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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Desert Drum, by Robert Hichens
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Desert Drum
+       1905
+
+Author: Robert Hichens
+
+Release Date: November 8, 2007 [EBook #23417]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DESERT DRUM ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE DESERT DRUM
+
+By Robert Hichens
+
+Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers
+
+Copyright, 1905
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+I am not naturally superstitious. The Saharaman is. He has many strange
+beliefs. When one is at close quarters with him, sees him day by day
+in his home, the great desert, listens to his dramatic tales of desert
+lights, visions, sounds, one's common-sense is apt to be shaken on its
+throne. Perhaps it is the influence of the solitude and the wide spaces,
+of those far horizons of the Sahara where the blue deepens along
+the edge of the world, that turns even a European mind to an Eastern
+credulity. Who can tell? The truth is that in the Sahara one can believe
+what one cannot believe in London. And sometimes circumstances--chance
+if you like to call it so--steps in, and seems to say, "Your belief is
+well founded."
+
+Of all the desert superstitions the one which appealed most to my
+imagination was the superstition of the desert drum. The Sahara-man
+declares that far away from the abodes of men and desert cities, among
+the everlasting sand dunes, the sharp beating, or dull, distant rolling
+of a drum sometimes breaks upon the ears of travellers voyaging through
+the desolation. They look around, they stare across the flats, they
+see nothing. But the mysterious music continues. Then, if they be
+Sahara-bred, they commend themselves to Allah, for they know that some
+terrible disaster is at hand, that one of them at least is doomed to
+die.
+
+Often had I heard stories of the catastrophes which were immediately
+preceded by the beating of the desert drum. One night in the Sahara I
+was a witness to one which I have never been able to forget.
+
+On an evening of spring, accompanied by a young Arab and a negro, I rode
+slowly down a low hill of the Sahara, and saw in the sandy cup at my
+feet the tiny collection of hovels called Sidi-Massarli. I had been in
+the saddle since dawn, riding over desolate tracks in the heart of the
+desert. I was hungry, tired, and felt almost like a man hypnotised. The
+strong air, the clear sky, the everlasting flats devoid of vegetation,
+empty of humanity, the monotonous motion of my slowly cantering
+horse--all these things combined to dull my brain and to throw me into
+a peculiar condition akin to the condition of a man in a trance. At
+Sidi-Massarli I was to pass the night. I drew rein and looked down on it
+with lack-lustre eyes.
+
+I saw a small group of palm-trees, guarded by a low wall of baked brown
+earth, in which were embedded many white bones of dead camels. Bleached,
+grinning heads of camels hung from more than one of the trees, with
+strings of red pepper and round stones. Beyond the wall of this palm
+garden, at whose foot was a furrow full of stagnant brownish-yellow
+water, lay a handful of wretched earthen hovels, with flat roofs of
+palmwood and low wooden doors. To be exact, I think there were five of
+them. The Bordj, or Travellers' House, at which I was to be accommodated
+for the night, stood alone near a tiny source at the edge of a large
+sand dune, and was a small, earth-coloured building with a pink tiled
+roof, minute arched windows, and an open stable for the horses and
+mules. All round the desert rose in humps of sand, melting into stony
+ground where the saltpetre lay like snow on a wintry world. There were
+but few signs of life in this place; some stockings drying on the wall
+of a ruined Arab cafe, some kids frisking by a heap of sacks, a few
+pigeons circling about a low square watch-tower, a black donkey brooding
+on a dust heap. There were some signs of death; carcasses of camels
+stretched here and there in frantic and fantastic postures, some
+bleached and smooth, others red and horribly odorous.
+
+The wind blew round this hospitable township of the Sahara, and the
+yellow light of evening began to glow above it. It seemed to me at that
+moment the dreariest place in the dreariest dream man had ever had.
