This morning he roused the men of his Chambree with that kindly
gentleness which had gone so far in its novelty to attach their liking;
went through the customary routine of his past with that exactitude and
punctuality of which he was always careful to set the example; made his
breakfast off some wretched onion-soup and a roll of black bread; rode
fifty miles in the blazing heat of the African day at the head of a
score of his chasses-marais on convoy duty, bringing in escort a long
string of maize-wagons from the region of the Kabaila, which, without
such guard, might have been swooped down on and borne off by some
predatory tribe; and returned, jaded, weary, parched with thirst,
scorched through with heat, and covered with white dust, to be kept
waiting in his saddle, by his Colonel's orders, outside the barrack for
three-quarters of an hour, whether to receive a command or a censure he
was left in ignorance.
When the three-quarters had passed, he was told M. le Commandant had
gone long ago, and did not require him!
Cecil said nothing.
Yet he reeled slightly as he threw himself out of saddle; a nausea and a
giddiness had come on him. To have passed nigh an hour motionless in his
stirrups, with the skies like brass above him, while he was already worn
with riding from sunrise well-nigh to sunset, with little to appease
hunger and less to slake thirst, made him, despite himself, stagger
dizzily under a certain sense of blindness and exhaustion as he
dismounted.
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