the Moors were closely shuttered. So the wind, warm and
scented and strong, swept over a black land, deserted and vacant. Only
in the camp was there movement, music, and an illumination that strove
up in the night, as if it would climb to the clouds. Scarcely had Claire
and Renfrew finished dinner, when Absalem and Mohammed ceremoniously
appeared to conduct them out to the bare space before the tents on
which the African fire had been carefully built. Absalem carried a lamp
which swung in the wind, and, behind, there appeared from the kitchen
tent some of the porters, bearing burning brands, the flames of which
were at right angles to the wood from which they sprung. The guard of
soldiers, one dozen in all, armed with immense guns and wrapped in
hooded cloaks, were already crouched in a silent mass before the
lifeless and portentous erection which came out of the darkness, as
Absalem swung forward the lamp, like the skeleton of a monster. They
turned their shadowy faces on Claire, and stared with eyes intent and
unself-conscious as those of an animal. The porters flung their brands
on to the mountain of twigs, and instantaneously a huge sheet of livid
gold sprang up against the black background of the night, as if it had
been shaken out on the wind by invisible hands. This sheet expanded,
swayed, fluttered in ragged edges, and cast forth a cloud of sparks
which were carried away into the air and vanished in the sky. The shrubs
caught fire and crackled furiously, and finally the foundation of
gigantic logs began to glow steadily, and to fill the wind with a
scorching heat. The camp was gradually defined, at first vaguely and in
sections,--the peak of a tent, the head of a mule, a startled pariah
dog, a Moor set in the eye of the flames; then clearly, as the buildings
one may see in a furnace, complete and glowing. The faces of the
soldiers were barred with flickering orange, and red lights played in
their huge and staring eyeballs. The horses and mules could be counted.
Before the kitchen tent the sacrifice of sheep was visible, stewing in
enormous pans upon red embers in a trench of earth. And the grave cook,
who was distinguished by a white turban, shone like a pantomime magician
at the mouth of an enchanted cave. Warmth, light, life poured upon the
night, and the voices of men began to mingle with the continuous voice
of this superb fire. The Moors, soldiers, servants, porters, kindled
into furious gaiety with the swif