+
+Suddenly my horse neighed loudly. Beyond the village, on the opposite
+hill, a white Arab charger caracoled, a red cloak gleamed. Another
+traveller was coming in to his night's rest, and he was a Spahi. I could
+almost fancy I heard the jingle of his spurs and accoutrements, the
+creaking of his tall red boots against his high peaked saddle. As he
+rode down towards the Bordj--by this time, I, too, was on my way--I saw
+that a long cord hung from his saddle-bow, and that at the end of this
+cord was a man, trotting heavily in the heavy sand like a creature
+dogged and weary. We came in to Sidi-Massarli simultaneously, and pulled
+up at the same moment before the arched door of the Bordj, from which
+glided a one-eyed swarthy Arab, staring fixedly at me. This was the
+official keeper of the house. In one hand he held the huge door key, and
+as I swung myself heavily on the ground I heard him, in Arabic, asking
+my Arab attendant, D'oud, who I was and where I hailed from.
+
+But such attention as I had to bestow on anything just then was given
+to the Spahi and his companion. The Spahi was a magnificent man, tall,
+lithe, bronze-brown and muscular. He looked about thirty-four, and had
+the face of a desert eagle. His piercing black eyes stared me calmly out
+of countenance, and he sat on his spirited horse like a statue, waiting
+patiently till the guardian of the Bordj was ready to attend to him. My
+gaze travelled from him along the cord to the man at its end, and rested
+there with pity. He, too, was a fine specimen of humanity, a giant,
+nobly built, with a superbly handsome face, something like that of an
+undefaced Sphinx. Broad brows sheltered his enormous eyes. His rather
+thick lips were parted to allow his panting breath to escape, and his
+dark, almost black skin, was covered with sweat. Drops of sweat coursed
+down his bare arms and his mighty chest, from which his ragged burnous
+was drawn partially away. He was evidently of mixed Arab and negro
+parentage. As he stood by the Spain's horse, gasping, his face expressed
+nothing but physical exhaustion. His eyes were bent on the sand, and
+his arms hung down loosely at his sides. While I looked at him the Spahi
+suddenly gave a tug at the cord to which he was attached. He moved in
+nearer to the horse, glanced up at me, held out his hand, and said in a
+low, musical voice, speaking Arabic:
+
+"Give me a cigarette, Sidi."
+
+I opened my case and gave him one, at the same time diplomatically
+handing another to the Spahi. Thus we opened our night's acquaintance,
+an acquaintance which I shall not easily forget.
+
+In the desolation of the Sahara a travelling intimacy is quickly
+formed. The one-eyed Arab led our horses to the stable, and while my two
+attendants were inside unpacking the tinned food and the wine I carried
+with me on a mule, I entered into conversation with the Spahi, who spoke
+French fairly well. He told me that he was on the way to El Arba, a long
+journey through the desert from Sidi-Massarli, and that his business was
+to convey there the man at the end of the cord.
+
+"But what is he? A prisoner?" I asked.
+
+"A murderer, monsieur," the Spahi replied calmly.
+
+I looked again at the man, who was wiping the sweat from his face with
+one huge hand. He smiled and made a gesture of assent.
+
+"Does he understand French?"
+
+"A little."
+
+"And he committed murder?"
+
+"At Tunis. He was a butcher there. He cut a man's throat."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I don't know, monsieur. Perhaps he was jealous. It is hot in Tunis
+in the summer. That was five years ago, and ever since he has been in
+prison."
+
+"And why are you taking him to El Arba?"
+
+"He came from there. He is released, but he is not allowed to live
+any more in Tunis. Ah, monsieur, he is mad at going, for he loves a
+dancing-girl, Aichouch, who dances with the Jewesses in the cafe by
+the lake. He wanted even to stay in prison, if only he might remain in
+Tunis. He never saw her, but he was in the same town, you understand.
+That was something. All the first day he ran behind my horse cursing me
+for taking him away. But now the sand has got into his throat. He is so
+tired that he can scarcely run. So he does not curse any more."
+
+The captive giant smiled at me again. Despite his great stature, his
+powerful and impressive features, he looked, I thought, very gentle and
+submissive. The story of his passion for Aichouch, his desire to be near
+her, even in a prison cell, had appealed to me. I pitied him sincerely.
