“God never lets ’em come to grief in the sense that you mean,” returned the marine. “If He kills His people, He takes them away from the evil to come, and death is but a door-way into glory. If he sends grief and suffering, it is that they may at last reach a higher state of joy.”
“Pooh! according to that view, nothing can go wrong with them that you call His people,” said Simkin, with contempt.
“Right you are, comrade,” rejoined Stevenson; “nothing can go wrong with us; nothing can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our lord; and you may be one of ‘us’ this minute if you will accept God’s offer of free salvation in Christ.”
Silence followed, for Simkin was too angry, as well as worn out, to give his mind seriously to anything at that time, and the others were more or less uncertain as to the truth of what was advanced.
Sleep, profound and dreamless, soon banished these and all other subjects from their minds. Blessed sleep! so aptly as well as beautifully styled, “Tired Nature’s sweet restorer.” That great host of dusky warriors—some unquestionably devout, many cruel and relentless, not a few, probably, indifferent to everything except self, and all bent on the extermination of their white-skinned foes,—lay down beside their weapons, and shared in that rest which is sent alike to the just and to the unjust, through the grand impartiality, forbearance, and love of a God whom many people apparently believe to be a “respecter of persons!”
A few days later the little army came to the edge of a range of hills, beyond which lay the plains of the vast Nubian desert. At night they encamped at the base of the hill-country, through which they had been travelling, and the captives were directed to take up their position in front of an old ruined hut, where masses of broken stones and rubbish made the ground unsuitable for camping on.
“Just like them!” growled Simkin, looking about for a fairly level spot. “There’s not a place big enough for a dog to lie on!”
Supper made Rattling Bill a little more amiable, though not much more forgiving to his foes. A three-quarters moon soon afterwards shed a faint light on the host, which, except the sentries, was sound asleep.
Towards midnight a solitary figure moved slowly towards the place where the captives lay and awakened Miles, who sat up, stared, winked, and rubbed his eyes two or three times before he could bring himself to believe that his visitor was no other than the chief of the host—Mohammed!
“Rise. Com. I speak small Engleesh.”