Adventure, December 1914 — page 191: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Sinews of War ‘‘Here, take this,’’ he said. And he pass- ed a canteen through the bars to me. I let the water trickle luxuriously over my swollen tongue and down my parched throat, but I had sufficient presence of mind to be sparing of it, knowing the evils of over-indulgence when in such a condition. It was with great reluctance, though, that I handed the canteen back to him. But he would not take it. “No, keep it,” he urged. “I do not know who you are, Frank, but I do know that the man who sent you here is an unclean dog, be he Moslem or Christian; and I will do what I can for you. But you must be care- ful not to mix with others in the stockade.”’ “I will be careful,”’ I promised. ‘‘And come to me here this evening to- ward dusk,’’ he concluded, ‘‘and I will give you food and more water.”’ He broke off hurriedly as the sentinel ap- peared around the corner of the guardhouse, and I slunk away with my treasured water hidden under the ragged remnants of what had once been a presentable riding-suit. Once more my spirits were buoyed up. It would not be so easy for von Griffenstein to make away with me as he had thought. If I could last a week or two in this inferno I might yet hope for release, consequence of the turmoil which Masoy.. and her friends would raise in the European press as soon as they heard of the fiendish trick that had been played on me. So that day dragged by. Ruthlessly I repelled all advances from the sufferers about me, attracted by my _ superior strength. For if I ever hoped to escape the scourge this was the only thing to do. Selfish it might be, lacking even in Chris- tian charity. Yet what good would I do any one by succumbing to the disease? And without conceit, I knew that my safety was vital to the men who were sweeping toward Tchataldja, hoping to reap full benefit for the vast sacrifices they had already made. Men died very fast in the stockade. But as fast as they died new parties of sufferers were marched in to take their places. If anything, the stockade was more crowded when night came. The efforts to bury the dead were pitifully inadequate. A squad of infantrymen, shivering with fear, during the afternoon dug a shallow pit on the lower slope of a hill, in which the bodies were laid in rows under two feet of earth. AFTER the burying-squad had marched out I stole up to the bars of the gate and whistled low to at- tract the attention of the old Hamidian. He was lounging just inside the guardhouse- door sucking away at a narghile; but he bounded to his feet at my signal, reached behind him for a package and came straight to the gate. ‘‘Here, Frank, take this,’ he said. “But do not touch me.” “T am still all right,’”’ I answered. ‘‘That is good,” he replied, peering at me through the darkness. “Yes, I can tell by your voice that you speak the truth. Here, give me that canteen. I will get you some more water.” I gave it to him, and five minutes later he returned with it. ‘“T am only prolonging the agony for you, Frank,” he grumbled as he slipped it through the bars. “You must fall sooner or later. The scourge will get you.” “But the blessing of Allah will fall upon you and your children and your children’s children,’ I returned. “And besides—I may yet escape.” I could feel rather than see his form stiffen in the gloom. ‘You will not escape from me, Frank,”’ he said curtly. ‘‘Not alive, at least.” ‘‘What?” I said recklessly. ‘You know I 189 am the victim of a plot of Shaitan himself. . Would you not help me to escape?” “Orders are orders, Frank,’’ he replied stifly—and he turned and walked away. The good food the old officer had given me, washed down by pure cold water, made me somewhat cheerier and in due course I fell asleep, profiting by the moderated temperature. Another day passed, the monotony broken by the distant booming of guns miles away down the coast of Marmora— the Turkish warships trying to prevent the Bulgars from occupying Silivri, I learned afterward. That night when I went to the gate and called to the old Hamidian, he would not speak to me, although he handed me a loaf of bread and refilled the canteen for me. I slept but fitfully. Why I do not know, but that night the horrors of the stockade be- came for the first time a fixed obsession to me. I no longer could divert myself by thinking of the outside world. All my atten- tion was concentrated upon the happenings DOOK C©