Chapter IV: Fairly Started

The two companions shared the single sleeping apartment in the small house. Thus Walter could not but observe that Denis commenced the day on which a dangerous journey would be begun without anything like prayer. It was no small effort to Walter to bow the knee when he felt that Denis's eyes were watching his movements, and that the gay adventurer would be likely to despise the spirit of devotion which he did not himself possess. Walter was much disposed to go out into the jungle, and there--alone with his God--pour out his supplications for his friend as well as himself. But conscience told Walter that it was chiefly moral cowardice that prompted the love of solitude. He remembered, that thrown closely together as he and Denis must be for a considerable length of time, it was far better to meet the difficulty at once, and openly show his colours. After Walter's usual reading of the Scriptures, he therefore knelt down, and in silent but earnest supplication committed himself to his Heavenly Guide. The youth confessed his own weakness, and asked for strength, for grace never to be ashamed of his religion, whether in the presence of those who might mock, or those who might threaten. The missionary's son rose with a spirit refreshed. Denis had left the apartment. Walter knew not how his comrade regarded his conduct. If he could have read the mind of Denis he would have seen there a feeling of slight annoyance, for if anything can make a worldly man's conscience uneasy, it is the contrast between his own carelessness and the earnestness of another. But Denis had not at all a troublesome conscience--it scarcely ever gave token of its existence. The Hibernian thought exceedingly well of himself. One thing on which he prided himself was his tolerance; he extended it so widely that it embraced every form of spiritual error, and made him yield a little indulgence even to the devotion of what he would call a narrow-minded puritan like Walter Gurney.

When Walter went forth, he found his companion giving directions in most imperfect Urdu to the mule-drivers.

"Oh, come here and make these stupid fellows understand me," cried Denis; "they've no more brains than the beasts that they lead."

A few intelligible words from Walter soon made matters clear. "Are we to start at once, Mr. Denis?" he inquired.

"Oh, don't 'Mister' me, as Rob Roy said," cried the Hibernian, in his frank, pleasant tone. "We're sworn brothers in the field; you're Walter, and I Dermot Denis."

When Walter saw the young Irishman again, mounted on his beautiful steed, in the pride of his manly strength, the breeze playing with the golden locks which curled beneath his white helmet-shaped _topi_* and the picturesque folds of muslin which enwreathed it, again the feeling of admiration came back to the heart of the youth like a tide that had but ebbed for a while. Denis, fearless in heart and buoyant in spirit, appeared again as the _preux chevalier_, the bravest of the brave.

* A kind of hat specially constructed to protect the bead from the sun.

Walter felt leaving his childhood's home, with its dear though mournful recollections, and the native friends who had known him from his birth. With simple affection they crowded around to bid him farewell, and invoke blessings on the missionary's son. It was not till he had left the villagers behind that sadness in Walter's breast gave place to emotions more natural to youth. Then came a rebound from the long depressing influence of sorrow and care--a sense of freedom, a joyousness of hope. Few but have known the keen enjoyment of starting on a journey with a lively, amusing companion, and some have experienced the added zest which a little difficulty or even peril bestows. There are those to whom

"If a path be dangerous known,
The danger's self is lure alone."

This was eminently the case with the light-hearted Hibernian; and Walter shared the pleasant excitement. Then the future, which had been so dark before, shone out glittering before him like the snow-capped mountains in front. Denis talked of the voyage to England, and Walter's heart leaped at the thought of being, for the first time in his life, "on the blue waters of the boundless sea." He had often longed to hear the dash of the ocean waves, and inhale the briny breezes. England, too, was in prospect. The youth intensely desired to behold the mother-land. He had often pictured to himself the white cliffs of Albion, and awoke with a sigh from' day-dreams of success in a college career. Now things that, not twenty-four hours before, had seemed well-nigh impossible of attainment, appeared to eager hope to have come almost within reach of his grasp.

The grand scenery through which Walter was passing, the lively conversation of Denis when he could sufficiently curb his own patience and that of his horse to accommodate its pace to a walk, combined to make that morning march one of the bright spots in the life of young Gurney. When, on passing the frontier, Denis put spurs to his steed, and waving his right arm, shouted "Afghanistan at last!" his companion caught the infection of his exultation, and nothing for the time seemed more enjoyable than this wild foray into a dangerous land. A noonday halt was needed, both on account of the heat and the weariness of men and beasts. Denis selected a charming spot under the shadow of a high rock for the travellers' bivouac. A sparkling streamlet, dancing over pebbles, supplied the means of both bathing and relieving thirst. The tired mules were unloaded, saddles and bridles were removed from horse and pony; the animals were tethered and allowed to crop the herbage around them, after their thirst had been slaked.

One of the trunks was opened, and gave ample proof of Denis's skill in providing for travelling comfort. There was a store of small tin canisters containing a variety of articles of food, some of them unknown even by name to the missionary's son. Truffles, turtles, oysters, anchovies, potted game, tongues, and pickles, gave a choice of delicacies to Walter, only perplexing by its abundance. He quickly prepared a meal, while Denis, stretched on the ground, amused himself by writing notes of his journey, or refreshed himself with a cigar.

"I say, who are these advancing?" he playfully cried, as a party of Afghan women carrying baskets of fruit appeared descending the road; "not very formidable opponents, I guess, nor carrying very terrible weapons. Walter, are you prepared for a _charge_!"

The women stopped to stare at the Feringhee strangers. Denis hardly needed an interpreter; he held up a bag and jingled rupees, then signed to the women to put down their baskets, and pointed significantly towards his own mouth.

"I'm getting on with the language bravely!" Denis gaily cried. "Walter, these women understand my questions without my speaking a word."

