Adventures in Araby -- what is now Palestine and Israel and Jordan
and Saudi Arabia and Iraq -- with Jimgrim -- Major James Schuyler
Grim -- and assorted adventurers.
You wouldn't find a tougher, less easily stampeded gang in Asia
Minor than the party Grim had left with me. They spat on their
cartridges and crammed them in like veteran soldiers instead of the
thieves they were by trade, and each bullet was loosed on its way
with an appropriate curse, until Narayan Singh on the far right
laughed so that he could hardly shoot straight. And the camels went
down one by one like great ships sinking, pitching up their sterns
as they plunged bow first.
But that war-cry, "Allaho Akbar " is something more than a
formula. It seems to fire the men who use it with a frenzy that
bullets can't quench. Camels fell, but their riders charged forward
on foot, and by that time they could guess how few we were, which
added confidence to fury. The amount of nickel-coated lead that a
charging Arab can eat up as he comes is incredible. There isn't an
animal -- not even a bear -- that can compare with him. That gang
of fanatics charged home -- got right into the middle of us -- and
used their knives to such effect that Ali Baba and his youngest son
Mahommed were the only two who hadn't some sort of wound to show by
the time we had beaten off their survivors.
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