+
+"What is his name?" I asked.
+
+"M'hammed Bouaziz. Mine is Said."
+
+I was weary with riding and wanted to stretch my legs, and see what
+was to be seen of Sidi-Massarli ere evening quite closed in, so at this
+point I lit a cigar and prepared to stroll off.
+
+"Monsieur is going for a walk?" asked the Spahi, fixing his eyes on my
+cigar.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I will accompany monsieur."
+
+"Or monsieur's cigar-case," I thought.
+
+"But that poor fellow," I said, pointing to the murderer. "He is tired
+out."
+
+"That doesn't matter. He will come with us."
+
+The Spahi jerked the cord and we set out, the murderer creeping over the
+sand behind us like some exhausted animal.
+
+By this time twilight was falling over the Sahara, a grim twilight, cold
+and grey. The wind was rising. In the night it blew half a gale, but
+at this hour there was only a strong breeze in which minute sand-grains
+danced. The murderer's feet were shod with patched slippers, and the
+sound of these slippers shuffling close behind me made me feel faintly
+uneasy. The Spahi stared at my cigar so persistently that I was obliged
+to offer him one. When I had done so, and he had loftily accepted it, I
+half turned towards the murderer. The Spahi scowled ferociously. I put
+my cigar-case back into my pocket. It is unwise to offend the powerful
+if your sympathy lies with the powerless.
+
+Sidi-Massarli was soon explored. It contained a Cafe Maure, into which
+I peered. In the coffee niche the embers glowed. One or two ragged Arabs
+sat hunched upon the earthen divans playing a game of cards. At least I
+should have my coffee after my tinned dinner. I was turning to go back
+to the Bordj when the extreme desolation of the desert around, now
+fading in the shadows of a moonless night, stirred me to a desire.
+Sidi-Massarli was dreary enough. Still it contained habitations, men. I
+wished to feel the blank, wild emptiness of this world, so far from the
+world of civilisation from which I had come, to feel it with intensity.
+I resolved to mount the low hill down which I had seen the Spahi ride,
+to descend into the fold of desert beyond it, to pause there a moment,
+out of sight of the hamlet, listen to the breeze, look at the darkening
+sky, feel the sand-grains stinging my cheeks, shake hands with the
+Sahara.
+
+But I wanted to shake hands quite alone. I therefore suggested to the
+Spahi that he should remain in the Cafe Maure and drink a cup of coffee
+at my expense.
+
+"And where is monsieur going?"
+
+"Only over that hill for a moment."
+
+"I will accompany monsieur."
+
+"But you must be tired. A cup of----"
+
+"I will accompany monsieur."
+
+In Arab fashion he was establishing a claim upon me. On the morrow, when
+I was about to depart, he would point out that he had guided me round
+Sidi-Massarli, had guarded me in my dangerous expedition beyond its
+fascinations, despite his weariness and hunger. I knew how useless it is
+to contend with these polite and persistent rascals, so I said no more.
+
+In a few minutes the Spahi, the murderer and I stood in the fold of the
+sand dunes, and Sidi-Massarli was blotted from our sight.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+The desolation here was complete. All around us lay the dunes, monstrous
+as still leviathans. Here and there, between their strange, suggestive
+shapes, under the dark sky one could see the ghastly whiteness of the
+saltpetre in the arid plains beyond, where the low bushes bent in
+the chilly breeze. I thought of London--only a few days' journey
+from me--revelled for a moment in my situation, which, contrary to my
+expectation, was rather emphasised by the presence of my companions. The
+gorgeous Spahi, with his scarlet cloak and hood, his musket and sword,
+his high red leggings, the ragged, sweating captive in his patched
+burnous, ex-butcher looking, despite his cord emblem of bondage, like
+reigning Emperor--they were appropriate figures in this desert place. I
+had just thought this, and was regarding my Sackville Street suit with
+disgust, when a low, distinct and near sound suddenly rose from behind a
+sand dune on my left. It was exactly like the dull beating of a tom-tom.
