that no pen could describe. I know that, because each man told what he

would have done, individually; and such a medley of strange and

unheard-of inventions of cruelty you could not conceive of. One man

said he had calmly made up his mind to perish where he stood, if need

be, but never yield an inch; he was going to wait, with deadly patience,

till he could count the stripes upon the first Bedouin's jacket, and

then count them and let him have it. Another was going to sit still

till the first lance reached within an inch of his breast, and then

dodge it and seize it. I forbear to tell what he was going to do to

that Bedouin that owned it. It makes my blood run cold to think of it.

Another was going to scalp such Bedouins as fell to his share, and take

his bald-headed sons of the desert home with him alive for trophies.

But the wild-eyed pilgrim rhapsodist was silent. His orbs gleamed with

a deadly light, but his lips moved not. Anxiety grew, and he was

questioned. If he had got a Bedouin, what would he have done with him

--shot him? He smiled a smile of grim contempt and shook his head.

Would he have stabbed him? Another shake. Would he have quartered him

-flayed him? More shakes. Oh! horror what would he have done?

Eat him!"

Such was the awful sentence that thundered from his lips. What was

grammar to a desperado like that? I was glad in my heart that I had been

spared these scenes of malignant carnage. No Bedouins attacked our

terrible rear. And none attacked the front. The new-comers were only a

reinforcement of cadaverous Arabs, in shirts and bare legs, sent far

672

The Innocents Abroad