The Waterbury Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1917-1946, 1943-07-27
ALONE
CHAPTER XII

So Lincoln was off toward the
Jungle beyond Lake Tchad.
The map was good enough, and,
beneath a bright sky, he
trekked all that night and reached,
early in the morning, a Negro
kraal. 1t was the usual affair of
beehixe shaped grass huts, pro-
tected by dense zariba of cactus
and elephant thorns.
Other dervishes must have
come through here on their way
to the hykmoot ameez, For the
people asked no Why or Whence
nor Whittier: hospitality offered
him food and drink and place
to rest.
"Yambo! Ell donyo sabuki -
welcome, o Eminence! And eat
your fill"
Money for what they gave SO
freely?
What use had they for the
CLINT and clink of coins? Only
their fields they reckoned valuable
possessions and, Also their small,
sorrel cattle, since a grain will
grow a grain and beat bring
forth beast. They had sufficient
of both.
Eat your fill! And, if you, will,
being a dervish, a man of Allah,
pray to this same Allah to send
us plenty rain!"
He ate, slept, went on; crossed
a gaunt wasteland covered with
pillows of chalk rock mantled by
a film-like spray of sand which
surged and tWirled and twisted
in the fiery wind.
Here there were no more
kraals. Cultivation ceased There
was no human life But twice he
came upon abandoned encamp-
ments, and he knew, by sign of
scattered cartridge-cases and torn
bits of saddlery and a smashed
Creusot field gun, that soldiers
had passed through here, between
Yebba and Lake Tchad. Soldiers
of Free France - he guessed on
their long, weary journey to join
American and British troops in
the north.
Perhaps there had been among
them some of his old comrades in
the Foreign Legion - going to war
because it was their trade
Well-he, too, was going to war.
Because it was his duty.
A single mans lonely war. A
singleman's lonely killing.
Abruptly the wasteland stopped.
The jungle began, with its creeping
carpet of greenish-black, matted
corruption.
He trekked on.
How many days and nights?
He did not keep count. All he
knew was that he must hurry;
must get to his destination before
the hykmoot ameez gave the Or
der.
So he slept little. And he was
tired. Terribly tired. Raked by
fever. Aching in every limb.
He would reach his goal and
fulfill his quest if his body sur
vived the strain and pain, the
brazen day heat, the sudden, bit
ter cold of the nights near the
Equator, and the frequent attacks
of fever and collie due to the pol
luted water.
Was it-he reflected ironically -
for the sake of duty that a man
shock IN All ague? Because of
patriotism that a mans CUTS
retched with bloody dysentery?
He gave an unreal laugh.
He preferred the other patriot
ism; the sort which killed a man,
clearly and properly, with bullet
or sword, on the field of battle.
But to die - even for ones coun-
try or for the sake of triumphant
democracy - by reason of some
obscene insects sting or because
of filthy water why-it didn't
seem decent. Certainly wasn't
heroic.
Again he laughed, shrilly.
Fool, fool" he shrieked. "Oh
you damned, silly fool!'
Was he losing his mind?
He must not allow it. He must
pull himself together; must con-
vince himself that he was Lincoln
c. Elliot, American, New Eng
lander, and a high official In the
service of the United Nations who
had job to do.
And so, slowly, carefully regu-
lating the pauses after each word,
he repeated over and over again,
with fairly loud voice:
II am Lincoln G. Elliot, Ameri-
can! I am sane-I am sane-I am
sane!'
The hours and days passed I'M
noticed.
Always the fetid, choking heat.
Always the sour Stenches.
Always, feasting on his flesh and
blood, the minute mobs of insects,
little greedy, ferocious, simmer
ing, repulsive monsters, armed
with horns, with claws, with
uripcerc with Vir,i1apt rOisoo