The Portland daily press., 1895-01-16
began to feel sensations awakening diffeF-
snt parts of my body.

creeping over me, but not the same every
where. Some parts still tingled little,
but the rest felt quite dead and lnsensible.
Suddenly a burning pain shot through
my right arm and ankle, growing, grow
ing till they seemed on fire. With culver
the pain made me move and brought my
mind and body as out of a trance, and re-
allied was alive and stretched on my
back. Where was 1? What had happen
ed to me? All was blank. My whole
body was chilled by the cold floor where
I lay, with the exception of my right arm
and ankle, which ached and throbbed
with CALLING, fiery pain. tried, but
unsuccessfully, to solve tbs mystery OF my
whereabouts. ! could recall my mission,
our discovery by the Arabs, my flight
across the open, but nothing beyond save
that sickenings sensation of being hurled
into oblivion and life leaving me as If by
the shock of a mighty thunderclap.
was trying to force my memory to &C.
ton when suddenly a shower of twigs
and gravel fell on my feet and the square
panels of steely blue with the ragged
edges were partially obscured by some
thing.
When opened my eyes to conscious
mess q second time, the tinsel was still
twinkling in the square Of grayish blue.
But no outline of massive head and shay
gy name showed between that patch oil
God S starry heavens and the poor wretch
entombed in the Kabyle silo.
Shuddering, I realized the fate that
awaited me- Many story had heard
by our campfire of skeletons and corpses
found in these silos, showing yet in their
grim stiffness what their lingering tor
lures had been in the awful death strug-
gle Without outside aid escape is impos-
sible from these conical chambers dug in
the earth OF hewn in the porous rock or
limestone Those Kabyle silos, used by
them to store their grain, have but one
entrance few feet square at the top and
gradually widen out to about 20 feet
square at the bottom at depth of Is or
30 feet. Here was condemned to die in
the agonies of thirst and starvation. My
men, if alive, had gone to camp, thinking
me killed The Kabyles, finding them
selves discovered, had certainly reiterated
into their mountain Businesses, where they
knew pursuit to be impossible, and there
was very little chance of an old African
warrior like our colonel sending troops
over ground just covered, for the Arab
never stands to show fight, but vanishes
as if carried off by the wind of the simoom.
Hark! What was that2 A heavy sigh
comes from benin me- start and try
to rise, but my right leg, broken at the
ankle, pins me to the ground. endeavor
to turn on my hands, but my right arm,
also fractured at the wrist, hangs helpless
by my side.
I turn nevertheless, supported on my
left hand, and strain my eyes in the dark
toward the sound Who is it? Is he friend
or foe? There he is. l hear him. He
moves stealthily around. His tread is
nearly noiseless. He is barefooted. ltisa
Kaby1e then. God protect me, for Kabyle
never relents, and, dying, will fight to the
last breath. The "Frankish dogs" Mo-
manned has commanded him never to
spare. He moves around me. He wants to
attack me from behind. But l can still
shoot with my left hand. My revolver
it's gone Then truly I am at his mercy.
There he is again behind me. He shall
not strike me in the back. will crawl
to the wall, and when he attacks me re-
ceive death in front, like soldier Where
is he now? I do not hear him. There he
Is again. I see him. His eyes CLEAN, and
he is crawling toward me. He stops. Does
he think me armed? Yet he would not
let himself be heard if he thought SO. He
has gone again into the darkness There
he is again I hear him on my right.
There are his eyes again. This time he lie
coming. Perhaps he also is unarmed.
Can I grapple with him? But with only
one arm! If l can clutch his throat, it is
my only chance. He is gone again. There
he is on my left. Now he moves more
swiftly. Is he going to rush at me? He
is still again. There are his eyes. Why
does he not Gomez No, he knows my
agony and revels in his hideous vengeance.
He will not spare me moments tor
ture, but gloats over the sufferings of the
Christian dog. Spare me? No. An Arab
fanatic will never do that. Have I not
seen them, dying, crawl like snakes in
their death struggles to fasten their teeth
in our disabled soldiers threats? For has
not Mohammed said in the Koran, ''Each
Christian dog killed is a stepping stone to
Allah's paradise, where the divine hours
will surround the brave with eternal bliss
and felicityp'
Relent? No. He will never do that.
Ny death is good work and my life a
crime to him. Will he let me die thus of
hunger and thirst and feast at the sight
of my death throes? No, for the Koran
says he must kill me. When will he
come? There he moves again swiftly. He
is nearer than before. He is gone again.
How can bear this? He looks at me-
Gone again. When will he come and end
this suspense? Why does he not come
now? Will he never come? He must
come cannot bear this awful torture. I
cannot go to him, or would. 1t would
be sooner over. o God, be merciful and
send death quickly to me. I am becoming
mad My God, will death never come?
But God in his mercy had not decreed
that I should die then, and the terrible
night dragged on slowly as eternity. The
starry sky became paler with returning
dawn, and space grew lighter in the
center of the silo chamber, leaving the
walls in as impenetrable a gloom as be-
fore. The physical suffering and prolonged
nervous strain may have unbalanced my
mind then, for in moment of crazy des-
peration hurled one of my large military
spurs in the corner where could hear the
Arab breathe. The spur hit the rocky
wall with clear ring, and at the same
time with bound across the lighted space
in the center of the silo large mountain
hvena nassed with n snaFl / have heard