Part 9 (1/2)

”To the President of the United States, Was.h.i.+ngton

”The Queen desires to congratulate the President upon the successful completion of this great international work, in which the Queen has taken the greatest interest.

”The Queen is convinced that the President will join with her in fervently hoping that the electric cable, which now connects Great Britain with the United States, will prove an additional link between the nations, whose friends.h.i.+p is founded upon their common interest and reciprocal esteem.

”The Queen has much pleasure in thus communicating with the President, and renewing to him her wishes for the prosperity of the United States.”

Let us pick up the thread of the story of one sharp splinter which we have lost sight of;--the sword which Louis of Daneshold lost in battle, which Wulf had carried and which Ulf had made far back in the days of the Northmen.

Men do not linger long around a battlefield after the fight is over, unless it is their fate to stay there forever; and with rattle of mailed harness and blare of trumpet-calls the Crusaders tramped heavily away through the sand, leaving behind them here and there a red spot on the earth, here and there a Saracen. Then, in time, a lightfooted, lightfingered troop of Arabs dashed into the little valley, sharply scanning the ground to right and left for forgotten weapons worth the picking up.

One wild, swift riding young fellow came sweeping along with his white burnous, or robe, trailing behind him in the air, and down he bent to earth like a circus rider as his eye caught a flash of sunlight. With a shout of triumph he s.n.a.t.c.hed up a straight cut-and-thrust sword, which in weight and size seemed exactly made for him. This was unusual luck; for, as he said gleefully to his comrades, while Frankish swords were not uncommon trophies of war yet usually they were heavy, clumsy things, not easily wielded by the hands of Eastern men. So, that night by the camp fire at the little well under the date palms, Mohammed Ali Ben Ibyn, no longer a wild, reckless horseman, but a grave, dignified young man, thrust a fresh coal into the bowl of his long stemmed pipe, handed it politely to an elder friend, and beckoned to a slave to bring him that new weapon from his tent. Taking it he made a few pa.s.ses and cuts at the empty air to learn the balance of it, then set the point of it on the metal boss of a small s.h.i.+eld at his feet, steadily pressing downward.

Down, down went the hilt while the splendidly tempered blade curved under the pressure into a bow, until before their astonished eyes hilt and point kissed each other. Then the spring of the steel slowly overcame the muscle in the arm that bent it, and the hilt turned ever so slightly in the hand, yet quite enough; for the point glanced from the metal and sank into the leather, the blade sprung into line, and with a whiz the little buckler slid out from under foot, flew up from the sand as though it had wings and skimmed away far beyond the firelight.

”Allah kerim!” cried the astonished Arab. ”G.o.d is merciful! This is a sword for a sultan. See, it is as straight as when it was made. No chief in the army of Saladin has a better blade.”

”True, O son of Sheik Ibyn. The blade is perfect. But the hilt is not.

Seest thou not that it is made like the cross of the infidel, the unbeliever? Good luck will not follow thee, wielding that sign.”

”That is easily remedied,--” began Mohammed Ali, but got no further; for from one of the other fires a tall Arab stepped forward, clad in a long robe and a white turban, and with a beard that reached his waist.

Lifting his powerful voice he sent it forth in a chant that made itself heard from end to end of the camp; and far out in the surrounding desert the jackals that whined and skulked among the sandhills dropped to earth hushed by the sonorous call. Not a leaf in the palms was astir. Not a breath of the night wind swayed a tent curtain. The chant rang through a stillness broken only by the low snap and crackle of the fires.

”Ashhadu an la illah illa-llah, Ashhadu anna Mohammadar ra-sool ulla.”

chanted the long robed priest. ”G.o.d is G.o.d, and Mohammed is his Prophet! There is no G.o.d but G.o.d! To prayer, O sons of the Faithful!-- ”just as at that hour, all over Arabia, other priests in other places were sending out their warning summons in camp and city, under the palms and from the lofty minarets of countless round-domed mosques or temples, wherever ruled the might of the Eastern faith.

Forth from their fires stepped the dark skinned warriors and formed in line, facing Mecca, the birthplace of their prophet Mohammed, and to them a most holy place. Not ashamed were they to say their prayers to the Father of All, nor to ask for help and guidance; and the wildest fighter of them all knelt and prayed as earnestly as a child, knowing well that if G.o.d was with him it mattered nothing if the whole world was against him; although in the desert the Arab's own proverb says that ”No man meets a friend.”