When the order was given to come on board, many of the people, in the ebullition of spirits, leapt heedlessly into the water amidships, instead of boarding the vessel by the fore part, which touched the sand. These were dragged on board with considerable difficulty.
The boy Saat would have been drowned had not Monsoor saved him. In the confusion, when several were struggling in the water, I noticed Ali Nedjar, who could not swim, battling frantically with his hands in such a manner that I saw the poor fellow had lost his head. He was not three feet from the vessel's side.
My four life-buoys were hung on open hooks at the four corners of the poop-deck; thus, without one moment's delay, I dropped a buoy almost into his hands. This he immediately seized with both arms, and I, of course, thought he was safe: the buoy naturally canted up as he first clutched it, and, instead of holding on, to my astonishment he relinquished his grasp!
The next moment the strong current had hurried the buoyant safeguard far away. A red tarboosh followed the life-buoy, floating near it on the surface. . . . . . Ali Nedjar was gone!—drowned! He never rose again. . . .
I was dreadfully shocked at the loss of my good soldier—he had been much beloved by us all. We could hardly believe that he was really gone for ever. Who would now lead the song in the moonlight nights? or be the first in every race?
I had quickly thrown every life-buoy into the river, as Howarti, Mohammed, and others of the best swimmers had vainly plunged after Ali, and were now searching fruitlessly for his body, carried away by the powerful current. The boat was sent after them immediately, and they were brought on board.
The mirth of the diahbeeah had vanished; the general favourite had so suddenly disappeared from among us, that no one spoke, The women sat down and cried.
His knapsack and rifle were brought to me, and a list having been taken of his clothes and ammunition, I cut his name, "Ali," upon the stock of his snider, which I reserved for the best man I should be able to select. There was no better epitaph for so good a soldier than his name engraved on his trusty rifle.
That evening every one was sad, and my people all refused their food. . . .
On the following day, the wind and stream being adverse, we had much trouble in avoiding the sand-banks, and our progress was so slow that we only reached the base of the rocky hill Regiaf. Here I resolved to wait for the heavier vessels, which were far behind.