+The silence preceding it had been intense, for the breeze was as yet too
+light to make more than the faintest sighing music, and in the gathering
+darkness this abrupt and gloomy noise produced, I supposed, by some
+hidden nomad, made a very unpleasant, even sinister impression upon me.
+Instinctively I put my hand on the revolver which was slung at my side
+in a pouch of gazelle skin. As I did so, I saw the Spahi turn sharply
+and gaze in the direction of the sound, lifting one hand to his ear.
+
+The low thunder of the instrument, beaten rhythmically and persistently,
+grew louder and was evidently drawing nearer. The musician must be
+climbing up the far side of the dune. I had swung round to face him, and
+expected every moment to see some wild figure appear upon the summit,
+defining itself against the cold and gloomy sky. But none came.
+Nevertheless, the noise increased till it was a roar, drew near till it
+was actually upon us. It seemed to me that I heard the sticks striking
+the hard, stretched skin furiously, as if some phantom drummer were
+stealthily encircling us, catching us in a net, a trap of horrible,
+vicious uproar. Instinctively I threw a questioning, perhaps an
+appealing, glance at my two companions. The Spahi had dropped his hand
+from his ear. He stood upright, as if at attention on the parade-ground
+of Biskra. His face was set--afterwards I told myself it was fatalistic.
+The murderer, on the other hand, was smiling. I remember the gleam
+of his big white teeth. Why was he smiling? While I asked myself the
+question the roar of the tom-tom grew gradually less, as if the man
+beating it were walking rapidly away from us in the direction of
+Sidi-Massarli. None of us said a word till only a faint, heavy
+throbbing, like the beating of a heart, I fancied, was audible in the
+darkness. Then I spoke, as silence fell.
+
+"Who is it?"
+
+"Monsieur, it is no one."
+
+The Spain's voice was dry and soft.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Monsieur, it is the desert drum. There will be death in Sidi-Massarli
+to-night."
+
+I felt myself turn cold. He spoke with such conviction. The murderer was
+still smiling, and I noticed that the tired look had left him. He stood
+in an alert attitude, and the sweat had dried on his broad forehead.
+
+"The desert drum?" I repeated.
+
+"Monsieur has not heard of it?"
+
+"Yes, I have heard--but--it can't be. There must have been someone."
+
+I looked at the white teeth of the murderer, white as the saltpetre
+which makes winter in the desert.
+
+"I must get back to the Bordj," I said abruptly.
+
+"I will accompany monsieur."
+
+The old formula, and this time the voice which spoke it sounded natural.
+We went forward together. I walked very fast. I wanted to catch up that
+music, to prove to myself that it was produced by human fists and sticks
+upon an instrument which, however barbarous, had been fashioned by human
+hands. But we entered Sidi-Massarli in a silence, only broken by the
+soughing of the wind and the heavy shuffle of the murderer's feet upon
+the sand.
+
+Outside the Cafe Maure D'oud was standing with the white hood of his
+burnous drawn forward over his head; one or two ragged Arabs stood with
+him.
+
+"They've been playing tom-toms in the village, D'oud?"
+
+"Monsieur asks if----"
+
+"Tom-toms. Can't you understand?"
+
+"Ah! Monsieur is laughing. Tom-toms here! And dancers, too, perhaps!
+Monsieur thinks there are dancers? Fatma and Khadija and Aichouch------"
+
+I glanced quickly at the murderer as D'oud mentioned the last name, a
+name common to many dancers of the East. I think I expected to see upon
+his face some tremendous expression, a revelation of the soul of the man
+who had run for one whole day through the sand behind the Spahi's horse,
+cursing at the end of the cord which dragged him onward from Tunis.
+
+But I only met the gentle smile of eyes so tender, so submissive, that
+they were as the eyes of a woman who had always been a slave, while the
+ragged Arabs laughed at the idea of tom-toms in Sidi-Massarli.
