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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.
It was a pleasure to see him run, and to witness the immense power and speed with which he passed all competitors in the prize races, in which I sometimes indulged my men. Ali Nedjar was a good soldier, a warm lover of the girls, and a great dancer; thus, according to African reputation, he was the ne plus ultra of a man.
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.
Ali Nedjar was, as usual, revelling in strength and activity, and was now foremost in the work of towing the diahbeeah. A sudden bend in the river had caused a small sand-bank. It was necessary to descend from the high shore to tow the vessel round the promontory. Men, women, and children, jumped down and waded along the edge of the bank.
Added to this, he was a very willing, good fellow, and more courageous than a lion. After a few days, the ground became almost too hot for the natives. They now ascended high trees, from which they could survey the country and direct the movements of their scouts. Ali Nedjar was too much for them even with this precaution. He had observed them like rooks in a large tree at a great distance.
The men now looked forward to this employment, and starting at daybreak, they took their supply of food for the day. Some of them were very clever at this kind of service, especially Ali Nedjar. Ali was a native of Bongo a broad-shouldered, muscular fellow, with thighs like a grasshopper.
He now gained upon the soldier slightly, but they were not five paces apart when they disappeared in the high dhurra. That soldier was Ali Nedjar, of the "Forty Thieves," the strongest man, the best shot, and the fleetest runner of the force. Presently I heard a shot. Throughout that day occasional shots were heard in every conceivable quarter.
The natives selected some of their best runners; but although they ran well, they were all beaten by Ali Nedjar of the "Forty Thieves," who was the champion runner of the expedition. The sheiks requested that the cannon might be fired for their amusement. A shot with blank cartridge made them look very serious.
The tree grew wild in a field of high dhurra, and while the wily Baris were looking out from their lofty post, expecting to discover us in the distance, the still more wily Ali Nedjar had crept on hands and knees through the corn, and was actually beneath the tree!
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