The baskets were quickly emptied of the fruit for which Kabul is famous. Denis, notwithstanding his companion's remonstrances, paid for his purchases a price which astonished the Afghans.

"Some great Feringhee lord!" they remarked to each other.

The dinner was by this time ready. "Let's set to!" cried Denis, whose appetite was keen.

Again recurred the difficulty which, trifling as it may appear, is one that so often meets the Christian on his first mingling with the world, that to sensitive minds it becomes a real cross. Walter had always been accustomed to return thanks before meals from the time when his mother had first put his little hands together, and he had lisped after her the words which his lips could hardly frame. So strong had the habit become, that before dinner on the previous evening Walter had said grace as a matter of course at his own board, without even thinking whether his guest could object. He knew Denis better now; he had met the supercilious glance which had been to him like a sting. Was there any need to obtrude his religion on one who could not understand it? Was not faith a private matter between a man and his God? So whispered the ever-ready Tempter. But a few Scripture words recurred to the mind of the youth--_Let your light shine before men_; and with an effort which cost Walter more than it would have done to face a real danger, in a low, but audible voice he said, "Thanks to God for all His mercies bestowed through Christ our Lord."

"He who prepares the meal considers, I suppose, that he should finish off by saying the grace," observed Denis lightly. "As for me, I never pretend to be one of your saints."

It is remarkable how many men seem to plume themselves on making no profession of religion, as if hypocrisy were the only vice to be shunned. We do not admire a beggar for parading his rags, and declaring that he does not profess to be rich; and who is so destitute as he who has no portion in the world to come! We do not think the debt of gratitude to a bountiful father repaid by his son's openly declaring that he neither loves nor honours his parent! Surely those who with self-complacency avow that they make no profession of religion, and never pretend to be saints, may be reckoned amongst such as "glory in their shame."

After a long halt, partly passed in sleep, the march was resumed. Progress was necessarily slow, as the mules could not travel fast, and it was desirable that the party should keep together. The pass was wild and desolate; little appeared to denote that travellers ever passed that way, save here and there the skeleton of bullock or mule. As the shadows of evening fell, the travellers noticed that Hanif seemed to be more on the _qui vive_. The eyes of Denis and Walter naturally followed the direction of the Afghan's, as he glanced upwards towards the high cliffs which on either hand bordered the way.

"I say, Walter, I'm sure that I caught sight of two or three heads up yonder--not those of deer!" said Denis, bending from his saddle. "Don't you see something--just above the bush yonder?"

"I see," replied Walter. "Don't you know that it is the nature of vultures to swoop down on their prey?" As he spoke about a score of the powerful birds, napping their huge wings, rose from the carcase of some animal on which they had been gorging, disturbed by the travellers' approach.

"I have two double-barrelled guns and a brace of revolvers; I could give account of fourteen Afghans," said Denis. "I'll adorn my belt with the pistols, and a gun would be better in my hand than on the back of the mule. You look to the priming of yours. We're no dead sheep for the vultures to prey on."

Perhaps on account of the precautions taken, or the fact that the wild tribes of the mountain were at the time too much engaged in their internecine quarrels, to trouble armed travellers, the place for the night-halt was reached without any interruption, though not without several alarms. All the party were tired, with the exception, perhaps, of Denis, who had ridden when others had walked. A fire was kindled by Hanif; another, at a short distance, by the muleteers, who were soon engaged in cooking. Walter, on whom all travelling arrangements devolved, lighted a lamp, and looked after the horse and pony. None of the beasts were allowed to stray away from the little encampment. Grain for the horse had been brought with them by the travellers.

"We'll make Hanif our watchman to-night," said Denis, glancing towards the spot where he and the muleteers, smoking hookahs by their own little fire, formed a picturesque group.

"Never trust an Afghan," replied Walter. "You and I must play sentinel by turns."

"All right," said Denis, taking out his costly gold watch. "From ten to four, that will be six hours between us. I never care to sit up late when there's no dancing or fun to keep me alive, so you'll take the first turn--and mind you awake me at one."

Walter, who had walked during the greater part of the day, was exceedingly weary when he began his night-watch, and, long ere it was ended, found it almost impossible to keep his eyes open. He fed the fire, stick by stick, with the wood which he had made the muleteers collect. But it had not been easy to find much fuel, and before midnight no light was left but that of the small hurricane-lamp below, and the brilliant stars above. Walter thought of the pillar of glory over the camp of Israel, under whose calm radiance the multitudes had slept in calm security. That pillar was but the visible emblem of the power which was watching above him now. In present, as in olden times, _He that keepeth Israel doth not slumber or sleep_. With the thought came calm and restful assurance. Walter spent much of his time of watch in silent prayer.

At length the hand of the old watch which Mr. Gurney the missionary had left to his son, pointed to one. Walter went to the spot where lay the tall form of Denis, wrapped in a large luxurious cloak lined with costly fur. The youth stooped down, and tried to rouse the sleeper, first by his voice, then by his hand.

"It is one o'clock; rise, it is your turn now!" said Walter.

The only sound heard in reply was the heavy breathing of the sleeper.

"Come, come, I can't keep awake longer," said Walter, shaking the Irishman by the shoulder.

"Just leave me in peace, will you?" was the growled-out expostulation of the drowsy Denis.

"I am too sleepy to play sentinel any longer," said Walter.

"Another hour--just another hour; you roused me from such a delicious dream!" said Denis, turning on his side.

"He rode all day while I trudged on foot," thought Walter, as he resumed his weary watch; "but as I am maintained by his bounty, I suppose that I must be content to take the lion's--or rather the mule's share of the burden."

Again and again the youth caught himself nodding. Never, it seemed to him, had watch-hands moved so slowly. The instant that the point of two was reached, Walter was again at the side of Denis.