+
+*****
+
+When we reached the Bordj I found that it contained only one good-sized
+room, quite bare, with stone floor and white walls. Here, upon a deal
+table, was set forth my repast; the foods I had brought with me, and a
+red Arab soup served in a gigantic bowl of palmwood. A candle guttered
+in the glass neck of a bottle, and upon the floor were already spread my
+gaudy striped quilt, my pillow, and my blanket. The Spahi surveyed
+these preparations with a deliberate greediness, lingering in the narrow
+doorway.
+
+I sat down on a bench before the table. My attendants were to eat at the
+Cafe Maure.
+
+"Where are you going to sleep?" I asked of D'oud.
+
+"At the Cafe Maure, monsieur, if monsieur is not afraid to sleep alone.
+Here is the key. Monsieur can lock himself in. The door is strong."
+
+I was helping myself to the soup. The rising wind blew up the skirts of
+the Spahi's scarlet robe. In the wind--was it imagination?--I seemed to
+hear some thin, passing echoes of a tom-tom's beat.
+
+"Come in," I said to the Spahi. "You shall sup with me to-night,
+and--and you shall sleep here with me."
+
+D'oud's expressive face became sinister. Arabs are almost as jealous as
+they are vain.
+
+"But, monsieur, he will sleep in the Cafe Maure. If monsieur wishes for
+a companion, I----"
+
+"Come in," I repeated to the Spahi. "You can sleep here to-night."
+
+The Spahi stepped over the lintel with a jingling of spurs, a rattling
+of accoutrements. The murderer stepped in softly after him, drawn by the
+cord. D'oud began to look as grim as death. He made a ferocious gesture
+towards the murderer.
+
+"And that man? Monsieur wishes to sleep in the same room with him?"
+
+I heard the sound of the tom-tom above the wail of the wind.
+
+"Yes," I said.
+
+Why did I wish it? I hardly know. I had no fear for, no desire to
+protect myself. But I remembered the smile I had seen, the Spahi's
+saying, "There will be death in Sidi-Massarli to-night," and I was
+resolved that the three men who had heard the desert drum together
+should not be parted till the morning. D'oud said no more. He waited
+upon me with his usual diligence, but I could see that he was furiously
+angry. The Spahi ate ravenously. So did the murderer, who more than
+once, however, seemed to be dropping to sleep over his food. He was
+apparently dead tired. As the wind was now become very violent I did not
+feel disposed to stir out again, and I ordered D'oud to bring us three
+cups of coffee to the Bordj. He cast a vicious look at the Spahi and
+went out into the darkness. I saw him no more that night. A boy from the
+Cafe Maure brought us coffee, cleared the remains of our supper from the
+table, and presently muttered some Arab salutation, departed, and was
+lost in the wind.
+
+The murderer was now frankly asleep with his head upon the table, and
+the Spahi began to blink. I, too, felt very tired, but I had something
+still to say. Speaking softly, I said to the Spahi:
+
+"That sound we heard to-night----"
+
+"Monsieur?"
+
+"Have you ever heard it before?"
+
+"Never, monsieur. But my brother heard it just before he had a stroke of
+the sun. He fell dead before his captain beside the wall of Sada. He was
+a tirailleur."
+
+"And you think this sound means that death is near?
+
+"I know it, monsieur. All desert people know it. I was born at
+Touggourt, and how should I not know?"
+
+"But then one of us----"
+
+I looked from him to the sleeping murderer.
+
+"There will be death in Sidi-Massarli tonight, monsieur. It is the will
+of Allah. Blessed be Allah."
+
+I got up, locked the heavy door of the Bordj, and put the key in the
+inner pocket of my coat. As I did so, I fancied I saw the heavy black
+lids of the murderer's closed eyes flutter for a moment. But I cannot
+be sure. My head was aching with fatigue. The Spahi, too, looked stupid
+with sleep. He jerked the cord, the murderer awoke with a start, glanced
+heavily round, stood up. Pulling him as one would an obstinate dog, the
+Spahi made him lie down on the bare floor in the corner of the Bordj,
+ere he himself curled up in the thick quilt which had been rolled
+up behind his high saddle. I made no protest, but when the Spahi was
+asleep, his lean brown hand laid upon his sword, his musket under his
+shaven head, I pushed one of my blankets over to the murderer, who lay
+looking like a heap of rags against the white wall. He smiled at me
+gently, as he had smiled when the desert drum was beating, and drew the
+blanket over his mighty limbs and face.
