling in front of one of the many Greek drinking-shops with which the town was cursed.
Passing by at the moment, with the stately contempt engendered by a splendid physique and a red coat, strode a trooper—one of the defenders of the town. His gait was steady enough, but there was that unmistakable something in the expression of his face which told that he was in the grip of the same fiend that had captured the men round the grog-shop door. He was well-known to both Armstrong and Miles.
“Hallo! Johnson,” cried the latter. “Is there any truth in the—”
He stopped, and looked steadily in the trooper’s eyes without speaking.
“Oh yes, I know what you mean,” said Johnson, with a reckless air. “I know that I’m drunk.”
“I wouldn’t say exactly that of you,” returned Miles; “but—”
“Well, well, I say it of myself,” continued the trooper. “It’s no use humbuggin’ about it. I’m swimmin’ wi’ the current. Goin’ to the dogs like a runaway locomotive. Of course I see well enough that men like Sergeant Hardy, an’ Stevenson of the Marines, who have been temperance men all their lives, enjoy good health—would to God I was like ’em! And I know that drinkers are dyin’ off like sheep, but that makes it all the worse for me, for, to tell you the honest truth, boys—an’ I don’t care who knows it—I can’t leave off drinkin’. It’s killin’ me by inches. I know, likewise, that all the old hard drinkers here are soon sent home ruined for life—such of ’em at least as don’t leave their miserable bones in the sand, and I know that I’m on the road to destruction, but I can’t—I won’t give it up!”
“Ha! Johnson,” said Armstrong, “these are the very words quoted by the new parson at the temperance meetin’ last night—an’ he’s a splendid fellow with his tongue. ‘Hard drinker,’ says he, ‘you are humbuggin’ yourself. You say you can’t give up the drink. The real truth is, my man, that you won’t give it up. If only I could persuade you, in God’s strength, to say “I will,” you’d soon come all right.’ Now, Johnson, if you’ll come with me to the next meetin’—”
“What! me go to a temperance meetin’?” cried the trooper with something of scorn in his laugh. “You might as well ask the devil to go to church! No, no, Armstrong, I’m past prayin’ for—thank you all the same for invitin’ me. But what was you askin’ about news bein’ true? What news?”
“Why, that the old shepherd has been killed, and all our cattle are captured, and the Egyptian cavalry sent after them.”