"At Uargla."

"Where are the Christian prisoners? Have my commands been obeyed?"

"Yes, master, not a hair of their heads has been touched; but the believers grumbled at showing them mercy and demanded their deaths, especially in the case of one, a French captain."

"What does a man's death signify--the drops of blood are lost in the sands, and their trails lost forever. Go tell the brothers that before the moon has reached its twentieth course, I shall be in their midst, and blood will flow in streams! Go!"

With an imperious wave of the hand Maldar pointed toward the horizon, and the Mekkadem prostrated himself anew.

"Yes," said Maldar to himself when the saint had gone, "they shall all die, and the stream of their blood will be the spring out of which Allah's warriors shall drink courage."

CHAPTER LI

UARGLA

Lost in the immensity of the desert, Uargla, the queen of the oases, was, up to thirty years ago, little known. On the day Maldar had conversed with the saint a dense ma.s.s of people crowded about one of the chief gates of Uargla, and loud voices arose in the air. A horrible monster, all tattered and torn, had swung himself on a pile of stones, and begun to harangue the crowd.

"You think you are acting wisely," he cried, "and yet you are only fools. In the prisons of Kiobeh you keep the enemies of Islam, and while you are pondering over the mysteries of the Koran, the infidel dogs are murdering your wives and children. Arise, believers of Islam, and kill the Giaours!"

The crowd yelled like savages.

For more than six months prisoners had been kept in the fortress, and in spite of all the protestations of the inhabitants, their lives had been spared. It was time, many thought, to kill them and expose their heads to the birds of prey. The marabout was right, they said, and the crowd demanded the lives of the unfortunates. The marabout was delighted at the effect of his words, and uttering a cry he sprang from his perch and disappeared in the crowd. He knew the excited fanatics would follow him to the Kiobeh, and while he was walking on he pictured to himself the agonies the victims would have to endure. They must all die for the glory of Allah. In their blind hatred of the Christians, the Aratins, whose deep black color is not found in any other tribe, allied themselves with the Arabs, the Soudanese with the Mozambites, and yelling and shouting and armed with knives, guns and daggers, the savages marched toward the Kiobeh. Woe to the unfortunates who fell victims to such blind fanaticism--woe to the prisoners who were pining away in the Kiobeh!

CHAPTER LII

CAPTAIN JOLIETTE

Twenty feet under the Kiobeh were the cells hewn out of the rock. In one of the darkest of these dungeons lay a young man with a ball and chain around his ankles. Rags covered the emaciated form of the man, and only from small strips of the rotten and withered clothing could it be seen that he wore the uniform of a French soldier. From the left shoulder part of an epaulet hung, and a scabbard without any sword in it was tied around his waist.

A dark form appeared in the doorway, shoved some food toward the prisoner, and disappeared without saying a word.

Ten years before the prisoner was the bearer of a proud name. Young, rich and courted, Albert de Morcerf was the lion of the Parisian salons and the joy of his parents. One day a crash came like lightning from a clear sky, and destroyed his whole existence. His father was denounced in the Chamber of Peers as a traitor and an a.s.sa.s.sin. Count de Morcerf could not defend himself, for what he was charged with was the truth.

The Countess of Morcerf buried herself at Ma.r.s.eilles under the name of Madame Joliette, while her son entered the army of Algeria or Cha.s.seurs d'Afrique. In three years Albert Joliette had become a captain. As he lay now in his cell the past rose before him. He recollected his insult and challenge to the Count of Monte-Cristo, and his subsequent apology when he had heard Mercedes' story. That day on coming home he discovered his father dead with a bullet in his brain, inflicted by his own hand.

But now the past had been atoned for. The bravery of the son expiated the old father's crimes. When Albert returned home, Mercedes enjoyed new life at his side. But alas! The proud hopes soon vanished. All news from Albert ceased, and at the end of three months Mercedes, in despair, had written to the Count of Monte-Cristo.