+
+I did not mean to sleep that night. Tired though I was my brain was so
+excited that I felt I should not. I blew out the candle without even the
+thought that it would be necessary to struggle against sleep. And in the
+darkness I heard for an instant the roar of the wind outside, the heavy
+breathing of my two strange companions within. For an instant--then it
+seemed as if a shutter was drawn suddenly over the light in my brain.
+Blackness filled the room where the thoughts develop, crowd, stir in
+endless activities. Slumber fell upon me like a great stone that strikes
+a man down to dumbness, to unconsciousness.
+
+Far in the night I had a dream. I cannot recall it accurately now. I
+could not recall it even the next morning when I awoke. But in this
+dream, it seemed to me that fingers felt softly about my heart. I was
+conscious of their fluttering touch. It was as if I were dead, and as if
+the doctor laid for a moment his hand upon my heart to convince himself
+that the pulse of life no longer beat. And this action wove itself
+naturally into the dream I had. The fingers so soft, so surreptitious,
+were lifted from my breast, and I sank deeper into the gulf of sleep,
+below the place of dreams. For I was a tired man that night. At the
+first breath of dawn I stirred and woke. It was cold. I put out one hand
+and drew up my quilt. Then I lay still. The wind had sunk. I no longer
+heard it roaring over the desert. For a moment I hardly remembered where
+I was, then memory came back and I listened for the deep breathing of
+the Spahi and the murderer. Even when the wind blew I had heard it.
+I did not hear it now. I lay there under my quilt for some minutes
+listening. The silence was intense. Had they gone already, started on
+their way to El Arba? The Bordj was in darkness, for the windows were
+very small, and dawn had scarcely begun to break outside and had not yet
+filtered in through the wooden shutters which barred them. I disliked
+this complete silence, and felt about for the matches I had laid beside
+the candle before turning in. I could not find them. Someone had
+moved them, then. The heaviness of sleep had quite left me now, and I
+remembered clearly all the incidents of the previous evening. The roll
+of the desert drum sounded again in my ears. I threw off my quilt, got
+up, and moved softly over the stone floor towards the corner where the
+murderer had lain down to sleep. I bent down to touch him and touched
+the stone. They had gone, then! It was strange that I had not been waked
+by their departure. Besides, I had the key of the door. I thrust my hand
+into the breast-pocket of my coat which I had worn while I slept. The
+key was no longer there. Then I remembered my dream and the fingers
+fluttering round my heart. Stumbling in the blackness I came to the
+place where the Spahi had lain, stretched out my hands and felt naked
+flesh. My hands recoiled from it, for it was very cold.
+
+Half-an-hour later the one-eyed Arab who kept the Bordj, roused by my
+beating upon the door with the butt end of my revolver, came with D'oud
+to ask what was the matter. The door had to be broken in. This took some
+time. Long before I could escape, the light of the sun, entering through
+the little arched windows, had illumined the nude corpse of the Spahi,
+the gaping red wound in his throat, the heap of murderer's rags that lay
+across his feet.
+
+M'hammed Bouaziz, in the red cloak, the red boots, sword at his side,
+musket slung over his shoulder, was galloping over the desert on his way
+to freedom.
+
+But six months later he was taken at night outside a cafe by the lake at
+Tunis. He was gazing through the doorway at a girl who was posturing to
+the sound of pipes between two rows of Arabs. The light from the cafe
+fell upon his face, the dancer uttered a cry.
+
+"M'hammed Bouaziz!"
+
+"Aichouch!"
+
+The law avenged the Spahi, and this time it was not to prison they
+led my friend of Sidi-Massarli, but to an open space before a squad of
+soldiers just when the dawn was breaking.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Desert Drum, by Robert Hichens
+
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