Three months before Albert had been captured by the rebels, and incarcerated in the dungeon in which he still was. Not a human voice was ever heard. The black slave who served him with coffee could not be induced to say a word to him. Mercedes had told him the story of the Count of Monte-Cristo; he knew that Edmond Dantes had spent fourteen years in the Chateau d'If, and trembled when he thought of it. Yet if he were only able to escape! But Albert soon became convinced that this was impossible. There was no way out of these gloomy walls. He then made up his mind to starve himself, and for several days he had eaten nothing, so that he was astonished at finding himself still alive. When the slave withdrew on this particular day, Albert felt his head turn and he muttered half aloud:

"Mother, mother, forgive me, but I cannot do otherwise."

At this moment a loud noise was heard, and the a.s.sa.s.sins led by the marabout entered Joliette's dungeon.

He resolved to die bravely as became a French soldier.

Heavy blows were rained against his cell, and at the same moment Joliette heard a voice call to him:

"Captain, captain! Do not despair--help is at hand!"

Just then his cell door was burst open and the murderers rushed in.

CHAPTER LIII

THE LION IN CONFLICT WITH THE LION

We must go back with our story four days. Sixty leagues from Uargla an immense caravan was encamped. Not a tree or a green leaf could be seen for miles around, and yet it was here that Monte-Cristo cast his tent.

Hardly had he arrived at Bona than he regained the vigor of his youthful days, and two hours after his landing Monte-Cristo was already on his way to the desert with a well-organized caravan. One hundred energetic men accompanied him, and his train consisted of two hundred horses and eight hundred camels. He and Spero were at the head of the party; Bertuccio, Jacopo and Coucou followed behind. Before he had left the ship, the count had called his son aside, and putting a map before him, he pointed with his finger to Uargla and said:

"This is the place we must go to--in Uargla we shall find what we are looking for."

Monte-Cristo knew that in the centre of the desert the queen of the oases, Uargla, lay, and that it was the princ.i.p.al refuge of sedition. He had known that Abd-el-Kader's imprisonment was but the commencement of a long and b.l.o.o.d.y war. The name given him by the Zouave, Mohammed ben Abdallah, he knew to be that of a treacherous villain. How did it happen, then, that Monte-Cristo had not recognized in the Arab who enjoyed his hospitality Mohammed ben Abdallah? The count had been rewarded for his generosity by having his cabin broken open, the contents of his safe scattered about, and being told to beware of the Khouans.

What the Fenians are to Ireland, the Thugs to India, the Khouans are to Arabia. They formed a brotherhood whose object was the murder and annihilation of all Europeans and Christians. Monte-Cristo knew the savage nature of these enemies. He was now within four days' journey of Uargla, and began to hope that perhaps he would find what he was seeking. When night came, Monte-Cristo withdrew with Spero to his tent.

The count wrote to Haydee. A courier went north every day, but Monte-Cristo had not yet been able to send Mercedes any consolation.

Spero, tired out by the fatigues of the day, had fallen asleep, and the father often gazed with pleasure at the finely chiselled face. How many dreams and hopes rested on this son! Yes, when he gazed at Spero, he had to confess that he had dealt too harshly with Morcerf. If he had been a father at that time, he would have hesitated before he had carried out his plan of vengeance. Ah! he must hurry and bring back to Mercedes her son, so that the punishment should not fall on Spero's head.

Suddenly Spero uttered a cry in his sleep, and looked wildly about him.

"No, no; let me go! Papa, help--they are carrying me away--help me!"

Monte-Cristo, frightened, bent over the sleeping boy.

"What is the matter, Spero?" he asked, tenderly; "have you been dreaming?"

"Oh, how glad I am it was only a dream! I will tell it to you."

"Speak, Spero, I am listening. You know," he consolingly added, "dreams are untrue."

"Yes, you have often told me that, and yet--"

The child paused and looked timidly in the corner of the tent.

"Why do you look so timidly over there?" asked the count, anxiously.

"Papa, do not laugh at me," whispered Spero, "but I do not think I was asleep. A little while ago, I saw the curtains of the tent part and a dark form appeared at the aperture."

"When was it, Spero?"